Elizabeth stood against the fence, watching her daughter, and smiled to herself. Beyond them, the ranch hands raced through the field on their horses, galloping around the track they’d made in one of their informal weekend races. Pilar was jumping up and down, screaming, and Elizabeth had no doubt that the girl’s fingers were itching, wishing they were holding the reins as well. The girl had loved horses since she opened her eyes, and Elizabeth still remembered putting the child on her first horse—when she was only two years old—to be led around in the courtyard.
Yes, she thought, the girl had been born to ride. One day, perhaps, she would be a jockey herself, despite the fact that she was a girl. But not yet. Not yet. Pilar was still too young—and far too breakable—for such things.
Suddenly she heard a shout, and whirled toward the field. On this ranch, where they kept hundreds of horses, plus sheep, cattle, and many dogs, shouting meant that something was wrong. Perhaps someone was hurt. But to her relief, she saw only that the ranch hands had raced to the end of their course and finished their race. They were now congratulating the winner, Miguel, who looked as though he’d just conquered the world. Now that she listened, she could hear his laughter, loud in the pasture, and as bright as the yellow daffodils that dotted the fields on the hill.
“Mama, Mama, did you see?” Pilar shouted, running toward her, taking her hand, and towing her toward the fence. “Miguel took the book to the front at the very end! I thought he’d lost for certain, but he came on at the end, did you see?”
“Yes, I saw, child,” Elizabeth laughed. How could she have missed it?
Pilar stopped abruptly and looked up with her with large, serious eyes. “Mama, one day I’ll be a jockey too, and race with them in the fields,” she said. “I’ll be the best roper there is, and the best jockey. You’ll see.”
Elizabeth pulled the girl roughly too her, speechless. Yes, she believed the girl. Pilar had always done exactly what she wanted, and this would be no different. But please God not yet, she prayed. Pilar was her youngest—the last thing Elizabeth and her husband had created together—and she couldn’t bear the thought of the girl leaving her, or—worse—getting hurt.
“Plenty of time for that, child, when you’re older,” she said firmly, trying to control the quiver in her voice. “And when it happens, I shall be the proudest mama in the land, and no one will cheer more loudly than I do!”
“And why not start now?” one of the ranch hands—Andres—asked, appearing suddenly by their sides. He dropped to his knees in front of Pilar. “I have seen you watching the races, child. Would you like to race Prince with us? I will run a special race, just for you. Just you and me, what do you say?”
“Yes!” Pilar crowed, and before Elizabeth could stop the girl, she was racing for the back barn, where she kept her own horse.
Andres turned to Elizabeth, laughing. “Have no fear, Senora,” he said gently. “I will go slowly, and will make certain that she is safe. And that she wins.”
Elizabeth lifted one eyebrow. Going slowly and making sure that her daughter didn’t get hurt—that she could understand, and appreciate. The other, however…
“I am not certain you could beat her, no matter how you tried, Andres,” she said archly. “But I appreciate the intent.”
Then, with a quick grin in his direction, she turned and darted for the back pasture. She couldn’t stop Pilar from racing, not when the girl had been invited, and a race against one ranch hand would be safe. Which meant that Pilar would be competing in mere moments. And Elizabeth wasn’t going to miss the scene of her daughter’s first triumph.
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