From there, they moved on to the belt-maker’s booth, where she fitted Uno for a leather belt and had his name put on the back in silver letters. The boy was so proud he almost strutted.
Then they continued past booths of training films and videos of studs available for bookings. If Rosco did well enough, he might have his own video before long. But Raney didn’t dwell on it, afraid to jinx his chances.
“What are those for?” Uno asked, pointing to the darkened monitors posted throughout the hall.
“Once the competition is in full swing, those TV monitors will live-stream the events going on in the main arena. There are over six hundred horses competing in the Futurity and it will take days to whittle them down to a single champion. Those screens will be on all day and into the night.”
“Mr. Dalton and Rosco will be TV stars?”
Raney laughed. “Your father and Big Mike, too. Because neither Dalton nor Rosco can do their job without their help.”
“Someday maybe I can help.”
“You already do. You’ve been a huge help to Dalton. And he appreciates it.”
The boy grinned and pointed to a mechanical horse and cow. “What is that?”
“That’s a machine for people to ride if they want to know what it’s like to be on a cutting horse. And no,” she added, anticipating his next question. “You can’t ride it unless your father is with you. You hungry?”
Foolish question. They’d eaten lunch less than two hours ago. But she’d ceased to be surprised at how much the adolescent boy could eat, so they grabbed a bag of caramel popcorn, then headed back to the stalls.
That night, Dalton stayed out late, networking with other trainers and talking horses. Raney thought she was too nervous to sleep, but she never heard Dalton come in, and didn’t wake up until after he left the next morning. But she did find a note on the bathroom counter that read, Celebration tonight. Bring whips.
The second day of Round One dawned clear and cool, but sitting in the indoor arena with Uno, Raney was aware of nothing but the buckskin horse and the handsome, broad-shouldered man riding him through the in gate into the arena. Less than three minutes later it was over and they were riding out the exit gate. It reminded Raney of Thanksgiving dinner—hours to prepare, minutes to devour.
Nonetheless, she thought they both did well, and the score flashing on the overhead leaderboard was a respectable one. But when she went back to the stall, Dalton seemed to think the colt could do better once he’d settled down. After they’d brushed him and hosed him off, they loaded him into the trailer and took him to Running Bar Ranch for the long, four-day wait until they found out if he’d made it into Round Two. Big Mike would remain behind to help other riders, so Dalton brought the trailer back for Alejandro and Uno to use.
Then, he and Raney looked over the horses arriving for the auction that would begin later next week. Raney hadn’t brought stock to sell, but she hoped to buy another proven brood mare with solid bloodlines to help build her stable. It wouldn’t be easy. There were hundreds to choose from.
On the sixth evening after the Futurity began, Dalton and Raney joined the other trainers and owners haunting the hallway outside of the USCHA offices where the final scores for Round One were to be posted.
“Don’t worry,” she murmured to Dalton, even though she was so nervous she was about to throw up. “You’ve got this.”
Several minutes later, the official finally came out of the office with the list of those moving on to Round Two. Dalton waited until he’d pinned it to the board, then left Raney’s side and stepped forward.
A moment later, he walked back, took Raney’s hand, and led her away from the crowd and down the hall. “He made it.”
Raney almost squealed with joy, but tamped it down to a single, “Holy shit!”
Heads turned.
Trying to regain dignity and act casual, she said, “You’re surprised?”
“Grateful.” Dropping his head so others couldn’t hear, he whispered, “Now I get to sleep with you again, instead of driving back to the ranch.”
“Will all the trainers who made the cut get to sleep with me, too?”
“Be nice. Or I won’t let you play with the whips.”
As soon as they told Alejandro and Uno the news, they rushed back to their hotel room and had a big celebration that lasted well into the night. No whips were involved, but there was a lot of laughing and thrashing around. And a long shower.
* * *
Early the following morning, an exhausted Raney drove Dalton out to the Running Bar Ranch to load up the rig and bring the colt back for a scheduled workout with cattle later that afternoon. Round Two would take three days, and only sixty horses would move up to the semifinal round. This time, Rosco drew 162, which meant he would again ride on the second day.
Over the next twenty-four hours pressure built. Interest in Dalton and the colt did, too. But they all tried to ignore it and stay focused, knowing it would only get worse if Rosco made it into the next round. Afraid her nervousness would be contagious, Raney stayed away from the stables and Dalton, and spent the afternoon doing laps around the complex grounds.
That night, she hardly slept and was up with Dalton and heading to the stables before dawn. While Raney did more laps, he spent the morning
