The announcer’s voice cut off anything else, “That’s it, folks—Enya Moore, your new Average Rio Grande International Champion!”
The music rose in volume as confetti fell around her like snow. Enya raised the buckle high. She was on top of the world, and boy, the view was freaking awesome up here. Fourteen-point-zero-two and a lifetime of work behind it. Would there ever be another time when she’d feel this alive? She didn’t think so, at least she couldn’t imagine it.
Time to pamper Rain a bit. He’s more than earned his grain tonight.
***
The main barn sat at the far end of the fairgrounds, a long line of metal stalls under a roof that still held the day’s heat. The night outside had cooled, but inside it was heavy with hay dust hanging in the light from the overhead lamps, fans humming at the far corners, and the smell of grain, sweat, and old leather.
Her dad led Rain down the aisle. “He’s still wound up,” he said, glancing back at Enya. “Walk him a bit before you rub him down.”
“I got him.” She grinned when her boy snorted and flicked his ears toward her as if he understood every word.
They passed other riders as they headed to the stall that had been Rain’s home for the past week. Some of them were already stripping off tack, and others were leaning against stall doors, catching up and relaxing now their work was done for this go-round. It might be weeks or months before they would have the chance to spend time together again. A few called her name, offered quick handshakes, or claps on the shoulder.
“Fourteen-zero-two. Holy cow, sister, congratulations. You and Rain made us all look like turtles out there.”
“Just Rain doing his thing.” She smiled at Lyndsay. “You and Buck were right on our heels all the way. Next time you’ll kick our butts and you know it.”
“From your lips to God’s ear.” Lyndsay gave her a fast one-armed hug. “See you in a bit, yeah?”
“Yes.” She turned to follow her dad and Rain. “We’ll show these local Texas boys how Kentuckians celebrate.”
At their stall, as she stripped off Rain’s tack, her dad filled the water bucket, and her momma set out a flake of hay. The rhythm of the small noises, the smell of liniment, and her dad humming a tune under his breath felt like home, no matter what state they were in.
Rain drank like he hadn’t had a drop of water in days, every gulp echoing against the boards. Enya leaned against the stall door. Exhaustion was starting to creep in, and even her bones ached. The adrenaline had burned off, leaving a soft ache behind her eyes and the relief that came when everything had gone exactly right.
Her momma came up beside her. “I can sit with Rain for a bit if you want to head over to the banquet tent. Sponsors’ll be looking for you.”
Enya shook her head. “We can all go together in a minute. I want to brush him down first. Maybe I’ll rebraid his mane.”
Her dad chuckled. “You’ve been braiding that horse’s mane since he was two. I think he knows he’s pretty.”
This was their ritual, hers and Rain’s. It was their thing. The sponsors could wait. Without Rain, there would be no prizes, no wins, and a lot less happiness in her world. “He earned it tonight.”
She unraveled the braids that were there and started a new one with slow and careful fingers, working through the damp strands. The barn fans moved warm air through the aisle, carrying the low murmur of voices from outside, along with music from the beer garden, laughter from the crowd that hadn’t gone home yet, and the steady rumble of generators from the vendor trailers.
Her dad finished coiling the lead rope, patient and neat, with his hands moving the way they always did after a good run. He watched her tie off the braid and tugged on a lock of her hair, “You coming to eat dinner with momma and me?”
“Yeah.” Her folks had earned this moment as much as she and Rain had. They’d traveled up and down the country with her all year. Competing was a team effort, or in their case, a family effort.
Her dad looped the lead rope over a hook and looked at her. “Then let’s eat, baby girl. You can come back to sleep in the stall with Rain later if you want.”
The corners of her lips curved upward, and the tightness in her stomach eased. “I might just do that.”
They walked out of the barn together with the sound of the fans fading behind them, and the air outside hit cooler against her skin. The smell of grilled meat and spilled beer mixed with the thump of music rolling from the big white sponsor tent. Strings of lights hung across the fairground, glowing gold and steady, softening the dust that still hung in the air. The line of trailers and vendor booths threw long shadows, and voices carried between them, low drawls and laughter blending with the metallic ring of a bottle dropped into a barrel. The night smelled like victory, exhaustion, and money.
Inside the tent, tables filled the space, crowded with riders in dusty jeans and clean shirts, sponsors in polos, and reporters still scribbling notes. Kids darted between the chairs, chasing each other through the light. Her dad found a table near the back and pulled a chair out with his boot. Her momma came from the buffet carrying three plates on a tray and set one in front of her.
“Eat up. You haven’t had anything since breakfast.”
The other seats around the table filled as a few other barrel racers joined them, girls Enya had been running against since junior high, with Katy sitting on her left and Jo from Texas sliding into the chair across from her. The sound around them settled into a mix of cutlery scraping on plates, laughter, and music drifting in from outside the tent. Someone passed a tray of beers down the line, and she waved it past, reaching for her soda instead. The glass was cold against her fingers, and the drink eased the dryness in her throat as she sipped.
Katy leaned toward her, her voice bright over the noise. “That run was wicked fast. I swear your Rain has wings.”
The corners of Enya’s lips curved upward. “Feels like it when he’s locked in.” She loved the familiar warmth that came with good food, friendly faces, and the kind of company that understood exactly what it took to earn a buckle.
Her dad told the story of her first barrel run when she was eight, the one where she missed the turn and rode straight out the gate at the opposite side of the arena, and the whole table broke into laughter. Her momma wiped at her cheeks with a napkin and tried to look stern, but her eyes gave her away. For a while, it felt like every long mile, every early morning, and every bruise had led to this moment. Good lights, good friends, her parents beside her, and Rain bedded down safe in his stall.
