Page 32 of The Cowboy's Redemption
“You don’t think it’s a good idea?”
“You know I don’t. He hasn’t competed in a long time, and it’s unlikely he’s gotten over his anxiety around crowds. You should have sold him after your fall. He handles better for men.”
Meaning Crackerjack trusted a firmer hand than she used. He preferred a heavier weight in the saddle. He liked knowing a boss was in charge and not just along for the ride. He’d do well with someone solid and steady and patient, like Levi—whose confidence ran deep, rather than swirled on the surface.
She’d never accept that. Crackerjack was her horse and her responsibility. She should have worked harder to help him get over his anxiety. “We aren’t going to fall twice.”
“What makes you so sure? You’re afraid of him, Dana.”Dana, notDora, meaning her dad wasn’t messing around. “Riding him won’t do either one of you any favors.”
She got her stubborn streak from her dad. “I’m not afraid.”
“Prove it to me.” He leaned slightly forward, with one elbow hooked on the fence. Challenge shone from eyes the same shade of blue as her own. “He’s warmed up. Let’s set up some barrels and see how you work as a team.”
She refused to concede that her dad might be right. That he might know her, and her horse, better than she did. He hailed Crackerjack’s rider, who rode over. The man dismounted, then sat on the fence to watch while they adjusted the saddle. He offered some friendly advice, which she didn’t need.
“Thank you. I know my own horse,” she said, Lady Dana gifting him with a smile to negate any rudeness, while she focused on proving her father wrong.
She rubbed Crackerjack’s nose, puffing short breaths of air into his nostrils until he sneezed, then snuffled her chest. He shied when she put her foot in the stirrup but steadied after she swung into the saddle.
He was bigger than Lady. He had a whole lot more power too, but also less raw, untapped energy than Tanoa. Dana rode him around the arena a few laps, getting reacquainted with his gait while her dad set up the barrels and her heart settled down. She was nervous. Judging by the twitching muscles between her thighs, Crackerjack was, too.
But this wasn’t a race. They didn’t have to beat anyone’s time or set any personal bests. There was no prize money riding on it, only pride. She guided him out of the arena, and they waited at the gate until her dad gave her the signal. He’d pulled a stopwatch from somewhere. Dana ignored it.
Her dad dropped his arm. Dana spurred Crackerjack into action with the smooth heels of her sneakers and they shot into the arena. Crackerjack’s speed on the turns wasn’t what it should be, but as he rounded the last barrel and sprang for the gate, he ran like the demon possessed.
She swung him around and trotted back into the arena.
Her dad stared at the stopwatch in his hand, shaking his head. “Your grandma could ride faster than that,” he said, but his smile was so broad, the corners stretched to his ears.
“Still think we can’t do it?” Dana demanded, pretty sure her own smile was as wide, because she’d had her own doubts.
“This is hardly a crowd.” Her dad indicated several spectators who’d gathered at the rail to watch Billings’s best barrel racer take her second-best horse for a run. “But, baby,” he said, patting her leg and looking up at her with pride shining bright in his eyes, “I think you can do whatever you set your mind to. Let’s see how the two of you make out in McCone County.”
She hadn’t withdrawn from McCone. She knew she should go. It was a long road to Las Vegas, and even without the lure of finals, career-wise, she needed the points and the money if she planned to continue.
All she had to do was tell Levi that she’d had fun, but it was time for her to get back to work and earn her living.
But not yet.
*
Levi
While Dana droveto Billings to pick up clothes from her parents’ house for the funeral, Levi made a similar stop at his parents’ place in Grand. His mom kept a few suits in a closet that he and his brothers all tended to borrow when short notice required one. She made sure they were always dry-cleaned and pressed and ready to wear.
From the outside, the 1930s-era Harrington family home wasn’t anything extraordinary. It was boxy and sturdy, built for functionality and not curb appeal. Outside appearances, however, weren’t what made it a home.
The two-story house and attached two-car garage sat on a corner lot, giving it extra yard space that the Harringtons put to good use. Cars, motorcycles, dirt bikes, had all seen repairs here. Abandoned spare parts leaned drunkenly against the brown wooden siding. Street hockey, football, and basketball continued to be favorite pastimes for grandparents, parents, and grandchildren, although his mom’s layups weren’t what they used to be.
Four bedrooms might seem like a lot from the curb, but seven kids had been crammed into three. A second bathroom had been added at his mother’s insistence because getting ready for work with all those kids also getting ready for school had put a serious strain on her time management skills. Thanks to grandchildren—and Levi—those bedrooms were never empty for long, even though the original seven occupants had grown up and moved on.
He entered the house through the garage door that opened into the kitchen. His dad and two older brothers had made some renovations fifteen years or so ago, combining it with the family room to make a bright, open space for people to gather.
Right now, his mom was alone at the enormous round kitchen table where countless family meals had been served, an e-reader in her hand and cup of coffee within reach. He smelled gingerbread. His favorite.
She got up to hug him when he walked in. “Sweetheart. What brings you to town?”
“I need a suit for the funeral.”
