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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/910592-The-Barrel-Race-Final-Competition
Rated: 18+ · Book · Activity · #2120076
Collection of 31 short-short stories and some micro fiction. Easy to review.
#910592 added May 6, 2017 at 7:41pm
Restrictions: None
The Barrel Race Final Competition
6th Chapter title:The First Task.

Source: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Main event in the chapter: It's the first task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, where the champions have to collect a golden egg being guarded by a dragon.


Only one competition stood between Laurel Heights and the World Championship for Barrel Racing. Laurel had won or placed in ten previous competitions, with her horse, Black Sierra, like an extension of herself. Woman and horse as one. Her spirit dwelt within him, and his within hers.

She patted his flanks to calm him, while the other six competing horses snorted and pawed the ground. The riders themselves huddled together, feeding their fears to each other, and creating a massive wave of negativity. Black Sierra and Laurel avoided all the commotion as they waited and watched at the end of the line.

Georgette Bernstein was up first. She gave her horse, Maple Sundae, the command to go with a firm squeeze of her thighs. Maple, far too strung out and nervous, bolted up the ramp. In competitions, many riders wore custom clothes, and in Georgette's case, a ridiculous red wig. As horse and woman entered the barrel racing corral, Georgette's wig swung perilously to one side of her head. In a brief attempt to adjust it, the overly-sensitized Maple Sundae took another leap, and Georgette's wig flew into the corral. She jumped off her horse, picked up the wig, and took off back down the ramp, too humiliated to compete.

The next five riders ran the gauntlet of barrels, each with limited success. Nearly all of them knocked over at least one barrel, leaving Laurel as the next probable world champion.

Penelope, riding Light Feather, was Laurel's only contender. The pair successfully cleared the three barrels, executing the tight moves in perfect formation. Penny and Lauren faked friendship, but as Penny returned to the barn she smirked at Laurel. "Try to top that!"

Not one easily daunted, Laurel patted Black Sierra's neck and held her head next to his ear. She looked up at Penny and winked. "Black says your horse, Feather, despises you." At Penny's shocked reaction, Laurel was up the ramp and clearing the first barrel.

She miscalculated, and the first barrel went down. "Stay frosty, Black, we can still hold second place. Next year we'll win." Expertly navigated, horse and woman swung around the second barrel, which seemed to magically teeter and fall. Laurel laughed and raced for the final barrel, knowing this loss was a total bust. "Let's go out in style," she told Black Sierra, and purposely kicked out her leg, knocking over the last barrel.

The audience vaulted to their feet and cheered her showmanship. Of course Penny and Feather were poised to prance out and receive the highest honor. For her part, Laurel didn't give a flip. To be so close to such a prestigious win and throw it away felt invigorating.

"We'll get 'em next time, Black Sierra." If only Trent had stuck around to see this. He'd be darn proud of us. Laurel thought. "Sierra, I'm a one horse woman, and a one man woman." Laurel blinked away tears. "Why'd he run off like that," I wonder. Black whinnied in appreciation as she rubbed his sweet spot between his ears. Laurel let her head rest on her horse's shoulder and breathed the heady aroma of horse sweat and leather.

Laurel watched as the Master of Ceremony approached the winner. White Feather bucked, unseating Penelope, and, unfettered, raced around the corral. The crowd erupted in laughter. Penny tried to recover her dignity, brushing off her soiled costume and regaining her seat.

Eventually, White Feather calmed down and submitted to his rider's commands. Penelope accepted the award and rode away.

Laurel stepped aside to allow passage between horses, condolences on her mind. No one deserved that embarrassment.

"Don't stand there gloating, Laurel," Penny said, as she nudged her horse past the young woman.

"It's not my style to gloat, Penny. But that's something you'll never understand."

"You'll understand why I took your man, Trent. What a looker."

Penelope sighed, Laurel seethed.

"You should thank me for saving you the bullet, Laurel. Trent's brain was twisted. After a few years, he drove off, no explanation, and I never heard from him again."

"I wonder what took him so long to come to his senses," Laurel shot back.

Penny clicked her tongue and pulled on her horse's lead.

As White Feather passed Black Sierra, he rolled his eyes. In horse talk, Laurel understood the expression. Sierra was right. Something rotten inside Penny rubbed everyone the wrong way.

Laurel rubbed down her horse before heading over to the after-race chatter at The Trough. Georgette and her red wig never showed.

"I think she's never coming back," Paul laughed. His wife smacked his shoulder. "Be nice, Paul."

It's a tough circle out there," Matt said, and everyone agreed because Matt was Matt. The most experienced, retired racer.

With much anticipation, everyone waited for Penny to enter, but her pride apparently was catastrophically wounded.

"What 'ya think, Matt?" Laurel asked.

Matt walked over to Laurel and kissed her cheek. "You'll be the winner in everyone's mind for the next year. What showmanship, darling."

Laurel blushed. "Ah, Matt, don't be ridiculous."

The crowd hushed. Nobody crossed Matt when he made a pronouncement.

"Darling," Matt said, ain't nobody crossed me since my wife, Clara, died in 1983. I like your spunk." He clapped Laurel on the shoulder, who stumbled under the weight of his massive hand. "I might be old enough to be your granddad, Laurel, but you ever looking for a husband, I'm right here."

"That honor would be mine, old man."

Everyone swiveled their heads to see Trent limping into the bar, heading straight for Laurel.

Speechless and blushing, wildly hoping, she made no move to encourage him. With a few more hitching steps, he reached Laurel's side. "Laurel—"

Laurel's rarely seen anger flared. "Where have you been for the last two years, Trent?" Unmoved by this gentle expression and moist eyes, Laurel asked, "And it better be one heck of an explanation. Otherwise, I'm going with Matt, over there." She gestured toward the geezer slopping back yet another beer.

The bar patrons drew in a collective breath and held it, trying not to laugh at the thought of the feisty Laurel wed to the decrepit Matt.

Trent hooked one leg around a bar stool and dragged it next to Laurel's. "Good or inexcusable explanation or not, please hear me out, Laurel."

Laurel's boot tapped out an impatient rhythm. "This should interesting." She narrowed her eyes and noticed a scar she'd never seen before running from Trent's temple to his jaw. She tempered her words. "Just tell me why you left me for Penny?" Her eyes glistened.

"Not sure what that woman told you, Laurel. She asked for a ride home one night. I dropped her off and headed on home." He paused to massage his scar and shift his weight.

Unconvinced, Laurel huffed. "Penny says you hooked up with her for two years and then up and left."

Trent shifted his weight. "I figured her for a liar." His face wrinkled in pain.

Everyone leaned in close, while pretending disinterest. Trent was a catch. Funny, kind, good looking, generous to a fault. The curiosity hummed in the atmosphere.

With one delicate hand on his broad shoulder, Laurel took in his measure. "You've been injured. Iraq? Afghanistan?" she ventured, although knowing Trent could no more kill a spider much less a human.

"Not war wounds, LH.

No one, other than Trent called Laurel by her initials, LH. Her features softened. "What happened?" she whispered.

"Car accident. After I dropped off Penny, I headed out to see my folks in Virginia. 'Bout halfway there, some drunk driver blindsided me."

Laurel cupped Trent's face. "I'm so sorry," she said, maintaining eye contact, rather than stare at his bum leg.

The customers, so carefully not listening, yelled out, "What happened?"

Trent offered a lop-sided grin and then his face darkened. "My car spun out, flipped a few times before landing in the ditch."

"And the guy who hit you?" Laurel asked.

"Left me for dead." The next words rushed out, Trent anxious to get over the explanation. "Paramedics found me two days later, still trapped in the car."

"Trent!" Laurel cried. "I'm so, so, very sorry. You didn't call, you didn't write . . . "

"The next two years I spent in rehab." Trent patted his bad leg. "I never stopped following you or your career. Smooth moves out there, today, LH."

Trent's warm laughter chased chills up Laurel's spine. A one man woman, she'd never looked at another guy.

"LH, I'm pretty busted up. But if you don't want to marry old man Matt, I'm throwing my hat in the ring. Think you'd marry an invalid like me?"

The customers jeered and shouted. "Say yes, Laurel!"

Laurel looked around the bar for Penelope, who must have slipped out the back door. "Yes, Trent, a thousand times yes." She paused and quirked a grin. "But only if Black Sierra agrees."








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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/910592-The-Barrel-Race-Final-Competition