Chapter 1
SEVEN YEARS LATER
Stay focused.
Eyes on the prize, Ellie.
And that prize is winning first place.
I inhale the humid summer air mixed with dirt and leather. The smell combination is one I’m used to and brings a warmth of memories to the surface each time.
There’s nothing better than being at a rodeo. It feels like home.
The crowd cheers for Marcia Grayson, who just ran the barrels at probably the fastest speed I’ve ever seen her race, but when her time is announced, I smile to myself.
It’s good enough for first place but not enough to beat me.
I started barrel racing when I was thirteen. It’s all I’ve focused on for the past six years.
Between attending clinics and consistently training, I’ve established a good technique for what works for us. Although I’m not always on my A game, I’m competitive and arrogant enough to believe I’ll win regardless.
It’s nearly dark out, so the arena is beaming with bright stadium lights. Although the sun’s gone down, sweat drips down my back as the nerves take over. This rodeo is at a county fair an hour outside of my hometown, and although it’s a non-pro event, I’m still just as driven to win. Any prize money I win goes toward Ranger’s lifetime earnings and with it being close to home, it wasn’t a big deal to make the trip. Since the riders are a mix of non-pro and pro barrel racers, I get to run against men and women I don’t usually compete against.
The race time ranges depend on how big the arena is and how fast the riders are. Tonight, they’ve been between sixteen and seventeen seconds. Well, not including the couple of riders who knocked down barrels and got five-second penalties added on.
The time to beat is Marcia’s at sixteen point one one two seconds.
As I sit on Ranger, he whines and stomps in place, waiting for our turn. He’s as eager as I am to get in there.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Ranger’s more competitive than me.
But my voice is enough to calm him.
“Hang tight, buddy.” I lean down from the saddle and rub his neck, then speak softly near his ear, “We got this. Just like we always do.”
He’s the gelding quarter horse I’ve had since I was sixteen and runs all my races with me. We’ve spent hundreds of hours practicing together, and I trust him with my life.
Now at nineteen, I may not have a social or dating life, but I have Ranger.
I love dressing up in all pink for these events, and even though he’s a male, he’s decorated the same. It gives our duo some personality flair. Sparkly pink cowboy hat, pink cowboy boots under my jeans, and a bright pink collared button-up shirt that matches his pink saddle pad, breast collar, leg wraps, and bridle set. He’s my boy who wears pink with pride.
“Good luck,” Easton says when I exit the waiting pen.
“We don’t need it, but thanks!” I wave as I guide Ranger toward the alleyway where the music and cheering grow louder.
Ranger’s flowing with adrenaline and when he hears the emcee speak, he does little sideways tippy taps as we wait for the gate to open. I always hype him up before we run down to get him ready and to double-check my balance.
“You ready for this, Ranger?” I ask, and his ears tilt toward me as he waits for my command. “Let’s show ’em whatcha got.”
The moment I give him a quick kick, he runs full speed down the alleyway. Ranger’s gaze is locked on the first barrel the moment he sees it.
“Like a glue stick!” I remind him, then smile proudly at how good he does staying in the pocket to avoid knocking over the barrel and manages to twist around it without losing too much speed. “Thatta boy.”
My words come out between short-labored breaths, but he hears every word.
When my body shifts in the saddle, my boot slips out of the stirrup, and the side of my foot nudges the second barrel on the turn. My tight grip on the saddle horn releases, quickly grabbing the edge of the barrel and keeping it upright as I keep a firm hold on the reins.
“Whew, that was close,” I say before Ranger takes off like a rocket to the third one and completes the cloverleaf pattern.
“Yes, hustle home!” I lean forward, hovering closer to his mane and keeping my hold on the reins as he sprints back to the alleyway.
I refuse to use a whip on him mostly because I don’t need to. We have a deep connection, so he knows what to do just from my body language and the tone of my voice. He reads my cues well enough and knows what I need him to do without a crop.
He’s my soul horse, and I’d be lost if anything ever happened to him.
The crowd shouts so loud that we spin around to look at the screen.
My heart races as I read the time and my name next to the number one spot.
“The Rodeo Princess does it again, folks!” the emcee announces. “Ellie Donovan takes the lead with fifteen point nine five two!”
They gave me that nickname after winning every race I entered my first year competing at the pro rodeo events, which is also how I was able to upgrade my permit to a cardholder in less than a year.
I wrap my arms around Ranger’s neck. “Such a good boy.”
I’m lucky that we bond as well as we do. Most riders go through a handful of horses before they find their perfect barrel-racing horse.
My parents make their way toward me, jogging and flailing their arms in the air like they always do when they’re overly excited.
I’m an only child, so I get all their attention.
Sometimes too much.
But I’m grateful for their support. If it weren’t for my mom pushing me to do an extracurricular activity after what happened to my cousin, who was like an older sister to me, I wouldn’t have joined a local 4-H Club and enrolled in their horse training program.
And who knows where I’d be if I hadn’t.
I started showing depressive episodes when I was thirteen. Mom wanted to keep my attention off the news and for me to put my energy and focus into something productive. Truthfully, it worked. I became addicted to the sport.
Hell, I’m still addicted to it.
A few years after I started and was outshining everyone in the juniors division, my parents gifted me Ranger for my sixteenth birthday. Most of my friends got cars or trucks for theirs, but I got him, which was even better. I’d been training on my 4-H leader’s horses, but I was ready to level up.
It was a game changer.
Ranger saved me. And I like to think we saved him, too. His previous owner neglected him and he got put up for auction. From the first time we met, he trusted me for some reason.
It’s like he knew I needed him as much as he needed me.
We invested time and money into getting him the proper care and training he needed and now he’s never been better.
“You did it, sweetheart!” Mom shouts.
Maybe.Easton still has to race.
He’s only been training for the past three years, but he’s good.
Just not as good as me.
We first met at a 4-H Club outing years ago and have been friends who talk about horses ever since.
I ride Ranger toward the waiting pen so Easton can take his turn. Holding out my hand, he gives me a high five as we pass each other.
“Damn, you popped the clutch on that entrance,” Easton calls out, referring to how fast Ranger sped through the alleyway. “And good save out there with the tipsy barrel.”
“Thanks! Good luck, E!” I shout as the distance between us grows wider.
When my parents reach us, they shower Ranger with love and tell him how amazing he did.
“Noah couldn’t take her eyes off y’all! She loved it and was cheerin’ along with us,” Mom gushes.
The corner of my lips curves up. “Really? That’s awesome!”
I was so amped up that I forgot Noah Hollis was in the crowd watching me.
My dream trainer.
The top one in the state and she came to watch me.
I’ve been working with a former barrel racer at my grandparents’ farm where I board Ranger, and she’s been wonderful in getting me to where I am now. However, if I want to get my name out there more and challenge myself to faster race times, I need a professional trainer who can help push us there. Noah’s known as a horse whisperer and if she agrees to take me on, I can board Ranger at her ranch and utilize their training facility.
What makes her even more unique is the fact she’s only twenty-one years old.
Most trainers are twice her age and still not as talented as her. She’s wise beyond her years, with great resources and knowledge to help me make this a successful full-time career.
The more races I win, the more opportunities there are to get money and prizes—which vary between belt buckles, horse breast collars, saddles, tack or other equipment. Each event has its own incentives, but each win gets me closer to qualifying for larger events, such as regional championships, national finals, or even invite-only rodeos. But making it to the national or world finals and winning first place at least once during my career is my ultimate dream.
“One final rider of the evenin’…”
The emcee’s voice grabs our attention toward the arena, and we watch as Easton and his American Paint Horse, Scotty, gun it around the first barrel.
“He’s fast…” Dad admires.
The other riders, including Marcia, are all watching, too.
She doesn’t look too happy about the potential of being pushed into third place.
“Here he comes…” Mom holds her breath as we wait for him to cross home and get his final time.
“Fifteen point nine six nine! That puts Easton Hawthorne in second place!”
“Yes!” Dad shouts. “You did it, kid!”
We don’t have time to celebrate before I’m directed back into the arena for a victory lap. Not every event does this, but when they do, I put on my best smile and wave to the crowd as music echoes above me. I might be new to pro rodeo, but I hear my little fan base screaming for me. Since I’m local to the state, more people recognize me from TV interviews and articles they’ve written about me when I won Rookie of the Year.
Tonight’s prizes go to the top three, so I walk Ranger over to the event’s sponsor committee for an oversized check for two thousand dollars and a champion belt buckle with the event’s name, year, and logo. The one I’m wearing tonight is from the last rodeo I won. After each new one, I wear it to the next. It’s been my good luck charm.
The high after winning a race sets in and after I congratulate Marcia and Easton on placing, take photos, and speak with one of the local newspaper journalists, I walk Ranger back to my trailer where my parents and Noah are waiting for me.
“You did amazing!” She beams. Her long blond hair in a high ponytail bounces with each step she takes toward me.
With my arms still full, I give my check and buckle over to my mom, then Dad grabs Ranger’s reins so I can free my hands.
“Thank you! I’m so glad you could come.” I lean forward and give her a side hug.
We’ve talked on the phone previously, and considering we’re from the same small town, I’ve known her name ever since I started riding horses, so it feels like we’re already close friends.
“Are you kiddin’? I was more than excited to see you in action. You didn’t disappoint.”
Getting her approval fills me with pride, but I know there must be things she saw I could work on.
“So what’d you think?” I ask eagerly.
“I think you and Ranger make a solid team. There’s always room for improvement, though. We can work on tightening your frame so your stirrup doesn’t go rogue.” She winks.
“Yeah, that was unexpected,” I admit.
She shrugs casually. “It happens. You handled it well, though. You kept him tight in the pocket, but there’s always a chance you might not be so quick to bump the barrel back into place. That’s something we can work on so y’all don’t risk that going forward.”
I nod. “Did you notice anything else?”
“Mostly minor things that can easily be worked on and fixed. I think your reins are too long and you’d do better with shorter ones. Practice ridin’ more straight and square so your body stays in an upright position. Although Ranger seems to have good muscle memory, he also follows your lead and it could result in knocking down a barrel if you lean too far. You don’t wanna risk that five-second penalty. Common for almost every rider is forgetting to breathe properly while you’re runnin’ the barrels. We can do some exercises for that.”
“You sound like you know what you’re doin’.” Mom smiles, shifting her eyes to me in excitement. She supports my desire to train harder.
“Do you race?” Dad asks Noah.
“No, but I’ve been a professional trainer for many years. I got certified when I was eighteen, but growing up on a ranch meant I was surrounded by horses since before I could walk. I’ve spent several years hyperfocusing on horses and pretty much every equine sport.”
“Noah has a keen eye on fixin’ issues and knows how to help me evolve my skills,” I explain to my parents.
I’m not a beginner racer by any means, but I need someone like her to help push me so I’m ready to compete at those higher-level competitions.
“I have two other pro clients and they’re on their way to qualify for finals this year,” Noah adds.
“Wow, that’s incredible!” Mom wraps her arm around my shoulders and squeezes me into her side.
She’s almost more excited than I am.
“I’d work on your athleticism, too. You must be in shape just as much as Ranger, so I’d put together a workout schedule for you as well.”
“Oh…great.”
Noah smirks. “Nothin’ you can’t handle, I promise.”
“How often would you train?” Dad asks.
“That’s completely up to y’all. If you wanna board Ranger, daily exercise is included for the horses and then you can add on additional trainin’ in our facility. The two girls who are on tour right now board their horses when they’re not travelin’ and then we work together when they’re here.”
“I’d love that,” I say.
“And you’ll get to utilize our vet and farrier services, so you won’t have to worry about keepin’ up with that on top of everything.”
“Sounds perfect. Almost too good to be true,” Mom states.
“My family and I love horses and want to make it as easy as possible to care for ’em. I’m somewhat of a workaholic, so I never get tired of it.”
“When do you have time for social life?” Mom quips.
“Well…” Noah chuckles. “I’ve been single for a year and my best friend, Magnolia, comes and hangs out with me a lot. But besides that, I see my family every day and we have a special supper every Sunday.”
Everyone local and even outside of the area knows the Hollises. They’re well-known for owning the Sugarland Creek Ranch and Equine Retreat. There are five siblings in total and they each do various jobs on the ranch. Noah’s the youngest, but I’d argue the most talented and hardest working.
“Sounds like me. I talk to a few girls from my 4-H Club, but otherwise, I’ve been super focused on racin’,” I say.
“When can Ellie start?” Mom asks.
“A week too soon?” Noah smirks. “I have a boarder leavin’ in six days and then we’ll get it ready for Ranger.”
My face splits into the widest grin I’ve ever had. “That’d be perfect.”