"Why? Aren't men good enough to compete?" Piper couldn't suppress her wry grin.
Ace gave her a half smile. "Sure, but the women shut us out, and if we started makin' a fuss about men's rights they wouldn't dance with us at the fais do-dos. Oops, that's it for that rider," he said, when a barrel toppled over. And still, the rider dashed for the finish.
As each contestant came rushing into the arena, Piper felt her heart racing and her attention divided between glancing up at the electronic timer as the seconds ticked by, and watching the rider making her way around each barrel.
Some of the horses had colorful leg wrappings matching the rider's shirts. Others had decorative martingales, some with fringe, which had her muse over the jousting tournament and her ridiculously showy regalia. That was crazy. But she could imagine dressing like a cowgirl and decking out her horse with colorful leg wraps, and maybe even painting her hooves to match. A sudden realization cut into her thoughts. The image in her head had been of Rags decked out and taking those barrels in record time…
"Mary's up next," Ace announced. He pulled his cell phone from his jean jacket and held it facing the alley where the riders came out, prepared to start the video, and with no time to spare.
"And here comes Mary Broussard on her horse, Walter," the announcer's voice blared over the PA. "Mary's from Abbeville and she was last year's champion."
Leaning forward over her mount, Mary shot out of the alley like a canon and headed for the first barrel, her horse hugging so close it seemed certain the barrel would topple, but it remained upright while Mary ran for the second, one hand holding the reins, the other flailing outward, like she was flying with her horse, but an instant later that hand clenched the horn as the horse made another tight turn, leaving the second barrel standing upright, then the third…
"And there she goes. She's riding a rocket," the announcer cried as Mary rushed for the finish line. "These horses can be clocked at 30 miles an hour on the way home…"
Glancing at the electronic timer, Piper jumped to her feet. "She's in the lead!" she yelped.
"Looks like she is," Ace acknowledged. "Five more riders to go, so unless all five beat Mary's time, she'll be in the money."
"The announcer said she was last year's winner. She must really be good," Piper said after she'd settled back on the bleacher.
"She's good. Everyone keeps pushin' her to go for the nationals, but she's a hometown girl who's happy enough competin' in the local rodeos, and she's got cattle to tend, a business to run, and all those crickets to feed."
Piper had barely processed that when the next rider shot into the arena and made the rounds, clocking a time almost a second under Mary's. "At least Mary's in the money," she said on reading the final time.
"Yep."
"So, how much will she get if she comes in first?"
"Somewhere around $500 and a buckle."
"Not bad for a fifteen second ride," Piper said with humor, while watching the current rider as she and her horse skillfully negotiated the first two barrels.
The voice on the PA blared again. "One more barrel to go then turn 'n burn, and man, that pair's burning up the road home," the announcer cried in an excited voice as the rider headed for the finish line.
Piper looked at the clock, but before the time could register in her mind, Ace tossed two thumbs up. "A three-tenths of a second lead, but Mary's still on top. Three riders to go."
The next two riders both came in at almost a second behind Mary, but when the last rider knocked over a barrel, Piper shot to her feet and clapped her excitement, until Ace grabbed her elbow and pulled her down then covered her hands with his, sending heat rushing up her face, not because Ace's hand was still wrapped around hers, but because she realized she'd been clapping because of the rider's misfortune.
"I can't believe I did that," she said, "but when I knew the toppled barrel meant Mary won, I reverted to grade school behavior."
Ace laughed, seeming to have warmed to her some. "Come on, let's go down. Mary'll need me to chase off all those buckle bucks." He continued holding Piper's hand as he led her through the crowd, but he dropped it before approaching Mary, who was unsaddling her horse.
Ace moved ahead to give Mary a hug. "Good run. I got the video. You barely scraped by that first barrel though."
"I know. I thought it was all over."
As Mary went on about the positives and negatives of her run, Piper wished she could fade into the crowd. Mary had not yet acknowledged her, and she had no idea what kind of reception she'd get when she finally would. She was about to tell Ace she'd meet him in his truck when he turned and motioned for her to come forward, which she did.
Giving Mary a fleeting smile, she said, "Congratulations."
"Thanks," Mary replied, though her smile was feigned, just as Piper's had been.
Ace glanced over Mary's head and said, "You two talk a couple minutes. I gotta catch the vet before he walks off." Before Piper could tell him she'd come too, Ace was gone, leaving her standing with Mary in awkward silence.
Mary was first to speak. "Ace said y'all would be comin' to the rodeo but I didn't expect to see you after the competition."
Piper wasn't sure how to read Mary's comment, wondering if it meant she hadn't expected to see her because they'd snubbed each other over the years, or if Mary was trying to be conversational. Deciding to focus on their one common ground, horses, she said, "This was my first rodeo and I really enjoyed the barrel races. It's pretty intensive."
"That's for sure," Mary said while brushing her horse. "I love herdin' cattle, but there's nothin' like barrel racin' and the close communication between you and your horse. You grew up around horses. You probably know what I mean." She glanced over at Piper and the expression on her face seemed softer, more friendly.
"I do know. It's the same with thoroughbred racing," Piper said with enthusiasm because she seemed to be connecting with Mary in a congenial way, something she hadn't expected. "But it's the female jockeys who seem better able to communicate with their mounts than the males, who use strength to do what women do with more subtlety."
Mary's dark eyes sparkled with good humor. "I've always told my brothers that's exactly why men don't barrel race, not because they're not allowed, but because they're like bulls in a china cabinet. All muscle and yellin'. Put 'em on a barrel horse and every barrel would be kicked across the arena."
Piper laughed. "Unfortunately, you just described half the male jockeys. But back to barrel racing. Once your horse knows the cloverleaf pattern, does he pretty much run on autopilot, or is it a team effort."
"It's more than a team effort," Mary said. "It requires a bond between you and your horse, and if your horse doesn't love it as much as you, you'll never have a champion."
Piper related to that completely. She'd seen the miraculous change in Rags once she was allowed to love racing instead of fighting her rider. And in an instant she realized that whereas she and Mary might be miles apart in their cultural upbringing, she could see them becoming fast friends, strange as it seemed. "Okay, this sport is a little more complex than I thought, but when a run is over in fifteen seconds, is there strategy to barrel racing?"
"Oh yeah. When you're just startin' out it's a little mind-bogglin' to manage everything you need to think about durin' a run, like about a hundred things durin' the seconds between barrels, but once you're racin' for the finish like the devil's on your tail, in your mind you're soarin'."
"I know the feeling. I just never thought about riding anything but a thoroughbred racer. I suppose a good barrel horse is fairly expensive," Piper said, wondering just how much a run-of-the-mill quarter horse would bring once it was trained.
"You bet. A high caliber racer with intelligence, drive, and willingness to please can run well over a $100,000." Mary stroked her horse's neck. "I wouldn't take anything for Walter. He's my shining boy, my best friend, my beacon in a storm. Not only is he an awesome athlete, he trusts me and no one else. We
have a bond that's special. I've been competin' on him since he was six and I hope to still be competin' when he's twenty."
Piper realized how narrow her world of horses was. Yet, until recently, she'd thought being a jockey and racing thoroughbreds encompassed everything she wanted out of life. But like it was when Ace took her cutting cattle, watching Mary and the other racers opened yet another world. Which made her wonder… "Could a thoroughbred be taught to run barrels?" she asked.
"Depends on the horse. Most thoroughbreds don't have the powerful hindquarters needed for the short fast bursts of speed, or the agility to get around the barrels. They also need sound legs and feet. Barrel racing's a punishing sport so a horse with soundness issues like a lot of thoroughbreds have won't make a consistent winner."
Piper wondered about Rags. She definitely had the powerful rear end, and her legs and feet were as sturdy as a quarter horse, one of the reasons she'd been classified as a frumpy dumpy thoroughbred by Mick and the rest of the guys in the stable. As for agility, there'd been times at the gate when Rags spun on a dime, and if ever there had been an agile horse, it was the day she ran amok with Edgar on her back while doing everything in her power to dislodge him. "I suppose you have to start training a barrel horse when it's very young," she commented.
"Not usually. A good time to start is when a horse is about five. Watchin' videos, you get an idea how different people handle their horses. You also see examples of how not to train. You can ruin a good horse by only runnin' him around barrels. Many get so speed crazy they're dangerous to ride. The way to get around it is to do a lot of trail ridin', cattle cutting… different things you both enjoy."
"How long does it take to train a barrel horse?" Piper asked, while also asking herself what in the devil she was doing? Rags was a racehorse, not a rodeo prospect.
"Several months of hard work, discipline, and practice, just to get started. Trainin' a horse for the clover leaf's no small feat. The horse should neck rein and respond to cues like leg pressure, it should be exposed to noises and people, and it should have a lotta hours on trails."
While Piper's mind reeled with images of Rags cutting cattle and racing barrels and even following the trail she'd taken with Ace down to the marsh, her thoughts were cut short when Ace returned and said, "I need to get back to the ranch and pen up one of the horses that needs care. The vet's comin' out right after bullridin', which is next."
They said their goodbyes, and once in the truck, Piper said to Ace, "I like Mary."
"Everyone likes Mary," Ace replied.
"I mean, I really like her. I wish we'd been friends when we were growing up. Things might have been different."
"Different how?"
"Maybe I would've liked you too."
"Where is this leading?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'm trying to say things to you."
"And I'm thinkin' this isn't the time. My grandfather's plannin' on offering you the chance to race Rags in the upcomin' race and you need to focus on that."
Piper looked at Ace in surprise. "When did you learn about this?"
"Last night."
"Why did you wait so long to tell me?"
"I had things to think about and needed some time."
"What kind of things?"
"Nothin'. Never mind. Just focus on the race. My aunt's alterin' the silk jersey you'll be wearin' since we're runnin' out of time with the race comin' up next week."
"Okay, I get the picture," Piper said.
"No, you really don't but that's the way it is right now."
Piper stared ahead at the winding road that followed the course of the Vermilion River as it made its way toward their ranches. Her joy at finally being given the chance to run with the boys was overshadowed by the fact that she couldn't help thinking Ace was on the verge of cutting things off, and she had to accept that and set her feelings for him aside and do exactly as he said. Focus on the race. But if Rags won, it would be a hollow victory because that would take her into the next race, and the next, and if Rags continued winning, somewhere along the way Ace would decide to sell and Rags could fall into the hands of people who'd mistreat her. It happened all the time, especially with playful horses and trainers who didn't understand them. And it would kill her to see the joy go out of Rags's life.
A part of her wanted Rags to lose the next race, whereby she'd approach Ace with a serious offer to buy, and if she had Mary make a barrel horse out of her, that would end the dilemma with Ace. She'd be here to feather his nest, and she could happily live the life of a rancher's wife and all it entailed. But there was another scenario she hadn't considered. Someone offering Ace a substantial sum for Rags, along with a contract for her as Rags' jockey. Which would open the door to everything she'd dreamed from the day she left home against her father's wishes to go to jockey school, fueled by the desire to prove him wrong. And if faced with the option of travelling the country as Rags' jockey while running in the big stakes races, she wasn't sure she could turn her back on that, in which case Ace would feather his nest with another woman.
CHAPTER 15
Ace could barely keep his eyes off Piper, who stood a few feet from him in the saddling paddock while receiving last-minute instructions from his grandfather shortly before the claiming race. Piper was a curvy little woman in a crimson and yellow silk shirt that barely contacted her body. A slight breeze would send it clinging to her breasts a couple seconds before fluttering away. Over her helmet she wore a crimson cap. Unlike the day of the match race though, her white pants were spotless, her tall black boots polished, and her overall appearance in marked contrast to Rags, who stood sedately on the end of a lead Gator held, while surveying the crowd.
Although Rags's held her head lofty, as if royalty, her appearance was anything but, pretty much matching her name. In fact, she looked about as disreputable as a thoroughbred could look. Her drab brown coat appeared suspiciously dull, as if Piper might have brushed some kind of dark powder through it, her overly-large ears stood straight up, and her mane and tail were an uneven tangle of twisted tufts of hair, like an old rag mop that had just been dragged over a very muddy floor. He couldn't help smiling. Her shoddy appearance, along with the 38-1 odds just posted on the tote board, all but guaranteed a "no claim." Barely a soul among those gathered at the paddock to get a closer look at the horses up for claiming gave Rags so much as a passing glance, except maybe a look of amusement that said, "You gotta be kidding."
Although his mind had drifted from what his grandfather was telling Piper, Ace picked up the conversation when he caught the words, gate position. Piper had drawn gate six in a field of seven horses, which his grandfather considered a plus. "Wide draws can be good, 'specially in the run-up to the first turn," he said. "There's less pressure than on the inside rail where she could get caught in a traffic jam. And if she turns out to be a come-from-behind runner, an outside post'll avoid all the bunchin' up durin' the push down the stretch."
"I don't know about a come-from-behind runner," Piper said. "If she bolts out of the gate and makes it to the front of the pack she might stay there and intimidate her way to the finish, but if she has a bad start she's likely to remain in back where she won't get bombarded with dirt."
Ace didn't like hearing negatives from Piper and he hoped she wasn't losing her bluster when she needed it most. "I'm thinkin' if you ask old muffinhead to run for you, she will," he said. "Just remind her she'll get her c-h-i-c-k-e-n," he spelled out, "when she's done."
"Oh, my gosh! I forgot it!" Piper exclaimed.
"No problem." Ace held up a bag with the rubber chicken. "If you want, I can stand at the finish line and wave it."
Piper laughed. "That would guarantee us first across the finish line, though we'd no doubt get scratched because Rags bulldozed her way to the front while leaving a path of destruction behind. Right now she's hyped up and ready to go."
Her last words were directed at his grandfather, who smiled at her and said, "Then let her set he
r own pace. Once in the backstretch ask her to start movin' up, then at the head of the homestretch start picking off the front runners. When she comes alongside each I'm bettin' she'll pull her bullying routine."
"I guess we'll see. This is her game to win or lose. I'll just be going along for the ride."
The dialog was cut short when the paddock judge called out, "Riders up!"
Henri gave Piper a leg up, and said, "Gotta go place my bet."
"You serious?" Piper asked.
"Sure. I'm bettin' a couple hundred to win. 38-1 odds'll bring over $7600."
After Henri left, Piper said to Ace, "He really has faith in this little Ragamuffin."
"So do I." Ace pulled a ticket from his pocket and slipped it into her boot. "Don't let it fall out. It's a hundred bucks to win, and with those odds, you'll be sittin' pretty."
"Wait! You're giving me the ticket? What about you?"
"I'm not a bettor."
"You just gave me a one-hundred-dollar ticket."
"That's a bonus. I'll be takin' home $14,000 when you win." He placed his hand on Piper's leg, "This really is your big chance. I'm confident you'll do it. Are you?"
"As confident as I'll ever be. I held Rags back the entire workout this morning because I didn't want anyone to realize her potential, but she's raring to go."
Ace looked at Rags with affection. The filly was getting under his skin in a way he hadn't expected. He had a fondness for all their cow ponies, but this filly had a personality he'd never found in a horse. "She's excited about all the cheerin'," he commented, on seeing the sparks of eagerness in the filly's eyes as she took in the crowd around her, head alert, ears pricked up in interest, like she knew she was part of the excitement.
Piper scanned the crowd. "She's always excited at races. All that cheering lets her know something big's going on and she wants to be a part of it but without a bully on her back taking all the fun out of the game. Today she'll have a chance to enjoy the crowd and have fun too."
"Just be sure to shove that ticket well down your boot. I don't want to spend the rest of the day runnin' around the track lookin' for it between races."
The Final Turn (Cajun Cowboys Book 2) Page 17