“Joseph,” said a stranger who came down the short stretch of stairs until he could stand next to Joseph’s chair, which was on the aisle. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“My grandson’s riding,” Joseph said with dignity. “Where else would I be?”

And the two men started talking about other days and other shows. Horses they’d owned, horses other people had owned. They were joined by an older woman who could have stepped out of the Grand Ole Opry of the ’80s. She glittered in gold and black tiger stripes, wore too much makeup, and had a voice that decades of smoking had roughened to Marlene Dietrich level. She was bawdy and made both of the old men laugh. Maggie leaned sideways and added a sharp remark that showed that she, too, was a welcome part of this group.

They tried to include Chelsea, and she smiled on cue, but she was noticeably tense in the big, noisy crowd. Anna glanced at Charles, who was watching Chelsea, too.

He didn’t look worried, so she sat back and looked around. Directly in front of them, a large group of very well-groomed and glittering horses circled the arena at a very, very slow canter. As soon as she started watching them, Charles whispered in her ear, “Half Arab, Anglo-Arab western pleasure, amateur owner to ride, section one. This is an elimination round. The best of them will go on to the semifinal round. That’s why no one in the audience is too excited about it, except for the cheering sections for each horse and rider.”

“They are very slow,” she said after a moment. “Shouldn’t they be going faster? What if something was chasing them? I think Portabella walked faster than this yesterday. What’s an Anglo-Arab?”

“Half Thoroughbred, half Arab. It was the first of the half-bred Arabs to gain popularity. The Thoroughbred added size, so bigger people could ride. These are almost all quarter-horse or paint crossbreeds, except for the Appaloosa down there.” He paused. “That’s a really nice Appaloosa.”

Joseph, still chatting with his buddies, had apparently been paying attention to them, too. “Still got the eye. That mare won this class the past two years running. If this is a fair sampling of her competition, she’s got a good chance of winning it again. If Helen’s daughter-in-law doesn’t take it with her Shining Spark gelding.”

Anna quit trying to parse the horse talk (for instance, what in the world was a Shining Spark gelding?) and just settled in and watched pretty horses moving very slowly with pretty riders wearing sometimes garish colors and lots and lots of glitter. The men were better off than the women, coming off conservative in comparison.

All the while, Anna breathed in deeply, paying attention to what her nose could tell her. Mostly it told her that at least two people around here were wearing too much perfume, and there were lots and lots of horses around.

The riders were called into the center, those advancing to the next level were announced, and then they cleared the ring. Almost instantly the stadium seats filled and the nosebleed bleachers saw some use. Joseph and Maggie’s gossip partners wandered off to find their seats.

Over the loudspeaker, the announcer said, “This is class one-sixteen, lead-line ages two through seven. First in is Candice Hart, riding Little Joe Green by Mister Vanilla out of Desert Wind Doll, with handlers Josie Hart and Karen Tucker.”

And a tiny girl who was younger than Michael came into the ring wearing a tiny pink cowboy outfit that glittered with pink rhinestones under the lights. She wore itty-bitty pink boots and bright pink fringed chaps. She sat on a very small black saddle that looked utterly ridiculous and precious at the same time. Instead of a cowboy hat, she wore a bright pink riding helmet. The horse, a very pale palomino, carried his tiny burden with solemn majesty. The two adults walked on the left side, one holding a lead clipped to the bridle, the other with a hand on the tiny girl’s leg.

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Anna seriously.

“Just wait,” said Maggie. “It’s not over yet.”

And one at a time, each little rider was announced and led in. There were English riders, western riders, and one who looked like an extra from The Sheik in what the announcer called traditional costume. The costume was a bright-colored flowing thing with enough tassels, jewels, and bangles to leave any self-respecting Bedouin tribesman running for the hills.

“Next in we have Michael Sani on three-time national champion SA Phoenix by Xenophonn out of SA Rose Queen. Leading them in is Kage Sani.”

Michael couldn’t compete with the little fairy doll in pink. Instead, like some of the men Anna had seen in the last class, he was wearing a perfectly respectable blue western-cut shirt with a black shoestring tie. Like his father and Hosteen, Michael looked very much at home on top of the big bay gelding his father led.

When Michael rode past them, he gave his grandfather a solemn nod and patted his horse. Joseph returned the nod but added a grin as he held up both hands clasped together in the traditional victory sign. When the last rider was in, the announcer asked the group to reverse at a walk. They paraded for about five minutes, so that everyone had time to take photos, and then they were taken to the middle of the ring.

Anna couldn’t help a ridiculous twinge of anxiety. Michael looked awesome. But who could compete with a toddler in pink? Or a princess dressed in tassels on a white horse with a tail that dragged the ground? She clenched Charles’s hand, and he clenched her hand back, looking so serious that she knew he was having fun. She had the suspicion that it might be at her expense.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” said the announcer. “Our judges have been very impressed with this group this morning. What do you say?”

The crowd exploded in a chorus of clapping and whistles. Charles covered Anna’s ears to protect them and winced a little. It was loud. Chelsea had covered her own ears. Good for her.

When the crowd quieted, the announcer said solemnly, “That’s exactly what our judges said. With this quality of competition they have been unable to pick a clear winner. If this were a race they’d have to declare it a dead heat. Because of this, we have decided to award first place to every child in the class.” More applause followed.

Anna sat back and gave Charles an indignant look. “They all get first prize,” she said.

“That’s right,” Charles said.

“Every time.”

“Could you have picked out a winner?”

She smacked his thigh lightly and then rubbed it to wipe away any hint of sting in case she’d hit too hard. When the last child was led out of the ring, Anna gave a happy sigh as the group of Sani stablehands, trainers, and riders stood up and began shuffling out.