Road to the Regalia (Nadia and Winny Book 2)

by Rachael Eliker

  “Yes, I’m sure. You should see how Winny reacts when she’s around Gloria. It obviously agitates her,” I grumbled. “I’m going to talk to the show manager to see if we can move stalls. The less time I have to be around that Gloria, the better.”

  “If you think it’ll keep Winny calmer, go for it,” Gretchen encouraged. “Honestly though, I haven’t noticed her acting that different. Are you sure she even remembers that Gloria lady? It’s been years since she’s seen her.”

  “Pretty sure,” I said, trying to hide the hurt I felt from Gretchen’s doubt.

  Still in my dove grey breeches and Ariat field boots, I didn’t bother using the gravel paths that wound around Regalia Horse Park and instead marched determinedly over the rolling hills with Winny in tow. I wanted to give her every opportunity to be out of her stall that I could and figuring that Carlos Rodriguez was going to be somewhere horses were, I took my chances.

  “Can I help you?” a mousy lady with large spectacles asked as I walked up to her, seated at the edge of the warm up ring. Judging by the tablet situated on her lap, the badge dangling from a lanyard and the bulky walkie-talkie strapped to her belt, I assumed she was someone in the know.

  “I’d like to speak to the show manager, if he’s available.”

  “Are you a competitor, coach or owner?” the woman asked, glancing over my shoulder at Winny.

  “Competitor. Nadia Wells. I was hoping to get a change of stalls.”

  “Alright,” she said, her face cracking into a cheerful smile that exposed a slight snaggletooth. “Let me check and see if he’s free.”

  She stood up—barely five feet tall—and took a few mincing steps to a trio of other show stewards. When they shrugged their shoulders, unaware of where Carlos was, she pulled out her radio and eventually tracked him down.

  “Mr. Rodriguez will meet you over there,” she pointed to a billowing green awning attached to the outside of the main stadium. I thanked her and Winny and I plodded through the sandy arena to our rendezvous.

  I was watching a beautiful, coppery chestnut and rider perform flawless half passes all over the arena when a voice interrupted my concentration.

  “Ms. Wells?” a smooth, tenor voice asked from behind.

  I jumped slightly at the intrusion to my thoughts and spun around. “Yes, that’s me.”

  Carlos gave me a winning smile of brilliant white teeth and asked, “What can I help you with today, Ms. Wells?”

  “Nadia is fine,” I smiled charmingly. “I came to see you about a, um, situation.” How was I going to explain that my horse didn’t like a rider whose horse was stalled nearby?

  He tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks and leaned against a solid concrete footing of the stadium, crossing one loafer in front of the other. “And what is it exactly?”

  “Well, you see, my horse, Headed for the Win, but well, I call her Winny…” I stammered.

  I peeked from where I kicked small ridges in the sand with the toe of my boot up to his olive-skinned face. Carlos didn’t look impressed. I sighed and spit it all out.

  “My horse is stalled near her former owner—Gloria Reed—and I’m concerned it will cause her stress due to the nature of their parting. It wasn’t on good terms.”

  Carlos stared silently, betraying only slightly with raised eyebrows that he thought I was nuts.

  He cleared his throat, “If I remember correctly, this is your first time at this level of competition, is that right?”

  I nodded. “It’s a dream come true.”

  “If I may, I’d like to give you a bit of advice. Most people who haven’t been on the circuit long enough don’t know that the horse world is just as much, if not more, about relationships between people as they are about the relationship between horse and rider. To make accusations about your fellow riders is a slippery slope that might have you wishing you’d grinned and bore it in the first place. Gloria is a serious competitor undoubtedly but she is also an effective horsewoman who is well-loved by her fans.”

  My blood ran cold. He thought I was being ridiculous and rash. “I don’t doubt it’s a sensitive issue, but I’m also concerned about the emotional well-being of my horse—“

  He cut me off. “Let’s not make horses more than they are. They’re beautiful, graceful, powerful, but projecting human emotions onto them is a figment of many people’s imaginations. They’re animals, after all.”

  My mind was totally blank. I had imagined my plight going so much better in my head and that Winny would move stalls without question. His posture and unblinking stare indicated the conversation was over.

  “Besides,” Carlos pushed himself away from the stadium wall and dusted off his hands, “there aren’t any stalls available. The entire horse park is full of competitors and the horses who will be helping wrangle any runaways. I’m sorry, Ms. Wells, but we won’t be able to help you.”

  I muttered a thank you and turned Winny on a dime, rushing away before the stinging tears had a chance to spill over. “Best of luck to you!” Carlos called from behind me.

  I headed back to Winny’s stall, stomping my boots into the sod. My tears had dried up and I was left with the bitter feeling of helplessness and frustration. Within sight of the barns, I heard someone calling my name.

  “Hey! Nadia!” Katie Welsh trotted up to my side and shoved a plastic plateful of nachos smothered in gooey cheese sauce under my nose. “Want some?”

  I’d met Katie when she’d arrived the day after us and brought her little Connemara into the stall kitty-corner to our mares. He was adorable and definitely a ladies man, always calling out with a robust neigh whenever anyone left. We became fast friends when I told her I had a soft spot for Connemaras. Katie was petite, barely tipping the scales at a hundred ten pounds and fitting nicely atop her fine-boned, little over 15.3 hands mount. Though she was hilarious and as sweet as humanly possible, when she was on Speeding Bullet, she was all business. I had no doubt she and her gelding were going to give the sizeable warmbloods and Thoroughbreds a run for their money.

  “Thanks,” I grabbed a chip stuffed it into my mouth. “How’s Bullet been handling being here?”

  Katie waved her hand dismissively and said, “He’s a pro. His former owner had him here a couple times, but for less advanced shows. He’s always been a talker, too, so him neighing at every horse that passes is really nothing new.”

  “That’s good. I couldn’t imagine trying to handle a horse who’s a spaz at show, on top of the stress of competing.”

  We chit-chatted all the way back to the stable, finished off the spicy nachos and laughed so hard that my stomach muscles ached. The anger and embarrassment I’d nursed leaving Carlos had been pushed to the back of my mind.

  “Is that…?” Katie pointed to a man straddling a rumbling Harley Davidson, signing autographs for a group of bouncy, squealing women.

  Gretchen jogged down the hill, slightly breathless, beaming widely. “Harvey Freeman just showed up.” I’d almost forgotten how much Gretchen loved gossip and drama. In a lot of ways, she was the same girl as when we first met.

  “Oh, yeah?” I said, unimpressed. “What took him so long? Everyone else has been busting their hind end for half a week.”

  “He was off at a CCI Three Star in Europe on an up-and-coming horse owned by some wealthy politician’s family,” Gretchen explained. “Besides, he’s already dominated this show a couple of times, remember?”

  “Right,” I raised my eyebrows, determined to be unimpressed.

  Gretchen scoffed playfully. “You’re impossible, Nadia.”

  “What?”

  Katie chimed in. “Have you looked at him? He’s a hottie.”

  “She only has eyes for Mike,” Gretchen laughed. “She probably wouldn’t notice another handsome guy if she tripped over one.”

  “Oh, geez. Forgive me for being in a committed relationship,” I said sarcastically. Still, I was curious to get a better l
ook. I glanced over my shoulder to see what all the excitement was about. Harvey was staring right at me. They were right—he was handsome. Between his pale jade eyes, ruddy hair, bronzed skin and newly sprouted facial stubble, I could see where the attraction was. Our eyes made contact and he winked.

  My heart skipped a beat.

  Chapter Six

  “Gosh, he’s good looking,” Katie gushed as she flicked bits of hay and shavings off Bullet, watching over his back as Harvey walked down the hill toward the show office. “Don’t you think so, Skylar?”

  Skylar did her best not to speak when Gretchen and I were present—probably feeling outnumbered—but Katie’s eager friendliness was contagious. “Yeah,” she tried to hide a smirk. “I’m sure just about every other woman in the vicinity thinks so too.”

  “Still, one can dream,” Katie giggled. “He probably loves himself more than anyone, though.” She tilted her head back and let out a wicked laugh.

  Gretchen checked the clock on her phone. “We’ve got to go, Nadia. Time to walk the cross country course.”

  The heavy lump that had nestled in the bottom of my stomach gave a bubbling lurch. I nodded. It wasn’t that I was dreading cross country—I loved galloping with Winny through open country, especially when we leapt impossibly high, wide jumps. It was the spectators I wasn’t looking forward to. Thousands of eyes watching me at every turn, secretly hoping I’d fall so they could have a good show, and, if they were lucky, catch a fantastic photo. Fans usually made me nervous like that, and as I’d advanced in the ranks of eventing, there were inevitably more and more of them.

  The start box was a good mile from the barn but I didn’t mind stretching my legs. It was the first day we’d been given the go-ahead to walk the course. The designer and one of the technical delegates had an argument earlier in the week about jump fifteen and whether or not it was too risky for horse and rider. The designer won. He brought out a tape measure and, to the centimeter, the jump fell within the parameters of no higher than three foot eleven.

  In the distance, next to the start, were Ms. Diederich and Danika. Other than our daily lessons, I hadn’t seen much of them. They were busy keeping up with the politics of the horse world—chatting with other trainers, browsing the newest tack at the vendors, studying the competition. Though they were both at least twice my age, I could barely keep up with their social schedule.

  “Ah, you’ve made it,” Danika smiled pleasantly. She turned from the man she was talking to and as she peeked over his shoulder, he turned too. Carlos.

  I almost missed the nearly imperceptible glare that crossed his face when his eyes landed on me. Suddenly, I felt parched. Carlos didn’t seem to have forgotten our conversation and he wasn’t too happy to see me. I discretely wiped the sweat from my palms onto my jeans.

  “Gretchen? Nadia? Have you met Carlos Rodriguez yet?” Danika introduced us.

  Gretchen reached out her hand and gave a firm handshake and a fetching smile. “Nice to meet you. All ready for the show?”

  “Ready or not,” Carlos laughed lightly.

  “This is Nadia Wells,” Danika gestured to me.

  Carlos mechanically extended his hand to me and simply said, “We’ve had the pleasure already.”

  I couldn’t find anything to add to the friendly banter so I focused on holding a smile though my insides were twisted in knots. I hated the thought of people hating me.

  “If you’ll excuse me ladies,” Carlos said with a polite nod. “I see someone I need to speak to.” He marched away with his shoulders squared and back straight to where Gloria and Skylar stood on a hill, studying their course map.

  “The course will not come to us,” Ms. Diederich said, climbing back into the golf cart. “Let us go and meet it.”

  Danika sped off, taking one turn around the warm up area and by the start box while Ms. Diederich reviewed the imperative information for the course. “Optimum time is eleven minutes, twenty-five seconds. For a sixty-five hundred meter course, that’s five hundred and seventy meters per minute. A very hearty gallop but enough time to think about the jumps before you attack them.”

  The first few jumps were straightforward and anything but spectacular. They were plain and an unassuming introduction to the course. Danika pointed out the frangible pin system found in most of the jumps, reassuring us that if we did fall, more often than not, the obstacle would absorb our momentum.

  “But do not think of falling,” Ms. Diederich warned. “You will have no sympathy from me.” I stole a glance at Gretchen who was also smirking at her grandmother’s straightforwardness.

  We drove along the gently sloping terrain to the third jump. A hammock, though made out of wood, appeared to be flapping in the breeze. One side was higher, the other lower and the jump was placed right after the crest of the hill, a strategic move on the course designer’s part. If a rider wasn’t readying his horse, it would be a surprise as they came over the top of the hill, providing plenty of space for a costly run out.

  I tried hard to concentrate but the next few obstacles went by in a blur. Why was Carlos glaring at me? Or was I just reading into things too much? Why did Skylar leave Danika’s barn? Did I really have a shot at finishing this magnificent but intimidating cross country course?

  “Nadia, I asked you a question!” Ms. Diederich snapped.

  “I’m sorry, I was…” I trailed off. There would be no excusing my lack of focus. “What was the question?”

  “What will be the challenge for this water jump combination?” she repeated carefully.

  I studied the triple set of jumps. “The lighting?” I said, my answer coming out as a question.

  Ms. Diederich pursed her lips and nodded. “That is certainly one factor,” she conceded. “Gretchen?”

  “This is the first spot where we’ll encounter a large crowd,” Gretchen said, playfully slapping her golden hair into my face for effect. “It’s also the line of the jumps, which isn’t quite straight.”

  “Very good, Gretchen,” Ms. Diederich complimented her granddaughter. “Here you will be confronted with a great deal of people. Now is not the time for stage fright. You must stay focused.”

  “Jump 7A in particular is sneaky. This tree will block your horses’ line of sight,” Danika brushed her hand around the rough trunk of a cottonwood and continued, “so it’s safer to come in a little wider.” She pulled out a tape measure and measured down the opposite side of the jump. “That drop is nothing to be messed with either.”

  Gretchen and I put our hands on the solid top rail of the jump and leaned over. While the jump itself was only slightly higher than three feet, it was an additional stretch down into the water.

  We slogged out to the middle of the small pond where someone had masterfully carved and stained a massive hunk of lumber into an arching trout, beautiful if it were merely a piece of art but as an obstacle, would definitely be something the horses would give a second look. After plunging into the water, horse and rider had to work quickly to get into the correct line with the trout. If they didn’t, it was very likely they’d have a run out.

  Danika coached us on all the challenges I’d already perceived. “Keep Isis and Winny focused here. It’ll be imperative for avoiding refusals.” Gretchen and I nodded obediently, and I mentally gave myself a pat on the back for my astuteness.

  Ms. Diederich met us at the final jump of the combination, bringing the golf cart around for us to climb in after examining, measuring, counting steps, taking photos and jotting down notes in our journals. I kicked the water and gravel from my feet and wriggled my damp feet into my socks and shoes.

  My stomach grumbled as we pushed into the noon hour and I grabbed a granola bar from my backpack. Lunch would be postponed until we were finished with the course, and we were only approaching the fourteenth obstacle.

  We left a skinny but high tangle of smooth logs and sped over the hill to fifteen. Once I spotted it, chills ran down my spine. I
t was massive. I’d seen it drawn on the map but approaching it in person was completely different. Though it was really only a fallen log, it had been stripped of bark and branches, sanded smooth and lovingly coated with several generous layers of polyurethane. Stepping out of the golf cart, I walked to the once-proud tree that still had some of the tangled roots attached. I didn’t pay them much attention—they were outside the red and white flagged jump area and other than potentially spooking a horse, weren’t a real concern. The jump was not only the maximum height, but almost twice as wide as the height. It was obvious there was no frangible pin system in this one. A horse skidding to a stop and an unbalanced rider flying over its ears would be met with a hard crash into a very unforgiving piece of timber.

  Danika walked backward like a tour guide, coaching us around to the other side. She didn’t see the person behind her, bent over, rummaging through a bag.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Danika apologized as soon as she bumped into her. “Let me help you—” Immediately, her face was as white as a sheet. “Skylar,” she barely whispered.

  Skylar gave Danika a chilling glare. “Surprised to see me?” was all Skylar managed to get out.

  Gloria strode towards us, counting paces back from the sixteenth jump. When she finally looked up and saw Danika and Skylar locked in a silent battle, she loosed a vicious laugh. “Well, well. Isn’t this awkward?”

  Danika’s smoky eyes flitted from Skylar to Gloria and back again. “We were bound to run into each other sometime or another.”

  Gloria chuckled again. “What better place than here?”

  After a moment, Danika said, “If you’ll excuse us.”

  Danika herded us all into the cart and zoomed away. Gloria went back to mapping out her cross country ride without another glance in our direction. Skylar, though, glowered at us with her arms folded over her stomach, watching until we were out of sight.

  “Hey!” cried Gretchen as we sped past a twin pair of slender corner jumps after the log. “Why aren’t we stopping?”