Page 11 of Run for the Money

“I was my mom’s apprentice. I helped train Diana that season, so I was there when she fell. I know what happened with your coach. I understand why you’re hesitating.”

My mouth hangs slack. I’m not sure what to say, since I don’t have to justify my fear after all.

“You’re not going to fall, and neither is GT,” he says.

“You don’t know that.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, and the clipboard clacks against his belt-buckle. “When was the last time you fell off a horse?”

I pause to think, because I honestly can’t remember. The pause is all the answer he needs, apparently.

“See? Not likely you’ll fall. And GT won’t fall, because no one is going to fuck with your gear. Security is a lot tighter since Roger Peart’s handiwork. You’ll be fine. You can do this.”

Maybe it’s the confidence in his voice, or maybe I’m delusional. Whatever the reason, I believe him. He certainly believes in me—enough to chase me down when I walked away. That’s more than I can say for most of the people in my life. I take a deep breath and push my fears out with the exhale. Maybe I’m the one who needs an attitude adjustment, not Nick.

“So how do I avoid hesitation then, Coach?” I ask.

“Stop pussyfooting around my corral and ride like you mean it,” he says. “Get back on that horse, Miss Manners. We only have three days until we leave for your first competition. Daylight’s burning.”

Chapter 4

Nick

Melanie arrives in my driveway at five in the morning the day of her first qualifier. The competition’s two hours north, in Cheyenne, Wyoming, but the way she’s packed, you’d think we were going on a journey ten times as long. We’ve been getting along decently the past few days though, so I keep my comments to myself as we load my truck with both her suitcases, her helmet case, her boot bag, and my half-empty duffle bag. I’ve already got the horse trailer hitched up, so once all our gear’s situated, I lead GT onto the trailer and get him secured, too.

“Ready for this?” I ask Melanie once she’s strapped into the passenger seat.

“Ready as I can be,” is her steely reply.

The first few minutes of the drive are uncomfortably quiet. I’m not sure what she needs to prepare—silence? A pump-up playlist? Talk-radio? Conversation?—so I don’t touch the stereo, leaving it to her. She sips her coffee, the slurps a hair too loud in the stillness of the truck cab. It’s almost a relief when my phone rings.

Figuring it’s Edwin since no one else I know is up this early, I answer it with a curt, “What’s up?” Since the phone’s connected to my truck’s Bluetooth, Melanie and I find out at the same time that I’ve made a mistake.

“Hello, is this Mr. Korbel? It’s Annette, calling from Rockies Bank & Trust. Is now a good time to talk?”

It couldn’t be worse, but that’s a line I’ve fed Annette six or seven times in the past month, so I’m not sure she’ll believe it again. The damage is already done, anyway. I can feel Melanie’s gaze on me like a laser beam. If I turn my head to glance at her, I’m sure I’ll find her licking her chops, thrilled to have a juicy bit of humiliation to wield over me after everything I’ve put her through. My eyes dart toward her and confirm the hunch. Cat, meet canary.

“Hi, Annette. It’s Nick,” I say, refocused on the road.

“Great to connect with you finally. I expect you know the reason I’m calling, so I’ll keep this brief. The documentation you provided isn’t enough to verify that you aren’t the owner of the debt, unfortunately. I’d like to schedule a meeting at your earliest convenience where we can discuss payment plans, otherwise we will have to move toward foreclosure.”

“Agree to disagree. I’m not in Denver right now, so we’ll have to discuss this at a later date,” I say tightly.

“Mr. Korbel, this isn’t something you can delay forever,” she warns.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens. A litany of increasingly hateful names for her flickers through my mind. Annette has no idea I’m not alone in the car, so it’s not her fault, but I need to be pissed at someone right now, and she’s the safest target. The bank never calls this early. Did she come into work at the crack of dawn specifically to track me down?

“You think I don’t know that? I’m crystal clear on my situation,” I shout. “You’re the bastards who can’t seem to accept reality. What else do you need, huh? What haven’t I handed over to you people yet? You have my damn birth certificate, receipts for every fuckin’ piece of gum I’ve ever bought, every kind of notarized statement and record I can fuckin’ conceive of, and you still can’t understand the basic facts!”

“There’s no need for that kind of language, sir,” Annette says, a distinct wobble in her voice.

Aw, hell. She’s not the problem. Rockies Bank & Trust isn’t the problem, either. I’m being unfair, and I know it. Worse, I’ve got a witness. Beside me, Melanie holds unnaturally still. I chance a look at her and, yep, she’s gone from pleased at finding a weakness of mine to pure discomfort.

“Look, Annette, I know this is coming from higher up. I don’t mean to yell. But you can understand where I’m coming from, can’t you?”

“I…yes, Mr. Korbel, I can. Unfortunately that doesn’t—”

“Doesn’t change what needs to happen. Yeah, yeah. Save your breath; I’ve heard it all before. We’re not solving this today, so I’m going to hang up now. When I’m back in town, I’ll give you a call,” I say.

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