Whatever happened, A.J. decided it couldn’t be worse than how she’d feel if she walked away.
With a nod, she began to wheel Sabbath around.
“It’s going to be okay,” he told her.
As she looked at him, Devlin was facing her with such conviction, she felt herself buoyed by his confidence in her. She wondered how she could possibly go into the ring without his support. In the midst of her chaos and self-doubt, he was as steady as bedrock. She didn’t think for a moment he wouldn’t be there to encourage her, coach her, pick her up if she was to fall.
“With you here,” she said, “I believe that to be true.”
Her mind wandered as they went over to the show ring. There was a feeling in the middle of her chest that defied easy description. It made her wonder whether true love wasn’t a combination of the calming warmth of security backed up by the intense heat of passion. It was a hell of a mix, she thought.
Together, they paused in front of the show ring’s main gate and got updated on the competition. There hadn’t been a clean round yet and there were two riders left ahead of her with one of them about to start the course. When she heard Philippe Marceau’s name, A.J. didn’t bother hiding her disgust.
The Frenchman was astride a tall roan mare, one of his frequent mounts. A good jumper, the horse was at the top of her form and, from the moment the buzzer sounded, she took the jumps with ease and power. Up on her back, Marceau was in total control, angling the mare well and driving her over each fence with confidence. As he led them into the final sharp turn, and barreled around to confront the oxer combination, A.J. held her breath with the rest of the crowd. If the two made it through, they’d end with a clear round; she was sure of it.
The mare took the combination and the last jumps perfectly and, as the two galloped over the finish line to a smattering of applause from the crowd, A.J. looked over to Devlin. “For a miserable human being, he sure can ride.”
“No, that’s a good horse. You could have put a bag of doughnuts on her back and she’d have done just as well.”
She grinned.
There was one more rider before her and A.J. waited impatiently for her turn. Sabbath began to feed off her tension, so she tried to hold herself as still as possible, regulating her breathing. The last thing they needed was any more juice in his blood.
When her number was called, she swallowed her fears and jogged the stallion into the ring, bringing him to a skittish pause in front of the judges. As she looked around, she noticed that all activity on the fairgrounds had come to a halt. It seemed as if every pair of eyes in the whole place were trained on her and the towering black stallion.
So this was what fifteen minutes of infamy was like, she thought, removing her hat and bowing her head to the judges.
What A.J. didn’t know was that people might have glanced up once to see what all the gossip was about but they stared because of how spectacular she and the stallion looked together. Sabbath’s imposing power and height as well as his midnight coat and flashing eyes would have been noticed anyway. But teamed with A.J.’s long-limbed grace and classic beauty, the two were a knockout.
Putting her hat back on, A.J. guided the stallion out to the rail. When she heard the buzzer, she coached him into a canter and approached the first fence. He fought hard for his head but she didn’t let him get away with much and they cleared the jump well enough. Going into the second, he tried to skid out of bounds but she held him firmly and they went on to take the next several fences with no faults.
Underneath her saddle, A.J. could feel Sabbath surging over the ground, his great barrel chest drawing in gallons of air to feed the enormous muscles of his haunches. Pounding over the ground and then leaping off for moments that lasted an eternity, she could feel a rhythm growing between them. His power became her own as they leapt free of gravity and then crashed back down. It was a thrilling, pumping, harrowing journey.
And for a moment, she was grateful.
Unfortunately, her joy was short-lived. Heading into the straightaway before the final tight turn, A.J. defensively tried to slow their velocity but the stallion had no intention of giving in. No matter how far back she threw her weight, he charged ahead as if he were getting ready to jump out of the ring itself. They came into the turn out of control despite her efforts, and he fought her as she tried to bring him around, throwing his head and skipping out from under his hindquarters.
There was no way they were going to make the oxers, A.J. thought desperately as she tried to rein him around. The angle was all wrong.
She tried once more to shift her weight back and to the side. Sabbath’s breath was coming in great steamy explosions and she felt his body heaving under the tremendous pistons of his legs. She knew if they didn’t slow down, they were going to get hurt. Missing the turn at that kind of speed meant they would have to jump the ring’s fence or crumple into the corner in a heap.
That thought must have dawned on the stallion because, in the nick of time, he came about and shifted direction like a gale-force wind. It was too much, too late. They took the first oxer wide and scaled its mammoth girth at a thick angle. This meant they had to cover more horizontal distance than they would have if they’d approached the jump head-on.
A.J. heard his back hoof strike a rail hard but didn’t have time to dwell on whether it hit the ground. They were so far off course, she’d have to steer them hard right so they didn’t make the second jump harder than it was, or worse, miss it altogether. Even more alarming, she had only one stride to correct their direction. She knew if she leaned too far or pulled his head too much, they’d take the jump off-balance, and that wouldn’t just be bad form; it was dangerous. They could both end up sprawling over the towering fence and, between their speed and its height, that could mean serious injury.
In a split second, it occurred to her the only way they were going to get over the oxer without getting hurt was if she let go and gave him his head. If Sabbath wanted to take the jump, he would. If he shot around the side of the oxer, it was better than her face-planting in the dirt, bouncing off the oxer or him injuring himself.
As soon as she loosened her hold on his head, Sabbath responded with a quick jab to the right. They sailed over the jump but lacked the good approach that would have let them clear it cleanly. As they landed, she heard the unmistakable sound of a rail hitting the ground.
Crossing the finish line, A.J. felt a measure of relief. The round hadn’t gone well but it wasn’t a complete disaster, either. Considering that Sabbath was prone to be more trouble than just being genetically disobedient, she figured she’d gotten off pretty easily.