Turning The Tides - Ch 16

Chapter 16: A Show of Skill, A Clash of Power

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A video chat pinged across their devices, lighting the screens in unison. Channing’s face appeared first, bright and energetic—except for the furrowed crease between her brows.

“Hey, gang! Hope you’re all sitting down because I’ve got an update. And not the good kind.” She took a dramatic breath, then exhaled in a rush. “The nursery open house is postponed. Actually, the whole project is temporarily on hold. Turns out, there are land restrictions—big ones. Part of the proposed site falls within Sabákari land, and another section overlaps Echo Canyon. Since EC has applied for National Historical Site status, everything’s tangled up in bureaucracy. They need to sort out the mess before we can move forward.”

A pause stretched between them.

Riley broke the silence first. “That’s disappointing. There isn’t a chance the entire project gets scrapped, is there?”

Cameron slid into view, gently nudging Channing aside. “We’ve been assured there’s no risk to the development itself—just some boundary adjustments. The ten acres in question will be shifted south, but a whole slew of agencies have to sign off first.”

Channing leaned back into the frame, her usual grin returning. “You know how bureaucrats are. One department passes the buck to another, and next thing you know, we’re filling out forms in triplicate just to breathe near the land.”

Skylar smirked. “We ran up against land disputes all the time on our digs. It was always hurry up and wait.”

“Hey, Riley,” Cameron said. “Where’s Ben and Raven? They’ll want to hear this.”

“They went up to the ranch to bring a few horses down to Raven’s. They’ll see the VID when they get in range of the tower.”

Cameron frowned. “They still have service issues out there? That shouldn’t be happening anymore.”

Riley shrugged. “Something about the valley’s position, I think. The mountains must be blocking the signal.”

Cameron turned to Channing. “Maybe when we set up the new solar power tower, we can check if it’ll extend coverage to Ben’s ranch.”

“Groovy, Cam! I’m on it!”

Skylar smirked. “Channing, you love those old-school expressions. Next thing we know, you’ll be woolgathering and lallygagging all afternoon.”

Channing crossed her arms, feigning offense. “Listen, I’m just keeping classic language alive! Someone has to balance out all this futuristic tech talk.”

“Oh, please,” Riley said with a chuckle. “Don’t get them started. Next thing we know, they’ll be playing mad scientists with that drone project of theirs.”

“Oh, come on,” Channing interjected, grinning. “You make it sound like we’re building robots in a basement.”

“Well… aren’t you?” Val raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye.

The group erupted into laughter, the conversation flowing into a comfortable rhythm.

“I’ve got one,” Skylar said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Speaking of Chan and Cam, I had a run-in at the nursery last week. I went to grab a couple of plants, and guess what I found?”

“Please say it was Channing talking to a cactus,” Raven’s voice cut in dryly as she and Ben logged into the call.

“No, even better,” Skylar continued, her grin widening. “There was a drone hovering near the succulents with a little sign dangling from it—‘Test Flight in Progress—Do Not Disturb.’ And there was Channing, chasing it with a net like it was some kind of rogue bird!”

The screen erupted in laughter.

Channing threw up her hands in mock defense. “Hey, it was a minor glitch! We’ve sorted it out. No more runaway drones.”

Cameron shook her head, chuckling. “I swear, that thing has a mind of its own. It almost knocked over a customer’s bonsai before I caught it.”

Ben leaned back, smirking. “So that’s what all that commotion was about last week. I heard something about an ‘incident’ but decided not to ask.”

“Let’s just say it’s a work in progress,” Cameron admitted. “We’re not exactly at the smooth delivery phase yet.”

“And this is the future of shopping?” Val teased, one eyebrow raised.

“Absolutely,” Channing said, leaning forward with a twinkle in her eye. “But if it makes you feel better, I promise the drones won’t come anywhere near Echo Canyon. We’ll keep the flying robots on the other side of the lake.”

“Good luck explaining that to the Sabákari Council,” Raven said, appearing just over Ben’s shoulder. “They’ll have a field day with the idea of drones buzzing around the valley.”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “They’re not ready for that kind of excitement. But hey, at least you two are keeping things interesting.”

Riley, arms crossed, tapped a finger against her chin. “Speaking of keeping things interesting—Cam, how long do you think this land issue will take to sort out?”

Cameron’s expression turned more serious. “Best case, a few weeks. Worst case, months. It depends on how quickly the agencies move.”

Riley nodded, glancing at Raven. “Might be worth talking to the Council ourselves. If they’re on board, they could help speed things along.”

Ben’s brow lifted slightly. “That’s not a bad idea. The Council carries weight in these kinds of negotiations.”

Channing pointed a finger at Riley. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why she’s the brains of this operation.”

Riley laughed. “More like the one who doesn’t like waiting around for someone else to fix things.”

Ben nodded, his voice steady. “Then let’s get ahead of it.”

The energy in the group shifted, the teasing settling into quiet determination. Bureaucracy or not, they weren’t the kind to sit back and let things stall.

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The Sabáka Horse & Rider Exhibition wasn’t a competition in the strictest sense, but it had an edge of formality that made it feel like one.

The show grounds, set up on the outskirts of Sabáka, were a mix of old ranching traditions and modern equestrian influence. Riders from across the region had gathered to demonstrate their training methods, their horses moving through warm-ups under the watchful eyes of ranchers, trainers, and local landowners.

A section of the grandstand was reserved for the Sabáka Council, though it was impossible to tell whether they were there to evaluate the event or simply observe it.

Raven adjusted Solana’s bridle, giving the mare a reassuring pat. Ben stood nearby with Spirit, watching the warm-up rounds with easy confidence.

“I’d say this is a bit fancier than our usual rides,” Ben mused, adjusting his gloves.

Raven smirked. “Just try to keep up, cowboy.”

A few feet away, Shikáni swung onto Téhsa’s back, her expression unreadable as she took in the scene.

She was Sabákari by birth, her blood tied to the land as much as the ancestors that came before her. But that didn’t mean her place in Sabáka’s equestrian world was unquestioned. She might not realize it yet.

She flicked a glance toward the main arena, where the event organizers spoke in low voices with a man who stood just a little too tall, a little too self-important.

Raven followed her line of sight—and there he was.

Whitman.

He wasn’t a rider. Not a trainer. He didn’t belong in the ring. But that never stopped men like him from thinking they had a say in how things should be done.

Dressed in crisp business-casual attire, he stood near the judges’ table, speaking with the landowners and event organizers, exuding an air of quiet authority. He wasn’t running the event, but he clearly believed his opinion carried weight.

Raven had known men like him all her life.

Raven knew he couldn’t be riding in the event. That was beneath him. He stood near the judges’ tent, speaking with one of the event organizers in low tones. Everything about him was polished—too polished. But it wasn’t his pristine appearance that made Raven’s spine stiffen. It was how he held himself, the unshakable air of superiority as if his mere presence legitimized the event.

Men like Whitman never truly disappeared. They reinvented themselves, adapting just enough to pretend they were above outdated thinking while their biases remained tucked neatly beneath a well-fitted jacket.

Now, here he was, striding toward her, his smile an unconvincing imitation of warmth.

“Raven.” His voice carried the weight of an old authority, the kind meant to remind someone of their place. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Thought you’d retired.”

Raven patted Solana’s neck, keeping her movements unhurried. “Hardly. Just here for the fun of it.”

Whitman’s smile barely shifted, but his eyes flickered—calculating.

“Well,” he said, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve, “good for you. Though I have to say, it’s… surprising to see women your age still trying to compete.”

Raven felt the shift before he even finished speaking.

Ben’s grip tightened on Spirit’s reins. Shikáni went perfectly still.

Whitman continued, undeterred. “You had your time, Raven. But people want real results now, not this… mystical nonsense.” His tone was as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.

There it was—the subtle dismissal.

Not just of her methods. Of her.

Raven tilted her head, considering. “That so?”

Whitman gave a halfhearted shrug, but his eyes gleamed. “Sure, your little followers may eat it up, but serious trainers know better.”

There. That was the thread.

He wasn’t just talking about her age. He was talking about who she was and where she came from.

Serious trainers. Not those who passed down knowledge outside of official institutions. Not those who blended instinct with tradition. Not those whose lineage traced back to the land instead of to academic halls and European stables.

Shikáni’s fingers flexed on Téhsa’s reins.

Raven could almost feel the heat rolling off her.

Whitman turned slightly, eyes flicking toward Shikáni for the first time—as if she had only just become visible.

He gave her a polite, tight-lipped nod and then—without looking away from Raven—added, “And I suppose these days anyone can enter. Makes for an… interesting lineup.”

Raven had spent a lifetime recognizing this tone. It had been aimed at her since she first entered a training ring as a girl. It had echoed through backhanded compliments, patronizing nods, and well-placed doubts.

It didn’t shake her anymore.

But Shikáni was not her.

Shikáni had been raised in a world where men like Whitman did not get the last word.

She did not shift her weight. She did not take her eyes off him. But her silence was not passive.

Whitman, oblivious or uninterested in the quiet tension, smirked and turned back toward the judges’ table. “Well. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be curious to see how you fare.”

With a too-smooth pivot, he walked away, his posture as straight as ever.

Only then did Shikáni speak.

“He’s lucky I don’t lasso his legs out from under him right where he stands.”

Ben chuckled, low and deep. “Now, now. Let’s not cause a scene before we even get started.”

Raven exhaled, tension rolling off her shoulders as she tightened Solana’s reins. “We’re here to ride. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

She climbed into the saddle with an ease that belied the years behind her, the familiar connection of horse and rider settling in her bones.

She gathered Solana’s reins and scanned the event grounds one last time. Whitman stood near the judges’ tent, talking with a group of trainers and landowners, his polished demeanor still intact.

But she had seen the cracks beneath it.

She had felt the weight of his words—the dismissal, the condescension, the certainty that his way was the only way.

For a moment, it threatened to crawl under her skin and dig into old wounds.

Then she shifted in the saddle, straightening.

She had nothing to prove to men like him.

With a squeeze of her knees, Solana took off into an easy canter, carrying Raven toward the course. Ben and Shikáni followed close behind.

They were going to enjoy the ride.

The fight would wait until another day.