Authors: Margaret Tanner
“Phew, made it with ten minutes to spare. You start over there.” David pointed to a clump of trees. “We won't be able to see you for a while, but men are stationed at intervals along the course to check for any undue interference.”
She nodded her head.
“When you round the hill you'll come out here, almost where we are now. You can see the hurdles and the finish line is over where most of those people are congregated.”
Tommy saw white painted rails around the section being used for the racetrack.
“The official party will be over in the pavilion where they can watch the start of the race, and the last half mile,” David said.
He led Warrior to the mounting yard while she and Jamie followed a pace or two behind. Fear rose up in her throat until she almost choked on it. No one took any undue interest in her, so her disguise proved adequate. Pulling her hat down a little more she tightened the chinstrap and eyed the other competitors, trying to assess their potential. Some of the horses looked large, powerful; they would give a good account of themselves. With the help of David's one good hand, she scrambled up onto Warrior's back. He adjusted the stirrups while she held the reins. Her mouth dried up and she felt queasy in the stomach. Still time to pull out if she wanted to. She clenched her teeth, willing her hands to stop trembling so no one would notice.
“Nervous?” David patted Warrior’s neck.
She forced a laugh through stiff lips. “No.”
“I'm worried; we can still call this off. I should be flogged for allowing you to do something so dangerous.”
“Wish me luck, Jamie.”
“Good luck. You'll win because you always do things better than anyone else.”
“Thank you, here goes.”
She let David lead her up to the starting area where another twenty or so horses were stretched out in a haphazard line.
“Good luck.” He gave her a salute before returning to Jamie.
Her perspiring hands trembled as she gripped the reins. Not being used to noise or so many people, Warrior started to get nervous and skittish.
“Easy, boy. Steady on,” she crooned. “You can beat these frontier hacks.” David always maintained she could calm a horse just by speaking to it.
The other horses were a mixture, some rough and shaggy, others pampered thoroughbreds. Everyone would be desperate to win with a twenty-pound purse dangling like a juicy carrot in front of them. She needed all the skill and horsemanship she’d learnt from her father over the years, but luck would play a major part in the race as well.
Most of the riders seemed to be in their late twenties or early thirties, all supremely confident. Twenty pounds. A lot of money for most people. Everyone would be trying hard to win, although none of them could be as desperate for victory as the Lindsays.
“Warrior darling.” She patted his sleek neck. “Please win for David.” If only the race would hurry up and start. Much longer and the stallion would be worked up into such a state they would have to withdraw. She gritted her teeth, willing her hands and legs to stop shaking. You can do this Tommy Lindsay. You have to.
****
Adam glanced around at the competitors. All in all, a good turnout. The twenty-pound purse proved a major draw card; nothing like the whiff of money to bring people out. His lips tightened as he perused the list of entrants.
“Warrior.” Black stallion ridden by David Lindsay, Herfordshire, England.
He squinted into the sun before checking his pocket watch; two minutes before starting time.
Sophia wore a yellow gown today and it enhanced her dark hair and eyes. With a floral parasol protecting her from the sun, she looked quite pretty. Why the hell didn’t he ask for her hand in marriage?
He swore softly on finding himself scanning the crowd for the Lindsays. He only wanted to see the boy to make sure he had recovered from his ordeal in the mineshaft. Lying to one’s self did not come easy, but the other alternative? Hell—too dangerous to even contemplate.
The bay colt from Wangaratta stood a good chance, although he would prefer a local horse to win. What was David Lindsay's stallion like? Nothing written down about his form or pedigree.
The starter's pistol went off and the horses sprang into action. The black was playing up so badly, young Lindsay seemed to be in real trouble. The rest of the field had a hundred yards start on the stallion. A magnificent looking beast, though; pity he had lost the race before it even started.
Adam stepped back when someone cannoned into him.
“Lindsay, what are you doing? I thought you were riding your stallion.”
“Good afternoon, Munro. I hurt my wrist; he's still running.”
Adam raised his eyebrows.
“I got someone else to ride him.”
Something evasive about the young Englishman's manner caught his attention, but why should he care. He might have felt sorry under the circumstances for anyone else, but the Lindsays didn't deserve a grain of pity. They resided slap bang in the middle of his station, hogging water he needed for his thirsty stock.
He joined the rest of his party. His thoughts strayed to the small reception he was giving later on, upholding the tradition of entertaining the important people who attended. His father founded this race meeting over twenty years ago, and it had been held annually ever since.
The horses disappeared around the side of the hill, giving him a chance to survey the crowd. With Christmas less than a month away things would start getting hectic. He received numerous invitations to parties and functions—too many if he really thought about it. Maybe he could hold a New Year’s Eve party, perhaps announce his betrothal to Sophia then. Better still, he’d publicly declare his intention at the Commissioner’s Ball.
“Enjoying yourself, my dear?” He took Sophia’s hand in his and held it for a moment. The roar of the crowd brought his gaze away from her and onto the track. The horses had been sighted.
They came to the first hurdle almost in a bunch, except for two or three stragglers taking up the rear.
“I'll just go down to see the finish.” He excused himself and left the pavilion. Over the second hurdle, the black stallion put his nose in front.
At the rails near the finishing line he came upon a tense, agitated David Lindsay. “Now, give him his head. You can do it.”
“Who's riding your stallion, Lindsay?” He jabbed the young Englishman in the back and swung him around so they faced each other. “I asked you, who’s riding the stallion?”
“Tommy.”
Adam’s heart missed a couple of beats before it slammed so hard against his chest it almost unbalanced him. What if the stallion fell? If she toppled off? Visions of that soft white body being bloodied under the hooves of a dozen horses caused his gut to clench. “You bloody fool, allowing your sister to ride that horse. You ought to be flogged.”
“She's an excellent rider. I hurt my wrist, and she insisted on riding him.”
“And you let her?”
“How could I stop her?”
“Surely you can control your own sister?”
“No one controls Tommy.” David swung around to face the race track. “Good girl, she's over. Come on, come on, you can do it.”
Adam scowled as he moved towards the finishing line.
Why the hell should I care if she breaks her neck?
He did care, though, and he cursed the fact that he did.
****
“Come on, darling, you can do it.” Tommy rode desperately. “Please, Warrior, do it for us.” By the time the water obstacle loomed up, the stallion was tiring. “Now, darling, you can do it.” She felt his muscles tense as he cleared the jump. He stumbled, but regained his balance.
Only two of them had a chance of winning now. She rode crouched low over Warrior’s neck. The finishing line blurred in front of her eyes as they stormed across it. A monstrous roar almost ruptured her eardrums. Her arms felt like they were being dragged out of their sockets as she fought to pull the stallion up.
They had won. Warrior had done it against all odds. She slipped her feet from the stirrups, but didn’t have the strength to dismount. She sat there, swaying in the saddle, gulping air into her starving lungs. When she started sliding towards the ground, strong arms caught her and held her upright.
Adam Munro's husky voice sounded as if it came from a hundred miles away. “You little fool.” His arms tightened around her. “You could have killed yourself.”
“We won.” Her eyes filled with emotional tears. Her legs felt as if they might buckle under her, so she clung to his hard strength. “Oh, Adam, he won.”
“You did it.” David strode up to them. “I say, are you all right?”
“Of course she damn well isn’t. See to the horse.”
“I'll be all right, take care of Warrior.” She smiled at David then tensed on seeing Miss Bothroyd walking towards them. “I'm recovered now, thank you, Mr. Munro. Your lady friend is on her way over.”
“What are you doing, Adam?” Sophia gave a little laugh that sounded forced to Tommy.
“Miss Lindsay got distressed after the race.” He dropped his arms and stepped back. “You can collect the prize money later.”
Sophia’s smile waned. “Could we go to the refreshment tent, I'm thirsty.”
Who isn’t? Tommy fought to control her resentment. She couldn’t understand why she detested this young woman so much. Spoilt, pampered little miss.
“If you’re sufficiently recovered, Miss Lindsay, maybe you could join us?” His invitation sounded stiff, reluctant, delivered from between thinned lips.
“Thank you, I'll have to decline. I'm not dressed for the occasion.” She glanced down at her breeches.
His gaze wandered from her booted feet, up her body, until they rested on her face. Hot color flooded her cheeks at his intense appraisal. Without another word, he slipped Sophia's arm through his and strolled away, leaving Tommy staring in open-mouthed fury or was it jealous rage?
“How do you feel now, sis?”
“What!” Why on earth would she be jealous of Sophia Bothroyd? “Oh, sorry. Yes, I’m recovering, thankfully.”
“I thought you might faint you turned so white.”
She fussed with her hair sticking out from under her hat. Did she look a fright? “How's Warrior?”
“He's all right, just a bit winded. I left Jim walking him around.”
“Jim's here? What about Mary?”
He shook his head. “Too hot for a woman in her delicate condition.”
“I'm exhausted.” She smiled her acknowledgement at the congratulations from one of her rivals. “I might wait at the buggy while you collect the prize money from Adam. I think he’ll be in the refreshment tent.”
Tommy walked towards the buggy conscious of the many stares cast her way. She dared not even hazard a guess what people must think. They probably thought her an inelegant madwoman, but none of them could know what winning this race meant.
Jamie waited at the buggy with a bag of sweets clutched in his hand, both cheeks bulging. Jim stood next to him.
“Fine ride. I bet most of those men are furious at being beaten by a woman,” he said with a chuckle.
“Yes. Only one of them offered congratulations, the rest just glared at me.”
David joined them shortly afterwards. “I got you an orange juice.”
“Thank you.” She took the glass from him and drank it in a couple of gulps. Sweet and slightly tangy, just the way she liked it. Her throat felt parched, but she would have died of thirst rather than risk running into Adam and Sophia again.