Riding Partner

Riding Partner

By Mary Winter

Copyright 2015 by Mary Winter

Smashwords edition published by Jupiter Gardens Press at Smashwords

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Prologue

2004—Athens, Greece

A thousand pounds of pure adrenaline galloped between Derek’s legs. Eyes up, back straight, knees and ankles absorbing the shock, he focused on the tall plank jump before him. The brightly colored boards advertised Visa, where everyone wanted to be. Right now, he wanted to be safely on the other side of the jump and heading into the last triple oxer before home. Mentally he counted out the strides. One. Two. Three. And jump!

Man and beast hurled through the air together. The force of the horse’s jump created a breeze that tugged at the hair not hidden beneath his helmet and fluttered the ends of the mare’s mane against his face. The horse’s front hooves hit the ground, followed by the back, immediately collecting for the next stride. Derek wanted to look over his shoulder, to listen for the rattling of boards hitting the ground, but he couldn’t. Not now. Only five fences separated him and his lover’s horse from an Olympic gold medal. He wouldn’t let Charles, or the mare, down now.

The mare strained against the bit. Easy, he crooned, using legs and hands to soothe her. Derek steered her into the tight corner leading to the three-jump combination. A hush of anticipation settled over the crowd. The sound of the mare’s snorting breaths mingled with the pounding of his heart. He struggled not to think about the last jump, tried not to think about the stakes. But how could he not when his country might be catapulted to the podium? With a clear round the American team members could wear gold medals around their necks.

Sensing his tension, the mare stiffened. With a nudge of his leg and a soft touch on the reins, Derek coaxed the right response out of the horse as she settled into the two strides before the combination.

Think only about the jump. With a deep breath, he relaxed his fingers, squeezed his calves and felt the mare push off the ground. They flew over the nearly six-foot jump, landing, collecting, and then they were airborne again. The wide jump demanded all the mare’s strength, all his concentration, and then they were down again. Was that a hoof he heard hitting the rail? The crowd next to the jump gasped, and he worried. And then the mare launched herself again, flying far above the last jump as if she too knew what was at stake.

They landed and when he turned, he saw all three jumps still upright. Triumph poured through him. They were going to do it. He was going to ride an Olympic gold medal-worthy round. The last to go in the jump-off, he felt the stares from the packed arena, felt the stares of his lover and of the other three competitors who’d gone before him in the jump-off.

The mare flew over the liverpool jump, not even startling at the six inches of blue water underneath it. She landed well past the white mark, her hooves clear of the water. And then they were headed for home. One more jump separated him from destiny.

Derek focused on the last vertical jump. Planks of white wood painted with the Olympic rings created the impression of a solid wall. Above the planks, suspended from two nearly flat jump cups, hung a single red-and-white-striped rail. Though the jump looked solid, any touch from the horse and it would topple. Adding to the difficulty, flowers and streamers fanned out from the side of the jump in a colorful distraction.

Time slowed. The flexion of each leg hitting the ground in a steady four-beat gallop rolled through his mind. He felt each hoof hit the ground, counted out each stride with agonizing slowness. No good rushing now, though the clock ticked past with damning hundredths of seconds. His mental stopwatch told him he did well. Derek refused to doubt his gut. The fence, just barely five feet tall, sat directly ahead.

Derek looked between the mare’s ears. He centered them on the jump, knew exactly where he wanted his takeoff point to be. One stride completed, three to go. The crowd sat, poised, its collective breath held in anticipation.

In his mind, he counted out the beats of the second stride, the infinitesimal moment when all four of the mare’s feet left the ground making his heart fly. The stride finished, bringing him that much closer to the fence. He lived for this—riding fast, jumping high and doing it all to the background noise of a roaring crowd.

Charles’ words echoed in his mind. She gets quick when she knows she’s about to finish. Keep her steady.

Derek kept his fingers quiet on the reins and the pressure of his legs steady against the mare’s sides. Another stride completed and they arrived at the fence. He held his position as the mare shifted her weight onto her hind legs. With a powerful thrust, she pushed off the ground.

Stretched over the mare’s neck, Derek glanced over at the stands. He saw Charles and an up-and-coming Greek horse trainer sitting together. A frown pulled the corners of his lips down and he felt the mare’s balance shift. Derek forced his gaze between the horse’s ears but it was too late. The mare flattened in response to her rider’s wandering thoughts, her body no longer a perfect arc over the jump. He held his breath as the front legs reached for the ground.

Thunk.

The mare’s hind hoof hit the rail. Derek refused to react, riding the jump through to the finish. He heard the crowd’s groan, the squeak of the rail in the cups. The mare landed and all he could think about was racing past the finish line.

The rail clattered against the ground. The hollow sound shot straight to his gut, so sickening he wanted to retch. Horse and rider flew past the finish line and the clock stopped.

Derek looked over his shoulder.There, on the last jump, the rail lay on the ground. Even now, though no one would ride after him, the ground crew hurried forward to replace the jump.

The speaker crackled to life. Rider number thirty-nine, Derek Whitten, riding Jubilance, owned by Charles DeMorinson and Two Fox Farms. Time—forty-point four-five seconds. Four faults.

Derek groaned. He’d ridden faster than everyone else, but at what cost? The four penalty points for the fallen rail negated the two-tenths of a second he’d saved. He’d ridden hell-bent for leather in an attempt to get the gold medal, and a foolish moment of inattention lost him the chance. He listened with half an ear to the announcer, took in the praise for his riding and the condolences for his loss from the other riders. When the final standings shook out, he and Charles’ mare earned the individual silver, keeping the American team firmly in second place and granting them all a second-place silver medal.

The victory gallop, with him riding second, passed in a blur and he barely had time to mutter his apologies to Charles as he grabbed Jubi’s reins before being hustled with the rest of the American show jumping team to the platform. He endured two medal ceremonies standing one platform lower than he should have, wondering how he would face Charles.

Derek hurried back to the barn, if onlys running through his thoughts as the clatter of the final rail echoed in his mind.

~ * * * ~

All the way back to the hotel the Olympic flags mocked him. People stopped to stare at the identifying badge hanging around his neck and tried to make small talk in the elevator. They saw him as a hero, an athlete, and right now Derek felt like neither. He felt like a failure. He’d blown his chance to prove to Charles that he could handle this level of competition. He’d always been the lesser partner—both in experience and financially—when it came to their dream of combining their farms. He wanted—no, needed—to prove to Charles that he was his equal in some way. That he, too, could shine on the international stage. He hurried back to the room and, once inside, closed the door and sagged against it. He’d proven to Charles once and for all that he wasn’t capable of training his horses.

Anger rose inside him, an old hurt that never quite healed. Two years ago Charles had needed someone to train his horses and instead of accepting help from