Altair lunged out of the water, shaking his head, blowing great jets of moisture from his fully distended nostrils, eyes wide and rolling. He listened to her soothing voice, allowing himself to be directed down the series of small hills toward the flat where the last series of jumps sat.
They came out of the woods, a streak of dark copper flowing against the landscape of greenery. The worst was over and Dany took him safely across the last jumps. Now, only three hundred yards remained to the finish, and she crouched low, like a jockey, pushing him with each flowing stride he took with her hands, legs and body, asking one more second out of his magnificent machine of a body. She was dully aware of the screams, applause and shouts as they raced across the finish line. Dany released the reins, asking him to slow to a canter, to a trot and finally to an exhausted walk. Quickly she slipped off his back, feeling the stallion trembling with the exertion. Worriedly she ran her hands expertly down his legs, concerned that he might have strained a ligament. It was only when Sam placed his hand on her shoulder that she stood up. Both he and Pete were grinning.
“You were magnificent!” Sam said, embracing her.
“Sam, you have the fastest time!” Pete bubbled, taking the stallion and quickly unsaddling him, putting a cooler over his hot, sweaty body.
She collapsed against Sam, so weak that her knees were giving away. He held her against him for a long moment. “You were great out there,” he whispered huskily. “Both of you were fantastic. Do you realize the people love you and that red horse of ours?”
Shakily, Sam removed the hard hat, wiping the mud and water from her own face. “We made it, that’s all I care about. Oh, Sam, it was a lot harder than I thought,” she whispered, closing her eyes and allowing him to support her totally. “Fourteen was the worst jump I’ve ever encountered. My God, there will be horses killed out there today on that one, Sam. It isn’t right,” she cried bitterly. “What’s the matter with these damn course designers? Can’t they tell the difference between a jump that challenges the horse and one that could injure or kill him?”
“Easy, honey, you’re coming down out of that adrenaline surge,” he soothed softly, guiding her toward the truck that sat in the distance.
Dany wouldn’t be consoled. For a long time three-day eventing had been treading a dangerous area: designers were creating jumps that did more than challenge. They were hurting some of the finest jumpers in the world and she wondered when they were going to come to their senses. And fourteen was a murderer. Tears rolled down her cheeks, making white tracks in the grime of her face. Several reporters and photographers ran up to them, begging for a story, and Sam adroitly held them at bay, promising them an interview later after the results were in.
Dany spent half the day rubbing down Altair thoroughly with liniment. There was a camaraderie between Pete and Sam as they worked to make the stallion’s tight, tense muscles relax so that he could be rested enough for the in-stadium jumping which would take place tomorrow afternoon. Worriedly, Dany watched as Altair nibbled disinterestedly at his hay. She leaned against the boxstall, just watching him. Sam came over, placing his arm around her waist.
“He’s exhausted,” he explained. “His appetite will increase by this evening.”
“It was a grueling course,” she muttered. Looking up into his strong, serene face Dany felt some of her own tension dissipating.
“I don’t think either of you were prepared for it, honey. Let’s face it, he’s been off the circuit for nine months, and this is your first show in four years. Don’t be too hard on yourself. You both gave an incredible effort out there this morning. Come on,” Sam urged, “let’s get you back over to the motel. I think a hot bath and bed are in order for you.”
* * *
It was dark when she awoke in Sam’s room. Dany felt groggy, acutely aware of how many sore muscles were screaming in protest when she moved, sliding her feet across the bed and sitting up. Rubbing her face tiredly, she felt incredibly exhausted. Was Altair feeling the same? He must be, she thought. By the third day, all eventers were incredibly fatigued. They would be no exception to that rule. In-stadium jumping was hard, but not nearly as dangerous as the cross-country portion. She sighed, her dark hair flowing across her shoulders as she bowed her head forward.
“Dany?”
She looked up to see Sam walking quietly from the door of her room to where she sat. “How are you feeling?” he asked, coming and sitting down beside her on the bed.
“Like I’ve been in an auto accident. Poor Altair, he must be feeling three times as bad as I do.”
“Actually I just got done saying good-night to him and he’s got his appetite back and eating his way through four quarts of grain right now.”
She turned, her eyes widening. “And his legs?”
“Slight puffiness in his rear fetlocks, but nothing more. It’s to be expected under the circumstances. Pete’s rubbing them down with a good gracing solution right now. He’ll be ready to go by noon tomorrow, don’t worry.”
She shared a warming smile with him, and leaned over to kiss his strong mouth. Sam groaned softly, slipping his arms around her, laying her back on the bed. His mouth molded tenderly to her lips, parting them, seeking entrance. Finally, he broke contact, his face inches above her own.
“You’re beautiful in your sleep, do you know that? I came in to check on you a couple of times and I had to fight the urge to simply lay down beside you and hold you.” He traced the outline of her eyebrow. “I’m so proud of you, Dany. You looked like some sort of goddess this morning on Altair, so much a part of him, yet controlling his incredible energy with just a slight, guiding touch of your hand.” His voice shook with emotion as he drank in every element of her upturned face. “You are a champion, honey. Never doubt that again. And if you never want to ride again at a show, I’ll understand that, too.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked softly.
“I’m not marrying you so that you can ride Altair. I just want you to know that if you decide to quit right now, it would be all right with me.”
A broken smile fled across her lips as she stared up at him. How understanding and sensitive he was! Caressing his jaw, she said, “Sam, as long as I feel capable of doing it, I’m going to continue.”
“Why?”
“For the challenge. What else?”
“For me.”
She shrugged lightly. “We have a winner. Why shouldn’t he be shown to his full potential? You can’t help it if your future wife is going to be his rider.”
“You’re sure about that, Dany?”
She nodded. “Positive.”
He pursed his lips, watching her closely. “Well, if he continues to do this well on the circuit, maybe in another year we can retire him to stud and you won’t have to show any longer.”
Dany smiled provocatively. “Are you going to put me out to pasture, too?” she teased.
“Your choice, lady.”
She responded to his hand sliding up the silken material of the dark blue nightgown. Children had been a missing and important ingredient in her life. How many times had she wished for a child? The idea of having children with Sam smothered her with an indefinable joy. Laughing throatily, she pulled him down upon her, kissing him passionately. “I like the idea of children, but I never want to be treated like a broodmare.”
He laughed with her. “Somehow, honey, I could never see you having a child once a year for the next twenty or so like a mare does.”
“We’ll let Altair do his duties and keep the mares happy,” she answered, smiling.
Sam turned over on his back, pulling her on top of him. Her black hair fell across her shoulders, framing her oval face as she leaned down, brushing his mouth with a tender kiss. He ran his fingers through the silken mass, his eyes burning with simmering passion. “I’ll keep you happy,” he growled.
Dany closed her eyes, responding as his hand brushed the fullness of her breast, sighing languidly. “You’re one o
f a kind,” she agreed breathlessly. “Just like that red horse of yours.”
* * *
The day was cloudy and humid with pollution making the sun appear like a dull orange globe in the sky. Dany sat astride Altair, warming him up for the last leg of the three-day event show. Sam had told her that they stood in fourth place among thirty other international competitors last night. At first, she didn’t believe him. But then, after a late dinner, he took her over to the secretary’s office and gave her a copy of the standings. Altair was showing strongly and to her surprise, had outmatched Jean and his French charge.
Now, the stadium was filled to overflowing with people who loved to watch the very best jumpers in the world compete in a fourteen-fence test of their endurance and strength. By the third day, most eventers were close to exhaustion and only the ones that had been carefully tuned for the grueling pace would be able to make the demanding course with few or little faults. Each time a pole was knocked down, it was considered a fault. If the horse brushed the pole with his front or back feet, it was considered a “tic” but was not counted off as long as the pole remained in its couplings.
The course had to be completed within one hundred fifteen seconds, a little less than two minutes. If the eventer was taken around too slowly, time penalties were given in equivalency of faults. The more faults incurred, the less chance for placing in the top ten for money and trophies. As Dany tested Altair over the warm-up jumps, she saw Jean astride his gray eventer. His time had been two seconds slower than Altair’s over the cross-country portion, and she leaned down, stroking her stallion’s neck, crooning to him. Altair had courage and heart; it was an unbeatable combination. She was beginning to appreciate his unique upbringing in the Nevada desert, because his footing had been extraordinary under the circumstances yesterday. She knew by listening to several other riders that one horse had to be destroyed because of jump fourteen and that two riders had been sent to the hospital. Altair might be a “cow” horse, but she trusted her life to the magnificent scarred stallion without reserve. He had proven his mettle yesterday to her satisfaction.
Jean rode over, his face set and scowling. “You surprised me, Danielle.”
“Oh, in what way?”
“I’d have thought that red devil would be laid up from yesterday’s course.”
Dany smiled, rubbing Altair’s forelock affectionately. “He did well under the circumstances.”
“Beginner’s luck,” Jean drawled.
Anger flared in her eyes. “Luck has nothing to do with it! We’ve worked long and hard up in the Sierras and it’s paying off. What’s the matter, haven’t you got someone to condition your horse for you now?”
Jean’s eyes narrowed. “He’ll fall apart on you in there,” he warned, ignoring her barb.
“Just make sure your priceless horse doesn’t do the same thing. Looks like he’s favoring his left front.”
He shrugged. “I get paid regardless,” was his flippant reply.
Dany glared at him. “Just stay out of our way, Jean, and keep your comments to yourself.”
A slow smile pulled at his thin lips. “Yes, you are finally growing into a world-class rider. It looks at though Reese has helped you as much as you have helped his horse.”
“Yes, and for once it was done for the right reasons, Jean.”
“He loves you?”
“Yes, he does. But not because I will or won’t ride his horse. It’s not like our arrangement used to be, Jean.” Her voice trembled with a backlog of repressed anger and emotion.
He tipped his hard hat in her direction. “My lovely rose is growing thorns. Don’t let your standings go to your head, ma petite. It’s not over yet.”
Dany heard their number called, and she gathered up the single reins of the hackamore. She had found that the media had seized upon Altair’s background and the fact that he was the only stallion in the competition. Normally eventing was dominated by geldings, a few mares and fewer stallions. The press was also curious to find out why Altair only wore a hackamore, and Dany had twice avoided interviews with reporters, asking Sam to explain the reasons. Many jumpers wore a tie-down or standing martingale so that they could not escape the snaffle bit. Altair wore none, again making him an exception to the rule, creating even more interest.
As she entered the grassy arena, she noted that the jumps were between four feet nine inches and five feet six inches in height. The triple combination, a series of three jumps placed closely together, forced the horse to spread himself across the six feet of the jump. It was not going to be an easy course in any sense of the word. The buzzer sounded and Dany positioned Altair. The moment he leaped over the first jump the timing would begin. She placed him at an angle on the first jump, saving seconds of time that might have been wasted in making a turn to get to the second one. Altair seemed to catch her excitement, his ears laid back, nostrils flared as he thundered down toward a series of three jumps in a row. Dany rated him, asking him to slow up slightly. If he approached the triple jump too quickly, he would miss the all-important midstrides between the second and third jump and would crash into the third one. He sailed cleanly over all three, his legs tucked deeply beneath him on each one.
They scaled two five-foot-three-inch walls composed of poles and painted boards. The water jump was next and Dany urged him up and over that. She glanced back briefly to make sure that he landed well outside the water because if one hoof had landed in the water, it would have been counted as a fault.
Now a series of demanding jumps faced them. She took the double and in an unprecedented move to save time, she pivoted Altair at a gallop on his hind legs on what could only be described as a “roll back” in Western lingo. A roar went up from the crowd as the stallion leaned into the turn pivoting ninety degrees and galloping toward a wall looming eight feet in front of them. Sam shouted encouragement, and she was out of the saddle, leaning over his neck as he pulled out of the jump. They bore down on the two final jumps, taking them handily, and cantered out of the stadium to the wild applause of the cheering spectators. It was a clean round, and Dany grinned, patting Altair on the neck.
Sam and Pete met her near the entrance of the warm-up area, all smiles. Pete simply shook his head. “Mrs. Daguerre, you are one fine rider.”
Sam laughed deeply, gripping her hand momentarily. “I don’t think any of those English people in there are ever going to recover from the fact that Altair did a roll back in there. That was fantastic, honey!”
She colored beneath his praise. “Thank Altair. If it hadn’t been for all his cow-cutting training, I could never have asked it of him.”
Sam winked. “Let’s cool the old guy out, he deserves it. You have the best time so far.”
Pete walked out Altair in the area while they found seats to sit and watch the other contestants. Dany took congratulations from the people around her and anxiously watched as Jean took his French jumper through the course. The horse was obviously favoring his one leg by the end of it, having collected eight faults as a result. Sam kept tabs on the times and faults of the other riders. When the last rider had completed the jumping he turned to her.
“Congratulations, honey. You and Altair took second place. Not bad for a range pony and a beautiful woman who didn’t think she had what it took to be the best.”
Dany smothered a cry, hand against her lips as she gave him a startled look. She had not entered the competition to win; she had only wanted to come out alive and uninjured. Sam stood, pulling her to her feet.
“Come on, you’ve got a trophy, ribbon and a sizable check to pick up. Let’s get you down to Altair and into the saddle.”
As she rode Altair in to receive his rewards the crowd exploded into enthusiastic applause and shouts of encouragement. Tears glittered in her eyes as she accepted the silver bowl and the check. It wasn’t a bad day’s work for a scarred, abused stallion who had suffered at the hands of more than one rider; but more important she had regained her confidence in her ow
n abilities. Dany leaned down with her head against Altair’s arched neck, hugging him without reserve. She sat back up, and waved to the crowd as she took a victory canter around the arena. As they rode out of the arches she saw Sam waiting for them in the distance. She and Altair were both riding toward a future that was paved with happiness and a shared commitment. If it hadn’t been for Sam, she might have never restored her confidence.
Halting Altair, Sam dismounted, handing the trophy and reins of the stallion to Pete. She didn’t care if the eyes of the entire world were watching them as she walked up to him. A lump wedged in her throat, effectively silencing her.
“Come here,” Sam commanded softly, opening his arms to her.
With a tearful smile she stepped inside the circle of his arms. He embraced her tightly, for a long time, his head resting against her own. Sam made it easy for her to lean on him when she wanted. The thought flooded her heart with love, and Dany embraced him fiercely in return.
He pulled scant inches away, his eyes strangely moist. Dany reached up and caressed his leathery cheek. “We can’t stand out here like a couple of children crying,” she muttered, dashing her tears on her own cheek away with the back of her hand.
He smiled tenderly, leaning over and brushing her waiting lips in a kiss. “Why not?” he demanded gruffly, pulling her close. “They’re tears of joy.”
Dany closed her eyes, content to remain against his incredibly strong body. “I don’t mind crying for happiness,” she admitted.
Chase the Clouds Page 15