He was silent for a minute. I scratched Soiree and tried not to think about how close he was. It was pointless. He was still unreachable.
“How’s Assault?” He asked me.
Gratefully, I threw myself into this new topic. “Physically, he’s fine. Healthy. Behaviorally, he’s taken a bad turn.”
“I’m sorry. What’s his story?”
“He was spoiled. Treated like a big dog.”
He shook his head. “Funny how abuse can go both ways.”
“Yeah. And this is almost harder to fix. There’s no fear there. He has no respect. And now he associates me with the pain of colic and the stress of treatment. There’s clearly an old wound there. But he’s not afraid. He’s defiant. Angry.”
“That sucks.” He looked like he was in pain all of a sudden. “He’s a quality horse.”
“There’s not much we can do, though. He hates me especially - I mean, I held him down for the vet. I can’t get near him. And my dad…he’s not good with confrontations. He’s not about to risk his life to get through to Assault.” I sighed. “It’s unfortunate, but there’s no sense in getting ourselves killed, even to save a really nice horse.”
I said the words calmly enough, but I wasn’t that calm on the inside. I loathed the idea of letting Assault go, just because I wasn’t strong enough, or skilled enough.
Lawrence went quiet. There was concern in the depths of his dark eyes. He seemed to know that I needed a distraction. “Should I go get Harry?”
I swallowed quickly. “Yes.”
He turned and left the barn. I stood with Soiree’s head in my hands until I heard Harry’s hooves meet the concrete. I patted her and went to Harry. He sniffed me, and I wasn’t sure if it was just because I smelled like Soiree, but he seemed friendlier.
As Lawrence began warming Harry up, I hung back by the rail. On some level, they had to figure this out for themselves. I wouldn’t always be here.
Harry was walking forward on a loose rein, more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. He looked plain to an uneducated or impatient eye, but this way of moving was much better for him and the foundation we were trying to build than visually striking movement amplified with tension. He was loose and forward. He was testing these new waters, tentatively letting go of his fear for a few moments at a time.
When Harry tensed up and inverted during his first trot steps, Lawrence reached down to stroke his neck instead of fighting him, and Harry brought his neck down, stretching into the contact. Training wasn’t flashy. There was no glory in good training, only the fleeting moments of brilliance, the quiet victories. The connection.
I didn’t say a word as Lawrence rode. I didn’t need to. Harry was far from being fixed, but at this moment in time, he was okay. Lawrence wasn’t asking much of him. He was letting the relaxation happen. That was what Harry most needed. When the relaxation and trust were solid, everything else was going to come easily. Harry was a towering skyscraper, careening on a crumbling, barely existent base.
After a particularly nice trot transition from Harry, Lawrence patted him, halted him and stepped off. “Really nice!” I called out.
“Thanks!” He called back. He looked at me almost shyly when I met him at the gate. “I was a little worried there when you didn’t say anything. I thought maybe I was doing something wrong.”
“Oh, no.” I shook my head so hard the world went grey and blurry for a moment. “You did everything right. This is what he needs. I was just trying to stay out of the way. You need to develop a feel for Harry. It’s not really something I can teach.”
There was relief in his smile, and I almost thought I saw admiration. Nah. His overwhelming hotness and general shininess is making you hallucinate stuff.
The atmosphere was calm back in the barn. Harry seemed to appreciate the routine. I took off his bridle while Lawrence unbuckled the girth and slid the saddle off Harry’s back. Then we curried and brushed each side of Harry. Mostly, I looked down at Harry’s sleek neck or side, but occasionally I’d glance upward, straight into Lawrence’s eyes, and linger there. Separated only by Harry’s width, the closeness and strange intimacy of those moments was special and almost enough.
It was time for me to leave. Lawrence had taken Harry back to his paddock. My reason for being here was being turned out for the remainder of the day. I started toward my truck, reluctantly.
“Erica. Wait.” The words stopped me as effectively as a hook and a line. I turned. Lawrence was jogging up to me. He stopped maybe a couple feet away from me. His breathing was barely elevated. Mine wasn’t so good anymore.
He shoved his hands in his pockets with some difficulty. I was surprised he could fit anything in them at all. “I just…I was thinking…” He hesitated, then came right out with it. “I thought maybe I could come by and try to work with Assault. If you want.”
“Really?” I said it breathlessly, like he’d just asked me to marry him, or something. I hated the way it sounded. But I was intrigued by his offer.
“Yeah.” He looked pretty nervous, but I didn’t know what he had to be nervous about. “I mean, I know you’re capable, you and your dad. But I’ve done a lot of work on horses that were pretty rank. To get by.” He swallowed quickly.
My mind was rotating through the possibilities he’d laid on the table. Assault was a nasty, thorny mess of a horse, athletic and imposing and just bad. Lawrence could stick better than anyone I’d ever seen. Assault had nothing on Harry, when he really got going. If we could just get him tacked up, Lawrence was the ideal rider to instill some respect in Assault.
I looked up at Lawrence. “You’re really willing to do this?”
“I am,” he said surely. “I owe you one. I owe you a lot. And I can see you don’t want to give up on Assault without knowing you tried.”
My vision got all watery. I blinked rapidly. “When?”
“How’s right now?”
Lawrence
I hadn’t been to the Rimworks’ place in more than a year. The sign carved from granite was still out by the road. In Flight Acres, it read, with a horse and rider suspended over the letters. The driveway was wide, with fresh gravel spread over the surface. It went straight for a while and then split off toward the towering house and the barn.
I followed Erica to the barn, and parked near a sizeable paddock. When I got out of my truck I could smell the grass and, faintly, fresh paint. I ran my hand along a fence board. The paint was dry, but new enough that it still had that smell.
A tall bay gelding looked out from a three-sided shelter attached to the fence. He trotted up to me, seeming to linger in the air at each stride. His lips peeled back as he charged, bowing the fence outward when he slammed into it.
The last time I’d seen Assault, his run-in with colic had reduced him significantly. I realized that now. I could see exactly how he’d gotten like this. He’d had no boundaries, no rules, only love, love, love. Humans had become insignificant to him, mere obstacles to walk over or smash into on his way to more food, less work, more attention. And now he was in a new place with people who expected more of him. Of course it was an unwelcome shock to his system. Then he’d gotten sick, and been held down and had things forced down his throat. The experience had changed him, and his opinion. Humans were no longer benign. They were a threat to him. That opinion was dangerous in a horse like Assault. It had to change. I had to change it.
The first and most important step in dealing with a horse like Assault was to forget that the horse I was trying to save could effortlessly kill me. I had to forget even the most basic things like my own mortality and throw every survival instinct aside. There was no room for being afraid. There was no room for uncertainty. There was no room for error. That was why some people, most people, stayed away from horses like Assault. That was why so many of those horses ended up with a bullet in their head, or a one-way trip to a slaughterhouse.
Assault had gotten this way through human stupidity. It wasn’t his fault. He had no comp
rehension of right and wrong. He knew only what his owner had taught him. Training could go both ways. It could save horses, make them better, allow them to reach their potential. It could also destroy them.
Standing in front of a fine horse who clearly wanted me between his hooves and the ground, I knew why Erica was torn up about him. I knew why Robert wouldn’t go anywhere near him. And I knew I was insane and incredibly stupid to try to fix this violent, seething mess. But sometimes my special brand of stupidity was all I had.
I took Assault’s lead off the gate and let myself in. I was outwardly calm. I was churning with adrenaline. My mind was on lockdown, and all my senses were heightened. I walked toward Assault, watching him so intently I could see each subtle shift of muscle. See the thoughts and ideas in his wide eyes. He was surprised I was here. He was a little off balance. He couldn’t figure out if he should fight or evade.
I got to his head and snapped the lead onto his halter. I turned for the gate. I was effectively blind now, but I could feel him through the lead.
I caught a glimpse of Erica. She stood outside the paddock, pale and shocky. I realized I had no other reason to be here. I was doing this all for her.
The lead tightened and jerked me upward. Assault’s hoof pawed at my face, brushing my jaw. Then it came down hard on my shoulder.
Erica
I couldn’t breathe. I let out a strangled little gasp. In my head, I was screaming.
Assault had reared up and struck randomly with his forelegs. He’d made contact. I was paralyzed, my thoughts incoherent.
Assault was still in the air. Then in a millisecond, he was down. He staggered a bit. I realized he hadn’t planned on coming down right then. He started rushing backward. His neck was bent, his nose touched his chest. Lawrence strode forward, directly in front of the gelding. I could feel his strength and controlled fury.
They stopped just short of the fence. Assault was breathing hard. He kept his head low when Lawrence cautiously released him. They walked forward as one. Assault struck out, giving no warning. Lawrence sidestepped the gelding’s flying hoof and shoved him backwards again. Assault raised his head, lifting one front leg tentatively, and Lawrence snapped the end of the lead against his hindquarters so hard I winced. Assault spun away from him. Lawrence kept after him until the gelding was dizzy and stumbling. Then they walked forward again. This went on until the gelding was sufficiently tired and awed to walk at Lawrence’s side, never shifting from his submissive posture.
They finally reached the gate. I rushed to open it. I was shaking so hard the gate rattled in my hands. Lawrence barely looked at me as he passed. His face was set. He wasn’t there. I hurried after them.
In the barn, I deftly tacked up Assault while Lawrence stood at his head, sending him down the aisle if he so much as twitched. My hands flew, but it seemed to take forever. Finally, the gelding was ready. I ducked into the tack room once more. “Here,” I said softly. I held my helmet out to him.
Lawrence looked at me finally. He seemed reluctant to let go of Assault. Then he sort of bent his head.
I nodded wordlessly and gently pushed it onto his head. My hands were on either side of his face. It seemed incredibly intimate, like nothing I’d ever experienced. There was a strange energy in the air. I wanted him to throw Assault’s reins away and take hold of me. I wanted to put my mouth on his and feel his tongue enter my mouth. It was an urge that started my heart racing and made heat rise to the surface of my skin. It was almost impossible to fight off. Shakily, I let go of him and reached under his chin to fasten the harness. I couldn’t avoid touching his throat as I did it. He felt hot under my fingertips. It was probably just my own body temperature.
We turned away from each other, quickly and simultaneously. He led Assault to the indoor ring, and I followed at a distance. I got there just in time to see him vault onto the gelding. I wasn’t afraid anymore. The worst was over. I knew he wouldn’t fall.
Assault took one step and balked, whipping his rump around. Lawrence pressed his heels into the gelding’s sides. He was bolt upright, almost leaning back a little. Assault plunged forward, humping his back and twisting. Lawrence calmly rode it out, urging him on. Asking for more.
Assault was angry. He hadn’t been asked for anything in a long time. He was well used to calling the shots. The gelding lashed out with his hind legs, yanking on the reins. He met resistance. He couldn’t get his head down.
Assault wasn’t creative like Harry. His mind wasn’t engaged. He was having a tantrum. Just as I’d thought, he was way more deadly on the ground. He had one evasion under saddle, and Lawrence was keeping him at sub-power. Assault leapt around, kicking out and fighting the hold Lawrence had on him. He was getting frustrated. He was either going to explode in a new and more furious way or give in soon. I held my breath, hoping Assault didn’t have any new tricks to unleash.
The gelding began to slow. His kicks and twists were halfhearted. Lawrence softened a bit, and Assault flowed forward, springing across the sand. His joints flexed, and he got a contemplative look on his face. Lawrence circled him and asked for a canter. Assault hesitated, laying his ears back, then sprang into a canter, giving a little kick of defiance. Lawrence rode him strongly forward, and Assault appeared submissive again. The power and elasticity of his gaits nearly gave me chills. I saw all the talent I’d known would be there.
Assault came down to a trot. Lawrence took him across the diagonal, showing off a lengthened stride that made me want to start weeping. They went down the wall, and Assault neatly crossed his legs and glided over to the centerline at Lawrence’s request. He took the gelding back up to a canter and collected him, concentrating strongly. Assault switched his lead, then two strides later, he switched back. Lawrence thumped him on the neck appreciatively. He was grinning now. Assault even looked quietly pleased as he sank into a halt from the canter.
Lawrence swung off, throwing the reins over Assault’s head and using them as a lead. He was still watching the gelding, but there was an air of trust and understanding between them. I stepped toward Lawrence, my heart ticking away in a quick, joyful rhythm.
Lawrence
Erica looked like she wanted to run into my arms. I found myself wishing she would. “That was amazing,” she said in a rush. Then she kept going. “I’m so sorry I had you do this. I was so scared, earlier…” Her spinning, twisty emotions showed on her face.
I hated to think of her being afraid. Because of me. “It’s okay. I’m fine,” I said quickly, wanting to reassure her. My shoulder ached sharply. I was pretty sure Assault had cracked it somewhere. But it was just pain. It was pretty insignificant right then.
“He just looked so good,” she said reverently. She was looking at Assault with both relief and surprise.
“We just had a serious discussion,” I said. “He needed that.” I smiled at the reflective, nonviolent creature standing next to me.
“That’s exactly what he needed.” Her eyes turned back to me. “And you made it happen. You had the strength. The talent.”
Not really, I wanted to say. I’m just a crazy kid in love with you.
Part Three
Erica
I was two strides away from freedom when my mother’s voice snatched me back. “Can this wait?” I said, exasperated. “I have appointments all afternoon.”
This was not true. I had no appointments. No one was picking up the phone and hiring me. I still had a few devoted clients I’d been teaching for years, but they weren’t cutthroat competitive types and they got by on a few lessons a month. And I knew I was never getting another call from anyone named Allsteen. I’d blown that bridge all the way to hell and back, that was for sure.
Even so, I had been looking forward to the day ahead of me. I was going to visit Lou and Marisol, and my friend Ashley.
“Oh.” My mother looked surprised (which pissed me off - I could’ve had appointments) and crestfallen. “I was hoping you could come to the mall with me. They’re pre
miering the new collection today at Waiffe’s.”
I struggled. I suddenly wanted to hit her. We’d had this unfolding conversation fifty million times. It was not an exaggeration to say that. She knew I hated the mall, she knew I detested shopping, and she knew the reasons why. She made me aware of them all the time. I wasn’t pretty. I was on the heavy side, and I was built like a guy, tall, lumbering and broad-shouldered. And she had the nerve to be all disappointed because I didn’t want to go to some cleverly-named store like Waiffe’s, which undoubtedly sold clothes in sizes zero to six. Or, hell, four was probably their upper limit.
“Well,” I said tightly, “I can’t. I’m sure you’ll have fun without me, though.” Please let me go, I desperately tried to impart.
She was dissatisfied. “I don’t like shopping alone, Erica,” she whined, like it was going to kill her, or something.
“What am I supposed to do about that? I have appointments!” I could hear my voice rising.
She sighed dramatically. “I just wish we could spend more time together.” She pushed her naturally blonde, artificially highlighted and copiously sprayed hair away from her face.
We already spend too much time together! I live here! I don’t even have my own place! “I really have to go,” I said shrilly. “I’ll try to go with you some other time, okay?” It was my typical getting-out-the-door tactic. It was generally effective in the short-term but it usually resulted in me having to go to the mall on some later occasion.
“Okay,” she relented. “Have a good day, sweetheart!”
“Bye, Mom,” I said in a low growl as I darted through the door.
I drove out of there fast, shoving Heart’s greatest hits into the CD drive. It was a calming mechanism. It was impossible to feel bad in any way while listening to “Crazy On You”. It was impossible not to play air guitar to “Crazy On You”, even if it forced me to steer with my knee, which was a really terrible idea that would probably result in an accident or an expensive ticket one of these days. I also sang along, even though passable and even good singers really shouldn’t try to sing like Ann Wilson, and my singing skills ranked quite a bit lower than passable. I had the music playing loud enough that I couldn’t really hear how much I sucked.
Training Harry Page 25
