by Kate Lattey
“So who’s riding Star this weekend?” I asked, trying to focus on the mare.
“Anna Harcourt,” he said casually, and my heart sank. Another person who had it in for me. Unlike Connor, I couldn’t imagine Anna changing her spots overnight. Boys didn’t seem to hold grudges the way that girls did, but Anna had been front and centre of more than a few unpleasant bullying incidents. I was pretty sure she was still in possession of the stud girth that had disappeared out of our truck here last year, but I’d never had any evidence to back up my suspicion that she was the one who’d taken it. Just a very solid hunch.
“Well, I guess we’ll watch her jump tomorrow and see what we think,” I told Connor, trying to sound noncommittal. You don’t need another horse. Not even one as pretty as that.
“Yeah, all right. She’s on right after your first round, in Ring One. Your dad said you’d come try her sometime in the arvo, after the pony classes are done.”
“Did he just?”
Connor smiled, and my heart fluttered slightly, defying what my head knew. Bad idea, I reminded it again. I knew that this was his game, that he was a player, and spent more time at shows trying to pick up girls than riding, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t look. There was no way in hell he was going to try to pick me up, anyway. He was only being friendly because he thought I might buy Star. Except that we’d now had that discussion, and he still hadn’t ridden away. Instead he shifted his weight and loosened his reins, looking critically down at my ponies.
“I like Skybeau with a hogged mane.”
I frowned, wondering what he meant by that. Skip’s mane had been hacked off maliciously by another competitor a few weeks ago, and although I was currently keeping it tidy with clippers, I couldn’t wait to let it grow back out again over winter.
“I don’t,” I said honestly.
Connor shrugged, then looked over his shoulder at his sister, who was still trotting around in circles.
“Summer’ll be too tired to jump at this rate,” he muttered. “Oi, Gracie! Give it a rest, would you?”
Grace didn’t turn her head at his shout, but she did bring her pony back to a walk and give her a long rein. Summertime stretched her neck out willingly, and Grace patted her with a small hand. I wondered which pony they’d end up buying for her once Star was sold. Summer was no spring chicken herself.
“How old is she now?” I asked as Grace rode towards us, her short legs only a few inches below the flaps of the jumping saddle.
“Thirteen. Fourteen in April. Just short for your age, eh Gracie?” Connor replied, misunderstanding my question.
Grace had reached us now and halted her pony next to Star, frowning at her brother. “What?”
“You’re a midget.”
“Shut up.” Star was nickering frantically at Summer, and straining at her lead in an attempt to touch the other mare. Connor yanked on the rope, jerking Star’s head around and making me wince.
“Only flaw it’s got,” Connor said as he noticed me watching Star. “Bit clingy, but she’s actually getting better, believe it or not. And she’s only like this with mares. Couldn’t care less about these two guys,” he explained, motioning at the horse he was sitting on and the young grey, who had his eyes half-closed and was dozing quietly, resting a hind leg. “Reckon she’s not into boys.” He cocked an eyebrow suggestively as he looked at me, and I flushed.
“More fool her,” I told him, and his grin widened.
“Too right.”
Grace was still sitting silently and watching us, fiddling with a lock of Summer’s mane. Forbes tugged at the lead rope, seeking out a more delicious patch of grass just to his right, and I brought him back into line as Connor gathered up his reins at last.
“Well, we better keep moving. See ya later, Susannah.”
“Okay. See you.”
They turned back towards the yards, Grace riding alongside her brother as he chatted to her while effortlessly controlling the three horses in his charge. I heard her laugh at something he said, and felt a pang of discomfort. I remembered what it felt like to idolise your big brother like that.
I wondered whether maybe, for her, it would last.
CHAPTER TWO
~ STAR STRUCK ~
“You ready for this?”
I clipped up the chinstrap of my helmet and nodded, then stepped forward to take the bay mare’s braided leather reins. Grace sat on the steps of the truck, watching me intently without speaking as I ran my hand down Star’s glossy neck, then pulled down her stirrup and measured it against the length of my arm.
“Up or down?” Connor asked from the other side of the mare, and I looked at him over the top of the saddle.
“Up two.”
He adjusted the stirrup on that side while I did mine, then checked the girth. Dad was standing off to the side with his arms folded, looking pleased as I accepted Connor’s offer of a leg-up. He was having a good day. Not only had I agreed to test ride the horse he’d picked out for me, but the ponies had all jumped super in their opening rounds this morning. Skip had taken a narrow second place in the Open Table C, and Buck finished a creditable fifth, both of them jumping quick clears against some tough opposition. Then Forbes had truly outdone himself with a blistering round in the Pony 1.10m to win the class and position himself firmly at the top of the Championship leader board. We still had two more days of competing ahead of us, and anything could happen, but it was a very good start to the weekend.
I shortened the reins as Star lifted her head, her curved ears outlined in black. I gave her a pat and closed my legs against her sides, riding her forward between the trucks and out towards an empty space where I could put her through her paces.
I’d missed seeing her jump that morning, being too busy with my ponies to have time to stand around and wait for her to go. Dad had caught the tail end of it, and said she’d looked good, but she’d had three early rails and had finished mid-field. The Campbells excused the mare on account of Anna never having jumped a round on her before, and I’d decided to accept that reasoning and give her a shot. I didn’t need an easy horse. I was looking for a challenge.
I trotted her on, flexing my fingers on the reins, feeling her out. Star fussed a little with her head, tossing it up and down as we moved across the short grass. My focus settled in on her, and the rest of the world faded away, leaving just me and this mare. The energy of her trot strides, the supple reins between my fingers, the arch of her neck and flex of her jaw, the rhythmic thud of her hoofbeats as we circled and halted, steadied and rode forward, learning one another’s moves, each trying to understand what the other wanted.
“So what d’you think?” Dad eventually called to me as I cantered past him.
He was leaning against one of the venue’s cross-country jumps, a big bold oxer, watching me intently. Grace was walking back and forth across the back rail, her arms outstretched for balance, while her father chatted to mine, no doubt filling his head with predictions of everything Star and I could achieve together. Connor was sitting casually on the other end of the jump, threatening to push Grace off every time she came near him. Their mother was back at the truck, making feeds, still in denial about the horse’s potential sale.
I circled back towards them, brought Star back down to a quick trot, then eased her into a walk and let her stretch.
“She’s hot all right,” I told Dad, catching Connor’s eye, and he winked at me. “I can’t shift my weight without her reacting to it.”
“Sensitive,” Nigel said to my father. “All the best horses are, of course. Makes her very adjustable on course. Takes a bit of getting used to though. Like driving a Ferrari when you’re used to a Honda.” I saw Dad’s eyes light up at the car reference, even as I wondered which of my ponies Nigel was calling a Honda. “That’s what happened with Anna this morning. Just overrode her a bit early on, tried to do too much.”
I could easily believe it. Star was highly reactive, but I already liked that about her. She wasn
’t a pushbutton ride, which was a good thing. I’d had enough of those to last me a lifetime. Connor slid off the jump and motioned towards the warm-up area nearby, which was almost empty, with only a handful of riders left to jump in the main ring.
“Wanna try her over a fence?”
“Why not?” I held the reins lightly between my fingers as we made our way across the crushed grass. “Has she always had this bit, or is it something you put her in?”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Don’t you like it?”
“It’s a bit much for her, isn’t it?” I asked, looking down at the long shanks of the American gag.
“She came to us in a full cheek snaffle,” Connor admitted. “But Mum hates them. Thinks they’re ugly. We swapped her into a loose-ring to start with, but Grace couldn’t hold her in it, so we tried a few different things and settled on this one.”
“And the shadow roll?”
“Jump her over a couple of fences and you’ll see why she’s always had that, no matter what bit’s in her mouth,” he promised me as I rode into the warm-up ring.
We had to be careful not to get in the way of the competitors who were preparing to ride in the final class of the day, but pretty soon the last of them had gone in and we had the place to ourselves. I cantered Star down to a crossrail, being careful to stay still and keep out of her way. She sped up as she approached it, her ears pricked sharply forward, then launched herself into the air from half a stride out, giving the low fence masses of air.
I heard Dad hoot in appreciation, and gave Star a brief pat as I kept her cantering. Connor had raised the fence to a vertical, and I squared my shoulders and sat a little taller on the approach, holding the mare together. I still didn’t want to touch her mouth with that severe bit, but I saw Connor’s point about the shadow roll. As soon as Star lined up the jump, her head flew into the air. The large fluffy sheepskin over her noseband encouraged her to lower her head enough to be able to see the fence before she got there. She cleared it effortlessly, and I turned her the other way and circled back around to the oxer. It was a decent height, close to a metre twenty, and she tried to speed up again on the approach.
“Woah,” I murmured, closing my hands firmly around the reins.
Star threw her head up in objection, and I vowed to put her in a different bit when we bought her. If we bought her. I softened my hand in sympathy and she shot forward again, rushing towards the jump. We reached it on an off-stride, and missed the opportunity to go long, finding ourselves right at the base instead on a very deep spot. I clamped my legs on to see what she’d do, to find out whether she’d refuse to jump. I wouldn’t really have blamed her if she did, considering she was only about a foot in front of the fence, but she didn’t. She launched herself into the air, springing off all fours like a startled cat, then stretching out over the oxer, giving it everything she had. We landed clear, and I shook my head in amazement as I regathered the reins I’d slipped mid-air, and looked at my father.
He was grinning, and I had to admit that he’d been right. This was one hell of a horse, and it looked like Dad was going to get his own way.
Again.
“Are you ready?”
I nodded, running the brush through my hair one more time before shoving it back into my bag and turning to my father.
“As I’ll ever be.”
He scoffed. “Don’t make it sound like you’re going to your execution. It’s just drinks.”
“Uh huh.”
I picked up my puffa jacket and slid my arms into it as Dad opened the side door of our horse truck and stepped out into the cool evening air. The sun had dropped low on the horizon, bathing the show grounds in a hazy orange glow.
“You’re not going to need that,” Dad said as I zipped the jacket up and followed him out of the truck.
“Are you kidding? It’s freezing out here.”
It might have been late summer in the rest of New Zealand, but the evening temperatures in the South Island always seemed to be several degrees below what I was used to in the Hawke’s Bay. Dad shut the truck door behind us, and locked it before we headed over to the Campbells’ truck. They’d invited us over while I was untacking Star after my ride, a casual invitation of the type that was often extended between fellow competitors at shows. Except when it came to us. We didn’t socialise much, especially not these days. But Dad had accepted their offer, and I couldn’t blame him. It must’ve been lonely for him lately, with Mum not attending shows and me spending as much time as possible in Katy’s truck instead of my own. Her mother invited Dad along sometimes, but it was always a bit awkward. Besides, Deb was usually off socialising with friends of her own in the evenings, leaving Dad alone in our truck, churning his way through paperwork. I’d assumed he always brought it along because he was a workaholic, but now I wondered if he wasn’t just trying to keep himself busy.
“So you liked her, then?” Dad said as we made our way past the row of horse trucks parked around the ring perimeter. “Should we make them an offer?”
“Let’s just hold up and see how she goes tomorrow,” I told him. “No rush, right?”
He wasn’t thrilled by my reluctance to commit. “Not unless they sell her to someone else before you make up your mind.”
“Tell them we’re interested, but we want to see how the weekend goes,” I said firmly. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out.”
The door to the Campbells’ truck was open, and light was spilling out of it onto the grass nearby. Grace and a friend of hers tumbled out, giggling and shoving each other, until they saw Dad approaching and stopped, wide-eyed. I smiled at Grace, and she responded tentatively in kind before grabbing her friend’s arm and scampering off with her in tow.
Dad strode up to the door and rapped on the side of the truck with his knuckles as he started up the stairs, as self-assured as ever as he let himself in. I followed meekly, relieved to hear him welcomed with enthusiasm by Connor’s parents.
They were sitting on the leather upholstered seating, Jordan with a glass of wine in her hand and her feet up on the low table in the middle of the accommodation space, Nigel folding up the newspaper and getting to his feet to shake Dad’s hand in welcome. Connor was sitting on the other end of the sofa with a bottle of beer in his hand, and he grinned at me as I came up the last step onto the faux pine flooring. He’d showered and changed into a black polo shirt that made his dark eyes look even deeper than usual and faded dark blue jeans.
He slid sideways, making a space on the end of the sofa for me, and I sat down next to him, doing my best to appear casual.
“You look nice,” he said with a smile.
Okay, so much for casual. “Thanks. So do you.” I cringed inwardly at myself. I’ve never been any good at small talk.
But Connor didn’t seem to mind. “Cheers.” He held out his beer bottle towards me as if to clink it against mine, then realised that I was still empty-handed. “Oh, you need a drink. What d’you want?”
“Um, what’ve you got?”
He tapped his mother’s feet, and she moved them off the square table, which was revealed to be a drinks cooler in disguise. It was full of ice and a range of bottled beverages, most of which appeared to be of the alcoholic variety.
“Take your pick,” Connor told me, and I looked vainly for something that didn’t have alcohol in it. I knew what kind of reaction I’d get from Dad if I tried to drink in front of him. Eventually spying a can of Coke, I pulled that out and popped it open as Connor shut the lid.
“You are a good girl, aren’t you?”
I glanced towards my dad and back again, and Connor grinned. “Right. I see I’m gonna have to get you away from him if we’re going to have any fun.”
My palm sweated against the cold can as I took a long mouthful, and then another, anything to delay having to respond to that, because I had no idea what to say. The fizzy drink burned my throat and made my eyes sting, and I blinked hard as I swallowed and rested the can against my
knee, where it left a damp ring on my jeans. Connor just smirked at me, then leaned back against the cushions and pretended to be paying attention to what my father was saying to his parents.
It took me a moment before their conversation sank into my consciousness.
“He’s been a very good pony for us. Point and shoot, nothing complicated. Never had a lame day or a bad round. Not one that was his fault, anyway,” Dad added, and I frowned at him. “He’d be perfect for your little girl. Mother’s dream, honestly. Couldn’t be safer.”
Wait, what? I shot a surprised look at Connor, who just raised his eyebrows at me and took another long swig of beer.
“We’ve always admired him, haven’t we Nige?” Jordan was saying. “We actually looked at him for Connor before the Deverauxs bought him, but the price was a little high at the time and they outbid us.” She gave a tinkling laugh, and poured herself more wine. “And we were interested when we heard he was coming back on the market, but I’m afraid you beat us to the punch that time.”
Dad gave a self-satisfied smile. “We had the inside edge,” he admitted. “Bruce put in a good word.”
I had finally worked out what I was hearing, and interjected. “Skip’s not for sale.”
They all looked at me with expressions of mild surprise. Well, Dad didn’t. He looked at me like I’d just said something extremely rude. I ignored his frown, and directed my comment to Jordan.
“He’s not for sale until I turn seventeen. Maybe not even then.”
“Be reasonable, Susie,” Dad said calmly, though I could tell he was annoyed with my interruption. “We won’t be keeping him once you’re off ponies, and judging by what I saw today, you might be off them sooner than we’d planned.” He turned back to the Campbells with a reassuring smile, as if to say Don’t worry about her, her opinion doesn’t count anyway. “Just got that Pony of the Year title to tick off the bucket list,” he said smugly. “Been close a couple of times, but it keeps slipping out of our grasp.”
I winced at the mention of the title class, and saw Jordan and Nigel exchange frowns. Boasting about how close we’d come to winning Pony of the Year wasn’t exactly a way to gain favour with people, considering the way Pete had cruelly sabotaged my biggest opposition so that I would be more likely to win it two years ago. It hadn’t worked out anyway, but it still left a bitter taste in people’s mouths. I wondered how much my father had had to drink tonight. It wasn’t like him to be this open with anyone, least of all people he barely knew.
