Page 116 of Headed for Home

“That’s putting it mildly.” His dry tone cracks through the static in my ears.

“Race for the Fences is a charity fundraiser,” I explain.

“Ah, yes. They received a very generous—and anonymous—donation thanks to a certain construction company meeting their end. I bet Mr. Sutherland would be proud to know his fortune is supporting a worthy cause.”

The reminder chases off my nerves for a second. “The fight to stop hunger and homelessness thanks them. I chose this event for another reason as well. There’s no pressure. It’s just for fun to raise money and awareness.”

His brows lift. “Repeat that to yourself until you believe it.”

I try but the words scramble. “Leita hasn’t experienced a competition. Plenty can go wrong.”

“She’s solid as a pine tree.” He pats her neck while grabbing an apple from his pocket. Drake’s smile restores mine as he feeds her. “You’re a great team. Trust her judgment.”

“This is just for fun,” I mumble.

“Next up is number thirteen,” the gate attendant booms.

The saddle creaks under my restlessness. “That’s us.”

“Hey,” Drake murmurs. “Just relax. You’re gonna do great.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Cassidy.”

“Yep.”

“Look at me.”

I do. The knots in my stomach quit twisting at the sincerity in his gaze. He hasn’t left our side since I finished warming up. I didn’t ask him to hang out in the on-deck pen with us. This perfect man just knew I needed his presence beside me.

“Hi, trouble.”

“I love you.” His voice stomps with conviction. “Go out there and give it your best. That’s all you can do.”

“Right.” I nod too briskly, shifting my hat. As if I need another thing to worry about. The gate person waves me forward and I grab onto the reins. “That’s my cue. Oh, and I love you too.”

He gives my leg a final rub. “Knock ‘em sideways!”

My shoulders hike skyward as I steer Leita into the makeshift alley. This is the worst moment for him to screw up a phrase. I choose to see it as a good luck charm. Those barrels are going to stick.

The speakers crackle as my name is announced. I tune out the applause and concentrate on the field coming into view. Leita’s ears perk forward, assessing the task ahead. One right turn and two left. We’ve done this in practice but never with a crowd cheering. My horse doesn’t seem bothered by the noise. She begins to prance and bobble her head, giving me the signal to turn her loose.

I haven’t pushed her through a pattern and don’t plan to start now. That’s not what this is about. We’re just taking a trial run. She’s only four. There’s still next year to enter the futurity races. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

My grip goes slack on the reins and Leita takes off at a gallop. I decide to let her run, trusting her instincts to set the pace. Wind smacks my face as we approach the first barrel. Leita’s stride digs into the dirt, entering at an angle for the pocket. I grip onto the horn and lean into her motions. We whip around in a tight circle that makes this look easy.

Her fluid momentum flies us to the second can. I barely notice the hitch of her changing leads, just a smooth glide in the process. She lunges forward and gains ground quickly. The distance between us and the next turn seems far but her speed is practically eating the sand. My horse sets herself up and curves around the barrel like a seasoned pro. I don’t even need to guide her.

We’re off to the third in a rush of speed and adrenaline. The pattern is large, but she’s making the size seem miniature. Her body wraps the can like a label and I sit deep in the saddle. I’m lurched upright to hover over the seat as we head for home. Leita’s hooves pound the turf to the beat of my rapid pulse. Tears leak from my eyes from her swift sprint, along with the memories chasing us. The clock stops when we cross the line and disappear into the alley.

I fold myself over her neck, showering her in appreciation and affection. A thrum fills my veins as I realize what we accomplished. My mare slams on the brakes before hitting the gate. Our job is done.

My body slides off the saddle like a bale of hay. I go limp before my knees crash into the dirt. Emotion floods me in a torrential downpour. Leita stands beside me as a loyal companion. Maybe she understands how important this moment is.

Drake is there is the next second, scooping me into his arms. “Holy shit! That was unbelievable, beauty. Like faster than I could track. You’re gonna be the barrel racing champion of the baseball field.”

I laugh, but it resembles a sob. “That’s not a thing.”

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