#MiniBlogBlitz #RachelsRandomResources @rararesources / #Excerpt : A Horse Called Bicycle (The Polo Diaries Book 2) – Roxana Valea @roxana_valea

– ‘The Magic of Wor(l)ds’ blog is a hobby, reviews and other bookish stuff on this site are done for free. –

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Today I’m on the ‘A Horse Called Bicycle (The Polo Diaries Book 2)’ blogtour, organised by Rachel’s Random Resources.
To promote this book I have an excerpt, but before I let you read it first some ‘basic’ information.

About the Author :

RRoxana Valea was born in Romania and lived in Italy, Switzerland, England and Argentina before settling in Spain. She has a BA in journalism and an MBA degree. She spent more than twenty years in the business world as an entrepreneur, manager and management consultant working for top companies like Apple, eBay, and Sony. She is also a Reiki Master and shamanic energy medicine practitioner.
As an author, Roxana writes books inspired by real events. Her memoir Through Dust and Dreams is a faithful account of a trip she took at the age of twenty-eight across Africa by car in the company of two strangers she met over the internet. Her following book, Personal Power: Mindfulness Techniques for the Corporate World is a nonfiction book filled with personal anecdotes from her consulting years. The Polo Diaries series is inspired by her experiences as a female polo player–traveling to Argentina, falling in love, and surviving the highs and lows of this dangerous sport.
Roxana lives with her husband in Mallorca, Spain, where she writes, coaches, and does energy therapies, but her first passion remains writing.

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Synopsis :

XTrAA9xwRoxy found love … but is it enough?
In the second installment of the Polo Diaries series, polo player Roxy goes back to Argentina a year after the events in Single in Buenos Aires, filled with dreams of settling down with the man she loves. This time, once again, Argentina is full of surprises and things are not what they appear to be. Or maybe they’re exactly what they’re meant to be, as a fortune-teller informs her.
Roxy takes a leap of faith and follows her dreams once again. She spends time at glamorous party venues of Buenos Aires and travels to the rough and wild pampas. Along the way, Roxy’s friends support and champion her quest for love, but when things get out of hand, Roxy realizes she needs to listen to her own inner voice and must make a hard choice. Two paths open in front of her, each one with far-reaching consequences. Which will she choose?

Purchase Links:
Amazon UK
Amazon US

Excerpt :

Context:
After breaking her collarbone while falling from a horse on a polo field, Roxy goes to watch the finals of the biggest polo championship in the world in the company of her Argentine friends who try to cheer her up by all means.

“Roxy!” Patricio shouts on my right. “Come here. Come! I have to show you something!” He makes his way towards me through the crowd and I see he’s bringing another guy with him, a dark-haired, well-built guy in a blue striped shirt and jeans. No white linen and no baseball cap, thankfully.
“I have someone for you,” he shouts as he approaches, dragging the guy along.
Patricio is my chief matchmaker in Argentina and I’ve heard a lot of comments about the suitability of his many cousins to become my boyfriends. Still, I’ve never seen him so excited to introduce me to someone before. Who is this guy?
“Roxy, come, you have to see this. You have to meet my friend Jorge.”
“Hola,” I muster.
“Hola,” he answers. I have the weird feeling he’s uncomfortable.
“Come and look. Look here.” With a quick gesture, Patricio starts to unbutton the guy’s shirt. Right there in the middle of the crowd under my shocked eyes. Is he going to strip this potential match naked for me to have a good look at him?
“Jorge had a fall just like you and surgery just like you. Three weeks ago. Look how well he has healed.” Patricio finally answers my silent question.
The shirt is now unbuttoned and the collarbone of the named Jorge revealed. Patricio is pointing to Jorge’s scar, all excited. “Look how well he’s healed and he doesn’t even wear a sling.”
I look at the guy. He’s slightly embarrassed by the whole fuss, and his shirt is half open. The scar looks great though, neatly closed off, just a thin white line on his shoulder. I don’t yet know how mine looks. I haven’t seen it yet.
“Broken collarbone?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes, in four pieces. Metal plate with seven screws.”
Mine was broken in five pieces and I have eight screws. I guess I win this contest.
“Wow, you’re doing well,” I say, pointing to my sling. “How come you’re out of your sling so fast?”
“I just took it off before coming here today. It didn’t hurt that bad. People don’t know, though, and keep on slapping me on the back.” He grins. “It hurts like hell every time someone says hello.”
I can imagine it does. The customary Argentine greeting between men involves a kiss on the cheek and sometimes a hug and a slap on the shoulder. I feel sorry for the guy.
“Don’t worry,” he says as he buttons his shirt back up. “You’ll be all right. We’ll both play again. Collarbone fracture, a classic with polo falls. No big deal.”
I nod. He goes. Patricio stays there, his eyes beaming.
“You see?” he says. “You’ll be all right. Did you see how well he looks?”
“Where the hell did you find him?” I ask him, amused. Patricio’s ability to find answers to my unspoken worries has never ceased to amaze me.
“And did you find Emi? He was looking for you.”
“Yes, I did. He told me he was shocked to see you in a sling again.”
“I bet he was. What else did he say?”
“That maybe you fall because you ride with the stirrups too short.”
That was something new. I’d never heard this explanation before. Short stirrups allow greater movement in the saddle, but if your muscles aren’t strong enough it’s easier to lose your balance and fall.
“So he says maybe you should ride with longer stirrups next time. Or maybe you shouldn’t ride at all.”
I look at him, but he’s not joking. His face goes back to that impossible-to-guess-what-he’s-really-thinking-about expression I know so well.
This is exactly the question in my head. Maybe I can change one little thing and I’ll be all right next time. Or maybe there shouldn’t be a next time at all.

The Magic of Wor(l)ds

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