Headed for the Win (Nadia and Winny Book 1)

by Rachael Eliker

  Trying to wrap my mind around it, I asked, “What was our time?”

  Mike smirked. “Three seconds faster than Gretchen.”

  Before my brain could make the connection, the announcer blared over the loud speaker, “Looks like our rider, Nadia Wells, is doing alright. And lucky her, she held on long enough to complete the course and secure our first place spot, beating out Gretchen Fitzgerald and Isis by three seconds!”

  A roar rang out over the crowd. The show manager, a well-dressed middle-aged man beckoned me to come stand on the head of the podium. Mike lead Winny behind me where Gretchen, Isis and the big palomino who'd tossed his rider near our stalls and his rider stood in second and third place. Giving me a hand up, the manager congratulated me. “Well done, young lady. You gave everyone a good show.”

  I unintentionally snorted. “Thanks,” I said.

  “That's quite the mare you have there too.”

  “Yes she is,” I looked over my shoulder and with tears stinging my eyes and a friendly smile, whispered my gratitude to Winny.

  I was handed an enormous blue ribbon and a bouquet of red roses. “How about a victory round for the winners?” the announcer suggested. The crowd exuberantly agreed and we stepped from the podium to get our mounts. Mike, his cheeks red, pulled a tangle of wildflowers, including a stem of bachelor buttons, from behind his back. “I know it's not roses…” he apologized.

  Looking at the beautiful flowers and back to his face, I leapt into his arms and planted a kiss straight on his lips. The crowd went wild.

  “They're perfect,” I smiled. Shocked, Mike could only manage a goofy smirk.

  Next to us, Gretchen laughed and clapped along with the audience. “Finally,” she muttered. “Congratulations, Nadia. You and Winny are stiff competition.” We hugged.

  I thanked Gretchen, grateful she’d been vulnerable, trusting me enough to share her adversities. It had been eye-opening. And to Winny for the budding friendship she’d helped cultivate. Climbing into the saddle, I reached forward and stuck the ribbon in Winny’s bridle. “I know it hurts but let's give them a good victory lap.” She didn't have to be asked twice.

  We whirled around the arena, waving to the fans and feeling the cool breeze on our faces. I could get used to this.

  * * *

  Gretchen offered the extra bed in her hotel suite for the night but I politely declined. I wanted to keep a close eye on Winny and be there first thing in the morning to hose down her leg and give her the anti-inflammatory Dr. Calvert had prescribed.

  Mike went missing for the duration of the day, providing his services as farrier to dozens of people who wanted new shoes, or shoes pulled, or hoof trims for their equine athletes before they drove home. A few curious enthusiasts stopped by to congratulate me and pat the noses of the horses who had given them such an exciting afternoon. Some slipped carrot bits to Winny and Isis and shook my hand, thinking our story was magical, having not only placed, but won such a prestigious show while still being such a green pair. Magical? They had no idea.

  Horses were loaded, stalls were emptied out, trailers slowly pulled away and by twilight, most of the competitors and trainers had begun their journey home. My family left after dinner but not before another emotional scene where dad had to drag my mother back to the car. I laughed but didn't mind. Winny breathed a sigh, probably of relief that it wasn't her being mauled by a melodramatic mother.

  “How are you feeling, girl?” I pulled Winny out of the stall to rewrap fresh poultices around her tired legs.

  Winny looked and assured me by the twinkle in her eye she'd be fine. Hearing something coming our way, she threw her head up and drew a long, loud snort. “What is it?”

  Chuck stepped around the corner, thumbs in pocket, whistling a sporadic tune. When he raised his eyes from the ground and caught sight of us, he said, “Quite the excitement today.”

  I pursed my lips, unsure of what to say. What did he think of Winny’s odd-but-true mention of us switching places?

  I smiled but didn’t answer. He busied himself with packing Gretchen’s tack box. Eventually he broke the silence. “So, what’s it like switching places with your horse?”

  My face reddened and I stood up to look at him, eyes wide, mouth gapping. “Uh, I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Well, it’s just that you accused me—quite clearly—of making you change places with your horse. You don’t seem the type to make rash accusations.”

  How was I supposed to respond? Winny had told him the truth although it didn’t seem as though Chuck had any part in our body-swapping other than innocently relating a story. I shrugged. “Over-active imagination?” It sounded more like a question than an answer.

  Gretchen’s father chuckled and shook his head. “No doubt,” he said and turned to take the tack box to the trailer. “I reckon one would have a special bond with a horse after an experience like that,” he called over his shoulder.

  “You have no idea,” I whispered.

  Sleep wasn't without dreams. I wouldn't have been surprised to wake up in a stall again with a serious hankering for sweet feed but, come morning light, my fingers and toes and all other human qualities remained intact.

  After morning chores, I haltered Winny and walked her from the stall to a patch of red clover I’d noticed and craved myself only the day before. She dropped her head and buried her nose in the sweet flowers. As she grazed, I ran a soft brush over her coat, flicking away flecks of dust and shavings. On her left side, I stopped at her hip and looked at the scar across her brand Gloria had given her.

  “My wish was certainly fulfilled, wasn’t it?” I asked Winny, who raised her head and perked her ears toward me. “I think we both understand each other better. That made it worth it.”

  I laid my hand on her scar. Winny didn’t even flinch.

  “Shall we?” Danika surveyed our camp and, satisfied we'd retrieved all of our equipment, swung open the trailer door for the horses. Dodger, Isis and Winny loaded without complaint. Everyone was more than ready to go home.

  “Hey,” Mike jogged up to us. “Need any help?”

  “I think we got everything.”

  “Oh, alright. Guess I slept in,” he yawned.

  “That's okay. It's been a busy week.” I could have sliced the awkwardness with a knife.

  “So…” Mike rubbed the back of his neck, “about that date…”

  Gretchen overheard and excitedly jumped into the conversation. “How about a double date next Friday? Pete and I are going to dinner and a movie.”

  “Oh, yeah. We could do that.” The disappointment in Mike's voice was unmistakable.

  “How about right now?” I suggested.

  “Now?”

  “You've got space in your truck, right? Danika, Mr. Johnson and Ms. Diederich are riding together—”

  “And I'm riding with my dad,” Gretchen interjected, trying to be helpful.

  “We've got a long drive home don't we?” I winked at Mike and made him grin. Grabbing his hand, I said, “I think we've got a lot to talk about.”

  THE END

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  And now for a sneak peek at the next book:

  Road to the Regalia

  Chapter One

  I’d never been to a horse’s funeral before. Yet, there I was, standing at the edge of a massive hole carved into a hillside at the back of Danika’s property. Mike had used a backhoe to tear up enough earth for Dodger’s body to fit and, as gently as possible, the horse had already been laid to rest in his grave.

  I looked over at my friend, Mr. Johnson who sobbed softly into a handkerchief. Gretchen stood next to him, the corners of her mouth pulled downward and the rims of her eyes red. My older brother, Pete, had his burly arm around her shoulder, clutching her
tightly. My gaze settled on the brace secured around her left forearm. A new swell of pity and guilt surged in my gut. I couldn’t help but feel responsible. After all, I was the one who had suggested the trail ride when I should have been content to stay home and train.

  Gorgeous weather had been forecast for Saturday and the horses could sense it. They’d been starting to get antsy, having had their pasture time cut due to the harsh, early spring weather and resulting pools of water atop slick clay. Mud like that promised to make any horse slip, potentially injuring itself. The winter snow had overstayed its welcome and when the howling winds and drifting snow had finally let up, it was replaced by torrential downpours.

  The horses had barely stepped foot outside in the last month, and my fiery bay mare, Headed for the Win, who was known simply as Winny, was especially jittery. Her favorite herd mate, Isis, had just returned with Gretchen from Florida, basking in the perfect late winter weather while training hard for our first four star event. She’d temporarily broken up with Pete, which wasn’t exactly out of character for her. I could barely keep up with their on-again, off-again relationship that was like a replay of the high school drama I’d tried my best to avoid. Florida was the escape she’d needed to calm down and remember that she really did love Pete. She’d almost convinced me to come with her but I couldn’t bring myself to be gone for longer than a few weeks. I barely saw my boyfriend, Mike, as it was. He was the calm in the storm that was my life of professional horse training and showing. The dimple in his left cheek when he smiled, his sparkling, vivid blue eyes, being squeezed in a close embrace with his lean, muscular arms…I couldn’t bring myself to sacrifice that happiness and stability.

  While the rain soaked the ground at Danika’s, turning it into little more than a squishy, muddy sponge, we were on the road during the week, training with top dressage and jumping coaches in the eastern half of the United States. In between the time in the arena, we schooled vigorously on the cross country course in a variety of climates and terrains. It was hard work for Winny and me, but we relished it.

  I did my best to keep the horses’ minds occupied while at home. Kally, my coach Danika’s newest working student and my groom, was charged with keeping the stalls tidy and the aisles clean. I no longer mucked stalls in exchange for lessons—since winning Gallant Meadows, things had only looked up. I graduated high school by the skin of my teeth and though my parents frowned when I told them I never really had any plans for college and that I was going to train fulltime with Danika, they didn’t seem surprised. Now my days were spent starting young, promising mounts and exercising the farm’s regulars for people who preferred to come to ride or show only when they were in the mood. I’d picked up a dozen students too, when my hectic schedule allowed. Of course, time each day was carved out for intensively training Winny.

  We were only a few months away from a show that felt like a dream: I had qualified for the Regalia Three Day Event, one of only a few internationally rated four-star shows in the entire world and I was being scouted for the short list of next year’s Olympic team. It was a fairy tale for sure, but anyone who doubted my ability better believe I’d worked my tail off and so had Winny. I’d put in as much sweat, as many hours in the saddle and kissed the boots of as many high-end trainers as anyone.

  If that wasn’t fantastic enough, Gretchen had also qualified. The animosity I had allowed to simmer when we first met had dissipated, and we had nurtured our unusual friendship after I learned about Gretchen’s broken family. A dead mother, an alcoholic father and living with a stern, German grandmother who had incredibly high expectations would be hard on anyone. It probably helped that while our friendship was still young, Gretchen spent the majority of her summer over at my house courting Pete.

  Our fateful day had started like any other. I was up at the crack of dawn training Temperance, a mare new to the barn. She was a lovely, fine-boned thoroughbred that was sure the whole world was out to get her. Though she bolted and spooked every five minutes, my seat stuck in the saddle like I was glued to it. After years of riding at least eight hours a day, six days a week, it took more than that to get me off. We ended after I could get her to trot through all four corners of the arena without cocking her head and snorting.

  Kally fed the horses and turned them out one at a time, only getting her feet stepped on once or twice. As much as that girl loved horses, she didn’t quite have the knack for everything. Gretchen’s grandmother, Ms. Diederich, was the white-haired saint who’d felt charitable when I was just starting out with Danika and had purchased Winny for me. In her rich German accent, she’d said that Kally’s talent for understanding horsespeak was still budding, a gift that she mentioned I’d had in full force when we met. Really, she had no idea just how well I knew what was going through a horse’s mind. Nobody did.

  Winny, Isis, Dodger and Calypso remained in their stalls, slowly grinding their sweet-smelling hay. Mike would be riding Danika’s retired show horse, Calypso, who was so motherly she was always the first one we put newcomers on. Mike was back for one of his usual weekend trips home from college. Those precious visits were always too short. School was only two hours away but neither of us could escape research or teaching or training during the week to see each other. It was especially rare that I got to combine my two great loves: Mike and riding. I was ecstatic.

  “It’s not so, uh, comfortable for a guy to ride,” he answered when I’d asked why he never wanted to go riding.

  I nodded and hid a smirk behind my hand.

  The horses were receiving a much needed break for a day of fun on the trail. They loaded easily and answered back a few neighs to the horses staying behind. It was only a half hour drive down the interstate to the Buck Springs trails and we navigated along the winding state park roads to the trailhead, near a quiet, secluded lake.

  We had the horses tacked up in record time and Gretchen, atop her sleek, black mare, Isis, led the rest of the horse and rider pairs. The second we walked into the forest, the atmosphere became still and serene. Bushy tailed squirrels chided us from the safety of the trees and fat robins thrust out their chests as they hopped along the path, only to lose confidence and flit away as we approached. Winny gave a great sigh and weeks of pent up tension melted away.

  The trail was a good fifteen mile loop around the lake, and though we mostly plodded along in silence, Gretchen occasionally urged Isis into an even-tempoed trot. We all followed without complaint.

  “You doing alright, Mike?” I said, swiveling in my saddle.

  “Sure,” he answered, wincing slightly as Calypso buoyantly trotted.

  Halfway around, the trees thinned out and the sun blazed unseasonably warm in the sky. Spotting a secluded beach, Gretchen challenged with a devilish smirk, “Race you to the lake?”

  “You know it!” Urging Winny into a gallop, my mare lunged forward and tore up the ground beneath her.

  Isis and Winny raced neck and neck, reaching the sandy beach and plunging in without hesitation while Dodger and Calypso stayed back and couldn’t be bothered to join the gallop. The tepid water soaked through my breeches but I didn’t care. Gretchen and I both giggled uncontrollably while our mares plodded in the crystalline lake.

  After a few minutes of goofing around, we resumed our trek. Mr. Johnson entertained us with stories about his youth, growing up in the heart of St. Louis and eventually making his millions when he sold a programming company he’d been running from his garage. Mike took a turn, telling us about a complex project manipulating amino acids that he was working on in grad school. The summer after I’d competed at Gallant Meadows, he’d unexpectedly received a full ride scholarship, which he’d accepted, deciding to focus on biochemistry. He’d finished his bachelor’s in three and a half years and though our distance relationship was working fine, I secretly hoped he’d be done with school after that. I always knew Mike was brilliant but who would’ve guessed a poor farm boy would have a knack for glycolysis and polymers? I was happy for him
but had many griping sessions where Winny calmly listened to me complain about him being so far away.

  We made good time, the horses huffing but steadily covering ground under the spotty canopy. I veered off the trail a couple times to jump Winny over fallen logs and occasionally led the group in a canter.

  The last mile we slowed to a walk to let the horses catch their breath and cool off. Over the quiet chatter of the forest, I heard an ominous buzzing of a hungry and determined deerfly. Everything happened so fast. Winny kicked and spun while I clung to her and the next thing I knew, I watched the life drain out of Dodger, who’d leaped out of the way of the commotion, only to impale himself on a branch.

  Now I was living in a nightmare. I remember Danika calling around to see who could bring Dodger’s body home, the somber mood of the barn and the epic argument I’d had with Mike. What was it even about? We’d yelled in unrestrained anger for everyone to hear. Once he tore away in his truck, I had hidden in Winny’s stall and finally allowed the tears to come. The rest of the day had been a blur as I tried to numb myself to the horror of the afternoon.

  And now, I’m staring at a crying man whose horse just died, a friend whose wrist is sprained and swollen and may not heal in time for our appearance at the Regalia and a boyfriend who, instead of holding my hand, is standing across the circle from me, stone-faced.

  This is all my fault.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten