THE GIRL WHO LOVES HORSES
Pegasus Equestrian Center Series: Book 1
By Diana Vincent
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real events or persons is purely coincidental.
The Girl Who Loves Horses - Copyright 2012 by Diana Vincent
All rights reserved.
Cover design: Kimberly Killion
www.hotdamndesigns.com
Cover photograph: Katie Kern riding Zoe
Cover photograph by Axl Canyon O’Neal,
[email protected]
Dedication
To all the horses who willingly and patiently taught me to ride.
What care I for wings
On the back of a horse I fly
As fast as the wind
*****
Table of Contents
Dedication
Table of Contents
1 Pegasus Equestrian Center
2 Sierra
3 The Cottage
4 River
5 Chores
6 The Horses
7 First Ride
8 Lessons
9 The Canter
10 Winter
11 Cross Country Clinic
12 Changes
13 Lessons With Tess
14 Prodigal
15 Horse Trial
16 Show Day
17 Cannon Bone
18 Empty Stall
19 Eighth Grade Ends
20 Summer
21 Rapping
22 João Mateus
23 New Lessons
24 Novice Level
25 High School
26 Championship
27 Day One: Dressage
28 Day Two: Cross Country
29 Evening Show
30 Day Three: Stadium Jumping
31 João
32 Fiel
Epilogue
Glossary of Equestrian Terms
Acknowledgments
About the Author
1 Pegasus Equestrian Center
In the very first stages of training, the horse should be allowed to carry his head in the position which he finds most comfortable – Brigadier General Kurt Albrecht, Principles of Dressage
*****
Head high, eyes wide and frightened, nostrils flared and ears flat, a big chestnut gelding galloped toward the line of vertical jumps in a blur of golden red. The young girl on his back clutched the reins tightly, sawing at the bit in his mouth and yelled out, “Whoa, whoa!” His muscles bunched, the veins bulging as he propelled himself forward with thrusts of his hind legs and forelegs reaching up and out. Foam flew back from the corners of his mouth, flecking his glistening neck and shoulders.
“Ease up! Slow him down!” yelled the riding instructor from the middle of the arena.
The rider jerked hard on the reins causing the gelding to thrust his nose straight up in defense. Panicked by the tight hold on his mouth which diminished his ability to use his neck and shoulders, he rushed at the first vertical bar, took off early, clearing it high and wide with inches to spare and landed too close to the next jump. He thrust his body over the second jump, pulling the top rail down with his off hind foot. His abrupt movements and stiff back unbalanced his rider, shifting her forward over his neck and the reins slackened. His head free, the chestnut shook it side to side pulling the reins loose from the rider’s hands, and galloped wildly to the perimeter of the arena, veering away from the last jump of the combination.
“Sit back! Pick up the reins!” The instructor moved helplessly toward the frantic horse as she yelled directions to her student.
“Beast!” the rider screamed as she grabbed onto the mane and pommel of the saddle to keep herself on the horse’s back. As he neared the exit gate, he slowed his pace and the rider managed to shift back into the middle of the saddle and pick up the reins in a white-knuckled grip.
A small figure watched anxiously at the edge of the arena, following the chestnut with wistful, wide brown eyes. Her heart beat in rhythm with his pounding hooves as she imagined herself moving with him up and over the jumps. But her heart ached for the terror she recognized in his expression and she clenched her fists against her chest to keep her hands from stretching out toward him. Can’t they see how frightened he is?
The instructor spoke in clipped sentences to the rider. The gelding stood with nostrils flaring in and out in rhythm with his heaving sides and his eyes rolling anxiously. The girl gathered the reins even tighter causing the chestnut to jerk his head upward, and he backed up rapidly, his hind legs bent near the ground. The girl yanked his head toward her knee and dug her heels into his sides to move him away from the rail and into the arena. He jumped into a trot and his rider turned him in a tight circle. At the instructor’s command, she spiraled him out, increasing the size of the circle; then yanked at the reins to face him toward the line of jumps.
Horse and rider approached the first vertical at a trot, the gelding with his neck stiff and head high in resistance to the painful hold on the bit in his mouth. Halfway, he broke from trot to canter in spite of the tight hold, and managing his take-off at an easier distance, soared over the first bar, landed with a shake of his head and pulled an inch of reins, giving him enough freedom to thrust up over the second bar and then the third. Clearing the line, he raced toward the perceived safety of the exit gate.
“Let’s quit with that,” the instructor directed as the rider forcefully brought her mount to a choppy halt. She dismounted and her instructor walked by her side as they led the sweat-drenched, blowing horse toward a large stable.
The small spectator sighed with relief for the frightened animal, finally allowed to stretch his head down as he walked out of the arena. She stepped forward to follow them, hoping one or the other would notice her so she could ask a question.
“I’ll have River ride him a few days to see if he can’t settle him down and we’ll try again next week,” the instructor said to her student. “You might want to consider starting him on some medication to keep him calm.”
“I might want to consider selling him too,” the rider spoke angrily.
“Perhaps, but he certainly does have talent. If we can get him under control he could be the horse to take you to advanced level in a few years. We don’t want to give him up until we at least have found you a more suitable mount.”
The group neared the stable, an attractive large structure in gleaming white with blue trim and its name, Pegasus Equestrian Center, painted prominently above the center doors. Inside, two long cement aisles with rows of box stalls flanked a large indoor riding arena. In the front of the stable were three open bays with crossties for grooming and tacking up horses, a cement-walled wash stall, and a tack room.
As they reached the wide entryway the sound of a shovel banging against a wheelbarrow clanged from inside. The chestnut pulled up and swung his hindquarters to the side, shying at the sound.
“Cut it out,” his owner shouted as she jerked down on the bridle reins and slapped at his rump with her riding crop. The horse leaped forward into the dim light of the stable. “You are such a beast!” the girl swore at him again, leading him into an open bay.
“See what I mean? He’s too high-strung,” the instructor commented over her shoulder as she walked off.
Picking up a halter from a box of grooming equipment, the girl unbuckled the chestnut’s bridle and replaced it with the halter, swearing at him as he tossed his head nervously. She snapped the two crossties to the side rings of the ha
lter and tossed the bridle into the grooming box.
“Hi, Crystal,” the small observer spoke timidly. She recognized the horse’s owner as a classmate from school.
Crystal glanced over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?” she asked curtly.
“Your horse is beautiful!”
Crystal’s angry countenance did not change and ignoring the complement and the girl, she walked briskly away, the heels of her tall riding boots clacking sharply on the cement floor.
The small girl looked up at the frightened gelding who started to paw with one foreleg, his posture tense and worried. “Hey, Beautiful,” she spoke softly while gazing at him with adoring eyes. He flicked his ears toward her, watching warily as she stepped slowly toward him with her hand outstretched where he could see. Then she gently touched his neck and began to stroke him. “Poor frightened boy,” she whispered. The chestnut’s hot, damp skin quivered at her touch.
“What are you doing?” an angry voice demanded.
Startled, the girl dropped her hand, stepped back quickly and turned to face the person speaking.
Dark eyes flashing, a skinny teenage boy approached; shaggy black hair framing a brown face with features stone-hard in visible anger.
“H-he’s s-scared!” she stuttered, frightened by the boy’s irate demeanor and fighting back tears of distress over both her own fear and that of the chestnut.
The boy stared at the small girl, his features shifting to a softer look of curiosity. Over her shoulder the gelding whickered a low sound, drawing the boy’s attention. He approached the chestnut, speaking to him softly, “Hey, amigo, hey.” The horse lowered his head and pricked his ears toward the boy. He arched his neck to bring his muzzle in reach as the boy offered the flat of his hand. He snuffled at the boy’s palm, then licked it with his tongue. “A little rough on you again, hey hermano?” The boy murmured in soothing tones as he touched the chestnut’s hot, wet neck and felt his chest between his forelegs to assess for heat. He moved over to the horse’s side and unbuckled the girth, pulled the saddle and wet pad off his back and set it on the dividing wall of the bay, still murmuring reassurances. He bent down slowly and removed the protective boots from the gelding’s fetlocks, and ran his hands up and down the lower legs. Grabbing a lead rope from the tack box, he clipped it to the center ring of the halter and undid the crossties. “Let’s cool you down.” He led the chestnut away.
The girl watched, fascinated as the horse visibly calmed under the care of the boy. Maybe she could have asked him her question, but she had not wanted to interrupt while he soothed the distraught animal, and now they were both gone. Alone, she looked around for anyone that might be able to help her. She walked a little way down the aisle looking dreamily around at the empty box stalls filled with shavings, ready for the horses when brought in for the night. She read the names of some of the horses printed elegantly on brass plaques tacked to the stall doors: Red Magic, Fala, Neat Trix, Calliope. In her imagination she pictured herself leading her very own horse into one of these stalls for the night, patting his neck and giving him a carrot as she said goodbye.
Not finding anyone in the stable, she sighed deeply in resignation and returned outside. A building with a door marked Lounge, and another door marked Office stood off to the side of the stable in front of a parking area. She stepped over to the office door and peeked in through a glass window. Inside, the riding instructor sat at a desk in front of a computer screen.
That must be Teresa Holmes. The girl had looked up everything she could find on the internet about Pegasus Equestrian Center and its part-owner, trainer, and instructor, Teresa Holmes. She knocked on the door.
The instructor called out without turning away from the computer, “It’s open.”
The girl entered and in a timid voice asked, “Excuse me, Ms. Holmes?”
The instructor looked over at her, frowning with annoyance at the interruption. “Well, what do you want?” she demanded.
“I, um, I saw the ad for a stable hand on weekends.”
“What?” She turned toward her now in exasperation. “How old are you?”
“I’ll be thirteen in two weeks.”
Frowning, the instructor examined the girl; small, really didn’t look older than ten, with large brown eyes, a smattering of summer freckles over the bridge of her nose, and wisps of light brown hair escaping from two thick braids. “I’m sorry; you’re too young and too little.” She turned back to the computer in dismissal.
That is not the right answer! The girl stood still, not yet willing to give up. She gave a small cough. “I’ll work for free to prove I can do the job,” she offered tremulously. “And if I can, I’d work in exchange for riding lessons.”
The instructor turned back toward her and studied her silently for a few moments. “What’s your name?”
“Sierra Landsing.”
“I assume you’re in school?”
“Yes ma-am. I’m in eighth grade.”
“Not ma-am, not Ms.; it’s Tess,” she corrected, speaking the titles in a sarcastic tone as if the girl had insulted her. “All right; show up here this weekend at seven o’clock and you can help feed and clean stalls. If your work is acceptable we’ll talk about arrangements for lessons. If you can’t do the work then you’ll just have to wait until you’re older.”
“Thank you, thank you very much.” Sierra flushed.
Reaching into a drawer, Tess pulled out a packet of papers stapled together. “Have your parents sign a release.” She thrust the papers at Sierra and turned back to her computer.
Sierra left the office smiling and looking around to be sure no one could see, she jumped into the air, circled around with her arms wide, her two pigtails flying around her head, and took off gleefully to where she had left her bicycle.
*****
2 Sierra
As in life, so with riding, we must fix our eyes on a goal and advance toward it in a straight direction. – Alois Podhajsky, The Riding Teacher
*****
“She is such a total nerd,” Sierra heard the whispered words amid giggles as she walked back from the whiteboard to her desk. Mr. Perkins, the math teacher, had called her to the front of the class to solve step-by-step one of the algebra problems from the last exam; after announcing that Sierra was the only one who had solved the equation correctly.
The insult prickled at Sierra’s feelings and she blushed. That bothered her more than being called a nerd; the fact that she reacted visibly so that the other kids could see her embarrassment. She hated to be singled out, even though she was proud of doing well on the test. But truthfully, Sierra admitted to herself, by definition she probably was a nerd. If a nerd is a person who likes school, likes to read and enjoys studying, then she fit the description. She even liked algebra and thought solving equations fun, sort of like solving a puzzle.
“Way to go,” Luke Abrams, the friendly boy sitting in the desk behind her said good-naturedly. Sierra glanced at him and he smiled and gave her a wink.
That caused her color to deepen even more and she stumbled into her desk amid more snickering.
“What a weirdo,” someone else jeered.
A girl’s voice asked, “Don’t you just want to dip the ends of those braids into something…like something sticky?”
“Don’t tempt me,” another voice answered. The snickering continued.
It was Sierra’s second week of eighth grade at her new school, Firwood Middle School, and she still felt very much an outsider. But she didn’t think it was just because she was new. Even at her old school in seventh grade, a slow rift had developed between her and her two best friends. By the end of that year, Sue and Emily were phoning each other and doing things together without including Sierra. They were growing up. Both of them already had their periods and Sue had developed woman-sized breasts that she proudly contained in her first bra. (Emily started wearing a bra too, even though her small bumps hardly warranted one.) But at least Emily had bumps. Sierra
felt as if her body refused to grow up. She hadn’t started having periods, nor did her chest show even a hint of swelling. The last time Sue’s mom had taken the three of them to the mall, Sue and Emily only wanted to try on clothes. Sierra wanted to look at the latest model horses or go to the book store. Sierra wanted to talk about horses, a passion the three of them used to share. But Sue and Emily only wanted to talk about boys.
It wasn’t that Sierra didn’t like boys because she did; she just found it boring to talk about them. She actually liked Luke quite a bit. He was a nice-looking boy with bright blue eyes, an open, friendly face, and always laughing. He had been friendly to her ever since the first day of school; saying hi if they passed in the hallway and making encouraging comments like he did in math class. But everyone liked Luke and she really didn’t want him for a boyfriend, just a friend. She didn’t feel ready to have a boyfriend. If given a choice, she would much rather have a horse.
Mr. Perkins began explaining new material and Sierra tuned out the snide comments and last few snickers, slipping into the world of numbers and formulas where everything fit.
Algebra was her last class before lunch. When the bell rang Sierra hastily stuffed her notebook into her backpack and shot out of the classroom to head for the cafeteria. She wanted to slip into a table in the back, gulp down her sandwich and juice, and then escape to the library. She wanted to avoid Billy.
In the first two weeks of school Sierra had made only one friend, and not by her choice.
All eighth graders in this school district were required to participate in mandatory ballroom dance lessons as part of first quarter physical education. On the first day of class as the other students paired off with their friends, Sierra found herself in a group of five girls without partners. The instructor, anxious to begin the lesson, randomly paired the leftover girls with the leftover boys. She guided Sierra by the shoulder to stand face to face with Billy Bruber on the dance floor. Somehow Billy interpreted the pairing as Sierra’s choice. Ever since, he sought her out and followed her around, sat next to her in the classes they shared, sat at her table uninvited at lunch, and had pretty much destroyed her chances of making friends on her own.
The Girl Who Loves Horses (Pegasus Equestrian Center Series) Page 1
