Frontier Gift of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 5) (36 page)

By the time they made their way to the race grounds, and paid their entry fees, the crowd there was already swarming. The eager spectators were arriving early to secure a good spot to view the race.

Sam saw several horses and riders form up in a line, waiting to ride their mounts to the starting point. He studied the other horses in the race and realized Stephen and Artis would have some tough competition. For the most part, the mounts all appeared to be bred for strength and fleetness—the prime requisites for a fine thoroughbred.

There were also a few other horses who, in his opinion, didn’t stand a chance or belong in the race. Their legs were too short and their muscles undefined. A rider of one of those horses seemed to be intoxicated. He must have spent the morning getting tanked-up to bolster his courage.

“What a bloody fool,” Stephen said disapprovingly. “Hope the judges take him out of the race. He could cause one of these fine horses to stumble or fall.”

Sam agreed, but he was more concerned about Artis. Like Stephen’s horse, her stallion was a big, bright black, sixteen hands high, and very strongly made. He had a small head, broad forehead with a white star in the center, delicate ears, and a black mane and tail. His big eyes were intelligent and held a sheen of purpose. Hopefully, the big fellow would keep her safe.

Artis looked stunning sitting atop such a magnificent animal. She leaned down and stroked Glasgow’s neck. Her horse appeared calm, as though he understood exactly what he was about to do.

George, however, was acting a little high-headed. The stallion wasn’t used to all the noise and crowds. And he’d only been raced a dozen times or so over the last week at Sam’s place, and then only against three different horses. He won easily every time. They decided, however, not to race him against Glasgow, concerned that the stallion might feel beaten down or be demoralized if he didn’t win. George needed to feel like he was the dominant horse.

When George pinned his ears back, a sign of uneasiness, Stephen quickly dismounted and spoke softly to him. In a soothing voice, he said, “You’re a good fellow. The best horse here. Let’s show them what you’re made of.” At once, George seemed to calm and after Stephen stroked his long neck a few more times, his brother remounted and took the stallion off a little ways. Then Stephen loped him slowly in a tight circle several times. Artis did the same, following behind Stephen. They reversed direction and George followed Glasgow. Then they switched direction again. As soon as the horses were warmed up, they proceeded toward the line of waiting race horses. Sam, Bear, William, and Kelly followed slightly behind them.

When Artis and Glasgow made an appearance, the crowd began to react. Word of a woman riding in the race must have flared across the town like summer lightning. Some men were up in arms that a woman would be riding.

One heckler yelled, “'Go back to the kitchen and cook dinner.”

Another booed her as she rode by.

“Easy Bear,” Sam cautioned, as Bear started to react. “Ignore him.”

Bear snarled at the man, but continued on with them.

“Don’t worry,” Stephen told Artis. “You’ll show them.”

There were a few other hecklers, but the vast majority of the spectators,
especially the women, cheered her on as she made her way toward the line of other riders.

After a father pointed Artis out to his two daughters, the little girls clapped their hands and called out. “Win the race Glasgow!”

When they reached the spot where Artis and Stephen would join the other racers, Bear told her, “Good luck, my angel. And may Glasgow give ye the wings ye lack.”

“God’s speed to both of you,” Sam said.

“Thank you,” Stephen said and then he handed Sam his wool coat. “Hold this for me, will you? I don’t want to get it dirty.”

“I’ll stay clean, because Glasgow will be out in front,” Artis quipped.

They all chuckled. A flash of humor even crossed Stephen’s face.

Artis motioned Bear over to her and handed him her Luckenbooth brooch and silver hair clasp. “Guard these for me, husband. I wouldn’t want them to fall off during the race.” She gave him a kiss and then straightened her back and shook her head, letting her long locks fall across her shoulders.

“Both of you, win hands down!” William told them.

“We’re proud of you both,” Kelly said.

Artis smiled broadly at Bear and then at the rest of their family, even Stephen. Sam knew she was living a dream and based on her sparkling eyes, she was filled with excitement and expectation.

Stephen appeared more resolute than excited. Sam could see his brother’s strong will in the firm set of his jaw and his eyes gleamed with single-minded determination. When Stephen set his mind on something there was no stopping him.

Soon snare drums beat and trumpets blared to signal that the race would begin in fifteen minutes. Artis and Stephen turned their horses toward the other racers and took their places in line.

The one-mile race would be run on a straight course marked at the end
by upright stakes, where the race judges waited. Men also stood at the starting line with brightly colored flags, ready to signal the match’s start. The judges at the starting line, thankfully, did take the drunk rider out of the race as well as another horse that appeared to have gone lame. That left thirteen horses in the race.

“I think Bear and I should ride down to where the judges are standing,” Sam said. “I want to be sure this race is judged fairly.”

“Kelly and I will find a spot at about the half-mile mark,” William said. “That way one of us will be able to see the whole race.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam said. “Meet us at the finish line when it’s all over.”

The four of them galloped to the half-mile mark and he and Bear continued on to the end. Sam caught the eye of Thornbird and nodded at him. He wanted the man to realize he and Bear were there.

Thornbird rolled his eyes and turned his back on Sam.

Sitting atop his horse, Sam had a perfect view of the finish line. Although the view was unobstructed and his eyesight keen, he struggled to pick out Artis and Stephen from among the racers. Perhaps he’d been able to see them better when their horses pulled ahead.

After some preliminaries involving the local elected officials, the space selected for the riding was cleared of all noncontestants. The riders and horses lined up to start. A judge told them that at the sound of the fife, he would signal the start.

Artis’ heart began racing before she did. Her mouth went dry and she was suddenly breathless. She could feel Glasgow tense beneath her, ready to run.

The high shrill sound of a fife rang out and the judge waved a green flag downward.

They were off.

Her heart continued to hammer within her chest as Glasgow’s long legs shot forward. Only a few seconds later she pulled about half a length ahead of the other horses. Girding herself with determination, she ignored the other riders and kept her eyes on the finish line. It seemed a long way off.

But she would not falter.

She would not fail.

She would not fall.

She made sure her heels were pushed down, feeling the stretch in her calves and the pressure on her feet. She let her hips match the waves of the horse’s motion, helping them move as one. Her sense of the horse’s mind and movements heightened. Yet the world beyond Glasgow, and the other horses just behind her, blurred and appeared dreamlike.

Positioned in about the middle of the group of racers, the thunderous sound of the pummeling horses’ hooves roared in her ears. The deafening sound obscured the cheers of the boisterous onlookers. At the starting line, she had recognized two well-known Virginia stallions in the race—Messenger and Diamond—and they both threatened her position. She leaned forward on Glasgow, her arms moving in the same pattern as the beat of his legs, helping him to run smoothly.

She flew over the pasture at a blazing clip, feeling exhilarated and free. As she tore through the air, wind rasped against her cheeks, the cold stung her eyes, and the jarring lunges whacked every muscle and battered every bone in her body. Over and over.

But she loved it. Because her lips were clamped tight, she laughed inside, enjoying the sensation of the horse’s strength. It became her power too. As if they shared one heart. One mind. One goal.

As she continued to hold the lead, she grew hopeful that she might be successful after all. She wasn’t riding for the purse. And she wasn’t riding to prove to everyone that a woman could win. That was a given in her mind and in Bear’s. She didn’t care what anyone else thought. She was riding to let Glasgow prove himself—to give him a chance to be a champion horse. If she won, it would be his win and she would merely share it.

This was Glasgow’s chance to chase greatness.

Then the corner of her eye caught another rider pulling up on her right, riding a horse unknown to her. He grabbed for the back of her saddle blanket and she felt a sharp pain in the back of her right ankle when he used his boot to knock her foot out of the iron.

Furious, but staying focused on the race, she pressed Glasgow to that side, pushing the rider out of the way. The rider faltered and it made his white thoroughbred waver and then stumble. Recovering, she urged Glasgow to an even faster run, leaving the unscrupulous racer behind her.

She would not let the brute slow her down. She pressed her stallion onward. But she struggled to get her boot back in the bouncing stirrup and, several times, she felt her bottom rise in the saddle. A fall at this speed would be grievous, perhaps tragic. She concentrated on her foot, and willed it to slip firmly into the iron. When it did, her heart leapt with relief.

But her relief was short lived. She sensed the presence of another rider coming up from her other side. She could hear the snorts of his winded horse he was so close.

She leaned even further down on Glasgow’s neck, her forehead nearly touching his flowing black mane. “Run, Glasgow, run!” she yelled. “Harder! Faster! Fly!”

And he did. Faster than he ever ran before. It felt like they were flying. She received her wings after all. She hoped Bear could see her now.

A sense of strength and an indefinable feeling of control she’d never known in the past filled her. She could feel the wind splaying through her hair. Her body vibrated with excitement. The reins seemed almost alive. She sensed a surreal energy flowing through each leather, linking her inextricably with her horse.

Just when her confidence in winning spiraled upward, another rider’s horse drew even with Glasgow. She wondered who the rider was, but out of the corner of her eye he was only a blur. She dared a glance over.

It was Stephen.

The two rode head to head, nearly in unison for some distance. George and Glasgow battled for the lead, each taking it for a second or two before the other fought a little harder and took it away again. The two stallions waged a war for dominance as she and Stephen hung on for their very lives.

She could see but not hear the crowd cheering them on. All eyes were on the two of them. The finish line drew closer.

It would be over all too soon.

As they thundered toward the finish line, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stephen lean forward, as she was, burying his face in George’s long fluttering mane.

She heard Stephen shout, coaxing George on. “Run boy! Run!”

George pulled ahead at the last instant, his will to win even stronger than Glasgow’s.

She was going to lose, by less than a head’s length.

But she smiled anyway.

Chapter 37

A
s the racers gradually slowed their speeding steeds, pulled to a stop, and then turned back, the delighted crowd roared their approval. Sam had never heard anything quite like it and he and the others joined in, cheering for Stephen and Artis.

But Bear was far from jubilant.

Other people in the crowd started throwing snowballs at the rider who had tried to unseat Artis. The judges were also cussing him out.

Sam watched as the man tried to ride away, but his poor limping horse would not move.

But that was the least of the racer’s worries.

Bear rode toward the strongly built man with all the wrath of a Viking warrior seeking revenge. Bear’s teeth were bared and his jaw clenched. At least he didn’t have his hatchet in his hand.

“Get off that poor horse, ye bloody arse,” Bear yelled as he slid Camel to a stop and leapt off his saddle.

The fellow dismounted hastily because Bear was about to pull him off his horse.

“That woman caused my horse to go lame!” he wailed.

“How dare ye try to unseat my wife, ye bloody bastard,” Bear roared.

“She didn’t belong in the race. She’s a….” The man never got to finish his ill-advised sentence.

With one hand, Bear grabbed the rider by the neck and lifted him well into the air. Then his brother shook the fellow so hard his limbs flapped around like a rag doll. When Bear finished shaking him, he lowered him, dragged him to a nearby barrel, and hammered the man’s head against the wood.

Eyes bulging and head bleeding, he grabbed at his throat, trying unsuccessfully to pry Bear’s hand away.