Page 51 of Trickster King

I winced, as while half the point of the Grand Prix was to have challenging jumps, horses who jumped too high ran significant risk of injury. “How high?”

“Without a rider, we’ve measured her at jumping well over seven feet. We don’t know precisely how high, but she might be able to crest eight. We didn’t have the poles up.”

My brows shot up, as the world record of a horse with rider was in the eight foot ballpark. The Grand Prix jumps rang in at a little over five feet.

I wondered if she could fly, and I wanted to see if she could fly with me in the saddle.

“You got a record tracker?” I asked, eyeing the mare.

“There’s an officiator who lives not far from here. He’s game to see what our horses can do, and he doesn’t mind doing the extra work to make it an official record. He handles tracking our qualifications for the Grand Prix. Why?”

“Give him a call and ask him to come over. Set a jump for seven feet, make sure you got the measurement poles up for eight and a half, and let’s see if she actually wants to fly.” I went to the mare, introduced myself, and smiled at her inquisitive nature. “Have you been exercising her?”

“We didn’t stop working her despite the fungus. Her case is minimal so she can still be ridden. You want to try her?”

“We’ll see if she can handle my weight.” I eyed her legs, which were sturdier than I expected from a lot of the jumping horses. However, I couldn’t identify her breed on appearance alone, something that puzzled me. “What breed is she?”

“She’s a four-way mix. Her dam is a Trakehner mixed with Arabian. Her sire is a thoroughbred mixed with a Hanoverian. She’s part of a long-term experiment to see if somebody can breed a whole new line of jumping horse. So far, Dynamite is the only one who has shown true promise. The rest are decent jumpers but not Grand Prix contenders.” Jerrod came over, took the mare’s lead line, and asked her for a piaffe. She did as asked, staying in place as though somebody had rammed a rod through her center. My brows went up at the mare’s elegant, fluid motions.

If her jumps were anywhere near as graceful, she’d take ribbons in any discipline I pointed her at. “All right, you have my attention, Jerrod.”

“She’s better at dressage than she is at jumping.”

“One race breed and three jumping breeds created a dressage horse?” I blurted, walking around her and wondering how one horse could be so talented.

“We think she’s a genetic fluke. Everything rolled right with her. I got her cheap because she didn’t look like much to the breeder. The breeder now has regrets, but that’s his problem. You’re my best chance of getting this horse to show the world her worth.”

I rubbed my hands together and resisted the urge to do a dance in place. “If she’s up for my weight, I’m up for giving her a shot at that jump.”

According to the glares of my RPS agents, they wished I would change my mind.

“I’ll go get her saddled and call the officiator. He won’t take long to get here. Call it an hour to get the jump set up along with the cameras so we can record her performance. This jump is high enough it’s a once and done; we don’t allow our horses to try jumps like this more than once a month and only if they’ve passed their health checks. I’ll start you on a series of lower jumps to make sure you’re up for handling it.”

“I’ve done Grand Prix height jumps,” I informed him. “Please don’t tell my wife that. She does not know I’m interested in the Grand Prix.”

“Your secret is safe with me, but I’m not sure it’s safe with your security.” Jerrod eyed the collection of RPS agents, and they all continued to glare at me.

“The arena has sand, I will wear a helmet, and we’re going to test her on shorter jumps, too,” I promised. “It will be good for Eddie to see an excellent horse in action, and if she flies for me today, I’ll take her to the Grand Prix myself. Texans love when they win, and they’ll accept when another Texan wins. They won’t know what hit them.”

“You still have to qualify, Your Majesty,” Randy reminded me.

“Come on, Randy. It’s one of the few times I can mix work and pleasure. If I’m trying for the Grand Prix championship, I have to do that diplomatic stuff my wife hates. If I’m doing the diplomatic stuff my wife hates, the RPS is happier. Why are you happier? You’re happier because most people don’t get mad at me. They just think they can pick on my wife and win, which is rather foolish of them.”

Geoff let out his breath in a gusty huff. “Just let him try. If we’re lucky, the mare will balk, he’ll hit the sand, and he’ll be reminded why he should stick to other disciplines or the standard rodeo circuits.”

“I could be riding bulls instead.”

My statement made every single one of the RPS agents present flinch.

“Grand Prix or bulls, boys? Which will it be?”

Randy bowed his head. “Grand Prix.”

“That’s what I thought. But I’ll be careful. I’ll wear any and all safety gear you think is worth wearing, and I’ll make sure my horse is as best trained as possible. It’s dangerous, but the amount of danger can be limited with skill, skill I intend on refining until I win.”

With a smile, Jerrod took the mare off. “I’ll bring her back saddled and ready to go, and we’ll set up a little course for you to try that will test you both. If you pass my test, I’ll train you both myself. Ending my career with my last student taking the Grand Prix is how I want to go out. I hope you’re ready to work, Your Majesty, because every minute I have you, I’ll be busting your ass.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

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