Jesse stood near the starting line, heart pumping with anticipation.
Nate was talking to a skier who’d wiped out on the last jump, leaving blood on the snow. He came back, shared what he’d learned. “He says the course is running fast. He says he caught an edge on ice on the way up the ramp and lost his balance. I guess you’ll need to watch those edges.”
“Right.”
They were the second-to-last team to compete, with three more teams ahead of them. The first of those three finished the course with the fastest time so far—one minute and nine seconds. The second finished, as well, but was penalized for missing a gate by having four seconds added to her time of one minute fifteen seconds. The third wiped out coming off the first jump, injured his ankle, and was taken away by EMTs.
“You ready?” Nate took Buckwheat’s reins.
“Hell, yeah. Let’s do this.”
The announcer’s voice boomed through the air. “Next up, Jesse Moretti and Nate West riding Buckwheat.”
Cheers.
Jesse glanced around. “I guess everyone in Scarlet knows you and your horses.”
“You think they’re cheering for me? They’re cheering for you, buddy. Everyone in this town knows your name now.”
Jesse didn’t believe that for a moment.
Nate mounted Buckwheat, rode over to the starting line, while race volunteers, Sasha among them, straightened the tow rope.
“Good luck!” she called to him.
Jesse drew the slack out of the rope, adjusted his grip, flexed his knees a few times, then waited for the announcer.
“Is the team ready? The team is ready.”
A moment went by and then …
Pop.
The gelding responded to Nate as if the two were one, doing what quarter horses had been bred to do, exploding into a gallop, its hooves kicking up clods of icy snow.
Jesse was ready for the sudden acceleration, sailing over the snow, through the first gate and toward that first jump—a four-footer. The ramp was icy, but he’d been warned. Careful not to catch an edge, he flew up and over, nothing but air beneath him for a good fifteen feet, adrenaline making his blood sing.
But now for the hard part—the rings.
He swerved to the right, bunched up his fist, held out his arm.
One, two, three.
He had them.
The crowd cheered.
He held up his arm so the judges could see the rings, then dumped them onto the snow, his gaze focused on the next gate, which came up hard and fast. He made it then swung to his left, his skis scraping over ice as he flew up the six-foot ramp and into the air. “Woohoo!”
The crowd cheered when he stuck the landing.
Three more rings.
One, two…
He bumped the third with his fist, knocked it to the ground.
Shit.
A two-second penalty.
He didn’t have time to think about it as the third gate was ahead of him and to the right. He swung over, just made it through, then turned hard for the final jump. Up and over he went, soaring, his skis landing on blood-stained snow, only three rings between him and the finish line.
He raised his arm, clenched his fist.
One, two, three.
Fuck yeah!
He sailed across the finish line, fist in the air.
“Fifty-six seconds, folks! That’s Jesse Moretti and Nate West on Buckwheat, ladies and gentlemen, and we have a new SnowFest skijoring record! Fifty-six seconds with a two-second penalty!”
The crowd roared.
Jesse skied to a stop, stepped out of his bindings, and met Nate, who leaped from Buckwheat’s back, for a full-on man hug.
Nate slapped him on the back. “I told you we could do it. No one’s going to be that. We’ve won.”
And then Ellie was there.
She jumped into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time. “You’re a lunatic! I am so crazy proud of you.”
He held her tight, inhaled her scent, his heart filled with her.
*
It was the first time Jesse had gone to Knockers and hadn’t sat with the rest of the Team. Jack had invited him and Ellie to join them at the restaurant, which had set aside a table for ten with four high chairs in a quiet corner. But that didn’t keep his fellow Team members from finding him. They came over in ones and twos to rib him, congratulate him, and generally be pains in his ass.
Sasha hugged him. “I knew you would kick butt.”
“What are you going to do with all that money?” Conrad asked. “I mean, besides buy me a drink.”
Jesse pointed toward the donation jar. “You’re out of luck man. I donated it.”
Nate had done the same thing, the jar now almost full.
“You learned to climb and became a primary Team member in less than a year, so forgive me if I’m not amazed by your win today,” Megs said.
But she gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“You looked good on the winner’s podium, Moretti,” said Taylor, who was there with Lexi, Hawke, and Victoria. “I might have to race next year to give you some competition.”
Jesse chuckled. “You can try.”
“Taylor here was the state’s high school ski champion, but he forgets that high school was a long time ago,” Hawke said. “Good job today.”