Hailey plunged back into the alley, and before Enya realized, the announcer had called the next rider’s name, and the crowd picked up again.
Crap, I missed Hayley’s time.
She winced internally because now she wouldn’t know if she’d scored enough to stay at the top of the leaderboard. Beyond the holding pen, she could see her parents standing just past the fence line near the exit. Her dad stood with his arms crossed on the rail with her momma beside him, both their faces beaming with matching smiles. Her dad gave her a thumbs-up; her momma mouthed, ‘You did it.’ Enya raised a hand in answer, the motion lazy and tired but full of pride.
Rain shifted again, ears turning toward the gate as another rider burst into the arena. The sound of the crowd surged. Enya glanced toward the timer lights, instinctively counting seconds with the rhythm of hooves on sand. Fourteen-five. Fourteen-seven.
The next two riders had freaking awesome runs, giving her some heart-pounding moments as she cheered for her friends as they raced under the clock. Each one passed the holding pen, breathing hard, sweat streaking their horses’ flanks. Every single horse and rider was giving it their all on this final night. It had been ten long, long days, and she refused to allow herself to hope that she and her boy had done enough to top the rankings.
By the time the last horse thundered through and the clock flashed fifteen-point-two, the noise reached a fever pitch. Her dad cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted something she couldn’t hear, but the way he pointed toward the leaderboard told her everything.
Holy cow, we did it.
We freaking did it.
Rain pawed at the dirt, and Enya laughed, the sound full and easy, her whole body finally letting go.
This doesn’t feel real.
I must be dreaming.
The gate hands swung the panels wide, and the flag horse, a chestnut mare, raced for the arena. Rain’s ears twitched at the noise, his muscles bunching again, but Enya sat deep and kept her hand steady on the reins. She’d been in a hundred victory laps before, but this one felt different. The lights seemed whiter, the air hotter, the noise so loud she could feel it in her teeth.
As the flag horse passed them, Enya nudged Rain and slid in behind them. They moved into the long curve around the arena, hooves thudding softly in the churned dirt. The crowd rose and cheered. Cameras flashed in bursts that looked like lightning. Enya let Rain jog a little faster, gave him a pat on the shoulder, the stallion’s neck slick under her glove.
You earned this, boy.
By the time she came back to the gate, her dad was there waiting, his hat shoved back on his head, his grin the kind she’d only seen a handful of times in her life. He caught her horse’s reins with a steady hand.
“I got him,” he said. His voice was sure and calm, just as it’d been when he taught her to ride as a kid.
Enya swung down, boots sinking an inch into soft sand, and threw herself into his arms. “We did it, daddy.”
“You sure did, baby girl. I’m so proud of you.” He nodded to where the prizegiving was being set up. “Go on, git out there.”
Enya walked alone toward the center of the arena, dust and light swirling around her boots, the announcer’s voice booming overhead.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your new Rio Grande International Average Champion in Barrel Racing—Enya Moore and S-H-R Chasing Rainbows!”
The crowd came up again, a wave of sound that made her chest ache. She stopped in the middle of it and tipped her hat. Cameras flashed as the smell of smoke from the fireworks drifted around them. The rodeo director, the sponsor rep, and a woman from the association board stepped forward one by one to shake her hand. The dark leather, hand-tooled, silver-trimmed saddle sat on the holder in front of her as she was presented with the gold buckle.
It felt heavy when Enya took it, heavier than she’d expected it to be. She turned it once in her hands before the photographer called, “Hold it up!”
She did, and the flash popped, white and hot.
The announcer spoke into the mic again, his voice big and smooth. “With everything Enya Moore and Rain have won, this is their first Rio Grande International Average Championship. Enya, what does it take to be so consistently fast over ten rounds?”
Enya laughed, breathless, voice shaking but sure. “Oh man, it takes a great horse, a little bit of luck, a whole lot of favor. It’s been a blessing every run—it’s always a blessing to get on Rain—but to have him be so perfect every time I asked him to be this week was awesome.”
“How cool was it to take the victory lap on Rain and see him get that standing ovation?”
“I loved it. My horse deserves all the credit, and he deserves a victory lap every time, not that I can keep doing those times, but it was just pure fun today.”
“Well, congratulations. Enya Moore and Rain, winning the title at the Grande in barrel racing!”
The sponsor chuckled; his voice had a hint of something she couldn’t decipher. “I hate to be negative at such a positive moment, but he did brush a barrel a couple of times over the ten rounds.”
“Slightly brushed them, that’s it.” She could say so much more, but today was a happy day and not one to lose her temper over a snarky comment. “I couldn’t be happier. Rain rocked them, but they stayed up; that’s all that matters.”
