Page 6 of Bucked By Love

I summon up all my confidence and put on a disinterested mask. “Hey.”

Riley glances over at me. There’s that crooked, familiar smile. “Hey, there.”

Politely, I extend a gloved hand. “Claire Preacher. Good work out there.”

He looks at my hand and his smile only grows. He clasps his hand in mine, giving it a hearty shake. “I know who you are. Riley Ransom.”

I tilt my head. “I’m sorry about your parents, Riley.”

He blinks. “How do you mean?”

My cheeks instantly go pink, because I’m called myself out.

I’m a snob. And now he knows.

Daddy’s training unravels and, in my mistake, I start stumbling through my words.

“I just…I mean…they’re enthusiastic…”

He chuckles. “That’s us Ransoms. Enthusiastic.”

I’m saved by the intercom. “Up next, dressage!”

“I have to go,” I say quickly. I give him a curt nod. “Ransom.”

He winks. “Preacher.”

I spin on my heels and rush away before the flame in my cheeks gets too bright. I walk past Loren and his father, Arris. Even in my hurry to get away, I can hear Loren’s voice pitch as he throws a fit with the judges.

Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Stupid. Stupid of me to talk to Riley. What did I think was going to happen?

We can’t mingle. We’re too different. We live in two different worlds. His world is too…

Enthusiastic.

I reach Calypso and, finally, I can breathe again. I’m back in my element, even if my heart is still racing. Here, I go back to what I do best. Performing.

I’ve done these competitions dozens of times. I know the routine. My body falls into the motions and I use it as a distraction to try to shake free this awkward feeling that clings to me like a shadow.

They clear the race track from the ropers and make way for the dressage riders.

Before I know it, I’m on top of Calypso, bouncing along her lithe body as she prances forward. I keep my posture impeccable. Back straight. Arms bent, but only slightly, at the elbow. Thighs strong.

Calypso and I move in sync. We breath in sync. The poised, picture of perfection.

Everything goes quiet when I’m performing. I drown out the sounds of the other performers. The loudspeaker. The crowd. Until all I can hear is my own breath and the clip of Calypso’s hooves dancing on the dirt below.

For a second, I chance a glance out to the crowd.

Daddy sits on the bleachers. Quiet. Hunched forward. Watching. Judging.

Even drenched in my own anxiety and heat sweat, his stare is like an ice chip down my spine. I can’t help but think:

Maybe there are worse things than overzealous parents.

I’ve been training for this all year, yet it feels like it’s over within seconds.

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