As for the outcome? That was up to the fates. But she was going to do her level best to be lucky by trying to ride better than she ever had.
While Chester held the reins, Devlin gave her a leg up. Their eyes met and held.
As she settled into the saddle, the groom lectured the stallion.
“Now, listen here, ya big troublemaker. I’ll strike ya a deal. Be nice, mind your manners an’ there’ll be a bucket a’ sweet feed waiting for ya. Misbehave an’ I’m feedin’ ya nothing but dry grass for the rest a’ the month.”
Sabbath blinked and offered a snicker, as if he’d consented to the marching orders.
The first rider out on the course was disqualified after his horse refused the wall. The inauspicious start proved providential. By the time eight competitors had gone into the ring, two more had been disqualified for refusals, one had taken a fall and three had twelve-faulted.
It was the kind of competitive carnage that was expected.
In the warm-up ring, Sabbath was agreeable, jumping with sound mastery and becoming only a little rambunctious with the other horses. He seemed to accept the work A.J. was asking of him and this was a huge relief because she wanted to spare her injury as long as she could. She’d taken some Motrin just before she’d mounted, and her arm was feeling fairly strong, but the more energy she could save before their turn over the course, the better.
While practicing, she noticed Philippe Marceau cantering around on the roan mare. He was going tenth, she’d learned. Typically, he was paying more attention to the other competitors than to his own warm-up and he sent several pitying glances at A.J., none of which hid his calculation. Concentrating on Sabbath, she ignored the man and didn’t even watch his round or check his results after he finished.
Before she knew it, Devlin was leading her and Sabbath to the ring.
“Watch the mound,” he said. “That’s where they’re falling.”
A.J. nodded. “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.”
Her name was called out through the loudspeakers and Sabbath took his cue from her heels. With a flash of his black tail, they pranced forward into the ring. Overhead, the announcer went on to describe some of her recent accomplishments, the man’s aristocratic vowels and Rs rolling like croquet balls.
A.J. and Sabbath made a pass by the president of the club so she could doff her hat to him and the officials of the event. A minute later, she heard the all-clear sound and set the stallion into a canter. They took one last circle before facing off at the first jump and then crossing the start line.
The stallion took the opening oxers with such grace even A.J. heard the crowd’s swell of approval through her concentration. Cutting into the first turn, he didn’t fight her; rather he seemed to understand her thinking, and they ended up in perfect position for the next jump. With a stunning combination of poise and power, they soared over the wall and continued onward.
In the crowd, momentum for them grew with every fence they cleared, spurred by the strength of the stallion and A.J.’s firm control of him. Watching from the rail, Devlin heard the rapt sighs and gasps as each jump was mastered and knew he was seeing history being made. A.J. and the stallion were jumping faster and cleaner than any of the other competitors, than anyone would have dared expect.
As the two approached the water jump, A.J. reined in Sabbath, slowing them down, giving him a little time to collect himself. She could feel the stallion’s hesitancy, a faint stiffening in his legs, but he didn’t shy away and, when he leapt with surprising confidence into the air, they cleared the obstacle with room to spare.
It was, people would agree afterward, the round of a lifetime.
Right up until the unthinkable happened.
Going cleanly into the last three jumps, Sabbath and A.J. approached the mound with its raised platform and rail fence. They had speed and a good angle in their favor. In the saddle, A.J. was feeling solid. With his hooves pounding over the ground, the stallion was bearing down on the jump steadily. They were going to make it.
Suddenly a brilliant explosion of light went off in Sabbath’s face. A photographer, determined to get a picture of them, had forgotten to turn off his flash.
Blinded, the stallion lost his stride and leapt to one side. A.J. tried to correct their course by throwing her weight in the opposite direction and pulling back on the reins. Their velocity was too great, however, and the platform rushed up to them. Sabbath was forced to jump at an angle and they scrambled onto the grass, wildly off-balance.
To keep him from awkwardly leaping over the upright and plummeting to ground level with a landing that would hurt his legs, A.J. yanked back on the reins, trying to redirect them down the side of the platform. It was too much stress on her arm. A stinging pain shot through to her shoulder and she was crippled with agony. Sabbath jerked one way, to clear the rail, and she lurched the other, loosing the traction of the stirrups.
With a sickening dread, she felt herself losing her seat in the saddle and then watched, in the disorienting slow motion of impending injury, as the stallion cleared the jump without her. Her final thought, before she hit the ground, was how beautiful he looked as he sailed through the air.
A.J. landed hard and blacked out.
As medics ran to her, the crowd went silent with shock. Then a heavy, rhythmic pounding began to overwhelm the field. Starting with the feet of the club members, and spreading on a wave of sympathy and regret, the whole crowd beat the bleachers, announcing the awful news. The noise rose louder and higher, until everyone on the grounds halted whatever they were doing, their blood running cold. There was only one reason for the sound, a kind of static death march.
Someone had fallen. And could not remount.
17
DEVLIN WATCHED in horror as she fell from the stallion. With a leap, he cleared the rail and ran into the ring, just behind the medics. Raw fear was raging through him as they did a preliminary examination and ran an IV line into A.J.’s arm. As she was loaded onto a stretcher, her eyes flipped open. He rushed forward and took her hand.
“Sabbath?”
Devlin had forgotten all about the horse. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing that Chester already had hold of the stallion and was walking him around slowly.
“He’s with Chester.”
“S’okay?”
He nodded to reduce her agitation. It wasn’t enough.
“His legs?” She began to rise.
Devlin put a hand on her shoulder, pressing her gently back down. He didn’t even look at the stallion. “He’ll be fine.”