Winnie The Faithful Day
WINNIE
The faithful day
Oklahoma State Fairgrounds, Oklahoma City
"Sometimes you bury the heartbreak so deep that only the win can unearth it."
– Unknown
***
The Oklahoma State Fairgrounds hit like a wall of noise and dust—arena dirt kicked up by nervous horses, funnel cake smoke drifting from striped tents.
Leather conditioner mixed with hoof oil and manure.
Funnel cake smoke drifted from striped tents.
The announcer’s voice boomed, calling times that made my stomach clench.
I stood at the staging area, Bandit’s reins loose, watching the jumbotron.
15.8. 16.1. 15.9.
All fast. Faster than I’d ever run.
Regionals.
The word had lived in my head for a year, pulsing through every pre-dawn session, every blister, every run where Bandit and I pushed past exhaustion. This was it—the gateway to nationals. Proof that the abandoned baby left on a hospital step was enough.
I’d buried everything else to get here.
Pops was three days post-op in Tulsa, leg pinned and splinted. I’d sat beside him that first morning, his hand fragile in mine, promising through barely-held tears: I’ll win this. For you.
He’d squeezed back. “You go show ’em, kiddo.”
So I’d taken Elise’s check—the $15,000 lifeline I’d almost blown on surgery—and invested instead.
New boots. Custom Ariats, fitted like a second skin. New saddle, carbon fiber hybrid, balanced for speed. Competition-grade tack.
And hours. God, hours of drilling until my thighs burned and Bandit trembled. Running it in the dark, in the rain, until muscle memory took over and my brain could shut off.
Stop replaying that hospital call. Stop hearing Beau’s voice crack on I’m doing this because I lo— cut short by my own cowardice.
I didn’t think about Beau.
When I woke at 4 AM reaching across empty sheets, I rolled out and ran drills until sunrise. When my phone buzzed with Dallas numbers—twice Tuesday, once Wednesday, again Thursday—I let them ring. Deleted the voicemails unheard.
Bury it deep enough that maybe it would stop hurting.
“Win! There you are!”
Cassie jogged over, ponytail bouncing, wearing a shirt that read TEAM WINNIE in silver glitter. “You’re up in seventeen. How’re you feeling?”
“Fine.”
She stopped, studying my face. Her hand squeezed my arm. “Win. Real answer.”
I looked away, focusing on Bandit. He was keyed up, vibrating. “I’m fine, Cass. I have to be.”
She nodded. “Okay. But after you destroy this run? We’re talking.”
“Deal.” A lie.
“Also, Elise is having a meltdown.” She thrust her phone at me.
Elise’s face popped up, sharp blazer contrasting frantic eyes. “Winnie! Are those the new boots? Tell me you didn’t blow that money on something practical.”
Despite everything, my lips twitched. “Yeah. They’re perfect. The saddle too.”
“Good. Now go be incredible. Love you.”
The call ended. I handed the phone back.
“You sure you’re okay?” Cassie asked quietly.
“I have to be.” I swung into the saddle, settling into new leather. Bandit shifted beneath me, muscles coiling. “No other option.”
She squeezed my knee. “Then go win this thing.”
***
The staging area churned. I tuned it out, focusing on Bandit’s breathing, the heartbeat pulsing through my legs.
We walked slow circles. I ran the pattern: approach angle, lean barrel one, tight turn, power through two, nail the third pocket, sprint home.
First place was $18,000. Second was $7,000. We needed first.
The announcer boomed: “Next up, from Pawhuska, Oklahoma, riding Bandit’s Ace of Spades—Naomie ‘Winnie’ Jameson!”
Adrenaline spiked. I nudged Bandit toward the gate.
The arena opened—massive, three barrels under blazing lights. Stands packed, hundreds of faces blurring into noise.
I positioned at the start line. Timer tech raised her hand. Three. Two. One.
Green light.
Bandit exploded.
Speed and wind and thunderous hooves. His stride lengthened impossibly. First barrel rushed up—I shifted weight, felt the new saddle’s balance. Bandit dropped low, swooping around, metal grazing my knee.
Out. Surge toward the second.
Second barrel—tighter. I leaned hard. His haunches dropped, pivoting clean.
Two down.
Third barrel. Make or break. Lungs burning, thighs screaming. We flew into the pocket. I shifted at the exact microsecond. He cut close—barrel rocked.
Don’t tip.
It settled.
Final sprint. I crouched lower. Faster, boy. His hooves blurred. Finish line rushed closer.
We crossed. Buzzer sounded.
I looked up at the jumbotron.
15.3 seconds.
The crowd erupted. Wall of sound—cheers, whistles. I caught Cassie’s voice cutting through before patting Bandit’s neck.
“Good boy,” I murmured, voice rough. “You’re amazing.”
As we passed the front row—VIP seating—I glanced up.
And froze.
First row. Center seat. Black Stetson.
Beau.
He was here.
Wearing the chambray shirt from Tulsa airport—rumpled now, like he’d slept in it. Face haggard, shadowed with scruff. Dark circles. He looked like hell. Like he’d driven through the night.
Our eyes locked. Arena noise faded.
First row, center seat. I’ll be screaming louder than anyone.
I’d thought it was a beautiful lie.
But he was here.
He stood abruptly, hand reaching out even though the railing separated us. His lips moved—my name, maybe. He looked like he might vault the barrier.
I looked away. Nudged Bandit through the gate, heart hammering, tears burning that I wouldn’t let fall.
Behind me, his presence ached.
But I kept walking.
***
Cassie crashed into me like a freaking train.
“FIFTEEN POINT THREE! That’s first place! That’s—”
“Cass—” I tried to dismount but she was clinging to my leg. “Let go—”
“Right, sorry!” She released me. I slid down, hands trembling as I removed Bandit’s tack.
“Win.” Her hand on my shoulder stopped me. Voice losing its manic edge. “He’s here.”
“I know.” I didn’t look up, focused on unbuckling the girth.
“Did you know he was coming?”
“No.”
“He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.”
“Not my problem.” Harsher than I meant. “Sorry. I just—I can’t do this right now. I need to focus on Bandit, on the results.” My voice cracked.
Cassie pulled me into a hug. “Okay. I got you. But Win? He drove. I saw his car. He didn’t fly, he drove all night.”
“I don’t care.” I stepped back. “He made his choice. This is mine.”
But even saying it, I felt the cracks forming. Because Beau had come. Against his father’s deal, against Dallas, against everything pulling him away.
And I didn’t know if that changed anything.
Or if it just made losing him again hurt worse.e.