He's flagging his ears the way he does before a run, forward then back then forward, listening.
She has a pre-ride routine I've watched on closed-circuit screens at the clubhouse for years. Watching it from this close in person is different.
Her hands on the reins. The way she holds her shoulders. The set of her hips in the saddle. The small flick of her wrist when she asks Jaeger for a transition.
I see what I have always known. She's better than her ranking.
Her ranking is what she does on her worst day. On her best she rides like she was born on a horse and got the human part installed afterward as an upgrade.
There's a woman at the rail next to me.
I don't know how long she's been there. I clock her when I shift my weight.
Late thirties. Black hat. Cut-off denim shirt over a tank top. Boots that have had a hard life.
Six-time NFR jacket draped over the rail next to her even though the Texas morning is starting to get warm.
Ah, it’s Harper Beaumont.
I know her because every man and woman on the western circuit knows her. She rides a seventeen-hand gelding named Smoke. Three world titles. The kind of veteran the younger racers nod at and don't approach.
She's watching Dakota.
After a minute she says, "She rates clean."
She doesn't look at me when she says it. Just keeps her eyes on Jaeger.
I'm not the kind of man who chats with strangers at rodeos. I'm not the kind of man who chats with anyone. But Harper Beaumont didn't speak to me. She spoke about Dakota.
"Yeah," I say. "She does."
"I watched her at Lubbock last year. Kid pulled a 16.4 on a horse with a sore stifle and didn't tell anybody until she was off him. Most racers her age would've scratched."
"That sounds like her."
"You family?"
"No, ma'am."
She glances at me then. The patch on my cut. Then back to the rail. "Tell her Harper said good luck."
She walks off.
I stand at the rail watching Dakota work her horse and turning a sentence over in my head.
* * *
She's third out in her draw.
The two racers ahead of her are good but neither of them are her.
The first one runs a 16.8. The second runs a 17.1 and clips a barrel that doesn't fall but wobbles long enough that she'll be hearing about it from her trainer for a week.
Dakota is in the alley. Jaeger underneath her. She rolls her shoulders once. Drops her weight into her heels.
The announcer says her name. AddsHarlan Lyle's daughter,like he always does at Texas qualifiers. I see her jaw tighten in the alley.
Then the gate opens.
