Chapter One
The horse reared.
“Easy there,” Caro said, her chest making contact with the paint’s mane. She tightened her legs, holding on. “Whoa,” she added, her black cowboy hat almost falling from her head.
Thumper came back to earth with a snort and a shake of his black mane, only to spin around. Caro did her best to point toward the narrow alley that led to the arena—and Thumper’s freedom.
“Easy there, boy,” she said, jamming down her hat.
The gelding half reared again, his mouth working the bit, flecks of foam landing on his sweaty chest. Fifteen hundred pounds of horseflesh tensed, muscles at the ready, all waiting for one thing: Caro to let him go.
“Not yet,” she told him, glancing left.
He was still there.
She’d noticed the man during her warm-up. The indoor sports complex didn’t have a big practice pen, and since only rodeo competitors were allowed behind the chutes, spectators were rare. He stood out like a tick on a hound in his brown sports coat and beige cotton slacks. His tan cowboy hat shielded his eyes from her view at the moment, but they’d been trained on her the whole time she and Thumper had been loping around the ring. Eyes as black as the hair beneath his hat.
The roar of the crowd caused Thumper to lift his head, ears pricked forward. The rider on course was nearing the end of her run. Caro couldn’t see inside the arena; the sports venue had been built for basketball and hockey, not cowgirls and cowboys. She and Thumper were tucked around a corner, so that when it was their turn to run, they’d have to race through a narrow corridor lined with aluminum fences, veer left and then crank up the speed.
Thumper lunged. Caro checked him again. Linda charged out of the tunnel right then.
Time to go.
The gate man called her number over the roar of the crowd. “One seventy-nine!” Caro could hear the voice of the rodeo announcer, but was too far away to catch how good a run Linda had had.
“Easy, boy,” Caro said, because she could see Thumper’s shoulder twitch, a certain sign he was about to erupt.
All right, Daddy, Caro prayed. Here I go again. Help me out if you can.
She applied pressure, and that was all it took. A simple squeeze. No kick, no leather strap, nothing. And even though she expected it, Caro’s upper body still jerked back, her hat almost knocked off again. The paper number pinned to her back rustled. She righted herself about the time she passed by the man who’d been watching her, her left hand on her hat, holding it in place. The arena opened up before her. She focused, not even hearing the screams of the fans. Thumper’s stride grew long. There it was: the first barrel.
Three…two…one…
They began to turn, Thumper’s hooves digging into the ground. The smell of dirt filled her nose as they leaned and tilted some more, lower still….
Her knee brushed the barrel.
She gasped. The obstacle rocked. She stretched out her arm and tried to right it, but couldn’t reach it. And now Thumper was moving on to the second barrel. Had the first one fallen? She didn’t know. Couldn’t look back. Rodeo fans rose to their feet as she careered toward the next obstacle.
Three…two…
Too fast. She tried to pull up. Thumper didn’t respond, but began his turn. It felt like being on the end of a yo-yo. Caro hung on the whole trip around, and when she looked up, she could see the first barrel. It still stood.
Thank God.
One more to go.
She thrust her upper body forward, her silky shirt with its glittering rhinestones glistening beneath the arena lights. This would be the longest run. They’d have the most speed, too, and so the timing needed to be perfect.
Three…two…one…
There. Perfect. She leaned once more. Thumper shifted, too. It felt fast.
Bam.
Her knee again. Damn it. She shot a glance back as they charged away.
The barrel stood!
Thank you, Lord, she breathed, closing her eyes for a split second. When she opened them again, she and Thumper were halfway down the arena. She could feel the saddle hit Thumper’s back. Thump, thump, thump…her reason for naming him. Faster and faster. The wind made her eyes tear. And then she and the gelding dashed through the electronic beams that tracked the elapsing seconds.
“Thirteen point forty-three!” she heard the announcer say. “Wow! That’s our best time right there, ladies and gentlemen. Caroline Sheppard is leading the barrel racing….”
She tuned the words out. Fast time. That was all she’d needed to hear. But would it hold up?
Thumper resisted when she pulled back, but Caro demanded he obey. He slowed. They passed beneath the concrete archway and into the tunnel, turned right. “Whoa,” she ordered.
Reluctantly, Thumper did as asked. “Good boy,” she said, patting his neck. He was dripping with sweat.
“Nice run,” Melanie said from the back of a horse that was rearing and snorting as badly as Thumper had been.
“Thanks.” Caro trotted past her toward the
