Ella hated her for that look.
“Get off,” said Fletch, his voice hard and stern. “Right now.”
Ella climbed haphazardly out of the saddle, turned, and raced out of the arena, back to the bunkhouse.
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No one came after her, which made the fury bubble up even higher. Shouldn’t someone care that she’d stormed off in a huff?
But no one followed her to the bunkhouse, where she crawled up onto her bunk and cried angry tears into her pillow. The one time she thought she heard somebody coming to check on her, she raised her head—but realized it was only chickens scuffling outside. When she looked down, she saw she’d left wet splotches on the fabric in the exact shape of her face.
When she was all cried out, Ella simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling with crusty, reddened eyes. What a disaster this day had been. What a disaster this whole camp was.
Outside, she heard the other kids pass by her window—arguing about something or other, Madison trying to quiet them down.
When they were gone, Ella crept to the bunkhouse door and peeked out. Her stomach grumbled. Everyone was probably heading in to help fix lunch.
Ella slipped out the door and followed behind them, staying out of sight. The three boys blundered inside the mudroom at the back of the house, and Jordan followed in their wake. Ella stood outside, trying to decide whether she should go in and eat lunch with everyone like nothing was wrong, or mope for a while longer.
Voices—different ones, older ones—floated out an open window on the side of the house. Right away she recognized Mr. Bridle’s deep rumble.
Creeping up to the window, Ella scanned inside. There was a little office with a desk, a computer, and a spinning chair. The door sat closed, but the window was cracked to let in fresh air. Fletch, Madison, Ma Etty, and Mr. Bridle stood in a circle, heads bent together.
“This is the toughest group I’ve ever worked with,” said Ma Etty. “In the twenty years we’ve been running this program, I’ve never had kids who had so much difficulty . . . settling in.”
“It’s only the second day,” said Mr. Bridle. But he shook his head anyway. “Sure has been a tough two days, though, I’ll give ya that, Etty.”
Ma Etty sighed. “I don’t know what we were thinking, putting them all in the same group. So many strong personalities—we should have known they would clash.”
“Can’t know anything like that in advance,” said Fletch. “We did the best we could. We are doing our best, still. And we will for the next six weeks.” He said it with no question in his voice, as if once camp had begun, he’d see it through to the last minute.
Ma Etty nodded. “Somehow, they need to see that they’re in this together.” She rubbed her chin. “That they’re on a team, not opposing forces. It’s not a competition. It’s a cooperation.”
Madison sounded defeated as she said, “But, Ma Etty, it doesn’t even seem like they like horses all that much.” Ella sank lower under the windowsill, guilt turning her stomach sour. “Except Jordan.”
Ella had really messed up—and now Jordan looked even more glittery and perfect.
As the group stood in morose silence, Ma Etty’s head popped up like a gopher coming out of a hole. Her eyes glittered.
“That’s it!”
The other three stared at her like she’d grown an extra arm. “What’s it?” asked Madison.
“The horses are the reason we’re all here,” Ma Etty said proudly. “We just need to remind these kids of that fact. They came because they wanted to ride, because they felt a connection with horses. And that connection will bring those kids together.”
Even Mr. Bridle sounded baffled by Ma Etty’s train of thought. “They already had a lesson today,” he said.
“It didn’t go well,” added Madison.
“I know, I know. Just listen. Fletch—what inspired you to pursue horsemanship seriously?”
Fletch scratched his head at the obvious question. “Well, George Fletcher. Bronc riding. As soon as I saw those old photographs, I knew what I wanted to be.”
“Exactly.” Ma Etty’s entire face lit up. “Let’s take them to a rodeo.”
Madison still looked like she wasn’t following, but the delight had spread to Fletch, too.
“The rodeo!”
“Yep. The Steamboat County Fair is happening right now. We’ll have to make some phone calls to get permission, but we can do it. Those kids take one look at true horsemanship, and things will change. You’ll see. If it could turn your life around, Fletch, it can do the same for others. Everyone can see themselves in the rodeo.”
Ella backed away from the window. Ma Etty thought she’d be surprising them with this great news. Ella couldn’t afford to miss acting excited, and hopefully fix what she’d messed up with Fletch and Madison.
She scurried around the side of the house and went in the front door, where the other kids had already taken seats around the table and were now bickering over when lunch was going to come out. All except Jordan, of course, who sat picking dirt out from under her fingernails, unperturbed by the disorder.
When Ella sat down, everyone went silent. She knew this silence. It was the same silence that had greeted Ella at the lunch table after she hit Bianca square in the mouth for that snide comment about her hair. It was the silence of people who would now tread more carefully, afraid of what they might do or say to set her off next.
Ella liked and hated this feeling equally. Now they’d never be her real friends—but they’d also avoid pushing her buttons. It was a tenuous compromise.
Soon Madison and Fletch returned, followed by Ma Etty with steaming cast-iron pans full of fajita fixings. No one remarked on Ella’s reappearance.
When lunch was over, Ma Etty called for everyone’s attention.
“I have a surprise for you!” she said gleefully.
“A surprise?” Kim’s lips puckered. “I don’t like surprises.”
But no one could bring Ma Etty’s mood down. “We’re going to the rodeo,” she said, smiling more to herself than to them. At the word rodeo, Jordan’s chin snapped up.
“A rodeo?” said Ash. “Sweet.” Then he added, “Wait, what happens at a rodeo?”
Drew laughed. “And Dallas calls himself a Cowboys fan!”
Chapter Six
Ma Etty set a dress code for her ranch kids heading to the rodeo, so after Ella and Jordan finished packing up their day packs, Madison gave them button-up shirts that were a little too big but served fine with the sleeves rolled up.
“Oh!” Madison said. “One more thing!” Diving back into her room, she rummaged around before returning with two big cowboy hats, which she gleefully stuck on their heads. She grinned at Ella and Jordan with pride, then put on her own hat just as they were readying to leave.
“Let’s get along, dogies,” she said in a low cowboy voice, swaggering as she walked, and both Ella and Jordan cracked up as she led them out of the bunkhouse to the waiting van.
It was a junky old thing, but with Fletch at the wheel, it got them safely to the fairgrounds. Ella had never seen so many cowboy hats in a single place. Drew gave a running commentary of every new thing he saw. “Those cows have huge horns!” “Whoa, that horse is as big as an elephant.” “What kind of saddle is that?” “Those guys are riding without bridles or halters or anything! How do they do it?”
No one bothered shushing him anymore. Eventually the van pulled into a parking spot and stopped. They unloaded from the van, and the loud, bustling rodeo unfolded around them.
There was an event at every building in the county fair, and at every moment, some audience was hooting and hollering. Right at the entrance, in a long, oval-shaped arena, a woman stood in front of a horse, the two of them staring at each other like rivals before a duel. The woman dropped to one knee, and to the kids’ amazement, so did the horse. Then she dropped to both knees, and the horse followed so it was bowing before her. Then, they both
shot up to their feet again, and spun in matching circles, to roaring applause.
“Wow,” said Drew, and that seemed to be all he could say. For a moment, none of the kids spoke. Then Ash clapped his hands together.
“I didn’t know horses could do that! This rodeo thing is going to kill my friends back home. I gotta remember to take pictures.”
In her peripheral vision, Ella glimpsed Ma Etty’s mischievous grin.
After the show, the kids split up, allowed to wander in pairs (“Use the buddy system!” Ma Etty said) as long as they were all back at the meeting point by one for lunch.
Unable to stand any of his fellow campers for a moment longer, Kim left with quiet old Mr. Bridle to watch calf roping. Ash and Drew, always hungry for thrills, went to see the bronc riding that Fletch had talked so much about on the ride over. Fletch and Madison left to check out the livestock, leaving Jordan and Ella to pair up.
What luck. Ella wanted a partner like Madison, who’d at least speak to her. But Jordan didn’t seem to care either way where she ended up, and when Ella prompted her about what she wanted to do, Jordan shrugged, pointed, and said, “Let’s go that way, I guess.”
So they took off toward the covered arena, where shouts echoed under the aluminum roof.
People had packed the bleachers to popping. Ella and Jordan found seats way down in the middle. They had a lame view, stuck behind a guy who was at least seven feet tall. At Ella’s grouching Jordan said, “Let’s stay for a little bit, and if it’s boring, we’ll go find something else to do.”
This was the most words they’d exchanged since arriving at the ranch, so Ella took it. She still wanted to know about those worn-out riding boots, to assess her competition.
Then Jordan said, “Look—over there, in the starting pen.”
On the other end of the arena, a woman in a red shirt and cowboy hat rode a big brown horse through the gate.
“What a gorgeous quarter horse,” Jordan murmured. The horse looked a lot like Figure Eight in shape, Ella thought, even though the color was different. Its neck was thick at the base, the chest full and shaped like a barrel, and the hindquarters so muscular they appeared almost square. When the excited horse moved, raring to gallop forward into the ring, all its honed muscles rippled.
Then, suddenly, the horse and its rider were off. Hooves roared into the arena. The rider’s hat flew off immediately, letting her black braid swing behind her, and the crowd around Ella and Jordan burst into laughter.
Three tall barrels, arranged in a triangular pattern, waited for the competitors in the back center of the arena. She blazed straight toward them.
The woman and her horse turned so fast and so tight around the first barrel that Ella stood up quickly, thinking they might fall over, wanting to make sure she didn’t miss it. They ran around the second, then to the third in the back, and galloped toward home at a speed Ella had never seen an animal go in real life.
“Seventeen point seven three seconds!” an announcer’s voice boomed over the PA. “A fantastic showing from Missy Elwood and her stallion, Achilles!”
Applause rattled the metal bleachers, and Ella covered her ears as she waited for it to die down.
Then the next contestant entered the ring.
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Ella’s eyes never once left the arena as another woman came out on a beautiful yellow horse with a white mane and tail, the yellow splotched a little like watercolor.
“Ooh,” said Jordan. “Definitely a full quarter horse. Must be. And that beautiful palomino coloring.”
Ella could see what she meant now by ‘quarter horse.’ This animal was built long and thick and sturdy like the last one, with the same pretty, square jaw and full nose as Figure Eight.
“Do most people ride quarter horses in this event?” Ella said, hating the ignorance in her voice. But even her dad had to take classes on new subjects sometimes, had to ask his colleagues questions.
Jordan nodded. “Quarter horses are the best breed for barrel racing. They’re good at the quick turn because of those huge haunches, and those super-fast starts.”
Barrel racing. That’s what this event was. Ella returned her attention to the woman and her yellow horse.
After a brief wait, they shot into the arena just like the first competitor had, straight toward the first barrel. They wrapped around it like a snake, tilting toward the ground in order to make the sharp turn.
Once the woman and her horse had gone most of the way around the first barrel, they galloped on to the second, speeding around it at an even more ridiculous cut than they had the previous one. Sweat coursed down the palomino’s thick chest.
A timer was counting up, approaching ten seconds. Horse and rider got so close to the last barrel that her boot tapped the side. It tipped precariously. The crowd, Ella included, took in a collective breath.
The rider galloped on, speeding toward the exit—all while the barrel continued to tip. But as the competitor raced out of the ring, it became clear the toe-tap had been minor and the barrel righted itself.
A cheer burst from the audience.
“Narrow escape,” said Jordan.
Ella couldn’t help asking, “Escape from what?”
“Knocking over a barrel is a five-second penalty.”
“That’s harsh,” Ella said. That was basically an automatic loss.
How did Jordan know something like that?
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Ella and Jordan didn’t agree on it out loud, but it was clear after they’d watched four competitors that they were staying to watch the rest. Ella wanted to know who would secure the fastest time.
Each rider seemed better than the last—quicker, more daring, making even tighter turns. One was penalized for knocking over a barrel, another for missing a barrel and going around it the wrong way.
“How do they turn like that?” Ella whispered to no one in particular. The riders hardly used their reins, it seemed. How did the horse know what to do?
“See their thighs and knees?” Jordan pointed at a rider heading out into the arena. “All the cues come through the legs. They’re really bending their horses around the barrels—putting pressure on the front inside with the knee, to make the body curve in toward the barrel on the approach.”
Jordan sounded so smart as she talked about this. Ella was impressed.
“As you get close to the barrel, you apply pressure with your leg on the outside, and pull the reins the way you want to go.” Jordan gestured to illustrate. “That forces the horse to curve away from the pressure but keep moving in the same direction as the reins. It wraps the whole horse around the barrel.”
As Ella watched the next rider, she saw in action what Jordan had explained: the rider’s hands gently urged the neck around the barrel, while the outside leg pressed the horse into the optimal curve, then the inside leg straightened them out again as they pushed off to the next barrel.
It was mastery of horsemanship, pure elegance in the saddle.
Ella had to say what she kept wondering. “How do you know all this, Jordan?”
Jordan shrugged. “Somebody told me. A smart woman I know.”
Ella gave her a skeptical side-glance, but when Jordan offered no other explanation, Ella decided to take her word for it.
“They’re so fast—I didn’t expect that.” Another rider came out and tore around the cloverleaf pattern. Ella found herself grinning hugely. “I love it.”
Jordan smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”
They both stood in awe of the performance, sharing silence amid the tinny clang of feet on the bleachers and cheers from the audience.
Barrel racing.
Ella wondered if this was something that she could do. It was a perfect balance of skill and speed, technique and thrill.
“How hard is it to learn barrel racing?” Ella asked.
Jordan gazed into the arena. “Not hard. The pattern’s simple. It�
�s the technique that’s difficult to master.” They watched the final competitor take the barrels at a speed that looked almost dangerous. The horse snorted with each labored breath as they galloped home. “Like anything, I guess, it takes time and dedication to be really good at it.”
Ella nodded, but she was already picturing herself atop one of those big horses, hat flying off her head as they cornered a barrel at a risky, heart-pumping speed.
“You know,” said Jordan, surprising Ella by continuing on unprompted, “I heard Figure Eight has a long quarter horse lineage. Her build is perfect for barrel racing. If you wanted to learn, I think you’d be all set on a horse like that.”
Her words went straight to Ella’s heart.
“You think?” Ella asked. “Figure Eight?”
“Absolutely. Maybe she’s been trained to do it already. Who knows?” Jordan smiled again.
Two smiles in one day? Ella wondered if something was wrong.
Chapter Seven
Ella couldn’t contain her excitement the rest of the rodeo. They had funnel cakes and threw darts at balloons, but as they stood eating ice cream by a game Ash was spending all of his money on, she said, “The barrels were the coolest thing at this rodeo.” She glanced at Jordan. “Wasn’t it, Jordan?”
Jordan stared back at her, like a deer caught in oncoming headlights. “Uh, sure.”
“Don’t say that yet, Ella,” said Fletch, breaking into a grin, like he knew a big secret that she didn’t. “You haven’t seen the team roping yet.”
In the afternoon competition, quarter horses again headlined the show. Fletch and Madison pointed out the colors and breeds they could recognize as the teams lined up to rope their steer.
Drew let out a hoot as the event started and the steer was let free. The front rider got ahold of him by the horns with a huge lasso, and he and his horse together pulled the steer in a half-circle so its hind legs were exposed. The second rider raced up behind him, lassoing the steer’s legs. His horse planted its feet firmly, pulling the rope taut, and the creature was immobilized.
At Top Speed (Quartz Creek Ranch) Page 4
