Chapter 8 Ford #2
I dialed the pizza place by memory; one of the only numbers I could remember since it spelled out “P-Z-Z-A” at the end of the common prefix.
After ordering Presley’s choice and another one topped high with meat for me, I added on a dessert.
Why not? I could have used the extra calories for the Winter Games.
A feeling of dread washed over me; the Games were almost here.
Was this really the end of my career? It was both a freeing and paralyzing thought to imagine this being the last competition I went through.
Sure, I could have come back after a long-winded break, but I took a break every year for summer, and I still felt like that hadn’t been enough.
Besides, in five or even ten years after a sabbatical, would my knees allow my body to do the jumps it did now?
I couldn’t see that happening. These were the years that I could compete, when I was still young enough to have the cartilage and agility to do so. If I was done, I was done.
I hung up the call and found myself lingering on the thought of retirement once again.
It had been captive in my mind since my father had passed away, for I was too busy competing to stop and be by his side, though I wasn’t given much notice to do so, which I had realized was another thing I was hurt over.
I thought of the fact that God wanted to help direct my path; no, that was not it.
He wanted me to follow His path. God, I’ll be obedient to you.
I feel the desire to quit skijoring. Just tell me what I need to do.
Presley returned from the laundry room, bringing me back to the present moment. “Here’s your phone. They said thirty minutes; I think we have enough time to get to the horses and back, if you’re really up for it?” I asked, picking up on a change in her vibe.
“Sure, I’d love to,” she said. I nodded, not reading into her demeanor, and we walked to the truck outside. I opened the door for her, And she used both the door bar and the running board to climb in.
“Sorry, I need a huge vehicle for towing trailers. But I know it’s a real pain to get into with sore legs from skiing.”
“You got that right. I don’t think my legs have ever felt wobblier than they do right now. Totally worth it, though.” She smiled and shut the door. I walked around and climbed into the driver’s side, turning the ignition.
We sat in silence on the short, few minute drive to the horse stables. When we arrived, Presley cleared the air.
“On my phone, when I looked at it? There were all sorts of news stories about the Winter Games and how some competitors are cheating. Lots of allegations about riders being bribed to be throwing races and. . .” She trailed off, but she didn’t need to say any more. I already knew it all.
“Unfortunately, there have been some bad decisions made as of late for some of my competitors. But know that I am not one of them, and you have my word I would never do that. I actually have my manager looking into proposing safeguards to prevent it from happening.” She seemed satisfied with this answer, but despite dodging questions on the matter for months, I realized I wasn’t done talking about it.
So, I told her everything. About the allegations made against some in the sport, and that included several people I knew and had competed against, who were are now facing disqualification.
The doing of which may have had me win some categories by default, which did not sit right with me.
“Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m wondering if your winning streak is what spurred this cheating scandal. They just can’t seem to win against you otherwise. . .” Presley trailed off.
“I’m certainly not guaranteed to win. God has brought me this far, but I’m due any day for a humbling.
” My words felt foreign coming out of my mouth as I admitted that God was the reason for my current success, and, despite my joke, I feared losing.
Not for how it would make me look, but rather for how it would make me feel.
Was this where my deep, overwhelming pull to retire while I was still good at the sport came from? My fear of losing?
“God will get you through it. If He wants you to win, you will. And that goes for everything in life. If we get a job, if we marry. All of our days are written in His book. So, no need to fret about it, right?” Presley’s words hit me right where I needed to hear them. I thanked her.
We got out of the truck and Presley ran to the stables. The air was frigid; the horses were eager for carrots. I started pulling out the bag of plump, brightly colored heirloom carrots, and they ran to me, leaving Presley in the background.
“Hey! I may not have carrots, but I have quite a bit of love to give over here,” she proclaimed to the horses, who didn’t look back.
“Here, take these. They will be your best friends in no time,” I said, as I handed her the remainder of the bag. She giggled joyfully, and she doled them out between the group, while I shoveled in a few pitchforks’ worth of hay for each horse.
“Which horse will be with you in the Winter Games?” she asked.
“Buckshot. That one, there on your right.” I pointed to the towering animal.
“What a beautiful group of animals. I’ve always wanted to learn how to ride horses. Maybe I’ll take riding lessons this summer. There’s a ranch not too far from Denver that offers them.”
I wanted so badly to say that I would teach her to ride.
That she could take her pick from mine, throw on a saddle, and we could ride right now.
But it was frigid cold, way too much snow, and I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again after this week.
Yet, right now, all I could think of was ways that we could make that happen.
God, I feel something brewing inside of my heart with this woman.
“Do you want to make a snowman?” Presley asked me, and my eyes squinted together.
“Right now?” I asked in disbelief.
“Oh, come on; it’s not that cold. Plus, we still have one carrot, so he already has his nose!” I watched in awe as Presley immediately got to work on the snowman next to the horse stable, while I had no other options but to join her.
In seconds, I was laughing harder than I had in years, possibly ever, as I watched Presley try to roll a large snowball for the body of the snowman.
The snow was past her knees, and she had to lift her legs up as high as they could go just to wade through it.
I joined in her effort and together, we had the first piece done in just a few minutes.
“Boy, that was quite a workout. I don’t know if I have it in me to create two more giant snowballs for this guy. He might just be really short.”
“You’re really short, you know that?” I asked her, as I peered over at her. I was bent down, trying to secure the base for her snowman project when I felt a cold rush of wet hit the side of my face. She hit me with a snowball.
“Ha! How’s shorty now? Pretty strong, eh?” If I hadn’t been so stunned, I may not have retaliated with a snowball of my own. Soon, we were in a full-blown war. The last snowball was thrown by Presley, and it partially went into my mouth. I crunched the snow and smiled.
“Mmm. Yellow snow,” I joked, as this was the fresh powder that had just fallen, and my horses hadn’t yet peed anywhere near it.
“Sick!” she called out, laughing hysterically. “You’re silly when you want to be,” she said. I took that as a compliment.
“Okay, come finish this sad little snowman before our dinner arrives,” I said. Together, we quickly packed together one larger mass of snow for his head. Presley poked two holes for his eyes and stabbed it with the carrot for his nose.
“It ain’t perfect, but it will do,” she said. Buckshot, knowing the sound of the crinkling bag that held his carrots, poked his head out the barn doors. He spotted the carrot and quickly came over to pluck it out with his teeth.
“And there it is,” I said laughing. “It was nice knowing you, snowman. Well, we better get back for those pizzas. Unless you think Priscilla can sign for them?” Presley laughed at my joke.
“Yeah, I’m starving. That half cupcake for lunch did not go as far as I needed it to.” She threw her hands up in the air to show the horses she was out of carrots.
“Better show them your pockets are empty, too, or else they will be coming for them. They know all of my tricks,” I said. Presley immediately pulled out her coat pockets, showing her hands like a blackjack dealer.
“Okay, I think we’re good here. We’re all friends now. I had a talk with Buckshot, and he’s going to be the best he can be on Saturday,” she beamed.
“Is that so?” I asked.
“He seems like a very sweet soul.” I wondered just how she picked up on the truth like that so quickly. They were all sweethearts, but Buckshot was in fact, my best-mannered horse out of all of them.
As Presley walked back to my truck, I put away my pitchfork and dimmed the lights for the horses, closing the barn door.
Every bone in my body wanted to make sure I opened the door for her, but by the time I made it over, she was already inside.
I took a beat to see the outline of a beautiful woman riding in the passenger seat of my truck, and I knew that I was ready for love—and I prayed this was the woman whom God was sending for me.
Back at the chalet, we made it just in time for the delivery to arrive. A delivery car pulled up right as we were walking inside.
“Ford?” the man called out.
“Guilty,” I said, as he shuffled his pizza boxes to shake my hand. “Been a long time, Ben. How’s that beautiful family of yours?” I asked. He nodded and smiled.