Page 53 of Trickster King

The RPS agent narrowed his eyes, and after a few moments, he replied, “I’ll tell the queen that we tried this only because opportunity allowed and that we yelled at you most viciously over wanting to try it.”

“You can yell at me after the jump so you’re being honest about it.” I checked Dynamite’s legs, confirming there was no heat or swelling in her joints, patted her shoulder, and mounted. Rather than work her up to a canter, I started her on a trot, sent her around the ring once, and then asked her for a canter. I rode her around once before determining she’d settled into her stride sufficiently. I guided her with my legs, set her towards the jump, and questioned everything about what I was doing. Rather than think about it, I kept my heels down, made use of my thighs and resisted the urge to involve my calves and ankles, and remembered to keep my back straight.

I focused on my position, rising in the saddle and taking care to move with her, giving her rein so she wouldn’t be caught in the mouth during the jump and landing.

Practice, albeit on other horses, made for perfect; we moved together into the jump, and after she reached her crest, I turned my attention to my next job.

She needed to land without me interrupting her natural movements. I allowed gravity to work, releasing enough rein so she could lift her head and nose while she landed, her lead leg taking the brunt of the landing.

As warned, it was a harder landing than I liked, but once she had her first hoof on the ground, I set my seat to minimize how much damage I might do if she stumbled.

She took her first step after the jump, recovered, and resumed her canter. I angled her to the arena wall, turned her, and allowed her to maintain her stride before easing her to a halt. I swung out of the saddle and went to work checking her legs, relieved when I couldn’t spot any sign of injury. Breathing a relieved sigh, I then turned to regard the jump.

The pole remained intact.

I blinked.

Dynamite lipped at my helmet strap, and after a few moments, managed to slobber all over my face. Laughing, I fended the mare off, praised her, and walked her in the direction of the jump.

I eyed Jerrod. “You didn’t put the pole back up, did you?”

He snorted and shook his head. “This is what people talk about when a good horse can carry a bad rider—except you’re not a bad rider. You’re not the world’s best jumper, not yet, but you’re good enough to handle a good horse on tall jumps. You did a decent job on the landing, though. You gave her enough room to move her head. A lot of riders forget their horse needs to move beyond the jump. Your lead into the jump was solid. You could be better, but you’ve been working at jumping. I can teach you. The landing was hard, but at that height? It’s always hard. How are you feeling?”

I rolled my shoulders, determined I hadn’t trashed my back, and said, “That was terrifying but fun.”

“That’s the name of this game. Your RPS agents turned fascinating shades of green at your approach. I’m pretty sure the two about threw up. Your boy idolizes you.”

I glanced Eddie’s way, and he bounced around Randy and Geoff, pointing at the jump.

“I’ve just created a devil, haven’t I?”

“You’ve sparked a dream, created a devil, and given yourself extra gray hairs when it comes time for that boy to learn how to fly, too. But I’ll do you a favor and convince him to stick to the Grand Prix rather than trying to beat your record.”

“How’d she do?”

“She flew a solid four inches over the bar. You didn’t just beat the record, you crushed it ruthlessly beneath your royal heel. And the best part is? Nobody is going to be able to say you bought your skill with money. Everyone knows you came from nothing. And when they find out you jumped a five hundred dollar horse? You’re going to make equestrians around the world weep.”

“She’s worth more than five hundred,” I groused.

“You know that and I know that, but her mixed breed says she’s a five hundred dollar horse, and once people find out she’s a mix? A horse lacking Grand Prix pedigree, for that matter? You’ll light fires. You mark my words, Your Majesty, you’ll light fires. None of the horses in her line went to the Grand Prix—or even got anywhere near close to it. The original breeders were just experimenting with breed mixes to see if any of the horses were viable.”

“You know what? The only fire I’m worried about right now is the one my wife lights under my ass for doing this.”

“At least you’re getting a world record out of it, right?” Jerrod gave my shoulder a pat. “Just think about it this way. There are a lot of Grand Prix champions in the world, but there’s only one world record holder. And right now, that’s you—and her. It’s my legacy for teaching her how to fly, and it’s yours for having the courage to fall.”

“You could have jumped that, couldn’t you?”

“Not anymore, no. I’m one fall from a broken back, so I do my teaching from the ground. But if the Grand Prix is what you want, I can take you there. You have a long way to go, but Dynamite is game. She’ll go as far as you are willing to take her.”

“I’ve got a stallion who needs better training. I want him to have that championship. I told his previous owner I’d take him there—and ride him with his ribbon into the hall to show him off. He was a gift.”

“A simple enough task on the surface, but I’m happy to give him a look to see if he’s good enough. Dynamite? She’s good enough.”

“I’d hope so after clearing a jump that high.”

“The height of the jumps is only the first part of the equation. You’re going to be a disadvantage to her with your bulk; you’re just more muscular than most jumping riders and jockeys. Had a smaller, lighter man been on her? Who knows how high she might have gone.”

“Yeah. The first time I raced a horse on a track, I cursed myself for my natural build. I can’t help it.” Jessica wouldn’t have me any other way, but some days, I wished I was on the leaner side. Once upon a time, malnutrition had put me there, but the instant I’d been put on a good diet, I’d built enough muscle I could barely recognize myself some days. “I’ve ridden a race, but it was only for fun. There’s no way I can get down to the right weight. Even if we gutted a saddle or went bareback, I’m too heavy. They added weights to the saddles to make it a little more fair because it was for fun.”

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