by E. J. Noyes
“Of course you can’t get it, that’s part of the game.” I knew because I’d played the I have something and if you want it come get it off me but hahaha you can’t catch me or reach my head game with Dewey for twelve years. I tried to ignore multiple instances of hundreds of thousands of Euros worth of massive dressage horses, some of which were Olympic hopefuls, potentially damaging some very expensive part of themselves as they lost their shit in the stalls around me.
Rustling the bag of licorice I’d snatched from the bucket outside Dewey’s stall immediately grabbed his attention. He dropped the picture to the shavings and practically lunged at me in his haste to get a treat. I grabbed the blanket strap under his chin to stop him from getting hold of the picture again, and with my free hand extracted a piece of licorice. The moment Dewey stopped playing with his toy, the three horses around him deflated. Only the occasional loud snort gave away the fact that moments earlier they’d been convinced a monster was going to eat them. I glanced over my shoulder. “If you hold him, I’ll get his cat picture.”
“Deal.” Addie and I swapped places and she accidentally captured my fingers as she took hold of Dew.
When I was sure she had a solid grip, I let him go, retrieved the slobbery laminated poster and dropped it over the stall door when Dewey went to grab it again. “This is why you can’t have nice things,” I told him and when he gave me a mournful look, I added, “Don’t give me that face. It’s your own fault.”
Addie unlocked her phone and slipped out of the stall. I followed her as she peered into the stalls around us, where the rest of the USA horses were housed, and held out a hand to them until they came forward for a tentative sniff. “Mary, can you contact the team and get them to come and check on their horses? There’s been a…spooking incident in the stalls and I’d like to do an examination of each and trot them up to be sure there’s no lameness. Caitlyn and Dakota are already here. Hmm? Not that I know of.” She paused, eyeing me, and I could see a smile pulling at the edges of her mouth. “No, the item causing the issue has been removed. Great. Thanks. Bye.”
I covered my face with my hand. “Oh God. Why couldn’t I have a normal horse instead of a weirdo?”
Addie touched my back, her fingers tapping a slow rhythm that made my skin tingle. “Normal horses are boring. His quirkiness is part of what makes him so talented. And adorable.”
Her attempt to make me feel better was cut short by Dakota dragging Pierre toward us. Pierre resisted with every fiber of his body, the whites of his eyes showing as he tried to make it clear he did not want to come anywhere near the bogeyman. Dakota swore at him and threw the lead rope at her groom, who immediately started calming the horse. Dakota strode directly up to me. Oh joy, I could not wait for whatever vitriol was about to come my way. So much for our minor truce.
With hands on her hips she stuck out her breasts until she was practically pushing me away with mammary tissue—not as pleasant as I generally found that activity. Her expression was pure rage, and her voice ice when she snarled, “Are you and that horse of yours mentally deficient?”
I was about to answer with a facetious, “It’s highly probable” which I knew would infuriate her more, when Addie interjected, “Actually, a high playfulness quotient, problem-solving abilities and an inability to tolerate boredom like Dewey displays are all indicative of a very high intellect. I believe those things are part of what makes him such a talented Grand Prix horse.”
Dakota straightened, her expression turning to steel. It was an expression I knew well. It was her Who do you think you are, peasant? look. Addie didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. If anything, she seemed more composed, more in control. Dakota spat out one word. “Talented?”
“Yes,” Addie agreed. “Very.”
Dakota’s face contorted as her mouth worked open and closed. Clearly, Addie challenging her had drained her of the ability to respond. She snatched the lead from her groom again, gesturing wildly at Dewey, to the displeasure of Pierre who threw his head up to avoid her flailing hand. “That mongrel isn’t worth a fraction of any of the other team horses. Pierre could have done a tendon spooking like that. You’re lucky I was holding him and he wasn’t in a stall where he could have gone right through the wall. I’ll sue your hick ass if he’s hurt himself. This—” She thrust a forefinger at the gelding’s face, and when Pierre flinched she yanked hard on his lead, making him flinch again. “—is the most talented and expensive horse on the team.”
Ouch, poor Pierre. I felt like slapping Dakota’s hands. If I were Pierre, I’d have channeled some fight response or something and taken a chunk out of her. But he seemed so cowed that he just took what she dished up. And she was such a goddamned liar. Her aggregate scores over the last three years were right in the middle of the group’s. She was as delusional as she was nasty.
Addie stepped away from my side, both hands out in the ultimate gesture of placation. “Pierre is clearly still upset, so why don’t you take him outside where he can calm down and I can finish my exam, then I’ll give him a once-over.”
Dakota whirled around, followed by horse and groom, both of whom seemed reluctant. I didn’t blame either of them. I could still hear her derisive snarling. Dew nudged my shoulder as if to say, “Didja see what I did, Mom?”
Really not the time to be flaunting your weirdness, Dew. I pushed him away as Addie bent to close the bottom bolt on the lower door. Once she’d straightened, I asked, “Is all that true? About the boredom and playfulness quotient and stuff?”
Her smile was mischievous. “How the hell should I know? I’m a veterinarian, not an animal psychologist.”
“Sneak. You didn’t say anything about my intellect,” I murmured.
“Didn’t I? Hmm. You’re right.” She grinned and backed away. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to check the most important horse on the US Dressage Team.” Addie glanced at Dewey who stood with his head over the half-door, studying us with bright, curious eyes. “He’s fine.”
I laughed when she winked at me. “Yeah, he is. Pleased with himself too, I can tell.”
“It was really funny, if you discount all the potential disasters.” She touched my forearm. “Your ride was utterly brilliant. Sorry I had to rush off and couldn’t tell you right after. And sorry I have to rush off now.” After a gentle squeeze of my arm, Addie walked off, calling after Dakota to please stop lunging her horse around and around and raising his heart rate.
I collapsed back against the stall door and watched Addie walking away, until I caught myself and realized I’d been staring. More than just staring. Her ass really was— Yes. Wow. Good job, Obvious Luster. That casual contact from moments earlier had my skin buzzing. The touch had indeed been casual, simply getting my attention or reinforcing her point or…something. Something that wasn’t an indication of anything more.
But I’d wanted it to be, and the disconnect between my feelings and what was actually happening was confusing. Not only confusing but also really badly timed. And a flat-out all-round bad idea. How could two busy people who lived in different states ever find time for anything more than friendship?
Dewey nudged me again, this time to remind me I wasn’t paying him enough attention. I poked his cheek. “Do you know the trouble you’ve caused? As if Dakota needed any more reason to hate me.”
He snuffled around my pockets, apparently not caring about anything more than getting another treat. I kissed his nose. “You really think I’m going to give you more after what you did?”
Dew snuffed me again, this time doing his adorable huff-blow thing into my cheek. I was such a sucker. I gave him another piece of licorice, kissed the side of his nose again then slipped away before any of my teammates coming to check on their horses saw me.
Chapter Twelve
Addie
The morning after the five-day competition in Rotterdam, I engaged in my Netherlands pre-work ritual where I pretended to workout then went to the café for amazing coffee and breakfast. The
two activities of half-hearted exercise and a huge breakfast totally canceled each other out. A few mornings, I’d seen Caitlyn running through the village but had felt too self-conscious to call out to her.
That was weird because things between us had been noticeably easier as we navigated our new friendship. Our interactions were light, but also somewhat shallow. I hated the light and shallow. I wanted to dive deeply into her, to learn as much about her as I could. I wanted her to share things with me.
I ordered and settled at a corner table of the quiet café overlooking a busy street to catch up with the world. Nothing exciting in the news, and just the usual work emails. Once I was done with breakfast I’d have to rush off for a meeting with Mary, Ian, and video-conferenced team selectors where we’d finalize the team for Rio. I was certain I knew who it would be—the performances left little doubt—and my job was to tell them if I was happy with the horses’ soundness. I already knew I’d be spoiling the chances for one of their choices.
Midway through my eggs, bacon, toast, and an incredible avocado salsa type thing that I really had to learn how to make, the slow creak of the café’s door pulled my attention away from my plate.
Caitlyn. Shit.
Despite that newly found ease, I bent my head, trying to shrink in my seat. This meeting outside our defined roles as vet and rider made me uneasy, as if it might break the rules of our friendship which up until this point had always had horses as a buffer. She ordered at the counter, then stood against the wall and stared at her phone. I stared at my food and tried valiantly not to stare at her.
I wasn’t doing very well with the not staring, and the game was up when Caitlyn glanced up at her name being called and spotted me on one of my sneaky peeks. A slow, knowing smile followed a second after and once she’d collected her coffee and a croissant, she zigzagged her way through empty tables to me. She went with the old faithful, “Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.” I pulled out the seat to my left. “The more the merrier.” Dumb dumb dumb.
She set her food and coffee down, then shed her light runner’s jacket and hung it over the back of the chair. “So this is where you disappear to once you’re around the corner. I’ve seen you running a few mornings but didn’t want to interrupt.”
“Oh, I don’t run. I jog. Slowly. With lots of walk breaks.”
A quick smile. “Ah. My apologies.”
“You’re forgiven. Day off today? You’re not usually here.”
“No, I’m not. And yes, it is a day off.” She leaned back in the chair, twisting until she sat sideways to cross her legs. “No work for Dew today, then light work tomorrow, and then…who knows.” She sipped her coffee before carefully breaking off a piece of croissant and popping it in her mouth.
She’d placed second and third in her classes at Rotterdam, and across the board, her qualifying scores were the highest of any on the shortlist. In my mind, she was a sure thing. But it wasn’t my place to tell her. So I went to my own personal old faithful. Change the subject. “The food here is really good,” I said inanely. “I’ve been coming here for almost all my meals.”
“You don’t cook much?” Laughing, she held up both hands. “No judgment, I’ve screwed up boiling a pot of water.”
“Back home I try, really I do. Nearly every weekend I’m not working, or on my days off after on-calls I swear I’m going to make up a batch of wholesome meals like some fatigued, frazzled Julia Child and freeze them for later. Then I usually fall asleep on the couch before midday.” I gestured to my plate. “Plus eating here is better than my usual plain eggs breakfast or sandwich and a Mars Bar lunch.”
“I think I remember you always having that for lunch at Pony Club too.” When I nodded my confirmation around a mouthful of avocado salsa, she asked, “Nothing’s changed?”
“Not a bit.”
Caitlyn’s face held an odd expression and I took a few moments to study her, to decipher it. Part shy, part expectant and most surprisingly—really interested. Not that I was keeping tally, but this was the second time I’d been the recipient of that look of interest from her. When she realized I was watching her, she flushed and asked, “You like your routine, huh?”
“I really do. Sometimes it’s the only constant in a day that’s always full of surprises. It helps,” I added quietly, now utterly embarrassed by what I was saying yet unable to stop myself from sharing these stupid things.
“I totally get wanting some continuity in your life. I’m the same.” She shrugged. “Which makes things like being away at competitions or overseas tricky because I have to adapt both myself and Dew. And you know how well horses adapt to change.” Caitlyn scrunched her face up, as if trying to convey exactly how much horses loathed their routines being messed with. “Probably why we’re all so superstitious.”
“That explains your lucky rainbow socks.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “How do you know about my lucky socks?”
“I’m observant and I figured there had to be a reason, other than a broken washing machine, for you wearing the same socks for every test.”
Caitlyn held up both hands. “In my defense they aren’t actually the same pair. I have a bunch that are the same pattern and I do wear a clean pair every time.”
“Ahhh. Then it’s really just superstition-lite?”
Her laugh was sudden, loud, and rich. “Something like that.” She tore another piece from her croissant but instead of eating it, asked, “What else have you noticed? About my competition habits that is.” The question was phrased in such a way that it felt a little too personal. A little too leading. And I didn’t care.
I took a few moments to think about my answer. Like our chat outside Lotte’s barn, she’d opened up the space to be personal and it was up to me if I ran with it. If both of us were willing, then what was wrong with changing our dynamic again? “I notice the way you touch the American flag on the saddlecloth before you mount, like you’re worried the embroidery has somehow moved. I notice how when you’re warming up you make room for everyone, even when they forget the arena rules and don’t give you the same courtesy. I notice how you thank every person who’s volunteered and comes to tell you it’s your time, or the arena staff who let you into and out of the competition arena.” I bit my lower lip but the admission came out anyway. “And I notice the way you always look in the direction of the competitor’s area when you come out of the arena.”
“I’m looking for you,” she admitted quietly, and I knew from the way she’d said it that she knew I’d already suspected as much.
“And I’m watching you.” Smiling, I added, “Before I have to run off to do something else that is.”
She said nothing. But there was staring. I took the opportunity of silence to finish my breakfast and a quick check of my watch told me I should really leave. “I’m sorry, but I need to head off. Important meeting this morning.”
“Oh? How important?” The question had a lilting sing-songiness about it, making it obvious she knew which meeting I was referring to.
“On a scale of one to ten? About a nine-point-five.”
“So you’re pretty important yourself, being involved in such a meeting?”
“Mhmm. I’m a very big deal.”
“That you are,” she agreed. Caitlyn finished her croissant then used a forefinger to collect crumbs. And I had a sudden mental image of leaning in and pressing my fingertips to the plate to collect those crumbs for her. Of course in this mental image she’d suck my fingers, which was a very nice thought but not entirely appropriate. Caitlyn pushed her chair back. “Mind some company on the walk back?” Her gaze spent a second on my mouth before making its way back to make eye contact with me.
My voice was embarrassingly squeaky when I said, “Not at all.”
We both stood. I nearly fell over. Ninety percent of the time she was around me, she wore breeches which, being skin-tight, left little to my already overactive imagination. But tiny workout shorts were something
else entirely. Something incredible. The ache of wanting her was so sudden it felt like a gut punch and I had to turn around and pretend I was checking something to stop my gawping. I could imagine those legs, wrapped around me and had to close my eyes to force the image out.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Mhmm. Just making sure I didn’t drop anythin’.” I turned back to her and zipped my jacket.
We’d taken barely ten steps outside when she said, “So after talking to my mom recently, I was reminiscing and looking through old photos from Pony Club.”
Relieved for the chance to shift brain gears, I said, “Oh? I’d love to see some if you don’t mind. I don’t really think I have any from then.”
“Sure.” She fished out her phone and handed it to me.
Displayed on the screen were the members of the Pony Club, hanging out on the steps of the clubhouse. I could pick us out easily but found myself struggling to recall the names of the other girls. I let out a short laugh. “See? My sandwich and a Mars Bar.” Studying the photo, I hoped she hadn’t seen what was plainly obvious—that I was staring moonily at her.
“Mhmm, that was one of the first things I noticed.”
Oh shit. Yeah, she’d totally realized I was acting like the lovesick teen I’d been. I cleared my throat. “So, listen. I’ve been thinking a lot about things since we, uh…reconnected. I want you to know that I really am sorry for the way I behaved in Pony Club.”
“You don’t need to apologize again and again. I know you are. I see that in the way you act with me now.” She blew out a shaky breath. “And I’m sorry about my reactions earlier this month. They weren’t particularly rational but there’s obviously still an insecure kid inside me somewhere.”
“It’s okay. Let’s make a deal—no more apologies, from either of us.”
