7. Bonnie
BONNIE
Friday’s event has my name on the program for a twenty-minute groundwork demonstration. I agreed to it in April. I call the coordinator myself that morning to make certain she still expects me.
The coordinator has kept my name on the program. She asks whether I am still taking private clinic bookings for winter, and I tell her yes. She makes a note beside my number. It is the first useful question anyone has asked me all week.
I take Mercy. Gage drives us from the ranch with her and his bay in our trailer. Tawny has borrowed a seasoned gray from her father’s string for her exhibition. There is another horse she can ride when someone bothers to arrange it.
My demonstration goes well. A young rider volunteers to handle Mercy while I explain from the rail. The girl changes the angle of her hand, sees the mare answer, and looks at me with such startled pleasure that I grin back.
Afterward, two people ask for my booking details. I give them my own number. A groom who has worked with Mercy for years walks her back to the stall I booked, with instructions that she stays there until I collect her.
Gage finds me by the warm-up pen before his open run and asks about the footing. I tell him where the ground has been churned deep. He listens, takes the bay through a quiet circle, and rides the pattern as we discussed.
Watching him, I remember liking him before I loved him. He has strong, patient hands and an instinct for the moment a horse is ready to give him more. I used to shout myself hoarse for him.
Tonight I stand at the rail with my lips pressed together until the timer stops.
He wins his heat. When he comes back, I smile before I mean to. He leans down to touch my shoulder.
“That ground was worse than you said.”
“You got through it.”
“You were right about staying wide.”
He dismounts, loosens the girth, and walks the bay beside me toward the cooling lane. We have five good minutes. He tells me where he lost time. I tell him it was less than he thinks. He grumbles, and I enjoy being the person he wants to argue with about a tenth of a second.
Tawny catches us at the end of the cooling lane. She has finished her exhibition on the gray. The photographers want both riders for the sponsor presentation. Gage hands the bay to his groom.
“They want Mercy in the pictures too,” Gage tells me.
“For my demonstration?”
“For the team. You can bring her over.”
“Where am I standing?”
He looks impatient. “Beside the horse, Bon. It’s a presentation.”
I go to the barn myself. Mercy lifts her head from the hay when I reach her stall. I put on her halter, telling myself that my name is on tonight’s program. There are people here who just watched me teach. I will stand with my horse and my husband, and he will have to remember that I belong there.
The presentation area is beneath two large screens. Gage is already on the low platform with Tawny. He points to the space below them, near the mare’s head.
“There. Keep her turned toward the camera.”
A volunteer brings a white hat and an open box. A narrow rhinestone crown lies inside. Tawny puts on the hat while the volunteer shows Gage the clips.
“And now Gage Redfern will crown the woman he chose to represent Byers on the Crown feature tour,” the announcer says. “Our new rodeo queen, Tawny Byers.”
My husband lifts the crown from the box. Tawny tips her head toward him, and he fastens it to the front of her hat. On the screen, his hands are careful with her. My fingers tighten on Mercy’s rope. I loosen them before she has to pull.
The volunteer puts the trophy into Gage’s hands. Tawny takes the other side.
“Gage,” I say. “I’m down here.”
He looks at the screen. I see him look. Tawny, Gage, the top of Mercy’s ears. My face is below the frame.
“Stay there. They need the mare settled.”
“A little closer,” the photographer tells Tawny.
She slides her hand along Gage’s arm and presses closer. He adjusts his grip on the trophy to make room for her. I wait for him to look down at me.
“You’ve seen them ride,” the announcer says. “You’ve seen what these two can do together. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for rodeo’s first family.”
The crowd applauds. Tawny turns and kisses Gage’s cheek. She keeps her hand at his collar after her mouth leaves him.
I hear several whistles. My husband smiles at the cameras. This is the woman who knows what I said in bed when I was afraid. He has put a crown on her and left me holding the rope.
“Gage.”
He looks down. I point at the screen.
“I know,” he says. “One second.”
Tawny leans toward him to say something. He bends to hear her, and the camera follows the movement. Above my head, my husband looks as though he is sharing a joke with the woman standing in my place.
My back hurts from standing. I could hand Mercy to the groom and go. The thought is so tempting that I hate it. They would keep smiling above the empty place where I had been, and nobody would have to correct a word.
“That’s enough,” I say.
The nearby volunteer turns toward me. I ask her to get the groom who knows Mercy. She calls him over, and I put the rope into his hand. Then I walk toward the platform.
Gage comes down one step. “What are you doing?”
“You need to correct that.”
“It’s an expression.”
“Then use a different one.”
He sets the trophy down on the edge of the platform. Tawny remains near the microphone.
“Everybody here knows we’re married,” Gage says.
“Then why are you letting them call her your family?”
“Because it’s a promotion. You know that.”
I look up. The live screen now shows us arguing at the edge of the platform. At last, my face is visible.
The announcer steps back from the microphone. I climb the steps and reach it before he can turn it off.
“My name is Bonnie Redfern,” I say.
My voice comes out too loud through the speakers. A little feedback whines, and several people cover their ears. I stop, embarrassed by the sound, and Gage takes hold of the stand.
“Bonnie, don’t.”
“That’s my husband. Mercy is my horse.”
The announcer tries to smile. “Of course. Our apologies if?—”
“She trained that mare,” someone calls from the rail.
I recognize Beryl’s voice. I am grateful, but I cannot look toward her. If I see a friendly face, I will lose what little control I have.
Tawny moves beside Gage. “Nobody’s denied that. We’re celebrating the whole team.”
“You just stood beside him while they called you his family.”
“I didn’t write the announcer’s introduction,” Tawny says.
“You kissed him when he called you family. You stayed there smiling for the picture.”
The crowd quiets. Gage steps closer to me, and for a moment I think he is finally going to take the microphone.
I turn toward him. “Tell them now. Bonnie is your wife. Tawny is your campaign partner. Say it while the people who heard that introduction are still here.”
“Stop, Bonnie.”
I stare at him.
“You’re making this into something it wasn’t.” His voice carries through the microphone between us.
“I’m asking you to correct it.”
“And I’m asking you not to do this in front of a crowd.”
“You had time to pose with her in front of one.”
Tawny comes to the edge of the platform. “Everybody understands this is a difficult time for you. Pregnancy can make things feel?—”
“Don’t talk about my pregnancy.” My voice breaks on the last word. I wipe my face with the back of my hand, smearing dust across my cheek. “You don’t get to explain me.”
Gage reaches for my elbow. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”
“Let go.”
He does. The silence near the platform is worse than the applause. I can hear a woman in the second row telling someone to put a phone away.
I turn to the announcer. “If you use family, you mean me. And our child. You don’t mean her.”
“Understood,” he says.
I step down from the platform. Gage follows, but Tawny calls his name. I turn because I cannot bear not knowing what he will do.
She is standing beside the abandoned trophy. “We still have to finish the sponsor presentation.”
He looks from her to me.
“Beryl can get you settled,” he says. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I walk past him. Beryl meets me near the rail and says she has taken Mercy from the groom. I let her lead me through the tunnel while the announcer begins apologizing for the interruption.
Behind us, the presentation continues.