Sunday Snippet!

 

My Sunday snippet is from my latest re-release, FIRE HORSE. This is the first novel in the Polo Series and can be read as a stand-alone. 

Fire Horse

Mickie B. Ashling

Copyright 2021

I’d never roomed with Konrad before, so witnessing his early-morning jitters would have been rather comical if it weren’t so irritating. He’d showered twice in the past hour and changed his undershirt several times, ’cause he was dripping sweat like a pony after two chukkers. The room reeked of deodorant, coffee, cigarettes, and an underlying scent of fear I’d never associated with him.

“You need to settle down, son,” his dad scolded. He’d come over from the room across the hall to check on his boy. “You’re as jumpy as a Mexican bean.”

“Dad!”

“What? It’s not like this is your first tournament.”

“I’ve got too much riding on this.”

“You can’t let that influence your performance. Just go out there and have fun, Kon. It’s what you do best.”

Konrad flopped down on his bed and groaned. He grabbed a pillow and covered his face, but not before he mumbled, “What if I fuck up?”

“You won’t,” I said encouragingly. Plucking the pillow away, I stuck my face a few inches from his. “You’re going to be great―stop freaking out!”

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

He sat up and sniffed his underarms for the umpteenth time. “Should I take another shower? I’m going to have a big wet spot as soon as I put on my shirt.”

“What in hell for?” I asked. “You’re going to stink of horses in the next few hours. No one will even notice.”

“Do royals have body odor?” he asked his dad, looking like a child about to meet the Wizard of Oz.

“Konrad,” his dad said in an exasperated tone. “Their shit stinks as bad as yours.”

“But I’m sure they look so much better on the pot than I ever could.”

“Now who’s starstruck?” I asked with a grin.

Konrad’s dad grabbed his arm and hoisted him off the bed. “Stop behaving like a turd and get ready.”

The timely reference to poop was hilarious, and we ended up laughing ourselves silly. It was a good icebreaker, and one Konrad needed badly. By the time we’d piled into the station wagon, his head was on straight, and he acted, talked, and walked like the man I’d admired for the past three years.

The club was teeming with people by the time we arrived. Kon accepted the requisite hugs and words of encouragement from his mom and dad and a halfhearted wave from Monica, who was annoyed she wasn’t the center of attention today.

Her attitude was of little concern to either one of us as we headed over to the stables. The ponies greeted us with soft nickers that changed to high whinnies, as if they could sense something different and momentous about today. The pair of dark bay geldings was as familiar to me as Thunder was to Kon. He’d named them Salt and Pepper, because of the white points on Salt’s mane and tail and the black markings covering Pepper’s flanks. We worked without talking, using the routine to put us in the right frame of mind. The ponies were fed and then their tails were plaited and folded up against their tailbone to avoid getting tangled in a mallet. Kon had shaved or “roached” the unruly manes before leaving home, so that was one chore we could leave out. Next came the tedious process of fastening the leg wraps. They protected the pony’s most vulnerable spot from the ball or an accidental knock with the mallet—inevitable during a match. The wrap, which was also called a bandage, started just under the pony’s hock to about halfway down the cannon bone. It was a pain in the ass to wrap the stretchy fabric, clockwise on the right legs, and counter-clockwise on the left, but essential to their safety. Horseshoes were cleaned and examined in minute detail to make sure pebbles or other bits of debris weren’t going to cause a problem as they pounded across the turf. Finally, bell boots made of rubber were attached to each hoof to protect the coronet from being stepped on by one of the other horses. By the time Salt and Pepper were saddled and ready for the short trot to the practice field, we’d all calmed down.