As David angled his little truck up the curving drive, he saw Marcus Denton, the farm’s owner, riding a jump course in the west arena. He rode Smarty Pants, a big bay gelding from Smarty Jones lineage. The two of them arced up and over the jumps, porpoising against the twilight.

David slowed the truck to admire Marcus’s broad-shouldered form over the course: a simple-looking fold at the waist, hands up to the gelding’s crest, legs long and steady in the stirrups. It looked easy; David knew better. He’d fallen off twice while cantering the ring, the scanty English saddle a wobbly-feeling affair after growing up on a cattle farm and riding Western all his life.

David saw one of the farm’s senior grooms, standing at the gate. “Hola, Ramon!” he called.

“Buenos noches, senor. Como esta?” Ramon had emigrated from South America as a teenager and his accent was luscious, redolent with tones of coffee and chiles and sunsets.

“I’m fine,” David said. He nodded to Marcus. “He’s out there again.”

“Every night, senor, every night.” Ramon shook his head. “He ride ’til his legs shake. Two, three hours sometimes.”

“But he doesn’t compete?”

“Nunca.”

They watched Marcus figure eight through the jump course, guiding Smarty Pants with gentle reining, head turns and weight shift in the saddle. They took a corner, too sharply; Smarty Pants balked at a four-foot fence and sent Marcus crashing into the standard, knocking the first pole down. He pinwheeled over the horse’s neck, one arm out, the other over his head. David heard the thwock! of Marcus’s back on the PVC pole and Smarty’s nervous whinny. Marcus lay still in the sand between the jump standards.

Whoa, that looked bad.

David leaped out of his truck, and ran over the gravel of the drive, his long legs kicking up rock. He climbed through the ring’s fencing, four steps behind Ramon. David kept his eyes on Marcus, who hadn’t moved. Smarty Pants stood still near the jump, ears flicking anxiously about, popping his tail in agitation.
Ramon got to Marcus first.

“Don’t move him!” David shouted.

The gelding snorted and moved away as David tore through the arena. Ramon knelt down, one hand grasping Marcus’s wrist. “Boss? Boss, esta bien?”

Marcus lay on his back, damp arena sand clumped on his neck and face where he had fallen. His eyes were open, their soft brown filled with pain. He breathed through clenched teeth.

© 2006. Vincent Diamond. Reprint and sub rights available.

Read “Bruised” and “Back in the Saddle” for just 49 cents at the Amazon Shorts website.

Now, I’ve told people before that I’m a bit of a technodweeb. I’m not phobic about tech stuff but, for the most part, I don’t much like it. For example, I’ve lived nearly two years in a house with some sort of dish thing-y that hangs off a wall outside and only just this week discovered that it gets the Horse Racing Channel.

Oh. My. God.

What a potential disaster this could be. I could spend way way way too much time on this. Fortunately, the combination of my stellar self-discipline, and the fact that it’s obviously oriented towards bettors, as opposed to people who like horses, I shall overcome this ribald temptation. If it were equestrian TV, with dressage and show-jumping, I’d be in trouble.

And in amusing news, I got a check this week from Amazon for my royalties on the sales of “Bruised/Back in the Saddle”. $10.20. Yeppers, I am rich.

What that means is 51 people bought the stories. 51! That’s incredible! I don’t think I even know 51 people, much less that folks would buy the stories. Which means people who don’t even *know* me are taking the chance of blowing their money. Okay, so 49 cents isn’t a huge risk, but still. This is just too cool for school.

And, my goodness, they’re still available right here!
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B000KHX8RA/?tag=vincentdiamon-20

They’ve bounced around the Gay/Lesbian shorts list ever since going up last year. Usually they’re in the top 3, not that I, um, er, like check that weekly or anything. And they were Number 1 for quite awhile. It’s been an interesting experience.