by E. J. Noyes
“Really? But you do such a great job here with us.” Dewey’s head rocketed over the lower half-door at our approach. Caitlyn offered him something from her pocket then pushed him backward so we could enter his stall.
“I’m trying.” I pushed my hand underneath Dewey’s neck blanket and scratched his mane, and he reacted with a lip curling head bob of enjoyment. “This guy seems happy enough with me.” Dew turned his head to nuzzle my arm in the equine version of Thanks for the scratch, let me reciprocate.
“We all are,” she said. As if regretting what’d just come out of her mouth, she backed away and started checking the feed and water buckets.
Something had obviously spooked her and turned her from relaxed and chatty to twitchy and anxious. “Do you ever get nervous? About riding I mean.”
“Mhmm, of course. Not while I’m actually riding though. When I’m on his back, everything just feels like it’s meant to be.” She snorted. “Sorry, that came out like an inspirational quote.”
“No, I get it.” I leaned against the wall, deliberately keeping myself out of her space. Dewey, having frisked us both for treats again and coming up short, returned to his hay in the corner.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just thinking about my own anxiety with my short-lived career in horse competitions.” I grinned. “I used to get so nervous before and even during that I felt like puking or peeing, or both.”
Caitlyn took two steps forward, bringing her back into my personal space. “I remember feeling like that as a kid. But everything felt so much bigger when I was younger, beyond me and my control. My anxiety isn’t about me or Dewey. It’s about everything else. Everyone else,” she admitted in a small voice.
“What d’you mean?”
“External expectations can be a crushing weight. I have so much to worry about all the time and that doesn’t even take into account the actual riding and training part of my job.” It seemed as if she regretted blurting out her inner thoughts, and I hoped she felt comfortable enough with me to know that not only did I want to know these private things, but that she could trust me to hold them close and keep them secret.
“That makes total sense. I get it. I empathize. Expectation was where most of my anxiety came from in Pony Club. Because I knew that it was costing my parents money they didn’t really have or want to spend, and I’d begged rides to the competitions so I always felt like I had to do well to prove that I wasn’t ungrateful.” My smile felt rueful. “And I rarely did well.”
“My mom reminded me of something yesterday.” She paused. “Do you remember when we rode that pas de deux?”
I exhaled. “Yes, I remember. All of it.” When Caitlyn had asked me if I remembered Antoinette, my surprise that she didn’t recall we’d ridden a competitive class as a partnership had felt smothering, as if I remembered every moment where it seemed she’d remembered nothing.
“Why did you agree to it if things between us weren’t…” Her forehead wrinkled. “Friendly?”
“Because it was you,” I said matter-of-factly. My voice dropped until it sounded soft and wistful. “You know our first-place trophies? Mine sits on my bookshelf where I can see it every day. I remember how hard we worked on choreographing it all, choosing music, how it felt to ride next to you and feel like we were so in sync with each other. I remember how for those few hours every week when you met me at the Pony Club to practice I felt like I could just be me without the others in the way of me wanting to be your friend.”
The edges of her mouth turned down. “I’d forgotten that part. I’ve been so focused on the other stuff that it never occurred to me to think of times that were just normal.”
“Normal.” I nodded slowly. “That about sums it up. Those tiny moments made me feel like maybe you didn’t actually dislike me as much as I thought you did.” I had to force back unexpected tears.
“I didn’t dislike you. I just didn’t like the way you—” She cut herself off. Shaking her head, Caitlyn tried again. “I have a proposition for you. Two really.”
My eyebrows jumped up. “Really? And what would those be exactly?”
“First, I’d like to move on from that time in Pony Club. It doesn’t matter now. And it’s not helpful to what we’re trying to do here.”
I felt like someone had released a pressure valve, and tried not to seem as relieved as I felt. “I’d like that too. Very much. But, I do want you to know that I’m sorry for how I was, how I treated you and made you feel when I was being a shit. I don’t know how to explain the nuances of my teen self’s behavior now, but if I could just say that what I was trying to say back then wasn’t coming out the way I meant for it to come out, at all.”
“Noted. And thank you.” She smiled shyly. “Consider your apology accepted.”
A chunk of the tension I’d been holding on to since we’d met broke off and fell away. “Thanks. And the second thing?”
Caitlyn exhaled the word. “Friendship.”
“Friendship,” I mused, trying to sound relaxed and casual though my heart was pounding like a jackhammer at the possibility. “I think I’d like that even more.”
Chapter Eleven
Caitlyn
Poor Wren had caught a cold that turned from mild discomfort and sniffling and sneezing to a raging head cold. She’d been staying away from me as much as possible, which, considering the close quarters of our truck accommodation, was no easy feat and had been mumbling that now would be the time my usually robust immune system couldn’t hold out as it usually did. She was insufferable, shooing me away whenever I came within five feet of her, telling me to sanitize my hands and even going as far as wearing a bandanna around her nose and mouth. I’d never seen her this paranoid about me getting sick, though to be fair we’d never been in the lead-up to Olympic selection, but her behavior was starting to fray my nerves.
As for Addie… She and I were not quite ships in the night, but close. There’d been a sort of softness about our interactions, as if she felt less guarded talking to me, and I wondered if it was her, me, or our agreement on friendship. But given our general busyness, the only time I really spoke to her was during Dew’s morning and evening checkups and those conversations were strictly professional. Still, even if we weren’t talking, I’d often find her nearby like she’d materialized from nowhere. Having her quietly going about her business in the background and knowing she was there lent a solid comfort to a time tinged with uncertainty.
The morning of my first test in Rotterdam, the Grand Prix, Wren had dialed herself down from a ten to an eight-point-five and was borderline bearable. I’d drawn late morning in the riding order, which suited me and Dew perfectly. It would give him time to settle after breakfast—God help us all if he didn’t feel he’d had a fair go at eating—then be prepped for our test without rushing. While Wren dealt with Dew over at the huge complex holding the stalls, I put on some music and had my usual chill-out dance party in the truck before getting dressed.
White breeches with my lucky belt, lucky rainbow socks and long black boots polished to a high shine, spurs set just right with straps tucked, my shirt and stock tie with the diamante bar pin in it. I shrugged into my Team USA tails, smoothed my sky-blue with red-bound collar and carefully buttoned myself up. After a quick glance in the mirror to make sure my makeup was spot on—as in it would make sure the judges could see I had a face but wouldn’t look like I was wearing any makeup—I spritzed my hair and bun with hairspray and left the truck with my helmet and gloves tucked under my arm.
As I walked, I pulled down the tongues of the sky-blue vest under the tails so they sat perfectly over my belt buckle. When I came close to where Wren held Dewey, I could see she’d pinned a piece of paper to her shirt that proclaimed in thick block lettering I HAVE A COLD. Oh for crying out loud.
I put my helmet on. “Bit close there aren’t you, Typhoid Mary?”
“I’m not breathing, not even behind my safety mask. Five-feet perimeter!” Wren was the ep
itome of pathetic, blocked-up discomfort.
“You’re holding my horse. I kind of need to be where he is. That’s what dressage is about. A person rides a horse.” I looked Dew over as I pulled on my white gloves, carefully seating my fingers. “He looks amazing as always.” My tack gleamed and Dew shone with health—his dappled coat so glossy I could have checked my makeup in it, his mane divided into ten perfect button braids, and his thick tail fluffed. I gave everything a quick once-over. Though I trusted Wren completely, checking the saddle and the two bits in Dew’s mouth was more a superstition than anything. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Wren made no move to help me mount nor did she move when, exasperated, I told her I’d just mount myself. She cleared her throat. “No, you can’t do that. Maybe we could grab Mary or Ian? They’re over at the warm-up arena. Or just nab someone to help.” She looked around. Then around again. “Um…”
I was not going to ask someone to do something my groom was perfectly capable of doing, especially not Mary or Ian right before a test when their energy would clash with mine. “Wren,” I sighed, stuffing my annoyance into a corner. “I need to get on him. Now. A cold isn’t going to kill me.” Not that I wanted one, but I was fairly confident that if I got hers it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
“It might. I’ve been sanitizing everything, but…” she trailed off, a shrug ending the sentence for her.
“Have you Lysol-ed my horse?”
“No,” she mumbled. “Couldn’t find any.” The creases at the corners of her eyes told me she was smiling behind her mask. Seemed the cold hadn’t squashed all her humor.
Addie appeared out of nowhere. “I must strongly advise against spraying anything resembling Lysol on a horse.” Her smile reached her eyes as she studied Wren who was still keeping her distance—no easy feat given she was holding the thing I needed to mount. “What’s this? A standoff? That bandanna makes you look like a bandit, Wren.”
I poked Wren with the end of my whip. “She won’t let me mount my horse on my own, nor will she straighten my stock tie and pin or give me a boost because she thinks she’s going to give me her plague.”
“Ah. That wouldn’t be great.” Addie’s gaze slid over my body before coming back to meet my eyes, which felt as wide as plates at her blatant checking out. When she realized she’d been caught, her eyes matched mine for size. Addie cleared her throat. “For many reasons.”
“Exactly,” Wren agreed.
Addie looked from Wren to me. “Is there anythin’ I can do to help?”
“Yes,” Wren said at the same time I said, “No thanks.”
I threw my hands up. “Don’t mind me, you two. I’m just here to ride the horse.”
“We won’t,” Addie said cheerfully.
Wren reached into her fanny pack and extracted a cloth which she held out to Addie. “Can you please make sure the stock tie and pin aren’t crooked, then do boot clean and hoist her up?”
“Yes, boss.” Addie took the cloth and tucked it into her back pocket.
I followed the progress of the cloth. Purely to make sure she hadn’t dropped it. Most definitely not to look at the part of her anatomy against which that back pocket rested. She really did have a great butt, and now that we were certified friends, I could totally think that. Right? “I can mount him myself,” I argued. Remember me? The rider?
“No, you can’t,” Wren rebutted. She meant in a general sense, not literally. Obviously I could get on my horse alone and without a mounting block. But it went against the routine, and the routine was king. Superstition was real. Just ask my lucky socks, lucky belt, lucky gloves and lucky…pretty much everything really.
Now was really not the time to argue, or go against our routine, so I gave in. Addie stepped in close and I raised my chin for the stock tie and bar pin check. As she tugged and fluffed the fabric, I watched her intense concentration, as if this simple task was the most important thing she’d do all day. She was so close I could see the laugh lines around her eyes, relaxed now but just waiting to crease with mirth.
Her fingers stilled and she glanced up to find me watching her. “All set,” she murmured. After taking a backward step, she turned to Wren. “Does that pass?”
“Perfect.” Wren took a small object from her pocket and after pumping hand sanitizer into a palm and cleaning the tiny device, offered it to me. “Earpiece.”
I stared. “Seriously. Did you really just sanitize the earpiece?”
Addie’s expression was an eyebrows-raised Don’t question the crazy look. I settled the earpiece in my ear, ready for Ian’s instruction during my warm-up. “Can I go ride now?”
Wren, apparently satisfied, nodded. “Now if you can hoist her up, Addie, I’ll be forever in your debt.”
Addie snapped a salute, though it seemed more teasing of Wren’s dictatorship than serious obedience. “Done. Who knew all those years at Pony Club giving leg-ups would pay off? I’ve been waiting for this moment to shine for twenty-something years.”
When I positioned myself to mount, bending my left leg back, Addie moved behind me. She wiped the sole of my boot, then with both hands on my left shin hoisted me as I jumped into the saddle. As I settled my tails over the back of the saddle, Addie polished my boots with surprising efficiency, then gave me and Dew a once-over, wiping nonexistent dirt from his shoulder.
“I won’t wish you luck. You don’t need it.” Her expression relaxed, as if she’d just thought of something pleasant. “So…have a great ride. I’ll be watching.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
Wren triple-checked us then made her typical thumbs-up as she echoed Addie’s, “Have a great ride.”
I gathered both sets of reins, threading them through my fingers. “Will do.”
As I rode away I heard Wren ask Addie, “Want a job?”
Dew and I threw everything we had into the test, and when I rode out of the arena to a score of 81.717% my elation was sky high. Just one more test like that and I’d be seeing Caitlyn Lloyd and Midfields Adieu on the list for the US Olympic Dressage Team. I searched the crowd for familiar faces and spotted Mary and Wren standing with Ian. Camera shutters went off all around me, and I waved to the crowd, patted my horse and kept looking at faces, hoping to see one in particular.
Disappointment colored my jubilation when I realized Addie was nowhere to be seen. I had to head slap mentally to remind myself that she was probably working with the other horses right now, not watching me ride. I felt like a kid upset that a parent hadn’t shown up for an important event, and the conflicting emotion dampened my excitement. Dew, having apparently picked up on my mood, took the opportunity to spook at absolutely nothing and only years of reflexes saved me from hitting the dirt. That was going to make a great photo.
Once Wren had taken care of Dewey, I sent her to take a nap in the truck. Her groveling gratitude was all the proof I needed that my usually stoic groom really felt like shit and needed to rest up. I checked Dew was settled and eating his small snack, waiting on the chance we’d have to ride again for a presentation, then went back to watch the other US riders. Dakota and Pierre had an excellent test and I made sure to raise my hands to clap loudly as she exited the arena. I nearly fell over dead when Dakota smiled at me. An actual genuine smile. Could it be that we might reach some sort of truce this century?
Mary and Ian had long melted away and I tried to relax in the stands while watching the remaining tests. A few riders and shy fans came up to talk to me, and I signed pictures and posed for a few photos during the breaks. Given those yet to ride, my placing seemed assured and I decided it was time to go rouse Wren. Maybe I’d take a quick look around to see if I could find our team vet to…make sure all was in order. That’s it, nothing more.
I’d just stepped outside when my phone vibrated. Addie’s name on the screen sent an immediate roll of warm pleasure through me. Interesting. That was a step up from before and also definitely something to unpack later. “Hey. What’s up? I was wonderin
g where you were.”
“Caitlyn, can you come to the stalls, please? Immediately? There’s a slight situation here.” She didn’t sound panicked exactly, but there was a definite edge to her voice that sent my pleasure at having her call me into serious anxiety territory.
“What’s wrong? Is Dew okay?” I was already jogging toward the stalls, having to slow to a walk every time I came near a horse. Which was frequently.
“He’s fine, but he’s causing a bit of an uproar and I can’t get hold of Wren.”
“Wren and her head cold are taking a nap. And what do you mean, uproar?”
“Hard to explain. He’s perfectly fine, promise, but I could really use your help if you could make it fast?”
I had to strain to hear her over the bizarre sound in the background. It sounded like an odd and constant wibble-wibble-wibble. “What’s that sound?”
“That, is Rasputin.”
The moment she said it, I knew exactly what had happened. Oh no. My horse was such a dweeb. I showed my competitor’s ID to the security guards and jogged down the path toward the stabling complex. As I drew near, the first thing I noticed was Dakota and Pierre on the gravel outside the stalls. The gelding was whirling in circles, eyes wide and nostrils flaring as he snorted and danced away from the entrance. Inside was the unmistakable sound of horses freaking out—snorting, panicked whinnying, bodies hitting things. My heart fell as I rushed inside.
The next thing I noticed was Dewey. The idiot had somehow managed to break the zip ties and pull the laminated picture of Rasputin from between the vertical bars of his stall and was walking around the space, shaking it back and forth. Well that explained the wobble-board sound. Of course, of course my horse would be the one playing the fool. I groaned.
Addie was in the stall with Dewey and I could see the glee in his eyes as he played keep-away. The moment I opened the lower door she turned to me, her shoulders dropping. “Thank God,” she exhaled. “I’ve been tryin’ to get it off him but he won’t let me near him. I can get close, but as soon as I go to grab it, he’s off. And he’s really tall when he puts his head up.”
