High in Trial - By Donna Ball Page 0,10
a tone thick with anger, “and you know I’ve got the chops to enforce it. If you screw with me I’ll have everything you own, including your reputation.”
“Look at me. I’m trembling,” he returned. Red spots of anger started to appear on his neck. “I ran her, didn’t I? I gave it my best and fullest effort, to quote your precious contract, and if you have any doubts you just ask any one of the spectators that were cheering in the stands. It was an accident, and nothing you can do will prove otherwise.” His smile was cold. “These things happen. It’s all part of the game.”
She said lowly, “You fool. You have no idea what you’ve done.”
To which he replied, “I know exactly what I’ve done, and now you know what I’m capable of, you selfish—” Then he noticed me and stopped abruptly, looking both annoyed and embarrassed. There was nothing I could do but pretend I had heard nothing.
“Great run,” I congratulated him brightly. “That silent handling is unbelievable. What a shame about the finish. What happened?”
The girl spun and stalked away, and the eyes that followed her had enough venom in them to choke a snake. With an effort, he dragged his attention back to me. “Refusal,” he said briefly.
I forced a laugh. “Yeah, I saw. She was going straight for the finish line, though. I could’ve sworn she was going to make it. She’s such an incredible dog.”
The fastest way to any dog lover’s heart is to compliment his dog, so it didn’t surprise me to see Neil’s expression soften. “Yes, she is,” he agreed, glancing down fondly at the little dog at his side. She sat at his side with her eyes fixed upon him with the same rapt attention she had displayed at the start line. “She probably got spooked when I fell.”
“But she took half the course after that. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. It wasn’t until she was almost at the finish line that she turned back. I wonder what happened.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know and she’s not talking. Anyway, there’s always tomorrow.”
“That’s the good thing about a three-day,” I agreed. “I hope your leg is better.”
He winced, as though being reminded of the injury brought back pain he’d forgotten, and he reached down to rub his knee. “Yeah, I twisted my knee a little. I’ll ice it. It’ll be okay.”
“If not,” I suggested with a grin, “you could just stand at the start line and tell her what to do.”
It took him a moment to respond, and then it was with an absent smile that told me I’d overstayed my welcome. His eyes were watching someone over my shoulder, and I didn’t have to look beyond the cold anger in them to guess who it was. He said, “I guess. Excuse me, will you?”
He dropped his hand to his side with a gesture that was so quick and so small even I had trouble seeing it, and Flame fell into a perfect heel as he strode away, following the girl with the ponytail.
I ran to join the other volunteers in the ring, got my instructions and my course map, and paired with Ginny to set up the jumps. She was a cute girl in her late twenties with short blond hair and a personality as chatty as her mother’s. I introduced myself and congratulated her on a clean run.
“Gunny’s just starting out in agility,” she admitted, “but he is good, isn’t he? Of course, he’ll never be another Flame, but then I’m no Neil Kellog. Have you ever taken one of his workshops? He’s brilliant. He has his dogs trained to these hand signals he learned in the army. I’ve never seen anything like it. Every obstacle has a number and he holds up that number of fingers to send them over. Of course he uses voice commands, too, for some of the dogs, and in an emergency, like he did just now. Is number three a wing jump or a broad jump?”
For a moment I thought she was still talking about hand signals, but then I glanced at the course map and replied, “Wing.”
We dragged the two supports into place and moved on. “I couldn’t believe she refused the finish line,” Ginny went on. “And then to back-jump? I’ll bet Neil was mad. He always plays to win, and usually does, too. Win, that is. But to not even qualify?” She gave a small shake of