Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
But you could protect her better if you were with her, a traitorous voice said in the back of my mind. You could fend off the wolves.
Fuck.
Just the thought of her going on tour and only coming back occasionally . . . I hated it. I shouldn’t want it. I should be stronger; I should resist her. But there was a pull between us that I couldn’t explain, one that I couldn’t release no matter how hard I tried.
I could never have anything with her. I couldn’t risk her that way. But I could be there in the background, watching over her.
And I’d love to watch her compete.
Shit, watching her jump was like a religious experience. I had no doubt she and Huxley were going to be contenders for the top spot at each Grand Prix. And the thought of only watching her on TV and not from the arenas themselves made me spitting mad. I wanted to see the footing kick up and cloud as she landed. I wanted to hear the gasps from the crowd as she won the jump-offs. I wanted to see Huxley puffing for breath and Hallie’s flushed cheeks as they finished another round victorious.
Unable to sit still, I rose from my desk, threw on my coat, and went to our barn. It always brought me solace. Within minutes I had Henry brushed down and tacked up. I grabbed my hat and led him to our private arena. Henry stood perfectly still as I mounted him. “Walk on, boy,” I said, and immediately felt the excitement in my horse at simply being near the course of fences before us.
It had become a kind of game at this point, between me and Leon. He knew I still rode. All my family did. And Leon, an epic course designer in his own right, would sneak in each day while I was in my office and rejig the jumping course for my nightly training sessions.
I clicked my tongue and Henry moved to a trot. “Good boy,” I said as I worked out the course. It was difficult, as hard as it would be in any Grand Prix, and just being on my stallion, sussing out the order of fences, made goose bumps accost my body.
Nothing else made me feel this way. The thrill and excitement that came with the challenge of a new course. Of pushing me and Henry to see just how far we could go, what our ceiling actually was. We hadn’t reached it yet. And that was the most devastating part of it all.
We still had ladders to climb and accolades to win. But I wouldn’t put my horse in danger. Or myself. Genny needed me. As did my cousins.
And Henry . . . I would never have my heart horse hurt.
For the past year and a half I had worried I would never find this feeling again. I moved Henry into a canter and turned toward the first fence. Henry’s strides were perfect, and we flew over the first oxer, a brightly colored set of neon-green-and-pink poles. Henry never shied from a fence, even when the fillers and poles were gaudy or the pictures upon them were spooky to most horses. The goal of every course designer was to make the horse and rider collect faults. Over the years, the poles and fences had gotten brighter and more patterned to put the horses off. The fillers and wings had too, showcasing logos or garish branding or even things such as Land Rovers or miniature houses.
Locally, a replica of Tower Bridge was a favorite. Where most horses would hesitate, unsure whether they should approach it, Henry never flinched. I was sure at this point he could jump a moving tornado and not even bat an eye.
I had to hold Henry steady to keep him from racing over the next fence. He lived for the arena, and I felt awful that I was depriving him of what he loved most. He loved this; I loved it. There’d been nothing like it for the past eighteen months, nothing came close . . . until I watched Hallie jump the first day I saw her on Huxley. And all the times I’d watched her since.
“Again, boy,” I said as we jumped all but the last three.
Henry turned to a spread fence—his favorite—and cleared it perfectly. I smiled as we cleared the next, then went for the last, a small puissance-type mock-brick wall—but still high for a regular jump.
Henry’s ears flicked forward and he picked up speed. Then in the way only Henry could, he took flight. The breeze whipped past my head, and I crouched forward, loosening the reins, giving him the freedom he needed to carry us over smoothly. When his hooves hit the ground, I wrapped my arms around his neck. “You never miss, boy,” I said, and ran my hand through his platinum mane. In the past five years, Henry and I had won over eight Puissance competitions. It was mostly what we were famous for. Then just like that, my previously full heart fell, and guilt assaulted me.