Mia turned, already smiling, butterflies in her stomach surging up toward her throat, and found Val with his arms crossed, leaning back against the stall wall, one booted foot propped behind him. His hair was pulled back at the crown, loose down his back, highlighting his cut-glass cheekbones and narrow, knife-edged jaw.
“You don’t know that,” she said, tone softer than the mocking one she’d aimed for. He washere. And suddenly she wasn’t nervous anymore; she was excited to show him what she could do. “You haven’t seen anyone else here ride. Also,Donna Mastersis three stalls over.”
He shrugged. “Your hands are quieter.”
Mia…blinked at him. She’d shown him some old Olympic video of Donna, had gushed about how she couldn’t believe she got to work for one of her childhood idols. And Val had just said she had quieter hands. She didn’t know what to do with that.
“Pfft,” she scoffed, turning back to tighten the girth another notch. “Flatterer.”
“You think so?” He moved to stand beside her, spectral hand hovering over Brando’s side. “I’m unfailingly honest, actually. It’s always been one of my worst traits.”
Mia sent him a sideways glance, expecting to find a smirk, a teasing little wink. Instead, Val stared at Brando’s shiny bay coat, brows pinched, mouth tucked at a thoughtful angle.
“Thank you,” she said. “That’s…one of the nicest things anyone’s ever told me.”
“Then that.” His head turned, blue gaze falling on her unforgivingly. “Is a terrible shame.”
She felt heat gathering in her cheeks. She wanted to kiss him right now. Reach up to trace those cheekbones with careful fingertips, slide her hands into the silken curtain of his hair, pull him down andkisshim.
Truly unhelpful thoughts at the moment.
“Mia,” Donna said from the open stall door, and Mia whipped around.
Her trainer frowned at her. “Who are you talking to?”
“Uh…”This amazing guy who you can’t see right now. “No one, just Brando.” The lie tasted greasy on her tongue.
Donna’s frown twitched; she didn’t believe. “Are you about ready? It’s time to head down to the warm-up arena.”
“Yeah, coming.” Mia tightened the girth for the last time and Brando tossed his head.
She turned back to Val, quickly, and he flashed her a toothy grin and a wink. “What is it modern Americans say? Break a leg?”
~*~
Brando always got a little wiggy in the warm-up ring. He was a serious horse, ordinarily, with a tremendous work ethic, and a touch of true sweetness that he expressed through gentle nudges of his nose and polite requests for ear scratches. But the things that made him a stellar athlete also made him nervous, and the hustle and bustle of almost a dozen horses moving through portions of their tests got his back tense and his neck bowing. He blew sharp little snorts with every step, eyes flicking wildly back and forth.
“You’re alright.” She kept up a low, steady stream of reassurances. They trotted along the rail, her reins slack, and eventually his ears stayed tipped toward her, listening, and his topline slowly relaxed into the stretch until his gait was loose and swinging.
The walkie-talkie clipped to her boot crackled and Donna’s voice came through:“Good. Bring him in toward the center and let’s do some collected canter work.”
Mia flashed a thumb-up toward the rail in acknowledgement and gathered her reins. At the rail, Val stood undetected at Donna’s side, elbows propped on the top board, chin in one hand, smile almost dreamy.
Her stomach did a little flip.
Ugh, focus.
A space opened up in the very center of the arena, and she maneuvered Brando into it, pressing him into an easy canter. She let him stretch a moment, then closed her legs and deepened her seat; adjusted the rein pressure. His neck lifted and he collected beautifully; he felt like a coiled spring beneath her, energetic and ready for the next movement.
“Outside rein,”Donna said through the walkie.“There, yes. When he feels ready, let’s see a few lead changes.”
Without much space to work, Mia steered him into a careful turn and started down the next long side. Dizziness touched her, just a second. Nerves, must be. She should have eaten more earlier. The PowerBar was becoming a lead ball in her stomach.
Focus.
She tightened her right hand, half-halted, shifted her weight, and, when the moment was right, slid her legs, one forward a fraction, one back, changed the flexion, and…Brando executed a perfect flying change.
“Perfect,”Donna confirmed.
