A Rodeo Queen in His Pregnant Wife's Place

1. Bonnie

BONNIE

Tawny Byers comes out of the tunnel on my mare, wearing my jacket.

The silver fringe flies from her arms as Mercy accelerates.

I know the exact moment the little mare gathers herself for the first turn.

I have spent three years teaching her to wait for that shift of weight, to trust that the rider will give her room.

Tawny gives the cue cleanly. Mercy bends around the barrel, her inside hind foot reaching beneath her, and the crowd starts shouting.

An hour ago I was in this arena with Mercy, teaching riders how to ask for that bend from the ground. I left her in our booked stall with hay and water while I went to speak to a client in the other barn. Nobody was supposed to ride her tonight.

My jacket was supposed to be behind glass in the sponsor tent.

I take a step toward the gate.

The gate man holds out his arm. “Exhibition’s running, ma’am.”

“That’s my horse.”

He checks the badge clipped beneath my belly. By the time he finds my name, Tawny has finished the second turn.

Gage stands on the other side of the rail, ten feet away.

His black hat is tipped back, and he is watching the run.

I wait for him to turn toward me. He has to have seen the jacket.

I made it for my first open qualifier in Lubbock.

When I won, he put it back over my shoulders because I was shaking too hard to find the sleeves.

He knows that jacket too. There is a photograph of me wearing it in the case beside the trophy, Gage kissing my temple while I hold the buckle between us. He chose the photograph.

Tawny has pushed the sleeves up to her elbows.

“Gage.”

He glances over. I point into the arena because I cannot make the rest of the question come out.

He lifts a finger, asking me to wait.

Mercy is running for home. Tawny stays with her, good enough to let the mare lengthen rather than hauling at her face. I could admire the ride if I could get past seeing my clothes move with another woman’s body. The jacket fits her across the waist. I haven’t been able to zip it since February.

The timer flashes. People rise from their seats, and my husband applauds.

“How about that Redfern-Byers combination?” the announcer calls. “Gage Redfern and Tawny Byers, the faces of our new Crown feature tour. Tawny’s your next Byers rodeo queen, folks. That’s what a partnership looks like.”

The morning’s program called her the sponsor’s new ambassador. Nobody told me the job came with my horse, my clothes, or my husband waiting at the gate.

The baby presses beneath my right ribs. I move my arm across the spot, trying to make room, while two women behind me argue about whether the fringe is silver leather or metal.

“Custom,” one of them says. “You can tell.”

I made the pattern on our kitchen table. Gage ate supper standing at the counter for six nights because I wouldn’t move the pieces.

Mercy comes through the gate breathing hard, sweat darkening the hair under the saddle. Tawny turns her toward the camera crew instead of the open lane where I have always cooled her down. One of the photographers backs into my boot.

“Sorry. Can you give us a little room?”

I move because he is about to put himself under a horse. Gage has come around the rail into the tunnel, and Tawny reins Mercy to a halt beside him. He reaches for the bridle, and the photographer asks her to lean down.

I wait for my husband to say my name.

I wait for him to say Bonnie trained her. Or Get off my wife’s horse. Something that tells the people watching that there is a person missing from this picture, and he knows who she is.

Tawny lays a hand on his shoulder. The silver strips fall over the Redfern logo on his shirt.

“One more,” the photographer says. “Gage, look at her.”

I step around the photographer and walk to Mercy’s other side.

“Keep her moving,” I tell Tawny.

“We’ll be two seconds.”

“She needs to walk.”

Gage looks past the mare’s neck. “Bon, they’re nearly done.”

I reach for the cheekpiece. “Then they can finish while she walks.”

Mercy shifts toward me. I let her take a step and keep my feet clear. The camera operator mutters, lowering his equipment. Tawny has to gather her reins and straighten in the saddle.

“I’ll take her,” Gage says.

“I’ve got her.”

He releases the bridle. That small movement nearly makes me cry, which infuriates me.

Tawny swings down. A crew assistant takes her hat. She wears her hair in a close plait that reaches the braid on my jacket.

“She felt incredible,” she tells me. “You should be proud.”

“Where did you get my jacket?”

The assistant stops turning the hat in her hands. Gage comes around Mercy, putting himself beside Tawny.

“Let’s get the horse settled first,” he says.

“I’m asking where she got it.”

“Wardrobe had it ready.” Tawny rubs at a faint streak of dust on the cuff. “I thought you knew.”

“It was in the display.”

Gage looks at the assistant. “Give us a minute.”

She stays where she is, holding Tawny’s hat. I look back at my husband.

“It was one exhibition,” he says. “Her mare came up sore this afternoon. We had a slot to fill.”

“And you filled it with mine.”

“I cleared the change with the exhibition coordinator. It wasn’t a competition entry.”

“Did the coordinator buy Mercy, train her, or marry me? Because I can’t work out why he was the one you asked.”

His jaw tightens. “I cleared the ride.”

“You didn’t ask me.”

He removes his hat, then puts it back on. “Bonnie, come on. We’re standing in the tunnel.”

I have been at these events since I was eighteen. A tunnel is where people saddle horses, argue over draws, kiss their spouses and get terrible news over the telephone. We can have a conversation here.

Mercy noses at the pocket where I keep a peppermint. I put my hand against her neck and feel the warmth through the short coat. Somebody has braided the first few inches of her mane in silver cord. I will need to take it out before it rubs.

“I was in the other barn,” I say. “You knew exactly where I was.”

“They were calling her number.”

“They weren’t calling mine.”

Tawny draws the zipper down an inch. “I can take this off. I didn’t realize it would feel so personal with you unable to wear it right now.”

The assistant’s eyes drop to my belly. I pull the edges of my open shirt together, then hate myself for doing it.

“Take it off,” I say.

“Leave it on, Tawny.” Gage moves closer to her. “The interview needs to match the photographs.”

Her hand stops. She pulls the zipper back up.

I stare at him. He has heard me ask for my jacket back and told the woman wearing it to fasten it. I want to believe he has missed something. I want it so badly that I stand there giving him another moment to understand.

He puts his hand at the back of my waist. The touch is familiar enough that I start to lean into it before I stop myself.

“Twenty minutes,” he says. “We finish here, and we talk.”

“Mercy comes with me now.”

“Of course.”

“And the jacket comes back tonight.”

Tawny looks toward the camera crew. Gage follows her glance.

“Tonight,” I repeat.

“All right.” He tries to steer me toward the quieter lane. “I’ll find you after.”

I move away from his hand and lead Mercy past the waiting riders. At the end of the tunnel, a woman asks Tawny where she bought the jacket.

“It’s a Redfern original,” Tawny says.

I hear my husband laugh at something the photographer says. I keep walking until Mercy and I reach the barn.