Once More Into The Fray (Stronghold #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

SUNDAY, EL PASO, TX

Enya Moore took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

She shifted her body with the horse under her.

Rain wouldn’t stand still. He danced from side to side, muscles twitching, head tossing, and his hooves churned up the dirt.

Her boy knew what was coming, and he was hyped up and more than ready to run.

Enya held her weight steady, one hand light on the reins, the other on the saddle horn, trying to keep Rain between the lines of steel gates leading to the arena. There was a fine line between amping him up to run and letting him cross the line into being an asshole.

She brushed her nose into her shoulder and scrunched it up, breathing through her mouth as she tried to avoid the smell of sweat and dirt, hay and metal, and the heat from the Sunday crowd packed shoulder to shoulder into the arena, sending a trickle of sweat down her spine.

I’m not swearing because I’m nervous.

But telling herself that didn’t exactly help when the air trembled with noise from boots on the bleachers, whistles, and hundreds of other small sounds that rolled into a big one, driving both her and Rain’s adrenaline sky high.

“Next up,” the announcer’s voice bounced off the walls, “Enya Moore riding S-H-R Chasing Rainbows.”

As if he recognized his fancy registered name, Rain’s ears flicked forward as the cheer from the crowd bounced off the rafters.

Enya leaned closer and whispered, “Not yet, boy. Wait for me.” The stallion’s body bunched tighter, like a bow drawn past its limit.

He wanted to run, right this second. He wanted the dirt flying, the lights flashing, and to hear his name being screamed from the stands.

She wanted it too, and as she watched for the go signal, anticipation swirled inside her.

“Steady, baby. Get ready.” The light blinked green, “Go. Go. Go.”

Rain launched before she finished the order. Dirt sprayed from his hooves as they broke into the arena like something shot from a cannon.

The first barrel came so fast she barely had time to drop her weight, tighten her inside leg, and give Rain just enough rein to find his balance.

Rain folded around the turn, smooth and low, dirt kicking up in a halo behind them.

Enya knew the barrel was still standing when the crowd roared in approval.

The announcer’s voice cracked, trying to keep up. “Clean first turn for Moore and Rain, let’s see if they can hold it!”

They hit the second barrel almost before Enya saw it coming.

Rain took the turn a little too close, and his inside hoof clipped the sand under the drum.

The barrel rocked and wobbled on its edge, then settled back upright.

The crowd gasped and then roared louder than before.

Enya didn’t look back. She didn’t dare breathe because she was already lining up Rain up for the third. “Come on, come on. Give me everything.”

Her boy charged hard with his ears pinned and nostrils flaring.

The turn came tight enough that Enya’s stirrup brushed the paint as Rain shot straight into the home run.

Enya leaned low over his neck, giving him every inch he asked for.

The stallion stretched long and fast, and his hooves ate the ground in a steady drumbeat.

Her dad’s voice rose above the cheering crowd. “Bring it home, Enya. Come on, Rain. Run, ya big ‘ole son of a gun, run! Run, damn it.”

They plunged under the arch into the alley, and the buzzer screamed.

“Did we do it?” Enya called to her dad. “What did we get?”

“Fourteen-point-zero-two.” The crowd went wild as the announcer called her time before her dad could answer, “Fastest of the entire week so far.”

“Yes!”

Holy crap, how the hell did they manage to run a fourteen-zero-two in a week that had been mostly in the sixteens and seventeens?

“Good boy.” She patted Rain’s neck, “Good boy. You rocked it, baby.” Rain still wanted to run, and Enya let him have a few more choppy strides before easing him back, both of them shaking from what they’d just done.

The sound of the crowd roared through the arena and rolled over her like a wave crashing on a beach.

Despite him having just finished his last run of the week, Rain fought the bit, wanting one more barrel, one more run, one more stretch of dirt to burn. Enya let him have a few longer strides before sitting deep into the saddle and talking him down.

“Easy, boy. Breathe.”

Her horse tossed his head once, twice, foam flecking his reins, but his gait finally broke into a jog.

They looped once in the holding pen to wind down, as the next rider, Hailey and her horse, trotted past them toward the gate, the horse’s ears flat from the noise. Enya tipped her hat at her as they passed and offered her a quick grin that said ‘good luck.’

Her heart was still hammering, sweat sliding down her spine, the whole inside of her vibrating from the run. She’d been running barrels most of her life, but it never stopped feeling like this—like something reverent.

Rain snorted and stomped, flicking dirt up at her boot. Enya guided him toward the holding pen at the far end, where the other top riders waited for the last few runs to finish before the final placements were called.

Rain fidgeted, shifting his weight and flaring his nostrils wide, and those grunts of his were most likely his version of talking smack to the gelding next to him.

Enya slid a hand down his neck again, grounding them both.

“You did such a good job,” she murmured, “good boy.” His ears flicked back toward her voice.

Enya leaned forward, resting her chin on Rain’s mane for a heartbeat, and closed her eyes. They’d done all they could do.

Please God, let it be enough.

We worked so hard for this.

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!”