Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Wildwood racetrack was a beautifully kept little place.
It had a small grandstand, freshly painted green and red, and the white track-railing gleamed as if polished.
There was a flower bed in front of the scoreboard with Wildwood spelt out in red and white flowers.
The Redemption River ran along the far side, and Starlight Mountain shadowed the horizon behind them.
Dylan figured it was the perfect setting for Thunder to do her first race—perfect conditions but no pressure, no expectation and no massive crowds.
There were spectators, but nothing too daunting.
A jockey friend of Dylan’s, Owen, had agreed to ride Thunder in the race.
He was notoriously good with the more temperamental horses, and he’d been out to the ranch during the week to spend a bit of time with her.
He’d been impressed with her potential. “You could have yourself a winner here, Dylan,” he’d told him.
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
Dylan had acted as groom, leading Thunder out onto the track.
She hadn’t liked the traveling, hadn’t liked the officials, and was just about tolerating the other horses.
Dylan kept her calm, kept talking her up, showing her everything.
While he could sense she was apprehensive, underneath that, he was certain was a quivering excitement.
Owen was grinning in the saddle, loved nothing more than the chance of a good race, especially when riding the untested underdog.
Much to his surprise, Dylan found he was a bundle of nerves.
He didn’t usually get quite so affected, but as soon as the gates flew open and the race started, he could barely look.
He paced the side of the track listening to the Tannoy.
He’d never succumbed to nerves like this, but there was something about Thunder, something about making her a success, proving maybe to the Carters that he could do it, or maybe wanting to carrying out Willow’s wishes—wanting her to smile when she heard the news—that made him desperate for Thunder to do well.
He had tried his best not to think about Willow. Just got on with his work. But this race seemed like a culmination of what had gone before, a way to round it off in his mind, he supposed.
He watched the horses on the far stretch, his arms spread wide, leaning on the white railing, holding his breath. There were a couple out front, then a pack in the middle. Thunder was at the back of that pack. A couple of stragglers behind them. “Come on, Thunder,” he muttered under his breath.
He knew she wouldn’t start well. This was only her first race, but she had grit. It would be the last stretch where she’d come into her own, if she was going to at all. “Come on, Thunder.”
They were heading into the final turn, his stomach was tight, he could barely watch. She was edging out of the pack but was still down of the frontrunners. “Come on, Thunder.”
Owen kicked it up a gear, knew exactly how to handle her. Now clear of the pack, she started gaining on third, black coat gleaming in the sunshine. She was a darn beautiful horse.
As he watched her gaining, Dylan opened his mouth to shout but instead someone in the grandstand hollered, “Come on, Thunder! You can do it! Take them now!”
Shocked at both the volume and the fact there was another supporter there for Thunder, he glanced over his shoulder and there was Willow, up on her feet, hands cupped around her mouth as she screamed support for the horse.
He was almost startled into missing the end of the race. Tearing his eyes away from her, in her blue jeans and cropped white sweatshirt, he snapped his head back around to see Thunder already in second. “Come on,” he breathed, as behind him Willow bellowed.
It was weirdly comforting to have her there. He stood rigid, breath held, heart whirring like a jet engine, fists clenched. Thunder was closing in on the lead, but there was no way she had time to take the top spot.
Suddenly, Willow hollered again, louder than Dylan would have thought possible. “GO ON, THUNDER!”
It felt like the whole stadium paused to watch Thunder respond, find something inside herself that Dylan had never seen before in training. Like a streak of lightning, she shot over the finish line, neck and neck with the leading horse. So close, Dylan couldn’t call it.
Owen punched the air. Thunder galloping into a warm up. Willow whooped and shouted from the stands, spectators laughing as she bellowed some more, “Well done, Thunder! We love you!”
Dylan could barely breathe. He watched, heart pounding nervously, for the result, hand over his mouth, time slowing as his eyes fixed on the Wildwood scoreboard.
Conscious all the while of Willow behind in the stand.
That she had come. That she had seen the race.
Seen the result. Whether Thunder won or came second, it didn’t matter, she’d ridden like a superstar.
Then suddenly there it was—Thunder’s name illuminated in bright yellow lights, right up there in first position. “Yes!” Dylan thumped the railing with his fist, triumphant.
Next second, Willow was racing down the grandstand steps, clapping her hands. “You did it! She did it!” Whooping so loudly that it made everyone around smile indulgently.
Dylan couldn’t take it all in. Not only had Thunder won, but Willow was here, same cute little face that he’d been trying so hard not to think about, hair all piled on her head, Cordelia Street Ballet Company emblazoned in pink across her top.
He didn’t have to imagine what she’d look like when she heard the news, because he could see it for himself, the wide, white-toothed smile that stretched almost ear to ear.
There was no time to say anything, though, because Owen came around with Thunder, and then they were leading her back to the enclosure, getting her something to eat and drink, cooling her down.
All of them high on the euphoria of it. Thunder nuzzled Dylan’s collar.
He gave her treats, kissed her cheek. “You did so good!”
Owen gave them a blow-by-blow account of the entire race.
Dylan kept thinking, Willow’s here.
The rest of the afternoon went by in a blur.
Dylan messaged Noah to let him know the result and felt a burst of pride that he’d never expected to feel at Noah’s amazement.
He didn’t want to try and imagine what Emmett would say when Noah told him.
Didn’t want to care if the guy was begrudgingly impressed.
And yet, he couldn’t have cared more, especially with Willow standing there, sipping her champagne and clapping loudly at the prize-giving.
It was much later, when Owen had left and Thunder was tucked up for the night, that Dylan was alone with Willow.
They were walking away from the stalls. The low, late-afternoon sun cast everything with an apricot glow.
Dylan said, “I thought you were in New York.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about her being there except for the immediate pleasure of seeing her face.
It had been a whole lot less complicated with her not there.
Willow had bought a Wildwood cap to protect her face from the hot sun and had to tip her head up to look at him. “I was,” she said. “It didn’t go well.”
“No?”
She tucked her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “No. I don’t think I was ready.”
Dylan nodded in understanding. They were approaching the parking lot. He wasn’t totally sure what he wanted to do next. Usually, he’d go get something to eat, go to bed in his van, get up early and go. “You drive here?”
“Straight from the airport. I got my same trusty rental.” She gestured toward the black Mercedes.
“Anyone know you’re back?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Just you.”
The words hung in the air. Seemed to wrap around them, drawing them closer in their isolation.
They stood for a moment. She took her cap off, mussed up her hair with her hand, the curls were winning their battle to come back, despite her best efforts to keep them straight.
She smiled a little bashfully, looked like she did at high school.
The memory of her there made him smile inside, just thinking about her all haughty with her books and her ballet.
The reminder of that freedom of youth, the buzz of Friday night football, the sweat of the locker room, the parties, the lingering looks, the scent of her shampoo, the wide, guileless eyes.
It made him say, “You want to grab a beer?”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking around at the emptying parking lot, then back to him. “Yeah.”
He looked down at the tarmac so she didn’t see him smile.