The Lady and the Cowboy (16 page)

He felt honoured to be one of the things
that she wanted.

When they left the shop they stopped into a restaurant for a spot of lunch and Sam again cut her
food into fork sized chunks for her. They spent the rest of the afternoon browsing and Sam insisted on getting a catalogue from a piano showroom. Ruth thought they were all too expensive, even the upright ones, but Sam put his foot down and she couldn’t really argue when he said there was no harm in picking up a catalogue.

He even talked Ruth into giving him a demonstration, much to the delight of the shop manager, who felt that her playing might help sell a piano to the two other couples who were browsing.

Ruth chose a piece she knew by heart, the third movement of Mozart’s piano sonata 11, a complicated piece that she had been made to practice over and over when she was young, as a sign of skill. It was also a cheery piece of music, so she had played it frequently back in England. Thanks to her splinted wrist, her playing was slightly awkward and she slowed the timing down, but she still had just enough dexterity in her fingers to do the music justice.

She realised that it probably wasn’t Sam’s kind of music, but she couldn’t play by ear and she didn’t have the sheet music for any of the
folk and country songs that she’d heard around here. She was sure John, who had taught her the dances, would help her to learn some of the music if she ever did get a piano.

They returned to the hotel that afternoon (after Ruth had tucked her hair back into her hat) and dined in the hotel’s restaurant that evening. Sam ordered her food for her and thankfully it was
busy, so she didn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing her girlish voice and realising that she was a woman.

Sam shared her bed again that night and Ruth was beginning to look forward to her wedding, when thereafter she could wake up every day in this man’s loving embrace. Now all she had to
do, was win the races they had entered.

The
Dallas race meet started on the fourteenth of November and lasted five days. The total prize money on offer was eight thousand dollars, but there were a lot of races that Angel couldn’t enter, such as age and height bracket races.

Angel
was entered into three different races, a fifteen hand height restriction, which ran eight furlongs (or one mile), a four years and older age race, which ran twelve furlongs and a no restriction handicap race, which ran twelve furlongs. To be able to enter that final race though, she had to win at least one of the first two races and be placed in the other. Each horse was then given weights to ‘handicap’ them and even the playing field; the better their performance, the greater the weight that they had to carry.

The prize for that final race, the climax of the event, was
$1500. With prize money like that, they could afford to purchase new horses and really further Sam’s plans for the Wakefield Ranch.

Ruth and Angel had trained diligently, using the open plains and
fields around Dallas to do so, and Angel was as ready as he was ever going to be.

His gunshot
wound was healing nicely, although it had begun to weep during a few gallops. Sam had taken to applying some petroleum jelly after they cleaned the wound with carbolic acid, reasoning that a soft scab was less likely to reopen as Angel ran.

Ruth’s wrist hurt like nobody’s business but she kept her
own counsel about it, never complaining for fear that Sam would scratch them from the race. Each day he undid the bandage, cleaned the abrasions then reapplied the wooden spoon splints and tightly bound it again. The swelling was going down now, only to be replaced by delightfully vivid bruises.

Now it was race day and as she rode up to the start line, she was as
nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. The starter pistol fired and the horses took off. Not thirty seconds into the race, Angel was bumped and pushed wide. Her wrist throbbed from the jolt but she gritted her teeth and urged Angel forward, only to find that she was impeded by another horse, Count Blue who was angling out, causing both horses to fall behind the pace. With little option, Ruth angled Angel around Count Blue, finally getting free at the final furlong.

She urged Angel on, desperate to cross the finish line first and as the line got closer, she became more desperate.
Although Angel gave her everything he had, she knew that they hadn’t won, but had instead come third.

Sam tried to console her but Ruth knew this was her fault. If she had paid more attention, tried to predict the other
horse’s actions a little better, Angel could have won. The trouble was, she was really still a novice and with only four meets under her belt, she wasn’t experienced enough to know what to look out for. Sam had told her, of course, but things like that often took experience to learn properly.

She vowed that she would be better next time. No one was going to get a chance to push her wide, impede her, angle out in front of her, trap her on the inside
, bump her again or anything else. She would watch those other horses and jockeys like a hawk, ready for anything.

***

Sam felt awful because Ruth felt awful. He was all for scratching this meet, so even the third place prize money was welcome in his mind.

Ruth felt she had let him down though. Her
injured horse and her broken wrist meant nothing to her, as far as she was concerned, they were little more than bumps on the path to success.

He had watched the race closely though and he knew her problem had been a lack of awareness of those around her. It was his j
ob not only to train Angel how to race, but Ruth how to ride him to a win. He had explained about other horses and not letting yourself be pinned by them, but he hadn’t practiced it with her. Knowing that the other horses needed training in different skills, he kept her races against the farm hands to a minimum. He realised now that he had been remiss because against these professional jockeys, her lack of foresight was showing.

She wouldn’t believe
that it was his fault however. Despite her newness to the profession of jockey and her injury, she wouldn’t hear a word said in her defence. She reminded him of the weak, simpering creature who had shared his table for the first few weeks of her stay, and it raised his ire. Any moment he expected her to say something like ‘Ladies don’t lose races’.

“You know what? Fine!” he’d eventually yelled at her. “If you want to be a martyr, be one! See if I care!”

Then he’d stormed from her hotel room, slamming the door behind him. He heard her begin to sob but hardened his heart and continued onto his own room. They had moved to a hotel closer to the racetrack now but their rooms were still adjoining.

The walls in the hotel weren’t very thick though and he could still hear her crying. He was determined not to go to her and after thirty minutes or so, he found it much easier to keep that resolution as the sobs ceased.

Perhaps another thirty minutes after that, there came a timid knock on his door. He ignored it knowing that if her knock was timid, she would be too. A minute later came a loud knock at the door, which sounded more like the side of a fist being pounded against it. He got off the bed and opened the door.

Ruth stood there, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving.

“I’m sorry, all right?” She sounded very ungracious.

“Sorry for what?” he asked, determined not to let her in unless she was done playing the martyr.

“Everything.”

That wasn’t a very auspicious start, he thought.

“I’m sorry for even starting this whole thing. I had no right to drag you and Angel all the way here. I’m just not ready to be a jockey yet. Maybe next year.”

He saw tears shining in her eyes and finally his resolve left him and he pulled her inside the room and into his arms.

“What's wrong?” he asked, stroking her back as he held her.

Ruth sniffed a few times before answering but her words shocked him.

“We can’t get married unless I win and I’ve already lost one race.”

Suddenly a lot began to make sense, such as why exactly she had been so set on making it here. Why she had been so hard on herself after she lost. He had always assumed that she had been teasing him when she made that
condition that they had to win in Dallas before she would marry him.

“Oh, Ruth,” he kissed the top of her head. “
Win, lose or draw, I don’t care if I have to drag you down that aisle, we are getting married when we get back. I'm not going to let some silly bet stop that.”

“It’s not silly!” she insisted.

Sam leaned away slightly and tilted her chin up, so she had to look at him.

“You’re not silly,” he assured her, “But that condition was.”

He wondered if she was taking her new found superstition too far.

“Look, Ruthy, in the last week you have been shot at, broken a bone, camped out for the first time and we’ve been t
raining an injured and spooked Angel in less than ideal conditions. Shit happens but I'm not going to let it keep me from being happy. Got it?”

Ruth nodded, smiling at his use of profanity.

“And whatever happens, this will be good experience for both you and Angel, racing against proper jockeys, professional trainers and filthy rich owners.”

Ruth nodded again and brought her hand up to wi
pe at her eyes. “You’re right. We probably didn’t stand a chance under ideal conditions but after, well everything recently, I shouldn’t be putting so much store in one meet.”

Sam pulled her to him and kissed her forehead.

“You really want to marry me even if we don’t win?” she asked.

Sam smiled and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Darlin’ I wanted to marry you since I first saw you in the saddle.”

“Riding made you fall in love with me?” she sounded amused.

“No, that made me want to marry you but it was your temper, your passion that started
the attraction.”

“And you think
I’m
strange?” Ruth laughed.

“I guess we’re well suited then.”

***

Getting Ruth to relax proved to be the perfect balm.
In the following day’s training, Ruth and Angel performed better than they had since the shooting and the day after, in their second race, they crossed the finish line, a full neck ahead of the second placed horse.

Ruth
was thrilled, jumping around like a jack-in-the box once she was on solid ground again. She threw her arms around Sam’s neck, hugging him tightly.

She was hiding her hair under her jockey hat again, in the hopes of passing for a boy but given her success,
Sam knew that the inhabitants of Midridge would hear about this soon, if they hadn’t already heard that she was here. He would sleep near the stables tonight and tomorrow, to make sure that no one messed with Angel.

When they got back to the hotel, Ruth made it clear that she didn’t like that idea.
They had essentially been living as man and wife since they left the ranch, and she didn’t want to sleep without him now.

“I’ll stay with you,” she suggested.

“No,” he said firmly. “You are my star jockey and you need to be well rested.”

“But-“

“No buts. If you can’t sleep, order a hot toddy to help.”

Ruth
grimaced. “I don’t like whisky.”

“But it will help you relax and get a good
night’s sleep. And for what it’s worth, I’ll miss you too but I’ll be back by breakfast, as soon as the racecourse staff come on duty.”

Ruth nodded her somewhat reluctant agreement.

“Okay, so should we train Angel tomorrow or let him rest?” she moved the conversation on.

“I think we rest him. Maybe we can enjoy the races as spectators for a change.”

Ruth paled. Whilst she had seen some women wearing trousers since she’d arrived in Dallas, the dirt on their clothes, calloused hands and functional hair styles said that they were all working women, mostly not the kind who could afford a day off to attend the races.

“I have nothing to wear to the races
!”

Sam laughed. “Then we’ll go shopping in the morning. I got fantastic odds on Angel today, thanks to his first loss.”

Ruth agreed.

***

Wanting to test Ruth’s skills, Sam took her to the walking ring the next day to examine the horses in each race, telling her that he would be betting one dollar on each horse she picked. It wasn’t a fortune but she wouldn’t have let him bet a fortune on each race. Still, the fact that money was involved meant that she took it seriously. She watched as the horses were led around the ring, studying their bodies to see if they were tall, slim, athletic, muscular, heavy etc. Then she watched their gait as they walked to see who had the best form.

There were four races that afternoon and
Ruth predicted two winners. That was actually better than it sounds as each race had at least six horses running. Her eye wasn’t perfect, it was amateur like her jockey skills, but it wouldn’t need much tweaking before she had his eye for good horses.

He returned to the hotel with Ruth then after dinner, went back to the racetrack. Last night he had befriended one of the security guards
from the Pinkerton Agency, and so had been allowed to check on Angel regularly, even if he wasn’t allowed to sleep in the stables with the horses. Sam understood their point of view; he was a stranger to them and could sabotage someone else’s horse. He had however, asked all the security guards to keep a special eye on Angel and they agreed, which made Sam feel a little easier about sleeping outside the stables, on his bedroll.

He checked on Angel for a final time in the morning, before returning to the hotel. He expected to find Ruth still asleep but he could hear her pacing in her room. He had a quick wash and change, then knocked on her door.

“Nervous?” he asked, upon seeing her large, nest-like hair and twisting hands.

She nodded before explaining, “I pick the curls apart when I’m nervous.”

Sam entered the room and enveloped her in a hug. “You’ll be fine,” he assured her.

“I know, I just wish we didn’t have to wait so long? Why are we the last race of the day?”

“There are only two races today,” he reminded her.

Ruth nodded and pulled away. “Well
, lets her out of here at least; I’ve been pacing for ages.”

She washed her hair, the only c
ure for her picked-through curls, then she dressed in her silks and after breakfast in the hotel dining room, they headed to the racecourse.

Angel was a little worked up, but that was hardly
surprising given that he was an intelligent horse. He realised that he was racing today and he was eager for it.

They
took Angel to meet race officials to get the technicalities over with. They already had his previous race times and they checked his form, behaviour and soundness, then his tack was weighed. Even Ruth had to be weighed, so that they knew exactly how much weight Angel was already carrying.