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I brought Gambler to a stop, patting his neck. “Let’s try that again, buddy. Nice and tight around those barrels, okay?”
We lined up for another run. This time, I kept my cues clear and consistent, guiding Gambler with my body and voice. We hit the first barrel, and though he still overshot, it was an improvement from before. Around the second barrel, we found our rhythm. Gambler responded beautifully to my cues, his athletic body coiled and ready for each turn. By the third barrel, we were flying, dirt kicking up behind us as we raced for the finish line. I let out a whoop as we crossed the line. It hadn’t been a perfect run but still a damn good one. With a little more practice, Gambler and I would be unstoppable.
We ran the pattern again and again, each time smoothing out the rough edges. Gambler’s overshoot at the first barrel became less pronounced, his turns tighter and more controlled. By the end of our session, sweat dampened his coat and my blue long-sleeve Henley clung to my back, but the satisfaction was undeniable.
I dismounted, leading Gambler out of the arena. My muscles ached in that pleasant way that came from a great workout. I unsaddled Gambler and brushed him down, ignoring the nagging in my stomach. Sure, we still had work to do, but we’d be ready for the first rodeo this weekend. Gambler had the speed, and I was the daughter of a rodeo legend.
We have what it takes to win, and nothing is going to stop us.
***
Gambler was kicking firmly and rhythmically into the rubber-coated door of the trailer.
“How did he load?” I asked our longtime ranch hand, Ben, as I approached the truck and threw my bag into the backseat.
“Oh, he knows every trick in the book to get out of loading, but unfortunately for him, so do I.” Ben grinned at me through his salt-and-pepper whiskers. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you and unload him on the other side?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine.” I loved to drive alone, hauling my horses to rodeos with windows down and music blaring. Gambler could kick along to the beat if he wanted to. There wasn’t much damage he could do in that rig.
“I think that’s a good idea!” My mother’s voice called out from inside the barn. She emerged seconds later, frowning in disapproval, followed by my father. “Let him drive so that horse doesn’t kill you.”
“If he’s going to kill me, it will not be by unloading him from the trailer; it’ll be by coming around the third barrel and racing to home.” I smiled sweetly at her, which only made her frown deeper.
My father tried his best to hide his grin but failed. He understood me and my need to win. Before settling into the ranch life, Cal Jackson had been a rodeo cowboy—the best of the best. He’d never backed down from any bucking bull.
Dad and I were so much alike, though my passion was barrel racing, not bulls. I’d given my mother some relief with that, at least.
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Kinsley,” she scolded. “Why can’t you keep riding Cherokee? She ran so well for you last year.”
“She did. And I will keep riding her. But I didn’t finish first last year. Gambler will get me there.”
I’d finished third in points overall last season, which of course was great, but it wasn’t first. I was Cal Jackson’s daughter. While my dad didn’t put the pressure on me to win, the rest of the world did. I was good, even at a young age. I grew up on the rodeo scene with all eyes on me, constantly being told I had my father’s talent, fearlessness, and drive. My bar had been set high right from day one, and I desperately wanted to scale it and be the best, just like he was. Just like everyone expected me to be.
Gambler was a recent impulse purchase. He was so fast, but he also had a reputation—he was kind of mean and unpredictable. If you got a good ride out of him, he was incredible, but he gave just as many bad rides, maybe more.
He’d sent his last owner to the hospital with a slew of injuries. That was why she’d sold him. Lucky me! I needed that speed if I was going to win, and I was positive that I could handle him.
The breeze blew a lock of my long blonde hair into my mouth, and I brushed it away.
“Do you want me to braid your hair for you before you go?” my mother asked, brushing her own blonde strands away from her face.
“How am I supposed to feel the wind in my hair if it’s in a silly braid?” I teased.
“Stop fussin’ over her, Marian.” Dad wrapped his arm around his wife and pulled her into his side. “Kinsley is all grown up and knows what she’s doing.”
I resisted the urge to remind them that, at twenty-four, I’d been grown up for a while now.
Another loud kick sounded from inside the trailer. Such an impatient boy.
I peeked at Gambler through the window. “Hush now. We’re going right away.”
Another kick.
I opened the door of the trailer and let myself in. “Hey, grumpy man,” I cooed at him.
He took my breath away every time I looked at him. Gambler was stunning—well, usually. At the moment, he had bits of hay sticking out of his mouth, and he must’ve rubbed his head on his hay net because hay was stuck in his forelock, making it look more like a bird’s nest.
I laughed at his goofy appearance, pulled the hay out, and smoothed his mane. I ran my hands down his face, breathed in that wonderful sweet and earthy horse scent, and planted a kiss on his nose. “We’re going to win together, aren’t we, boy? You do what you do best and run like the wind.”
