Gift Horse

by Terri Farley

  “Since Mr. Martinez isn’t sure he wants to keep Tinkerbell, I want to see if he really can jump. We’re just guessing that he can.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said.

  Sam took the syllable as encouragement to keep talking, but here came the hard part. “So, I want to take him over to the Gold Dust Ranch. Ryan has done some jumping and he said he’d put Tinker through his paces and see what he could do.”

  “You already talked to him?”

  “Mr. Martinez?” Sam asked, puzzled. “Sure.”

  “No,” Jake said.

  Sam bristled, but she didn’t need to irritate Jake when she was asking for his help.

  “Oh, you mean Ryan? Yes, he said he’d be glad to do it, and I’m thinking that if Tinkerbell can jump, I might have an easier time finding him a good home. And since Mr. Martinez still has our trailer, my dad thought you might be willing to drive Tinkerbell over in your cattle truck. With me, too, of course.”

  Having said all she could to convince him, Sam waited.

  There was a moment of silence, but then Jake agreed. Of course he had to make it seem like he was doing Dad a favor, not her.

  “I’m always willing to help Wyatt and, if nothin’ else, it’ll be amusin’,” he drawled.

  The next morning, Sam stood in the ranch yard holding Tinkerbell’s lead rope while Gram, dressed for church in a navy-blue dress and matching gloves, played with the big horse.

  In spite of the foam and alfalfa clinging to his lips, she let Tinkerbell sniff her gloves.

  “Not the usual hands, are they?” she joked, then turned to Sam. “I can’t help loving this animal. He has so much personality. Look how those big brown eyes sparkle.”

  As soon as Gram had driven her big yellow Buick across the bridge, Jake pulled in driving a cattle truck that had seen better days.

  He looked nice, as if he were going to church, too.

  Sam was about to compliment him when he brushed by her, lowered the truck’s tailgate, and grumbled, “Let’s get this done.”

  Keeping her compliments to herself, Sam led Tinkerbell up the ramp. He seemed almost eager to get inside.

  “I’ve gotta be home by noon,” Jake said, as if Sam weren’t moving fast enough. “My dad wants me to crawl under the house and wrap insulation around the pipes.”

  Sam shivered. Wiggling into the narrow space under a house in this freezing cold weather made her chores sound pleasant, but Sam didn’t sympathize with Jake. At least not aloud. She just kept talking to Tinkerbell, helping him settle into the new setting.

  “You are such a good boy,” Sam told the gelding just before she left the rear of the truck. Then, to Jake, she said, “He acts like he does it every day.”

  Jake shrugged. “Been three days in a row, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Sam said, climbing into the passenger’s seat. “But still.”

  As Jake made a right turn off the main road and headed toward Gold Dust Ranch, he warned her, “I’m just the driver. Don’t be expecting me to socialize.”

  Sam turned in her seat and considered Jake. He wore fresh jeans and a brick-colored shirt with pearl snaps. His hair still smelled of shampoo. He looked ready to socialize. If she said that, though, it would be just like Jake to turn around and drive home again.

  For the first time, Sam wondered if she’d heard something else beneath Jake’s dislike for Ryan. Shyness and uncertainty?

  It made sense, she thought. Jake was basically shy. He spoke little to friends and was always uneasy around strangers. He’d spent most of his life in this quiet corner of Nevada.

  Ryan, on the other hand, had shown a lively, open charm from the first time Sam had met him. Had living in Europe given him a knack at fitting in, or had he always been that way?

  Sam couldn’t guess, but she could see how Jake would be ill at ease around him. Suddenly, thoughts of Jake’s shyness led her to a problem of her own.

  “I guess you’ve already started your community service project,” Sam hinted.

  “I guess so,” Jake said. “Everyone has.” He drove along a minute or two, then added, “Right?”

  Sam didn’t answer him directly. Instead she asked another question. “Since you’re, you know, not the most talkative guy around, how did it go when you had to present your idea to the student council?”

  “I don’t know. I just did it. Well, Brian and me. After we saw the graffiti spray-painted on the tribal museum, we wanted to do something.” Jake shrugged. “That place means a lot to my grandfather. Since Dad would definitely yank my license away if I got into a fight—”

  “A fight?” Sam asked.

  “We were going to find the guys who did it.” Jake raised his chin and smiled. “But doing the graffiti patrol thing was a way to make Grandfather happy and get the stupid requirement filled.”

  As Sam mulled over what Jake had said, she glanced toward Lost Canyon. There wasn’t a mustang in sight.

  “Hey,” Jake said, and there was a suspicious edge to his tone. “Just ’cause I talked to the student council doesn’t mean I’m gonna have a tea party with your buddy Ryan.”

  “A tea party,” Sam echoed. “As if all they do in England is drink tea. What is it, really, that you don’t like about Ryan?”

  “He’s just plain fussy,” Jake said.

  “What does he do that’s fussy?” Sam demanded.

  “I’m not tellin’ you who to be friends with,” Jake maintained, but his tone said someone should.

  “No really, what is it?” Sam insisted. “His accent? The fact that he rides with an English saddle?”

  “Yeah, and the way he dresses.” Jake slowed the truck as they drove past the pastures that flanked both sides of the driveway.

  “It’s not like you to judge people because of the way they just are.” Sam paused. When Jake looked uncomfortable, she pressed her advantage. “Really, I’m kind of disappointed.”

  “Good,” Jake said gruffly as he pulled the van to a stop near the Slocums’ arena. “Then you won’t mind if I sit way off somewhere and don’t talk to anyone. Me bein’ such a disappointment, and all, I’d hate to embarrass you.”

  There was too much of an audience present for Sam to grab Jake’s ears and rap his head against the driver’s side door, so she only muttered, “You make me crazy.”

  “Mission accomplished,” Jake replied, his smile white against his dark face. Then he nodded toward Ryan and Katie Sterling, both standing nearby, and gave Sam’s shoulder a push. “See ya around, Brat.”

  Working alone, Sam unloaded Tinkerbell. He pranced down the ramp and surveyed Gold Dust Ranch. His ears flicked from the pony pasture to the cattle that looked like Oreos. He nickered at Hotspot, Linc Slocum’s blue-blooded Appaloosa mare. Finally, he considered the people.

  Ryan was already looking at him with appreciation.

  “What a fine-looking fellow,” Ryan greeted Tinkerbell, then added, “Hi, Samantha.”

  The gelding whuffled his lips over Ryan’s coffee-brown hair before lipping his burgundy sweater. Ryan allowed the inspection, then laughed. “Oh, we’ll get along well. I’m sure of it.”

  “Hi, Sam.” Katie Sterling wore an ivory-colored duster slung over her riding clothes. Though her outfit was practical and weatherproof, she managed to look like a fashion model. “We met before, when Rachel was looking for her last mount.”

  “Of course,” Sam said, but when Katie met her eyes, Sam could tell they were both remembering their amazement when Rachel had bought a horse without even riding it. Appearance, not ability, had been Rachel’s main concern.

  Ryan had the tack ready. He’d extended the cinch and headstall on some existing gear and Tinkerbell protested neither. The English saddle was dwarfed by the gelding’s mammoth stature, but Sam knew a Western saddle wouldn’t look much different. Plus, it would be a disaster to use while jumping.

  Sam saw no sign of the head-shyness Mr. Fairchild had mentioned. Tinkerbell mouthed the snaffle bit as if he hadn’t worn one fo
r a while, but that was all. Once he was tacked up, Tinkerbell watched Ryan with great interest.

  “He looks sound,” Ryan said as he pulled on a helmet. “Let’s see how he goes.”

  The roofed arena had deep, soft footing from one end to the other. A few jumps were in place. Some painted rails, probably used for other jumps, were scattered around the middle of the arena.

  Smooth and skillful, Ryan mounted, then took Tinkerbell around the arena.

  Sam couldn’t believe Tinkerbell’s grace. He flowed through a walk, trot, and canter as if he’d been awaiting this for days. It was easy to forget the gelding’s size.

  Ryan’s smile said he was just as amazed. When he brought the horse back to the side of the arena where Sam stood with Katie, his voice was filled with pleasure.

  “His action is smooth. He responds to the lightest rein and he’s very interested in the jumps.”

  Sam almost applauded. She’d been right. Tinkerbell was no throwaway horse.

  “They were going to sell him for dog food,” Sam blurted to Katie. “Can you believe it?”

  “And you talked them out of it? When he could have been sold for hundreds of dollars?” Katie paused as Sam nodded. “You must be some talker.”

  “Not really,” Sam said. “In fact, I’m—well, sort of afraid of, you know…”

  As her voice trailed off, Sam wondered why she’d nearly confessed her fear of public speaking to Katie, when she’d only hinted at it to her friends and family.

  “Don’t be so humble,” Katie said, with a half smile.

  “No, really,” Sam insisted.

  Katie shook her head. “I’ve been working at the stable for years, renting stalls, selling horses, you name it. And I’ll tell you, when you can get people to part with money, you’re good.”

  For a minute, Sam was bewildered. She had convinced Mr. Fairchild they could earn a profit on Tinkerbell. But that was different.

  “He works beautifully,” Katie said.

  Sam looked back at the arena, chagrined that she’d let her attention wander from Tinkerbell.

  Hands and legs quiet, Ryan walked Tinkerbell toward the poles on the ground. His bucket-sized hooves just fit between them. Next, Ryan asked Tinkerbell to reverse direction and took the gelding back through the rails at a trot and finally a canter.

  Where was Jake? Sam looked over her shoulder. He had to see this. She craned her neck to look back toward the cattle truck, but he was nowhere in sight.

  Ryan’s admiring chuckle carried from the center of the arena, as Tinkerbell tried to jump a row of rails instead of stepping between them.

  “Patience,” Ryan told the horse, and Tinkerbell’s ears flicked back to listen.

  “This ought to be fun,” Katie said, as Ryan positioned the horse facing a small cross-rail fence.

  It couldn’t be more than a foot off the ground, so Sam didn’t really see how it could be much of a test, but then she watched the gelding’s reaction to it.

  The jump was some distance off and Ryan gave Tinkerbell plenty of time to study it. The horse shifted in eagerness. Then Ryan must have given a signal, because Tinkerbell’s dark ears flicked forward and his muscular front quarters tensed.

  Sam held her breath as Tinkerbell skipped forward and popped over the fence. Ryan circled the arena and took Tinkerbell over the jump from the other direction, and then over a two-rail fence, which looked about three feet high.

  “Oh, yes,” Katie Sterling said under her breath.

  When Ryan brought Tinkerbell back to Sam and Katie, he was grinning and shaking his head.

  “He’s a natural, isn’t he?” Sam asked.

  “On the contrary,” Ryan said, dismounting. “Someone has worked with this horse. This is old hat to him. A green jumper will jump wide—leaving the ground early and landing well past the fence. This one,” he gave Tinkerbell a pat, “is tidy as a cat. He saves his energy for moving his rather generous body around, and keeps his jumps neat.”

  Katie Sterling seemed to be waiting for something more. Her brows were arched as if she had a question.

  Ryan glanced back down the arena, then looked back at Katie. “He could go much, much higher.”

  Katie’s hands were fisted as she said, “I can’t even ask if he’s for sale, because I don’t need him, but—wow.”

  “Actually, he might already be sold,” Sam said. “Mr. Martinez is interested.”

  “Really?” Katie asked, an amused smile on her lips. “I’ve seen his pasture fence. What’s going to keep this big boy home if he decides he wants to go visiting?”

  “He already did,” Sam admitted.

  “Ha!” Katie clapped her hands and looked back at Tinkerbell. “As soon as I can think of a way to justify buying him to my dad, I’ll be making an offer.”

  Yes, Sam thought. Tinkerbell had two prospective homes. Maybe he’d be all right.

  Suddenly, Ryan offered Sam the reins.

  “Won’t you take a turn now?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath. Half of her wanted to give it a try. There couldn’t be a safer place than right here in this arena, but what if she fell off? It wasn’t like she’d never done that before, but she didn’t want Ryan and Katie as witnesses.

  And what if Rachel showed up? She lived only a few steps away, and though horses bored her, tormenting Sam might make it worth the walk from her mansion to the arena.

  “You know, I’d like to,” Sam said. “But Jake has to get back, and he drove us here.” She looked around quickly for Jake. It would be just like him to tell her to go ahead.

  “I understand.” Ryan sounded disappointed, and his serious expression said he’d seen right through her refusal. He knew she was afraid to ride Tinkerbell.

  All at once, Sam realized she didn’t need Jake to tell her to go ahead. She wanted to ride Tinkerbell. He could be sold tomorrow, and then she would have missed her chance. And if she fell—oh well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

  “I’ll do it,” Sam said. “But don’t laugh. I’ve never been on a horse taller than sixteen hands.”

  “Great!” Ryan clapped her on the shoulder and set to work lengthening the stirrup leathers. “That’s as long as they go.”

  The stirrups on the English saddle looked almost delicate. The bare little bars of metal were so different from the leather-wrapped ones on a Western saddle. Besides, these were higher than her eye level. How could she ever get her boot up there?

  “I don’t think that’s going to do it,” Sam said.

  “I’ll give you a leg up,” Ryan said. He moved to stand next to Tinkerbell’s neck and faced Sam.

  Sam gazed up. “That’s what you think,” she muttered.

  Fingers reaching, she snagged the reins, but barely. She should have a firm grip on them before she vaulted into the saddle. Otherwise, if Tinkerbell took off during her awkward mount, she wouldn’t be going with him.

  “You can do it,” Katie encouraged. “You’ve got the reins, so just face the horse’s shoulder, put your hand on his neck, or”—she laughed—“as high as you can reach. Then, you should put your other hand on the pommel….”

  “Just give me your left leg,” Ryan said quietly as Katie continued her instructions.

  With his own left leg bent and his hands cupped, Ryan boosted Sam as she sprang toward the saddle and suddenly, she was up!

  The view from Tinkerbell’s back was amazing. She looked down on Ryan’s chocolate hair as if she’d climbed up into stadium bleachers, but she didn’t feel the least bit unsteady.

  “Don’t look down,” Katie joked. “Isn’t that what they tell tightrope walkers?”

  Sam laughed and patted Tinkerbell’s satiny neck as Ryan adjusted the stirrups once more. She took up reins that were different from her Western reins. Instead of being split into two slick leather straps, the part she held was braided and buckled together. At least if she dropped them they wouldn’t end up under Tink’s hooves.

  She settled into the small saddle as
well as she could. Tinkerbell’s back was so broad, her thigh muscles pulled, then complained, as she found her stirrups.

  “Ready, boy?”

  Tinkerbell’s ears pricked forward and he gathered himself to step out.

  “Now it’s up to you,” Ryan said. He swung one arm toward the arena, in invitation.

  The draft horse was easy to ride. Sam smiled as she moved from a walk into a trot. Even at this bouncy gait, one thing was sure: she wasn’t going to fall off, unless she really tried.

  When they moved into a lope, or a canter, as Ryan called it, Sam imagined she heard the smooth, rhythmic music of a waltz. Tinkerbell rocked so gently and gracefully, Sam realized this was why circus bare-back riders in tights and tutus performed on the backs of Percherons.

  Tinkerbell’s giant head bobbed as if he were keeping time. It was wonderful and fun.

  When she finally drew him to a stop, Sam realized her legs weren’t the only part of her that was strained from the ride. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.

  She managed to dismount without her knees buckling.

  As Ryan loosened Tinkerbell’s girth and stripped off the English saddle, he lifted it in Sam’s direction.

  “Now that you know what an amazingly easy horse he is to ride, won’t you take the tack along with you?”

  “I guess I could borrow it,” Sam said. “Thanks.”

  Sam was about to say more when Jake finally materialized.

  “I’ll take him, if you’re going to carry that stuff,” Jake said. He snagged the lead rope from Sam’s hand.

  “Thanks. But Jake, did you see him? ’Bye, Ryan,” Sam said, waving as they headed for the truck. “Really, did you? The way he took those jumps and let me canter him around. Tink’s an amazing horse. I need to wear different pants if I’m going to ride him with an English saddle, though.”

  Jake glanced back. Sam followed his eyes and noticed Ryan was still watching.

  “All I can see you need is a mounting block,” Jake said. “A rider oughta be able to put herself in the saddle.”