Methos walked along the cliff line of the Seacouver shoreline as he had been doing every morning for the past six months. It helped him clear his mind, he claimed. Sometimes he would stop and watch a family of sea lions on the rocks jutting out of the surf, or the kite flying club that gathered on the beach once a week, which is what caught his attention on that particular morning.
As he watched the colorful kites gliding in the morning sky his attention was captured by something new on the beach. Some distance off was a horse and rider, something one didn't see very often. It was the horse that had caught his eye. A brown and white Paint that reminded him of one he'd had centuries ago. The patches of cocoa brown were perfectly separated by the purest white, none melting into another. The horse and rider were too far away to see the rider but he could see the horse well enough. He wondered where they had come from as there were no ranches or ranchettes this close to the coast that he knew of.
He watched for a while and then decided he needed to get some work done, so he walked back to the parking area where he had parked his car, got in and headed for Joe's Bar.
Methos made a stop on his way, at a convenience store to purchase a newspaper. As he reached for the door to go inside the store he noticed a poster announcing an upcoming rodeo to be held at the fair ground's arena the following weekend. He realized that that must have been where the horse and rider came from. He made a mental note to maybe take a drive out there just to check out the horses. He bought his newspaper and drove on into town and to Joe's Bar.
Later that afternoon Methos left the bar, got into his car and drove to the fair grounds. Once there he parked near the arena and wandered over to the area where all the motor homes, tents and horse trailers were.
Some of the rodeoers had had constructed small paddocks for their horses so they didn't have to be tied up. Methos strolled along the back side of the portable corrals looking at each of the horses. Once he had wandered around the full perimeter he noticed the sound of exited voices coming from the arena so he made his way in that direction. He took a seat near the center of the grand stands in the second row and leaned back bracing himself with his elbows on the bench behind him.
In the arena several of the rodeoers were practicing their roping skills. Soon a whistle blew and all the ropers vacated the arena and three cowboys rolled in three barrels and set them up for the Barrel Racing practice. When the barrels were set the three cowboys vacated the arena and the first lady rider emerged from the gate for her practice run.
Methos had only been to a rodeo once before and he could barely remember it because it was not what he had been there for, for one thing, and he had been drunk for another. So to watch the rider put her chestnut Quarter Horse through its paces rather fascinated him.
The rider made her home stretch dash and disappeared out the open gate. A few minutes later the arena loud speaker squelched and someone announced her time for the full run as 18.6 seconds. Less than three minutes later the Paint Methos had seen on the beached burst into the arena and the all too familiar "Immortal buzz" with it. The Paint made its run for the first barrel and smoothly leaned almost to the ground as it made an extremely tight turn around the barrel, then straightened up as it dashed for the second one 90 feet across from the first.
Methos sat forward on the bench and strained his eyes trying to get a better look at the girl on the Paint's back. It had been a long time...centuries, in fact...since he had seen anyone, especially a female, that seemed to become one with their mount and that's what this rider was doing. It was as if the rider and the horse had become one mechanism. When the Paint leaned almost to the ground to make the extremely tight 360° turn around each barrel, the rider would lean with him in perfect alignment and, at the end of the turn, the Paint would straighten up to make his run for the next barrel and the rider straightened with him...again, in perfect alignment.
When the previous rider's horse leaned into its turn, the rider was slow to react, almost as if she wasn't expecting it, which put the horse off balance, and even though it was only for a few seconds, it caused the horse to slow its pace. Not only was she slow to react but she never released her death grip on the saddle horn (which meant to Methos, she either lacked confidence in herself or her horse or that she was just plain scared...neither of which were the signs of a rider experienced enough to be competing in this sport.).
When the Paint and its rider rounded the last barrel and began their dash to the finish line, at the exact same time that the Paint broke into a full run, lowering its head so that it was level with its body and creating one even line to cut through the air like a knife, the rider tossed her head back just enough to send her hat flying (sanctioned events have strict dress codes which include hats being worn at all times, but if the wind should blow a rider's hat off it is not counted against them.), then leaned forward and low across the saddle horn, nearly laying on the Paint's neck (thus cutting down drag), placed her hands on the Paint's withers which slacked the reigns giving the horse his head and uttered a "shooshing" sound twice. As if shot from a canon, both horse and rider became a blur as they sped across the 195 feet to the finish line.
In this particular arena, the gate that served as the start and finish line was also the entrance and exit. Outside of that area of the arena were several large "portable" offices. The distance between the gate and these offices was only about 30 feet. The barrel racers had to make a quick decision whether to reign right or left because at a full run, the momentum they had gathered made a complete stop nearly impossible and without reigning right or left, could result in both horse and rider skidding head long into the side of one of the metal structures. Knowing this, the first rider had slowed her horse just before crossing the finish line so that she could easily make her turn (she chose to go left).
Methos came to his feet as he realized the Paint and its rider continued across the finish line still at a full run and instinctively held his breath in anticipation of the inevitable collision. But as soon as the Paint crossed the finish line, the rider actually stood up in the stirrups, leaned back against the saddle's cantle, set her feet forward and gently pulled back on the reigns. The Paint responded immediately by dropping its hindquarters so that it was almost sitting on the ground and bracing it front legs in front of itself causing it to skid a few feet but coming to a complete stop only inches away from the side of the office. It then righted itself undauntedly and its rider slipped into a relaxed position and reined the Paint around to face the arena as the onlookers cheered. If Methos hadn't seen it for himself he never would have believed that what he had just witnessed hadn't been choreographed.
The loud speaker squealed and the announcer's voice sounded surprised when he said, "15.84, Kelly. You just broke the regional records!"
Kelly looked up shocked. "What? He's kidding, right?' She said looking at one of the bystanders. Not waiting for an answer she urged Patches forward and rode to the bottom of the announcer's tower. She looked up. "Andy!" She called up to the tower and a man leaned out and looked down. "Is your clock broken or something?" She asked. Just then she felt the buzz of another Immortal nearby but she didn't turn her attention away from the announcer's tower.
Methos watched the Paint and rider approach the announcer's tower. He stepped over the first row bench and stepped up to the railing. He rested his arms on the top rail and leaned against it. He heard her speaking to the announcer and a chill ran up his spine. "Couldn't be," he mumbled to himself. He remained where he was frozen in place.
"There's nothing wrong with my timer, Kelly. That's your time," Andy called down to her.
"Then you're pulling my leg about the record," she laughed up at him.
"Well, of course, you didn't officially break the record because this is only a practice run. But if you pull a time like this one or better tomorrow?" he said with a smile. "It will become official."
"Why? What is the record time, Andy?" Kelly asked a little embarrassed that she didn't know it.
"16.0," Andy announced.
Kelly sat stunned and speechless. She waved a thank you up to Andy and reined Patches around. She scanned the grandstands and saw that there was only one person in them; a man. She looked directly at him. She didn't recognize him and he didn't appear threatening but the way he was looking at her was un-nerving.
Kelly had always been the kind of person who confronted unsure situations head on. She believed that it was better to lay your cards on the table up front so there would be no misunderstand down the road, so she reigned Patches directly toward the Immortal in the grandstands.
Methos was rather surprised when he saw the rider start heading towards him. He watched her face as she got closer. There was a definite familiarity in her face and especially in her eyes. But even up close there was enough of a difference in her facial appearance to create doubt.
Kelly locked her gaze with the other Immortal's. The deeper she seemed to look into his eyes and the deeper he looked into hers, the more un-nerved she felt. She did not recognize him at all. She had never met him (that she knew of) and could not recall ever seeing his picture in the Organization's database, but yet, somewhere deep inside she had a feeling she should recognize him.
In the past when Kelly would come across another Immortal and there was some question as to whether or not she recognized them from seeing their profile in the database, she usually went by what her gut instinct told her because her memory could fail her but her gut never did. And that nagging suspicion usually meant she had seen the person in the database and that meant they were dangerous. So Kelly decided not to abandon what had worked for her all the years she had been employed by the Organization, which meant this Immortal, although seemingly harmless now, could not be trusted and would eventually have to be eliminated.
TO BE CONTINUED