Headed for the Win (Nadia and Winny Book 1)

by Rachael Eliker

  The lights of the nearest town faded as we sped north on I-74. Only the occasional semi-truck crossed our path, shining their headlights through the car. I looked up at the sky, watching the billions of stars twinkle against the deep, midnight blue.

  “During the show jumping phase, Helena got thrown on the last combination. Funny thing was that she was about to beat me. Something she hadn't done in a while.” I felt a lump form in my throat for a woman I'd never met but who was obviously important to my friend. “She was in a coma for a few days before passing.”

  “Danika,” I whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

  She wiped a stray tear from her cheek and waved her hand, dismissing my concern. “The worst part is that she left behind her two daughters. But, she wouldn’t have wanted to go any other way.”

  I peered at Ms. Diederich, who also, if I didn't know better, had moist lashes from fresh tears.

  Chapter Seven

  Winny arrived that Tuesday, screaming for her long-gone companions and shaking the rusty orange gooseneck trailer with each pounding step. The racket was enough to get the attention of the fifteen other horses already living comfortably in Danika's sanctuary. They whinnied shrilly, surely wondering what all the commotion was about.

  “You're alright there, mare,” Chuck called in the trailer with little calming effect. “You're moving into the lap of luxury now.”

  Danika shook his hand and thanked him for driving the distance to drop off Winny. “I've got a lesson in a couple of minutes but Nadia will help you unload.”

  Dr. Swenson pulled up in her kiwi green Prius and stepped out cautiously. “Is that a horse or a bull?” she asked, her stern face neither smiling nor frowning but her eyes wide. I could never read her. If she joked, she didn't smile. If serious, she was intimidating. Really, all of her emotions were the same. Chuckling nervously, I turned my back to her and stepped on the trailer's wheels to peek inside.

  “It's alright, Winny. You'll like it here.” With a wild look, she calmed for a moment to see me reaching my hand in with a sticky, slightly melted sugar cube. She snorted at my hand, ignoring my gift. Obviously, she'd taken the liberty of rolling in the mud again. All of my diligent grooming after our ride had been wrecked. Her lovely bay coat and gleaming trio of socks was disguised underneath layers of crusted mud.

  Chuck wrangled Winny into the dry lot adjacent to the row of horses intensely interested in the newcomer. She raced back and forth, kicking up a cyclone of dirt and bucking wildly every few strides.

  “Best leave her out here tonight,” Chuck commented, his typical twang emphasized by his appearance. His cowboy hat looked like it'd been to more rodeos than days I'd been alive and he'd tied a red bandanna around his neck, accenting the crimson stripe in his plaid shirt.

  “Looks like you got a catch,” Mike laughed as he strolled up, hands casually tucked in his pockets. “Did you buy a warmblood or adopt a brumby?”

  I laughed and playfully punched him in the arm. Winny trotted by, flagging her tail high as a well-bred Arabian. The wild look had started to fade but she still had a few straggling bucks left in her.

  “Looks like she needs a little hoof work,” Mike pointed out. “I can take care of that if you'd like, Nadia.”

  I graciously accepted his offer and felt my heart flutter, gently as the wings of a monarch butterfly.

  Chuck jogged over to excuse himself and tell Danika that he'd see her for sure at the Gallant Meadows event the following spring. “You can count on it,” Danika reassured, giving him a sisterly hug.

  “Shall we?” Mike interrupted my thoughts. He adjusted Winny's halter and pet her forehead. She responded by nuzzling him affectionately, already taking a liking to him.

  She's got good taste, I mused. I took the lead line from Mike and basked in the warm sunlight which finally broke out of the blanket of gray clouds.

  Mike walked the opposite direction to his truck and called back, “Let me grab my farrier tools. We'll trim her feet in the cross ties.”

  I obeyed and led Winny in through the doors and down the aisle. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gretchen in Isis' stall. Standing on her tip-toes, she wrapped her arms lovingly around Chuck's neck. The tenderness of their embrace took me aback. Chuck was a bit too old for Gretchen to flirt with but they were obviously more than acquaintances. Almost like family… I'd never met her parents but I imagined they were snooty and rich and wouldn't be found dead within a hundred miles of Chuck's house.

  I hurried past, pretending I didn't notice their exchange but I couldn't help peeking at the expression on their faces. Gretchen was forlorn. Normally, any indication that her life wasn't magically perfect would have boosted my confidence in justice but for some reason, my heart ached for her. I suppressed it as best I could by focusing on clearing the rubbish from Winny's coat.

  Chuck's boots clanked down the concrete to the door and Gretchen surprised me in my concentrated effort to groom my horse.

  “Wow,” was all she said.

  “Yeah, she likes to roll.” The sorrow I'd felt for her was burned up in my anger at her contempt. “She's quite a horse under all this dirt.”

  Gretchen gave me a massive eye roll and said sarcastically, “We'll see.” Without another word, Gretchen left, kicking up rocks as she peeled away in her BMW.

  “That’s right,” I threatened after she’d gone. “You will see.”

  Chapter Eight

  Winny and I started training immediately. Our lessons were vigorous, leaving us both exhausted and sweating at the end. Summer skipped autumn and tumbled almost immediately into winter, complete with bitterly cold winds, gloomy, drab skies and a mixture of drizzling rain and chaotic flurries. The barn, being as luxurious as it was, was heated to a pleasant sixty degrees which only made it more difficult to venture out in the biting cold to empty manure.

  Mike was a missing person for about a month in October. Danika said he was helping his dad bring in the last of the harvest since the weather wasn't cooperating. In November, I saw him twice but he was preoccupied on clearing snow with the tractor. Fortunately, Danika and Winny kept me too busy to be depressed for long. Besides, I counseled myself repeatedly, he's just a friend. I like horses. Not guys.

  Winny began reflecting her true breeding. Chuck had tracked down her papers and sent them to Danika, who without a doubt approved. I rushed from school every day and completed my chores as fast as possible, stopping all too frequently as I passed Winny to run the body brush over her silky hair and make sure she was comfortable. Her coat began to gleam and her muscles became taut and well-defined. We began appreciating each other's quirks too. I let Winny roll like a pig in the mire after each ride, laughing as she wiggled on her back. She nudged my pocket, knowing I always had carrots, her preferred treat, tucked inside.

  My mom and sister visited often too. They loved doting on Winny, spoiling her with more treats and letting her drag them around the yard in search of the last frozen tufts of grass.

  By January, we had tackled a few four-foot fences to see what Winny had in her. The first time, Winny enjoyed herself so much that she crow-hopped and flung me right out of the saddle into the plywood lining the arena. Realizing her mistake, she sheepishly trotted to me and pleaded forgiveness with a push of her muzzle. I pulled myself up and whispered it was okay, though the fall gave me several softball sized bruises, ranging from black and blue to mustard yellow and green.

  Ms. Diederich visited to watch our progress, though it must have looked pathetic and remedial compared to Gretchen riding circles around me on Isis. She chimed in during lessons, gruffly calling commands. “Lift your right rein to your hip!” she barked. “Catch her with your left leg in your corners!” I obeyed like a dog afraid of her master. Every time I did as she commanded though, it inevitably fixed the problem. To Gretchen, who frequently rode the same time after school as I, she merely commented, “Sehr gut. Isis is looking well.”

  Gretchen would shake out her blond hair and grin. “Ye
s, she is.” I sometimes fantasized about taking a pair of scissors and shearing her hair right down to the scalp. Then life would seem more fair.

  Sliding the door shut on Winny's stall, situated next to Isis', the two mares puffed air at each other through the bars before going back to calmly eating. At least they got along.

  Marching toward me, Ms. Diederich firmly said, “You will be competing in the March schooling show at Clear Pond Farm.” Another non-question. I was competing.

  Feeling my heart hammer against my chest, I shrunk, knowing a protest would only draw a harsh glare.

  “Jumping or dressage?”

  “Dressage. We will start you off with flat work to see how the mare reacts at shows.”

  Danika filled out the forms, entering Winny and I in all three of the first level tests. I cringed, overhearing Gretchen and Danika discussing their plan of action for Isis. They would be in first level, test three with me. My throat went dry and my hands shook, knowing Gretchen was going to cream me. I finished raking up the loose hay and tried to put my mind at ease by wearing my body out. I started with hauling fifty pound bags of sweet feed in from the truck.

  By February, Winny and I began schooling at second level, pushing ourselves so that first level would be child's play by March. Whoever had owned Winny before had done extremely well teaching her manners, or had at least paid someone a lot. I’d even discovered that she was rather adept at flying lead changes. She stood statuesque for her bathing and clipping and loaded without fuss onto the four-horse trailer the day of the show.

  I’d used an entire bottle of whitening shampoo to scrub her yellowed stockings but finally, they glowed a snowy white. I wrapped them carefully in her shipping boots to keep them from being stained again and shrugged at my own purple hands, figuring I could hide the discoloration with gloves when I rode. She was groomed to perfection, ready for competition.

  Isis looked relieved as Winny clomped onto the trailer next to her, though Dodger and Duchess were already loaded. The two mares had taken quite a liking to each other, galloping the big pasture together and grazing the budding grass side by side, pinning their ears if anyone came between them. They might as well have been sisters.

  Gretchen slipped a pair of bug-eyed glasses on and took the copilot position next to Danika, leaving me a sliver of a seat in the rear of the truck. I had to wedge in between a pair of garment bags and wrap my legs around grocery sacks full of snacks. Dr. Swenson drove her Prius, taking the nervous Mr. Johnson with her. I smirked to myself, imagining what on earth they'd talk about the whole time.

  Clear Pond Farm was an hour east, just outside a quaint town my family used to frequent for their pumpkin patch. Dozens of trailers were parked neatly on a flat gravel lot, their horses neighing excitedly between mouthfuls of hay.

  None of us wasted any time. The horses were unloaded and tacked up within half an hour, Danika leading our herd on foot to the warm up ring.

  “Nadia,” Danika instructed, “Your first test is at eleven ten. Dr. Swenson, you're at nine forty-five. Mr. Johnson, ten thirty and Gretchen, eleven thirty.”

  She swung open the gate to the arena and tightened each of our girths as we passed. Everyone else was already mingling with their fellow competitors and their steeds, running through each gait to loosen their horses' muscles and calm their jitters.

  My hands trembled lightly while Danika cinched Winny's girth. “Don't be nervous,” she grabbed my hand. “Winny looks like she might enjoy a bit of competition.” Winny's ears were perked, observing the other beasts. Gretchen was walking Isis by a pretty overo paint with a freckle-splattered redhead mounted on top. There were eight-year-olds on fat, sassy Shetlands, cowgirls turned dressage connoisseurs on their old barrel racing horses, middle-aged mothers on burly draft horse crosses yelling at their rambunctious children in the stands.

  Over the excited murmur, Dr. Swenson shrieked, Duchess refusing to go forward.

  “I'd better go help her,” Danika grinned and rolled her eyes. “Relax your thighs and urge her forward, Dr. Swenson!” she called across the arena.

  I inhaled deeply and held my breath for a minute. Winny looked behind and nipped the end of my boot, as if asking why we were waiting.

  “Alright, girl,” I slapped her neck. “Let's get going.”

  Having an hour before I was in the hole, I watched Dr. Swenson perform a shaky first level test. I applauded as she came out of the ring, beet-red and drenched in sweat. “Well done, Dr. Swenson,” Danika patted her knee. “One down, one to go. It's not so bad, is it?”

  Dr. Swenson scoffed. Surely she thought that test was the hardest thing she'd done her whole life.

  As eleven ten approached, the collar of my polo shirt felt like it was choking me and my underarms became damp with perspiration. The butterflies in my stomach turned to churning waves of nausea and I seriously evaluated whether or not I was cut out for all of this.

  “Number three-oh-two! Nadia Wells!” the steward called. “You're on deck.”

  Mom and Dad hustled over, trailering Selma and Rooney, who bayed long and loud at every moving thing he spied.

  “You made it!” I cried, undecided if it was a relief or a disaster that my family was present. I'd know after I finished.

  “Wouldn't miss my little girl at her first show,” gushed my dad. He stepped back and snapped a photo. My mom dabbed her eyes with a scraggly tissue.

  “Mother,” I whined. “Honestly, you're embarrassing me.”

  I caught Gretchen staring at me. Was that envy in her expression? I'd never seen her parents at the barn and I doubted they'd shown up today.

  “I'm s-s-sorry,” she stuttered. “I'm just s-s-so proud of you!”

  I leaned over and patted her shoulder, more trying to get her quiet than to comfort her. “You'd better go get a seat in the stands. I'm on in about five minutes. Where's Pete?”

  “He's sorry, honey, but he got called into work today,” my dad massaged my mom's shoulder. “He wishes you all the best, though.”

  Danika had found Ms. Diederich and they came over to give Winny and I one last inspection. Ms. Diederich pulled a terry cloth from her pocket and wiped my boots clean, spitting on them to really make them shine.

  “Thanks,” I smiled at her eccentric mannerisms. She left and did the same for Gretchen who patiently waited her turn.

  The judge blew her whistle and tried to summon my courage, stepping Winny into the deep sand of the arena. I vibrated nervously and no matter how many times I told myself to calm, my body completely ignored me.

  I had memorized my test at the insistence of Ms. Diederich but my mind was an empty expanse. I drew a blank and began to panic. My breath was shallow and rapid, my knees clenched tightly to the well-oiled saddle and my heart banged like a bass drum.

  “Centerline!” Danika whispered from behind the gate.

  Winny could sense my nervousness and was getting annoyed. She wagged her head and slapped my boot forcefully with her ebony tail. At X, I halted and tried graciously to acknowledge the judge who stood in the middle of a plastic flower embellished gazebo. An older woman with graying hait bowed her head politely in response to my wobbly salute.

  Bits of the test returned as I approached the letters. C, oh, shoot! Pick up the canter, right lead! I'd scream to myself, or, Dang it, you missed the diagonal before F!

  My circles started off more like squares and Winny's transitions were hesitant, unsure if I was asking her to go or not. The deathly silence of the arena buzzed in my ears and I felt my face flush as I glanced at the crowd, seeing all eyes on me. Rooney had even given up his incessant baying and watched us with perked ears.

  Cantering down the long side, I could not, for the life of me, remember what the last movement was before heading to the center to end my tragic debut.

  “Circle right at H, ten meters!” a voice hissed from the outside rail. In my peripheral vision, I could see Mike, his hands cupped around his mouth.

  I obeyed without
question and Winny balanced herself beautifully around the smoothly rounded circle. She broke into a springing trot and regally marched down the imaginary centerline. I saluted the judge again, who, though occupied dictating notes to her scribe, dismissed me with a bow.

  Exiting the arena, I had a profound understanding why Dr. Swenson had looked so oxygen-deprived after her first test. I sucked in a gulp air, making my head feel as though it might burst. I allowed myself to smile, glad my first test was out of the way, even if it was disastrous.

  Mike strolled over and brushed his hand along Winny's warm neck. “Good job. A few close calls but looks like you finally remembered,” he winked at me.

  “Thanks for saving the day, Mike. I was drawing a blank.”

  “Nerves,” he said casually. “Gets the best of 'em.”

  “But how did you…?”

  “Know what movement came next?” he finished my sentence. “I've been watching the last six riders, waiting for you to take your turn.”

  I looked down to hide my blushing.

  “Mike!” squealed Gretchen. She'd brought her red-headed friend on the paint over to our conversation. I felt a little sick to my stomach looking at the perfect Gretchen atop Isis. They both had vibrant yellow roses pinned on their black and white show attire. “You remember Kristi, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. Of course. You both ridin' today too?”

  “Duh, silly. Why else would we be here?” Gretchen's voice flitted like a songbird, unabashedly flirting. “Are you the farrier on call today?”

  “Yup,” Mike kicked at a stub of dormant grass.

  Gretchen demanded all of the attention wherever she was so I took the cue. “Excuse me,” I muttered, leading Winny away to my family.

  “That was amazing,” my father raved. I thanked him though I knew plenty well that he had no idea how terribly I'd done. Dressage was about as exciting to him as watching paint dry. He was just happy to see his daughter do something she enjoyed.

  Danika looked amused and gave me a one-armed hug. “You will need some improvement but it was not a total disaster,” Ms. Diederich spoke plainly. I gulped, sincerely hoping she was not regretting her investment.