Sixteen Seconds

“Shit.” A thin red line welled up across the palm of her hand, right below the base of her thumb. Becca angrily tossed the empty can of Diet Mountain Dew she had just ineffectively crunched off the porch. It hit the trunk of the old oak tree her mother was so fond of and fell to the ground, not making as much as a thud. Even Freckles, her heeler mix, made no move to go after it, though he’d looked up at Becca when she’d yelped. “Didn’t I tell you not to do that?” Becca’s mom had chosen just that moment to step outside. She was in baggy shorts and one of her flowing shirts, holding a coffee mug, even though it was after eight. During normal times she would have already been at the office. But nothing was normal anymore, not since this Corona garbage had started, and Becca was utterly sick of it. “They canceled the rodeo!” “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. But you can always go next Saturday.” “No, Mom.” Becca rolled her eyes, even though—at almost twenty—she certainly knew better. “Tejas is closed, as in closed. No rodeo, no Friday night barrel race, no nothing. I can’t even haul in to practice.” “I see. Look, sweetie, I’ve got to get back to the computer. I only came out to get a breath of fresh air before it gets too hot.” She disappeared, and for one brief moment Becca was jealous. Not that she wanted to be indoors at a desk. But at least her mother had a job to go to. Working for H-E-B in some kind of upper management position that Becca didn’t understand and didn’t care about, her mother always acted super-important and was always busy. Except that now, instead of leaving the house early every morning and coming back late every afternoon, her “busy” consisted of typing away at the computer and taking and making calls. And her dad was busy, too. Busier than ever, actually. As a truck driver, he was not only considered an essential worker, he was even proclaimed to be a hero, because with his rig he transported the products that filled the shelves in her mom’s grocery stores. That’s how her dad and her mom had met, with him driving for HEB and her ordering the stuff he brought in, a story so often repeated Becca could’ve told it without them. Either way, both of her parents had things to do and places to go to, whereas she was stuck here. Granted, she had her own section of the house, a kind of half-apartment above the garage. And she’d gotten up at six-thirty to feed her two horses and muck out their stalls. But now with the restaurant where she picked up shifts on the days without barrel races or lessons having been ordered closed, she was still stuck. Becca picked up her phone and scrolled around some but none of her friends were available. Not even Casey, who she went to most races with. But then Casey had her own arena and was probably running her horses this very moment, shaving off another tenth of a second from her already fabulous times on Sonny, short for Lots Of Go Son, her sorrel gelding. Becca went into the kitchen for another soda but there was only Diet Coke in the fridge, which she detested. “Mom? I thought you had groceries delivered yesterday. Where’d you put my Diet Mountain Dew?” “They were out of it, sweetie. I didn’t get any blueberries or strawberries either, and only about half of the lunch meats and cheeses I requested. Oh, and only a single pack of paper towels and no toilet paper whatsoever.” Seriously? Becca opened the fridge, which did look bare, and grabbed a water bottle and two small apples. Back on the porch, she drooled over a picture of Slick by Design, one of the top sires of 2019, envisioning owning a foal by him. Black and massive, the stallion was every bit as impressive as the Fabulous Frenchman, another one Becca had her eye on, except that the Frenchman was a palomino. Both stood at stud in Texas. If she wanted her mare Dreamy to be covered by Slick By Design, all she needed was $2750. Not that she had it, though. Becca briefly considered asking her dad for the money, but since the air conditioner was on the fritz once again, and they’d had to replace the roof only a couple of months ago, there was no way he was going to say yes. No, if she wanted Dream Catcher’s Folly—Dreamy’s official name—to have Slick By Design’s baby, she would have to come up with the money on her own. Ha, fat chance of that! The timer on her phone went off, reminding her an hour and a half had passed. Becca always allowed her horses to have sufficient time to eat before pulling them out of their stalls for their morning work. Even though they finished their grain in just minutes, the one and a half hours gave their complicated digestive systems a better chance to process the high protein performance feed she’d carefully measured out to them earlier. It also gave them time to finish their alfalfa flakes. This was important because after she rode them, both horses would go out into the paddock for the day, and since she had zero kid lessons to teach thanks to COVID, they would stay there until she brought them back in for their dinner. Becca saddled both with a routine she had perfected long ago and took them into the round pen she’d elongated into a small, oval arena. Ponying Jetgirl to warm her up, she leisurely took Dreamy through her paces. Dreamy, who her parents had bought for her when she was fifteen, didn’t need any training. She just needed to be kept in shape. Either way, Becca hardly used her for competitions anymore. No, Dreamy was mostly a lesson horse now, and with her sweet face and overall gentle disposition her little riders adored her. Too bad her students’ parents were so scared of this virus! Not only had they canceled for this week, they had said no riding lessons for as long as schools were officially closed. Totally ridiculous, of course! It wasn’t as if the kids were going to catch anything from Dreamy. “Crap!” Dreamy had just changed leads in the center of the figure eight when Jetgirl who, until then, had trotted and loped obediently next to Dreamy, suddenly balked and just about tore Becca’s arm out of its socket. Yanking hard and at the same time reining Dreamy in, Becca managed to get Jetgirl back in line. But the mare kept balking. Becca had bought her with prize money from Dreamy’s wins about eighteen months ago and the beautiful five-year-old sorrel was coming along nicely. Even though Becca had only started running her last fall, she’d already been within the money at several barrel races. “What now?” Jetgirl was moving along with Dreamy again but she was favoring her right front leg, her head dipping down low with every step. In an instant, Becca was off Dreamy. She looped the mare’s reins around the top rung of the panel and crouched down next to Jetgirl. Feeling for swelling first and finding none, she picked up Jetgirl’s hoof. Riddle solved. Jetgirl’s shoe was missing. She’d probably overreached again, something she was prone to do, causing her to throw the shoe. Tying Jetgirl next to Dreamy, Becca used her boots as well as a manure fork to methodically comb through the sand until she discovered the missing shoe. Not worn at all, since she’d just had the farrier out three weeks ago, it looked as if it could be nailed back on easily enough. Having placed it safely outside the pen, Becca texted her farrier.