Double Standards (Show Jumping Dreams ~ Book 20)

by Claire Svendsen

  “They don’t know you yet,” I said. “Give it some time.”

  I was trying to be nice to her. I felt like we’d sort of got off on the wrong foot. I’d been all frazzled about my father being injured and felt a little betrayed that someone was going to come in and essentially steal his clients but now I could see the sorry state my father was in, I knew that it was for the benefit of everyone that someone took his place temporarily because he wasn’t going to be teaching any time soon.

  “Perhaps if people actually saw you ride,” I told her. “Popcorn needs weekly tune ups or she starts dumping the lesson kids off and I haven’t had time to ride her yet. You want to take her out for a spin? Get your feet wet?”

  I had to admit that part of me was dying to see her ride too. My suspicious mind told me that she wasn’t as good as she pretended to be but I was hoping that she would prove me wrong. We needed her to be good now.

  “What, that tubby Appaloosa with the scrubby mane?” she said, pointing to Popcorn’s stall. “I’d much rather ride that one.” She pointed to where Canterbury stood, his chestnut coat gleaming like polished copper in the one ray of sun that came into his stall.

  “No one rides that one,” I said. “At least not for right now anyway.”

  “Well how about him?” She pointed to Socks.

  “Look, you’d really be helping me out if you rode Popcorn,” I told her.

  Just then Missy appeared.

  “Meme,” Sandy cried.

  “Sands,” Missy replied.

  They hugged and then started jumping up and down like two little kids who’d just been reunited at summer camp. At least now I was sure that Sandy was who she said that she was and not some sort of impostor. I felt awkward standing there watching them and they’d pulled away and started talking really fast and I couldn’t understand half of what they were talking about anyway so I went to tack Bluebird up.

  It was the first time I’d ridden him since the show and I figured we’d just take it easy. There were a couple of low gymnastic exercises set up in the ring so we worked on the flat for a while and then I hopped him over them. He seemed eager to be back to work and not too tired. But the next show was only weeks away and I had to find a balance between keeping him in shape and not pushing him too hard so that he burned out. That was part of the challenge of the Talent Scout series, the fact that the shows were placed close together and both horse and riders had to pace themselves.

  “Good boy,” I said after Bluebird had done both exercises perfectly.

  I was letting him walk on a loose rein when I saw Missy and Sandy come by. Missy was on Socks and Sandy was on Hashtag.

  “Hey,” I yelled out, trotting Bluebird over. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Riding,” Sandy said with a sigh, looking at me like I was some annoying little kid.

  “You can’t ride that horse, he’s mine,” I said.

  “Another one that is yours?” Sandy said in a patronizing kind of voice. “You know you can’t hog them all.”

  “Seriously,” I said. “Missy, you know that Dad bought him for me.”

  “He brought him in for the farm,” Missy said, frowning at me like I shouldn’t be making a fuss and showing her up in front of her friend.

  “No,” I said. “He didn’t. He’s not a lesson horse. He’s for me to compete on.”

  “Well we’re not giving a lesson right now,” Sandy said. “So scram.”

  “Missy,” I cried. “It’s not fair.”

  “You have lots of other horses to ride,” she said. “It won’t kill you to let someone else ride them some of the time. Besides, Sandy knows what she’s doing.”

  Then they just walked off, Sandy with her stirrups too long and her reins too short.

  “I hope he dumps you off into poison oak,” I grumbled under my breath because other than going up to her and trying to physically pull her off my horse, there didn’t seem much else I could do about it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  I put Bluebird away and went back up to the house, fuming. Who did Sandy think she was? And what was Missy playing at? I didn’t tell Sandy that she could ride Socks, although now I felt like I should have because Missy had basically betrayed me in the worst way possible. She hadn’t even asked me first. And Hashtag was damaged goods. I was still trying to figure out why he wouldn’t jump and I didn’t need some air head like Sandy ruining him even further.

  Inside the house was dark, the blinds tightly closed against the raging sun. Dad was on the couch, his broken ankle propped up on pillows. He had the remote clutched tightly in his hand and there was car racing on the TV but he was fast asleep, his snores gently rising and falling with his chest. I stood there looking at him, wondering how he could seem so peaceful in his sleep and yet so mad when he was awake. I thought about trying to rouse him but only for one second. It wasn’t worth the wrath I would endure. Instead I fiddled about in the kitchen, making him something to eat so that he wouldn’t have to try and navigate getting around the kitchen on crutches. I put his favorite ham and pickle in between two thick slices of bread and poured a glass of milk. Then I set it on the table next to him. I was just turning to leave when the remote fell from his hand and clattered onto the floor. His eyes flashed open.

  “Hey Dad,” I said softly. “I made you a sandwich.”

  “What?” he said groggily.

  “A sandwich?” I said. “You know you can’t take those pills on an empty stomach.”

  “Right,” he said, sitting up and popping open the bottle. He swallowed one with the milk and then lay back down.

  “You have to try and eat something,” I said. “I can make you something else if you like.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, closing his eyes.

  “Dad,” I said, figuring he seemed placid enough right now that I could talk to him without getting into trouble. “Do you know about Sandy, Missy’s friend?”

  I wasn’t sure if he knew about her at all and wondered if this was something that Missy had done behind his back but he nodded.

  “She’s here to help,” he said. “Be nice to her.”

  “I am,” I said. “But Missy is letting her ride Hashtag and he’s my horse, isn’t he?”

  He opened his eyes and looked at me. I thought they looked red and a little blood shot.

  “Have you jumped the horse yet?” he said.

  “No,” I said slowly, looking at my feet. “He’s not ready yet.”

  “Because he won’t jump for you,” Dad said. “You are not aggressive enough and maybe he will jump for Sandy because she is.”

  “But Dad,” I said, starting to feel desperate. “I was giving him time. Easing him into it. After all that time with Jess of course he was going to be all screwed up. You know what she does to her horses. I was taking my time. That’s the way I do things. You can’t rush him and it’s not fair to let someone who doesn’t even know him or his history ride him and ruin him even more.”

  “You don’t know that she is going to ruin him,” Dad said with a sigh.

  “And you don’t know that she won’t,” I said. “He’s my horse.”

  “No,” Dad said. “He’s my horse and if you won’t ride him the way I want, I’ll give him to someone who will.”

  I knew it. I knew that he thought that way. The horses he bought and gave me to train, they were never really mine. Not even Arion, who had been a gift. The only one who was really mine was Bluebird. I thought about the money I had saved and knew it wasn’t enough to buy them all from my father. Maybe I could afford to pay him for Four, who was cheap anyway and possibly Arion but I’d never have the money to pay him for Hashtag. I backed away from my father, who was already almost asleep again. Maybe it was just the drugs talking. He probably wouldn’t even remember what he’d said later after all this was over but it didn’t stop his words from stabbing my heart over and over again as they rang around in my head.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  It wasn’t ju
st the horses I had to worry about either, it was Bandit, the escape artist. Any time one of the grooms went into his stall to clean it, he ducked in-between their legs and ran away, cantering through the barn to the delighted squeal of lesson kids and sneaking under the fence to romp with his big horse pals in the large field. It was hopeless. He literally couldn’t be contained and had free run of the barn already. That was until Missy saw him.

  “What is that?” she said with her hands on her hips.

  She’d come back from her ride with Sandy seeming much more superior than usual. Maybe it was because she was trying to show Sandy that she was in charge, or show off or something but she had for the most part always been nice to me and now she was being a little cold and condescending. She hadn’t even apologized for letting Sandy ride Hashtag and he hadn’t bucked her off or anything so that didn’t help either. She obviously could ride, even if they did only walk around the farm.

  “That is Bandit,” I said. “The wonder pony.”

  “He’s not a pony, he’s a miniature horse, isn’t he?” Missy said. “And that still doesn’t explain why he is here, getting my lesson group all over excited.”

  “He was a present,” I said. “From Jordan.”

  “Oh,” Missy said.

  I knew that she couldn’t exactly say much. She’d been the one who had encouraged me to go out on a date with Jordan to the fair in the first place. She was the one who told my father that it would be good for me. She couldn’t exactly turn around and say that now it wasn’t.

  “But what are you going to do with him?” she said.

  “I don’t know.” I sighed as Bandit ran off across the field, the horses following behind him like a herd of sheep. “He’s fitting right in though.”

  “Until he gets kicked in the head,” Missy said.

  But Bandit didn’t get kicked in the head. In fact he seemed to know how to take care of himself better than we did. He came in when he was too tired or hot, leaving his horse friends behind and coming into the tack room to stand in front of the giant fan we kept in there. Later, when I couldn’t find him, I discovered him sleeping in the corner of the room on a pile of blankets that had been taken down to be fixed before the next winter. I think he pretty much thought he was a dog. But whatever he was, he seemed happy and everyone seemed happy to have him around. A little barn mascot who was slightly annoying and yet whose cuteness made up for it. Of course most people managed to contain their excitement, which kept the little guy’s ego in check, except for Faith. She went crazy.

  “Oh my goodness, he’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she screamed as soon as she saw him.

  She went running over to where he was standing in the middle of the barn aisle watching everyone and enveloped him in a big hug. He closed his eyes and lapped it up like he was made for hugging.

  “Where did you get him?” she cried.

  “He was a gift,” I said.

  I was starting to think that this was Jordan’s intention. To make it so that I had to keep telling everyone over and over again who gave me the horse.

  “From who?” she asked, her eyes big.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I told Faith. “He’s here now.”

  “Can I play with him?” she asked.

  “Knock yourself out,” I said.

  “Awesome. Come on Bandit,” she said, grabbing hold of his halter.

  He followed her outside like a large dog.

  “Which jumper class are you going to put him in?” Ethan said. “The mini Grand Prix?”

  “Very funny.” I sighed.

  But at least Bandit took everyone’s attention off my father who was so obviously absent. When I went back to the house he was still asleep but the sandwich plate was empty so at least he had eaten something. And with him being stuck inside, it was going to be a while before he found out about Bandit, which was just as well as I was pretty sure he was going to make me get rid of him as well.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Sandy started teaching lessons and I kept a watchful eye on her. So far she only had the beginners and she couldn’t really mess them up since they were only learning how to post at the trot anyway but I still didn’t trust her.

  “How do you know Sandy again?” I asked Missy.

  She was in the office, trying to sort out the feed order. My father had given her some of the information but it had been spotty and she was left scrambling through the filing cabinets like I had been before we ran out of hay and grain.

  “Up in New Jersey,” she said. “We were at the same barn.”

  “And you competed on the same circuit?” I said. “In the same classes?”

  “Well we would have but her mare was never really sound,” Missy said absentmindedly.

  “But you have seen her jump and compete and win?”

  Missy sat back on her heels and looked at me. “What are you trying to say? That she can’t ride? That she isn’t a good trainer?”

  “I don’t know what kind of trainer she is,” I said. “But I know what kind of person she is and you don’t just swoop in and steal other people’s horses to ride.”

  “I told her it was okay,” Missy said with a sigh.

  “Well you shouldn’t have,” I said. “It was wrong and you know it. You didn’t even ask me.”

  “Emily I don’t have time for this,” she waved me away with her hand. “Go and do something useful.”

  “I will,” I mumbled under my breath.

  And I went and tacked up Hashtag so that Sandy couldn’t get any ideas about riding him when she was done with her lessons.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Hashtag didn’t seem any worse for wear after Sandy had ridden him, which I was glad and mad about all at the same time. I mean I was happy that she hadn’t ruined him but it also meant that I couldn’t yell at her and tell her that she was never allowed to touch him again because she’d messed him up.

  I took him out to the jump field and worked him on the flat for a bit loosening him up. He tossed his head a couple of times but generally seemed happy and supple. There didn’t seem like there was anything physical that would make him not want to jump.

  The jumps were low today and I was prepared. I had a crop and I’d worn my spurs. Was it possible that my father was right? Had I just not been aggressive enough with him? I thought that by babying him I was doing him a favor but maybe he just needed some direction instead.

  “Alright,” I said as we cantered toward a small cross rail. “Let’s do this.”

  We had impulsion. Hashtag was in front of my leg. He was cantering on at a nice steady pace. The cross rail was nothing. He could step over it if he wanted to. Instead he cantered right up to the base and then slammed on the brakes just like Canterbury had done at the show. I flew up his neck but thankfully not over his head.

  “Oh no you don’t,” I said.

  I used my hands and legs to force him to step over the small jump and when he reluctantly did I lathered him with praise and pats even though he’d done something that was so easy that he shouldn’t have needed any encouragement at all.

  I circled him again, hoping this time he would see that the jump was easy but he did the same thing. Each time I had to coax him over the tiny jump and no matter how many times I tried, he wouldn’t go over it without stopping first. I used my crop to tap his rump, my spurs to reinforce my legs but nothing worked.

  “I give up,” I said, letting the reins go slack on his neck. “Maybe you do need to see the vet after all.”

  Hashtag wasn’t lame but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something physical causing him to not want to jump. Some pain somewhere that we didn’t know about. But mystery pains sent vets off on courses of exploratory diagnostics that cost a lot of money. Money that right now we didn’t really have. I knew that if one of the horses was sick and needed the vet they would get it but I was also pretty sure that my father wasn’t about to spend potentially thousands of dollars chasing an ailment that we didn’t
even know existed.

  “What am I going to do with you?” I asked the big bay horse.

  The annoying thing was that he looked great. His weight was good and his coat had a healthy shine, and except for when I asked him to jump, his ears were pricked and he enjoyed his work. But how much longer would he enjoy it if I kept forcing him to do something he clearly didn’t want to do?

  My next horse wasn’t much better either. I decided to take Four out and do the same exercises with him. He got all wide eyed at the cross rail and tried to duck out but at least he didn’t slam on the brakes and come to a complete stop. He also got pats and lots of praise and by the time I was done with him, my western rescue project horse was cantering over a course of small jumps just like Hashtag should have been, although that was probably just because Four wasn’t very fit and fighting me was too tiring. It was easier to give in and do the work and then be done and I rewarded Four with a sugar lump from my pocket which he reached around and took from my hand, looking rather pleased with himself. I was just happy that today at least, he’d forgotten all about rearing.

  “Very nice,” Sandy said.

  She’d been standing by the gate watching me. I’d seen her there and been ignoring her but I’d left my bottle of water on the fence and I couldn’t ignore her any longer as I was so thirsty that my throat felt like sand paper.

  “He’s still learning,” I said, gulping down mouthfuls of water. “We sort of rescued him.”

  “Well he’s coming along nicely then,” she said, giving me a sickly sweet smile.

  Today she was wearing electric blue breeches and a neon yellow shirt. Her color choices left a lot to be desired. If my father had been up on his feet he would have told her to tone it down a little but Missy obviously hadn’t bothered to say that at Fox Run we sort of had a dress code that was professional riding attire. I didn’t think electric blue and neon yellow said professional but then again I didn’t think Sandy had a professional bone in her body.