David D. Levine and Sara A. Mueller
Sailing in slow motion above the sand of the arena floor, Misty thought “This is going to hurt.”
Just a moment ago she’d been in the saddle, nudging Vulcan through a shoulder-in, concentrating on moving the unicorn’s right back hoof toward his left shoulder, getting him used to working in this building. It was new, still smelled of paint, and was making all the animals edgy.
And then some moron in the stands had lit up a goddamn cigarette.
Misty’s spur caught on the saddle as Vulcan whirled out from under her, alabaster coat and flaxen mane blurring past her eyes. She couldn’t get her hip under her and hit the ground on her left knee. It did hurt—it hurt like a sumbitch. She gasped from the pain, pulling in a breath full of shavings and manure dust as she rolled away from Vulcan’s sharp cloven hooves. The last thing she needed was an enraged four-hundred-pound unicorn stepping on her head.
Somewhere on the stands, she could hear her groom Caroline shouting. There was shouting all around, and the metal voice from the announcer’s booth called out, “Loose unicorn, Harry, close the gate!” No one wanted a Persian stud running loose on the fairgrounds.
Misty kept one arm wrapped around her throbbing knee and the other over her head, but she could still see Vulcan rearing and pounding the rail with his iridescent hooves, making the hollow steel ring and tipping his head sideways to lunge through the rails with the double-edged spiral of his horn. His scream of rage echoed in the high hollow ceiling as he struggled to reach the offending smoker. Caroline pushed the stupid addict toward the exit, bellowing “Whoa, Vulcan! God-dammit, whoa!”
And the stupid beast whoa’d. He dropped right to his feet and gave a self-satisfied snort, pleased and proud that he’d defended his rider from the vicious cigarette. Misty rocked, holding her knee. Damn idiot animal. Caroline vaulted over the rail, dropped the six feet to the arena floor, and caught Vulcan’s reins. Crisis controlled.
Misty tried to sit up as the announcer cleared the arena. Brighter pain stabbed in her knee; it felt full of white-hot glass shards. She pushed herself up on her arms, spitting and snorting out sand and the ground-up shreds of old sneaker soles. Caroline walked Vulcan over, the animal placidly lipping her dark buzz-cut as if to say “Did I do good, boss?”
Caroline crouched down and cradled Misty’s knee in her hands, sliding her thumbs across the top of the kneecap. Only six weeks older than Misty, Caroline had always looked after her like a beloved little sister. She whispered under her breath, and a brief tingle of investigative magic slipped through the crackle of pain. “Can’t tell how bad it is, but it’s not broken. Think you can get up, blondie?” Though she kept her words light, concern tightened the skin around her eyes.
“I’d rather not.”
Caroline gave a little smirk and hauled Misty to her good foot.
“Ow!” Misty leaned hard on Caroline and hopped to keep her balance. That was a mistake—the injured knee screamed with pain at the jolt. “Sonofa—” But she bit off the curse, sucking air through her teeth and blinking hard. There were a lot of things that unicorn riders weren’t supposed to do, and one of them was swear out loud, especially not in front of an entire arena full of riders who’d love to see her disqualified.
Double especially not in front of Mary Frances Schwartz, the only other girl here with a real shot at the Nationals. Mary Frances was a barracuda in a double-A bra, five years younger than Misty’s seventeen and almost as tall. She’d be too tall to ride Persians next year, unless she turned out to be a “teeny little freak” like Misty. She sidled her own unicorn Angel over, threateningly close to Vulcan, who laid his ears back and arched up at the other stud. “Are you all right?” she asked with nearly authentic sympathy.
“It’s so sweet of you to ask,” Misty ground out through clenched teeth. At least two reporters were taking notes, so she couldn’t say what she was really thinking. She put one arm over Caroline’s shoulder and the other over Vulcan’s saddle, clutching the saddle horn as the three of them hobbled slowly out of the arena to the stable.
It took them almost ten minutes to cover the hundred yards to their stalls, Misty leaning into the lithe strength of Caroline’s body. Vulcan was limping too; maybe he’d hurt himself attacking the rail. The dusty fairground was painfully bright after the mercury-lit dimness of the arena.
Once they reached the shade of the stall, Caroline eased Misty onto a shrink-wrapped sawdust bale. Misty sighed and rested her head in the soft hollow of Caroline’s neck, smelling clean sweat and the cotton of her shirt collar. “Thank you,” she said, and squeezed her hand.
Caroline squeezed back for a moment, then pulled away and turned back to Vulcan. Misty felt a childish urge to pout—Vulcan had to be secured in his stall, but the knee didn’t hurt as much when she held Caroline’s hand.
Caroline unbuckled Vulcan’s bridle, replacing it with a halter cross-tied to each side of the open stall door. You never let that horn loose around people if you could help it. Once the unicorn was secured, Caroline brought Misty an ice pack from the trailer. “I told your mother those damn spurs were going to be trouble.”
“Since when does she listen to either of us?” Misty sucked in a breath as Caroline laid the ice pack over the ruined knee of her pink Wranglers. She didn’t want to let on just how much it hurt. “Anyway, it wasn’t the spurs, it was me. You’d never have lost your seat.” Caroline had grown too tall to show unicorns, but on a horse she was a study in long-limbed grace.
“I’m just the groom, shorty.”
Misty gave Caroline a mock glare. “I’m gonna hit five feet this year, you wait and see.”
“Dream on.” Caroline crouched by Vulcan’s front leg, inspecting the suspect hoof. “Looks like you’ve got a bruised hoof there, son.”
“Seriously, Caro, it should be you out there on Vulcan, not me. You trained him, after all. I just sit on him. He’s the proverbial push-button pony.”
“I’m too tall, and you know it. I can ride ’em, I just don’t look good on ’em.” She picked up Vulcan’s bruised foot and cupped it between her hands for a moment, muttering a healing charm like a prayer whispered in a lover’s ear. Vulcan let his head hang in the cross-ties, eyes half closed as the magic flowed through his injured hoof.
“Even if you can’t ride professionally, you could be a real trainer, in a real stable! Jack Thornton would hire you in a minute if he could. Why do you hang around this one-unicorn outfit?”
Caroline rose and busied herself with Vulcan’s girth, not looking at Misty. “I like it here.”
“Where’s here? Caro, we’re nowhere. Mom treats you like a servant, I know as well as you do that you haven’t had a raise in three years, and we’ve been to the nationals, what, five times?”
“But you still haven’t won.”
As if I cared. But she didn’t say it... it would hurt Caroline so much. She’d worked so hard, put up with so much, all for Misty’s sake; the least Misty could do in return was to make sure she got the accolades that would come from training a national champion unicorn.
Then Vulcan growled and tossed his head in the cross-ties. That meant some other stud was nearby, or...
Misty’s mother announced her presence with a sandpaper screech of “I leave for ten minutes and what the hell happens!” She was already decked out in her Professional Show Mother outfit of white leather blazer, white leather skirt, and white Tony Lama boots—everyone on the circuit called her The Great White when she wasn’t in earshot—but a chic silk turban concealed her bleached hair.
“I’m fine, Mother. Thanks for asking.” Misty wondered if her mother’s voice hurt her own ears, after all the vodka Bloody Marys she’d consumed when Misty had qualified for the finals last night.
“Let me see that knee.” She grabbed Misty’s calf, making big bright spots dance across Misty’s vision, and yanked off the ice pack. The knee had swollen out to the limits of Misty’s jeans. “These’ll have to be cut off, I suppose. At least you had the sense not to practice in your competition outfit.”
Caroline’s eyes widened and she dropped the saddle unceremoniously onto its rack. “Misty! You didn’t tell me it was that bad!” She knelt down in front of Misty and peered at the taut cloth. “We need to call the doctor.”
Mother whirled on her. “No doctors! If some milksop gives her painkillers, she’ll blow the blood test.” She turned back to Misty, pointing with one pearl-manicured finger. “This is probably our last chance at the Nationals, and you are not going to wimp out on me.”
Angry little lines appeared around Caroline’s mouth, but Misty cut her off before she could say something that would get her fired. “I’ll be fine, Mother.” But she was looking at Caroline. “We’ll wrap it and ice it and it’s only one more class. I can stay on him for ten minutes.”
“That’s right. You are getting on that animal tonight, you are riding that class, and you are going to win it. I haven’t busted my ass dragging you all over the countryside this year for nothing!”
Vulcan’s ears went back at the rising shriek and he growled, strained against the cross-ties, digging with his hooves in the hard-packed dirt of the stall. Caroline said, “We’re making Vulcan nervous, Mrs. Bell. We should get Misty into the trailer and elevate that knee.”
“You do that.” She glanced at her watch, encrusted with pink diamonds. “Oh God, now you’ve made me late. Look, I’m meeting Harvey to talk about your publicity photos over lunch, and then I’m going to get my hair done. I’ll see you at the gate at seven.” She strode out toward the parking lot, calling over her shoulder, “And I’d better not get another call from the show office!”
Misty looked around for the ice pack and saw it lying in the dirt, just out of her reach. “Can you get that for me?” Caroline leaned over and retrieved it, her lips pressed together in a hard white line. “Go ahead and say it,” Misty prompted.
“Why bother? All it would do is make you have to defend her. And hearing you defend her is worse than watching how she treats you.”
Misty sighed. She didn’t know which would be worse—arguing with Caroline, or admitting that she had a point. “She’s my mother, Caroline.”
“Only genetically. Now let’s get you inside. Can you hop, or do you want me to carry you?”
“I’ll hop.” But even straightening up was agony, and Misty didn’t protest when Caroline carefully scooped her up, one arm warm behind her shoulders and the other under her thighs. Misty opened the trailer door and Caroline set her down on the bed in the back.
Misty looked down at the toes of her pink Ropers, dreading the thought of pulling them off. “If we cut those, Mother will kill me.”
“Let me try.” Caroline worked one hand up Misty’s pant leg to her calf. She cupped the heel of the boot in her other hand and started to ease it off. Misty gasped in pain, but a moment later the boot slipped off. “Good girl. Now the other one.”
But when both boots and the socks were off the situation got even scarier. Misty’s left foot was as white as her mother’s leather skirt. “It’s the swelling,” Caroline said. “It’s cut off the circulation. We have to get those jeans off.”
Pulling the jeans down was absolutely out of the picture. Caroline went to the kitchen cabinet and came back with a pair of shears. Misty trembled, but said nothing as Caroline began to work her way up the outside seam. When she reached the knee, the scissors burned like ice against the hot skin and Misty bit her lower lip hard. Then, as the fabric parted, she thought she might faint from relief as the pressure released.
Caroline paused, her hand warm on Misty’s inner thigh, after she had cut well past the knee. “They’ve got to come all the way off sooner or later. Do you want me to keep cutting?”
Misty’s heart thudded in her throat, and she had to swallow before she could reply. “Might as well,” she managed faintly.
Caroline seemed to be having trouble speaking as well, but she took a deep breath and resumed cutting. The cold scissor blades crept along Misty’s thigh, and she felt the tip slip under the elastic of her panties. “Um, you got more than the jeans there.”
“Sorry,” Caroline squeaked, then cleared her throat and readjusted the scissors. “Sorry,” she repeated in a more normal tone.
The bunched fabric at Misty’s hip was awkward to get past. Then she had to wiggle out of her belt, and even with the belt gone the heavily layered waistband was a formidable obstacle. But Caroline sawed through it, and finally Misty was free. Both of them were panting from the effort. “Well, here I am, a seventeen-year-old virgin with no pants,” Misty quipped in a trembling attempt at humor. “I bet there’s a thousand boys who’d love to be you right now.”
Caroline licked her lips. “Uh. Yeah.” And she glanced up at Misty, her brown eyes half-hidden by her eyebrows, her face gone all serious. Misty swallowed, but returned Caroline’s gaze for a long, awkward moment. Caroline was bent over her in the confined space, her calloused hand pressed between Misty’s thighs. Misty had seen Caroline in nothing but a bra and panties plenty of times, living in the same trailer with her for what felt like a thousand shows. They’d been best friends since they were both eight, but she’d never wondered before what Caroline’s skin felt like.
Then Caroline broke the contact to look down at Misty’s knee. “Shit, girl. You aren’t going to be standing up on this any time soon, much less getting on a unicorn.” She was right. The knee was the size of a cantaloupe and an evil mix of purple and black.
Tears pinched at the back of Misty’s throat. “I’ve got to, Caroline. I’ve just got to.” If Misty didn’t ride tonight, her mother would unleash her wrath on the nearest available object, and that was Caroline. Mother would make sure she never worked again.
Caroline sat back on her haunches, leaning her back against the bad imitation woodgrain of the wall. “I don’t see how.”
Misty licked her lips. “What about that healing touch of yours? It works on Vulcan.”
“That’s just a little hedge witchery. I don’t practice on people! I don’t have any experience, I don’t have a license... hell, I wouldn’t even do it on myself!”
“But Caroline, back in the arena...”
“I completely missed how badly you were hurt. If I mess up your knee healing it, they’ll have to do surgery to put it right! You could be out of commission for six months!”
“So? Six hours is enough to lose our shot at the Nationals. I won’t let my stupid mistake mess up your career.”
“Screw my career!”
“Please, Caroline!” She reached out and took Caroline’s hand. “Please.”
Caroline didn’t pull away. Her hand was very warm and moist in Misty’s; her long strong fingers almost overwhelmed Misty’s tiny delicate ones. “Okay,” she said at last. “But only if it’s what you want. Not your mother.”
Misty held Caroline’s hand tighter. “This is what I want.”
The two of them rearranged themselves in the tiny space so that Caroline could lay both hands on Misty’s knee. They were trembling. Misty put her hands over Caroline’s. “It’s okay,” she said. “I trust you.”
“I know. But if I hurt you...”
“If you do, it’ll be because I asked you to.”
Caroline nodded and took a deep breath. Then she began to murmur, words as soft and convoluted as the inside of a unicorn’s ear. At first Caroline’s hands were cool on the heat of the injured knee, but then they began to warm—a deep thrumming warmth that resonated in Misty’s bones. The heat of the injury was absorbed in that warmth, the shards of hot glass cooling and softening as Misty’s knee relaxed back to normal. It was like music—the harsh jangled vibrations caught up and subsumed in the melody of Caroline’s magic—a melody woven of Caroline’s hands and her soft voice. It echoed low in Misty’s belly. Misty sighed and closed her eyes.
As the swelling subsided, the warmth spread up Misty’s leg and across her torso until it reached her heart and flowed to every part of her. She felt the rhythm of Caroline’s words in her own pulse—each stronger for the other’s presence.
“Misty...?”
Caroline never called Misty by name... “Blondie,” “Shorty,” but never, ever “Misty.” She opened her eyes.
Caroline was looking at her with bottomless dark eyes. Her hands were wrapped around Misty’s knee, almost reverently. She was trembling again, and a sheen of sweat glistened on her face. “Misty... are you all right?”
“Better than all right.” She leaned forward and slid her hands around the back of Caroline’s neck, sliding forward until their bodies meshed. “Caroline...”
Caroline began to pull away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“This is what I want.” And she kissed her.
-o0o-
Misty drifted slowly awake to Caroline’s warm clean smell and the softness of her breast against Misty’s cheek. The whole length of Caroline’s long lean body was fitted smoothly against her, skin touching skin, and her arms enclosed Misty with gentle protectiveness. Misty sighed in contentment... but when she moved, like hitting the sand in the arena, it was going to hurt. Caroline would wake up, and the moment would be over, and Misty couldn’t stand the thought of it.
The general public had a lot of misconceptions about unicorns, but the virginity trip was the real deal. Unicorns didn’t share. The women around them were their herds, and they would brook no competition or threat to those they loved. Anyone not a virgin who tried to mount a unicorn was taking her life in her hands.
Misty’s career was over.
Caroline’s arms tightened around her. Holding on. Misty tipped up her head to look at Caroline’s face, and saw tears in her eyes.
In all the years they’d lived together in trailer after trailer, Misty had never seen Caroline cry. No matter what cruel, horrible thing Mother said to her, Caroline pinched her lips together and sucked it down.
Misty brushed the tears off Caroline’s cheek. “Don’t cry, Caroline. It’s okay.”
Caroline squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in Misty’s hair. “It’s not okay,” she whispered, her voice broken. “I’ve ruined your whole life.”
“It’s only my life so far.” Misty shifted so she could look Caroline in the eye. “And you didn’t do anything to me. I’m the one who started it, remember? I think I’ve wanted this for a long time, even if I didn’t know that until today.” And she kissed her—trying to show Caroline that it really was all right, even though she wasn’t sure herself.
Caroline kissed back with a desperate edge she hadn’t shown before. She tasted of salt. She smelled of Misty.
Misty stroked Caroline’s hair, gentling her down from desperation and murmuring vague reassurances. “We’ll be all right. We’ll be all right.”
“How?” Caroline’s voice was muffled against Misty’s breast. “What do we do now?”
Misty took a deep breath. “Right now we’re going to get up and take Vulcan a drink. He’s been tied out there for three hours without any water. Then we’re going to both get through the shower before Mother shows up.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll handle Mother. She’s not your problem any more.”
Caroline swallowed. “Okay. I’ll take care of Vulcan while you hit the shower.” She gave a rueful little smile. “Too bad there isn’t room for both of us at once.” Then she kissed Misty on the neck and slid out of bed, leaving a cold vacancy behind.
Once she was alone, Misty gathered the sheets into a wad in her lap, hunching herself into a tiny ball and rocking back and forth.
Her career was over.
No more trophies. No more spotlight. No more photographers. No more reporters watching her.
Imagine that.
No more having to act twelve. No more biting back what she wanted to say because it wasn’t “nice.” No more of Mother dressing her in fucking pink Wranglers.
And no more Caroline.
Even if she couldn’t train unicorns any more, Caroline could make a perfectly good living working with horses. Once she realized what Misty had done to her, she wouldn’t want to hang around a short, skinny ex-unicorn-rider who’d cost her a good job.
Misty’d always tried not to think about what would happen when she couldn’t ride anymore. The very few riders who didn’t grow up and get married became trainers, living like sisters in a closed monastic order. That never had been attractive to Misty before—she didn’t have the patience for training—and it sure as hell wasn’t an option now.
She didn’t want to pop out babies for some goat-roper, and she didn’t want to move to Dallas and marry the rich son of one of Daddy’s friends.
She wanted Caroline.
But she didn’t want Caroline to see her like this. She dried her eyes on a corner of the sheet, pulled herself together, and headed for the shower.
Three minutes later the water was turning lukewarm, and Misty shut it off to leave a little for Caroline. She poked her head out of the closet of a bathroom. Caroline hadn’t come in yet.
How long could it take to get a pail of water?
Heart in her throat, Misty yanked a clean pair of jeans out of the drawer and struggled to pull them up her damp legs. Had Vulcan mauled her? Caroline was the best, but she’d never dealt with unicorns in a less-than-virginal state before. Misty fumbled with the buttons on her shirt as she headed for the door, afraid she’d find Caroline bleeding into the sawdust on the stall floor, but as she put her hand on the latch the door opened under it. It was Caroline.
“What took you so long?” Misty shouted. “I thought you were dead!”
Caroline pushed Misty gently back and closed the door firmly behind her. “Misty, maybe it doesn’t count.”
“What?”
“What we did. I’m not sure it matters.”
“Well, it mattered to me!”
“Me too, but I meant Vulcan.”
“Oh.” Misty paused. “Huh?”
“He was really snappish, but he let me water him and feed him.”
“What do you mean, ‘snappish’?”
“He growled a lot, and pushed me into the wall, and he tried to bite me twice. But he could just be pissed at being locked up all day.”
“Did you try to get on him?”
“I...” Caroline looked down. “No.”
“Did you even take off the cross-ties?”
Caroline shook her head and didn’t look up. “No. Didn’t have the guts.”
Misty sat down hard on the dinette bench. She didn’t know what to think... Didn’t know if she could afford to hope... Didn’t even know if she wanted to hope.
And then came a familiar screech of “Misty!” The door slammed open, revealing Misty’s mother beaming in carnivorous glee. “Misty, you’ll never guess!”
Misty’s heart tried to climb up her throat. “Mother!” she squeaked.
But Mother was on a roll, and didn’t notice that half the buttons on Misty’s shirt were in the wrong buttonholes. “Mary Frances Schwartz got herself gored!”
Caroline paled. “Omigod!”
Misty said, “Is she okay?”
“Oh, she’s at the hospital, I’m sure she’ll be fine. The point is, she can’t ride! Probably not for months! And with her out of the way, all you have to do is not fall off the stupid animal again, and we’ll win the Nationals!” She grabbed Misty by the cheeks and pinched hard. “We’ll win!” she sing-songed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “We’ll get our first National championship!”
Misty couldn’t keep the image of little Mary Frances torn open and bleeding out of her mind. It was too close to what she’d visualized happening to Caroline. “How did it happen?”
“The stupid little tart kissed a boy. Can you believe it?” She shook her head, and over her shoulder Misty saw Caroline’s face drop into an expression of anxiety and dismay. “Now look, we have to get you into your outfit right away. There are going to be lots of photographers waiting in the warm-up arena and my little angel will have to be perfect.” She turned to Caroline. “And so does Vulcan, so you’d better get to work instead of loitering around the trailer.” But her habitual nastiness lacked its usual edge—blunted by the thought of Misty’s ensuing triumph. She began to fuss at Misty’s hair. “What, you’ve only just showered?” She made a sound of tried patience.
Caroline didn’t move. She just stared as though she was afraid she’d never see Misty alive again.
Without turning, Misty’s mother said, “I thought I told you to get to work.”
Caroline blew a shaky kiss to Misty and headed for the barn. Misty opened her mouth to call Caroline back, to say, “Don’t go,” but Mother started to unbutton Misty’s shirt.
“Good God, child, you’re all crooked!”
In her panic over Caroline, Misty hadn’t had time to put on a bra. She snatched the front of her shirt closed, backing towards the bedroom. “I can dress myself, Mother.”
“Well, you can’t prove it by me! Now hurry up, we have to do your hair.”
Misty shut the folding door and swallowed her heart back down to its proper position. Her show outfit was hanging on the wall in its protective bag, and the white hat with its pink rhinestone hatband was still in its box on the shelf. She dressed in a daze, more out of habit than conviction.
What could she say? What could she do? What should she do? Would Vulcan even let her mount? She wasn’t sure which she feared more—Vulcan’s horn or her mother’s tongue. At least if Vulcan attacked her she’d be dead.
At last she emerged, fully decked out in gleaming white and glittering pink. Her mother looked up from polishing Misty’s pink Ropers. “There’s my angel!”
Misty thought she might throw up.
Her mother took her by the shoulders and looked seriously into her face. “You’re gonna make me so proud.”
Misty wanted to say “let’s just get this over with.” But she put on the best smile she could muster and said, “Thanks.”
Caroline had Vulcan saddled and ready to go. He tossed his head and sidled, ears back and lips taut. Misty reached out to stroke his neck and he snapped at her. “Easy,” she crooned, but he twitched away from her touch.
Misty’s mother cast a disgusted eye at Vulcan. “What on Earth is wrong with that animal?” He growled and snapped at her. Mother backed away and turned to Caroline. “You keep him under control, do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She didn’t sound at all certain.
Mother turned back to Misty, her face aglow, and squealed “I’ll see you in the ring!”
Once Misty’s mother had left, Vulcan sniffed and snuffled Misty all over. She was used to that—she was covered in hairspray and powder for the show ring—but today his examination seemed more intrusive, more urgent. “What do you think, big fella?”
He snorted, which wasn’t exactly an answer.
Caroline said, “Don’t do this, Misty. Mary Frances got gored just for kissing a boy.”
“You’re not a boy.” She reached for Caroline’s hand, but before she could touch her Vulcan tossed his head and growled. “Whoa! Easy, boy!”
Working together, with pats and whispers and lumps of beef jerky, they managed to get him calmed down a bit. Eventually he let Misty rub his ears and scratch at the base of his horn.
“I don’t know...” Misty said, stroking Vulcan’s warm cheek. “Maybe he’s just a little out of sorts. I think... I think I could ride him.”
“And you could get killed trying.” Caroline’s eyes glistened. “I don’t want to lose you!”
“You won’t.” Misty drew herself up to her full four-foot-eleven. “Not ever. But I have to do this, Caro. I have to try.” She started walking.
After a moment Caroline followed, with Vulcan in tow.
They walked Vulcan up to the gate and checked in with the gate steward. He winked and gave them a thumbs-up. Misty smiled weakly back at him.
“Good luck.” Caroline’s voice was trembling as she handed Misty the reins.
Their fingers met briefly on the reins, and Misty stood abruptly up on tiptoe to kiss Caroline on the cheek. Caroline looked surprised, then a smile spread across her face. The expression made Misty’s throat close up and her heart turn over. Flashbulbs stabbed through the semi-dark at them.
Caroline turned toward the stands, stroking her kissed cheek as she walked away.
Misty stood alone in the crowd of unicorns and riders, waiting in the shadow beneath the announcer’s booth. A pall of apprehension hovered over them, riders pale and unicorns skittish—the usual pre-class jitters amplified in the wake of Mary Frances’ accident. No one spoke.
The loudspeaker boomed and the first rider walked her unicorn out into the floodlights’ scrutiny to mount in front of the judge. One by one they trickled away, in ascending order of points for the year, until only Misty remained.
“And finally,” roared the announcer, “with four hundred and eighty-seven points, Miss Misty Bell and B.R. Vulcan’s Golden Hammer!”
The gate steward swung the gate open and smiled at her.
Vulcan gently nudged her shoulder with his muzzle. They had done this hundreds of times, and he knew the routine. They should move forward into the glare of the arena.
And she knew. She knew that she could ride him.
She licked her lips and took one step forward. And stopped.
The announcer’s voice came again. “Miss Misty Bell. Two minutes.”
The gate steward looked at her quizzically. Vulcan reached under the brim of her hat to touch her face with his muzzle. His breath was sweet with oats and alfalfa.
All she had to do was walk in, mount, ride this class, and she would win it.
And then she’d win the Nationals, and next year she’d be back here doing it again. And every year after that, as long as her mother’s ambition held out.
Her mother’s ambition. Not hers.
“Scratch,” she said quietly.
“Beg your pardon, Miss Bell?” said the gate steward.
“Close the gate, Harry.”
And the ring steward closed the gate, giving the judge a go-ahead wave.
Misty turned and led Vulcan away from the lights of the show ring and out into the peaceful darkness of the fairgrounds. Behind her, the announcer’s voice called out “Miss Bell scratches.” A mutter of consternation and curiosity ran through the stands, but she just kept walking, putting one pink boot in front of the other, in no particular hurry as she headed back through the evening to the barn.
Her mother caught up to her in the fringes of the barn lights, her face half-lit like a bright half moon. “How can you do this to me?” she screeched, face dark with rage above the white leather of her Show Mother suit.
“I’m not going to ride tonight, Mother,” she said, her boots firm on the packed earth. She’d expected to be afraid, but she wasn’t.
“Listen, little girl...”
“I’m not a little girl, Mother. That’s the point.”
Caroline pounded up behind Misty’s mother. “What happened? Wouldn’t he let you mount?”
Misty’s mother froze, staring at Misty with dawning understanding and rage. “You. Little. Slut.” She clenched her fists, and Vulcan growled a warning. “Who was it?” she hissed.
“That’s none of your business.”
Misty’s mother whirled on Caroline. “You were supposed to watch her! How can you let this happen after all I’ve done for you?”
Caroline opened her mouth, but Misty cut her off. “You’ve never done anything for her, you platinum-plated bitch.”
Misty’s mother gawped at Misty, sputters and gasps of frustrated fury choking in her throat.
“You should go back to the hotel, Mother. Have a drink. We’ll talk about it in the morning. And my knee’s fine, thanks for asking.”
“We’ll see how fine you are with no money, you ungrateful little whore.”
“Good night, Mother.”
Left with nothing else to do, Misty’s mother stalked stiff-backed toward the parking lot. Misty felt the muscles in the small of her back unclench.
Caroline could only stare. “Misty... what did you do?”
“I...” Misty slumped. “I think I just got you fired. Oh, Caroline... I’m sorry.”
“I won’t have any problem finding another job—Jack Thornton’s been begging me for two years. But what about you? She’s your mother!”
“I couldn’t let her treat you like that any more. If I hadn’t done something, neither of us would ever have gotten away.”
“Misty, what’ll you do?”
Misty shrugged, shook her head and couldn’t make herself not smile. “I dunno. Maybe Jack Thornton’ll let me shovel stalls for him or something.” She put her foot in the stirrup and swung up into Vulcan’s saddle. He purred and reached around to nuzzle her boot. “I’m going for a ride to clear my head. Will you still be here when I get back?”
Caroline squeezed Misty’s knee. “You know it, shorty.”
Misty pulled off the pink-rhinestoned hat and flung it into the darkness. Then she nudged Vulcan with her knee, and as they ambled down the quiet aisle between the barns, she shook her hair loose into the cool of the evening.