Chapter 18

Behind Miles rode a group of adoring men and women. They laugh at Garnar and Thea now, and at Miles’s wonderful takedown of the pair.

“You can’t even handle a horse,” one man snickers. “God knows how he treats his wife.”

“Poor woman deserves better,” says a younger woman. “True men know how to lead with a gentle touch.”

“Those who deal a heavy hand are most deserving of one in return,” says another woman, with her nose turned up.

“Isn’t this man a CEO?” someone laughs. “Let’s see if his company holds out until the end of the year.”

Garnar’s face scrunches up, as red as I’ve ever seen him.

“Mind your own business, Representative Hamilton,” he snaps.

Miles simply shrugs.

I lift my hand to hide my smirk. Garnar deserves worse ridicule than this, but I’m ever pleased to see him taken down a peg or two.

“Then don’t make such a scene,” Miles tells him. Then, with a click of his tongue and slight pull on the reins in his hand, he guides his horse away, back to where most of the day’s patrons are waiting for the event to begin. His fanclub follows along in his shadow.

Behind Garnar, the stablehands work quickly, bringing Garnar another horse, this time one he himself is more used to working with. Sparkle Heart continues grazing out in the field.

This time, Garnar gets on the horse first, then he holds out a hand and helps Thea up onto the horse behind him.

“Hold around my waist,” Garnar tells her.

Thea obeys. Spotting me, she gives me a smug smile and a wink.

Garnar notices me too, a moment after Thea.

“Oh, Esther. Are you here alone? Where’s that boyfriend of yours?” he says with a hard smile.

“Maybe he doesn’t exist,” Thea offers, and Garnar chuckles.

“Could be. Or he’s so low-bred that he’s incapable of attending an event such as this.”

Anger stoked inside of me, I lift my voice. “Careful not to fall off, either of you. Garnar, you know how lacking your riding skills are.”

Garnar’s good mood vanishes into a glower sent my way. Behind him, Thea pales somewhat. Her backside likely still hurt from her last fall.

Without another word, Garnar urges his horse away.

I take that silence as a victory.

After I’m able to calm Sparkle Heart down, I choose her as my horse. Up in the saddle, I move toward the starting point, where Cynthia speaks with Mr. Carver. Both are also mounted now, with their rifles.

I reject an offered rifle from a club employee. Shooting has never been a great love of mine, like riding is. Plus, Sparkle Heart has had enough excitement for one day. A gentle ride through the forest will suit us both just fine.

“A mounted shooting course was such a good suggestion, Esther,” Mr. Carver says as I join them. “I was telling Cynthia here of how you save us all the embarrassment of having to choose between rejecting the Georges or breaking the law.”

“I’m just relieved that they agreed on the idea,” I say, not wanting too much credit. After all, it was a group decision and a group effort.

“Too modest,” Cynthia says, shaking her head.

“We’ve also taken your warnings to heart. I’ve had the staff patrol the area to make certain no dangerous animals will interfere with today’s events,” Mr. Carver continues.

That was a concern I had for today. A mounted shooting event on a trail through the forest sounded exhilarating, but the forest is home to many various animals that would likely be startled by the noise. The last thing we need is any unexpected surprises. Especially in the form of bears or coyotes.

“I’m relieved you’ve taken those precautions,” I say.

“Me, too,” Cynthia adds. “I’d rather not have to actually shoot an animal and give the Georges the hunt they initially wanted.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Carver says. He then spots something out at the front of the group. “I think we are about to start. If you will excuse me.” Mr. Carver urges his horse forward, leaving Cynthia and I alone in the back of the group.

The riders begin to line up. They will trek through the forest in pairs, with a five minute gap between them to keep from overlap. Each target is being observed through cameras to determine who shoots what and with what accuracy.

Miles lines up in the lead. His father declined attending the event, but another senator has come instead. They will be venturing the course together.

“Isn’t that…” Cynthia leans forward on her horse. “It is!” With wide eyes, she looks at me. In a whisper-yell, she says, “That’s the call boy!”

“That’s Representative Hamilton,” I say, louder than her, hoping to drown her out for any curious eavesdroppers. After glancing around to check no one was listening, I drop my voice to an actual whisper, “That night is a secret, Cynthia. Swear to me you will take this to the grave.”

Cynthia rolls her eyes. “Of course, Esther. I’m not an idiot. Though I demand details. He’s so gorgeous and successful…” She laughs. “It makes me want to bed a congressman for myself.”

“Cynthia, please.”

“No need to be embarrassed. Just think – if he goes on to be president, you could write a tell-all memoir and live off those royalties for the rest of your life!”

The thought of it, me writing a book like that about Miles, is so absurd that it makes me laugh.

Cynthia grins at me. My laughter is just what she wanted.

“It’s good to hear you laugh,” Cynthia says. “For years, you’ve barely even smiled.”

Cynthia and I are near the back of the group and are one of the last pairs to enter the forest. I don’t have a gun, and Cynthia seems entirely disinterested in actually shooting. So instead of competing, we simply meander on a pleasant stroll, with only distant pops of gunfire to remind us of the event’s true purpose.

“All I’m saying is,” Cynthia says. Now that we are alone, she’s speaking more candidly, though I’ve asked her not to say his name again. “If this gentleman makes you happy, you should try to keep him around.”

“I hardly think he’d be interested in some kind of long-term relationship with me,” I explain. “I’m fairly certain he’s only in this for the sex.”

“That’s how it starts,” Cynthia says. “But not always where it ends.”

I struggle to believe that. A guy like Miles has too much going for him to settle with someone washed-up like me. I can’t say that to Cynthia though. She rages when I try to put myself down.

Hoping to draw the conversation in a different direction, I motion toward one of the bullseye targets up in the trees. There’s only one shot so far that has made it through the middle ring.

“I wonder who the marksman is,” I say.

“Lucky shot, I’m betting,” Cynthia says. “None of these old farts actually practice their shooting. Even I’d miss that one if I tried.”

Cynthia lifts up her rifle and aims at the target.

As she’s concentrating, movement to my left brings my attention to the brush near the trail.

Within it, I see a pair of eyes that flash in the light.

That is no deer.

“Cynthia,” I say, as calmly as I can. I don’t want to startle her or our horses. “We need to ride…”

“The other group is still far behind us,” Cynthia says.

“No.” She doesn’t understand. In a whisper, I hiss, “There’s something there… in the bushes…”

“What?” She looks over quickly, and then, three things happen simultaneously.

First, a massive wild boar charges from the brush.

Second, both Cynthia and my horses bolt forward.

Third, not being prepared for the sudden burst of speed, I topple off of Sparkle Heart and land in the dirt, directly into the path of the raging boar.