Sunday Snippet

 

Today's snippet is from Fire Horse, the first book in the Polo Series. Now available at AMAZON and a free read with your Kindle Unlimited subscription.

Snippet

I stared out the window, paying little attention to the landscape, which was miles and miles of steaming hot nada. August in Texas wasn’t exactly paradise, so there were no distractions from my melancholy thoughts. It had never occurred to me that Konrad might change as well, but of course it was a very real possibility. I’d had his undivided attention for three years, and it would be over by the end of next week. Once we were let loose in the world, there was no telling what could happen.

I got a little preview of the future as soon as we drove past the great willow tree marking the entrance of the club. A small crowd of people had gathered near the clubhouse, greeting players and their retinue. I assumed these were the big shots in charge of the tournament. I recognized a few faces from pictures I’d seen in polo magazines and was impressed anew. One of the greatest Texans to play the sport, Cecil Smith, now in his late seventies, was a part of the group, along with the owner of the club, Norman Brinker. They were meeting and greeting the arrivals, and when our turn came, Konrad was acknowledged with backslapping enthusiasm.

“So you’re the young man Cecil has been jawing about,” Mr. Brinker remarked. “Welcome to Willow Bend.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’m glad you could make it, son,” Cecil added, joining in the conversation.

“Thank you for the opportunity, sir,” Konrad said, removing his hat respectfully and shaking the older man’s hand with the same reverence he’d have paid God. If Konrad idolized anyone, it was Cecil Smith. The legendary wrangler-turned-polo-player had been instrumental in arranging for Kon’s invitation to play in this tournament.

In his prime, Cecil Smith had been a 10 goal player for twenty-six consecutive years, the highest ranking one could attain in the sport. He’d also been credited with taking polo out of the drawing room and into the bunkhouse. His glory days had marked the zenith of American polo, and long after he’d retired in 1967, he had continued to ride and train polo ponies on his ranch out in Boerne, not too far from our San Antonio home. He was always on the lookout for homegrown talent, and Konrad had caught his eye a while back. It was always a great source of pride for Cecil whenever a local boy could stick it to the millionaires and upper-class stiffs. He had shown the world one needn’t be a blue blood to succeed in polo. All you needed was talent, guts, and a love for the sport and the animals that were the true players. Without a good pony, you were nothing. Finding a sponsor to foot the bill was a crucial element to success if one didn’t have the resources to make it on their own.

“Go out there and make me proud, son.”

“Yes, sir… thank you, sir,” Konrad stammered, tripping over his words in embarrassment.

“And who’s this young man?” Cecil asked, finally acknowledging my presence.

“This here is Pres, Mr. Smith. He’s an upcoming rider and acting as my groom today.”

“A good groom is harder to come by than a wishing well in the middle of Hill Country,” he drawled. “Are you any good, boy?”

“I try to be, sir.”

“Tryin’ is only good in horseshoes, Pres. Grooms are the unsung heroes of polo, and I would expect you to go the extra mile for your friend and his ponies. How many do you have?” he asked, turning back to Konrad.

“Just the two for now,” Kon admitted.

“You’re goin’ to need at least three more, son.”

“I understand, sir. I can’t afford them yet.”

“You show me what’s what this weekend, and I’ll see what I can do about getting you another pony.”

Konrad’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I’ll do my best to make you proud, sir.”

“See that you do, boy, see that you do.” He doffed his Stetson at the two of us and walked off toward another group.

“Holy shit,” Konrad breathed.

“No pressure,” I said, grinning up at him.