by Laura Moore
“Your favorite boy. And that would be his braids he rubbed.”
“Aspen rubbed them?” she said in a horrified tone. “Are they ruined?”
“Did his best. Don’t worry, I rebraided them for you.”
“Oh my God, have I told you that you’re the coolest brother-in-law ever?”
The corners of Travis’s mouth lifted in a grin. “Don’t forget it, kid. Now go get him wrapped and ready for the road. We need to start loading in fifteen.”
“Need a hand?” Jordan asked her.
“That’d be sweet.”
At the next cross ties, Margot was prepping Saxon. Like Gypsy Queen, the chestnut gelding was braided from forelock to tail. Under the fluorescent lights his groomed coat gleamed like buffed copper. Margot was wrapping his tail so that the French braid wouldn’t be destroyed in transit.
“Hey, Margot, that hubby of yours is one fine human being.”
“Really?” Margot smiled. “I had no idea.” Pressing the Velcro end of the bandage together, she patted the gelding’s haunch and then reached for the light sheet he’d wear in the van.
“Gospel truth. You should be super nice to him. You know, he might meet Gisele at some photo shoot and then where would you be?”
“I think Tom Brady’s got me covered there. I guess Travis will have to settle for adoring Gisele from afar.”
“Who the hell’s Gisele?” Travis asked.
“As in Bündchen? You don’t know who Gisele Bündchen is?” Jade asked.
“Nope, and unless she knows how to wrap your horse’s legs I’m not real interested in knowing her, either. Besides, there’s no way can she be more beautiful than Margot.”
Margot laughed. “You’re right, Jade. I am going to have to be super nice to my very fine husband.”
“That so?” Travis sounded distinctly interested.
“Definitely. As it happens I’d already planned a surprise for you this evening. It’s a little something I picked up at La Perla on my way to the shoot in New York.”
“What color’s this little something?”
“Telling would spoil the surprise. My lips are sealed.”
Travis smiled. “Looks like I’m going to have to test my powers of persuasion on the way down to Lexington.”
“You’re more than welcome to try,” Margot said with a smile that had made her millions of dollars.
“Okay, that settles it. I’m riding in the van with Tito and Felix so I don’t have to watch you guys smooch at every red light.”
“You still here?” Travis grinned.
Jade rolled her eyes. “No, I’m actually a hologram.”
“Ahh, so that means the corporeal you has already got Aspen out of his stall and one of his legs wrapped.”
“Correctomundo.”
“Glad to hear it, because the clock’s ticking.”
As Jordan and Jade turned to continue down the aisle, Margot said, “Oh, yeah, before I forget, Hologram Girl, you need to crack open your American history textbook on the ride down so you’ll be ready for the AP test that’s coming up. And I seem to remember you’ve got a Spanish test next week, too.”
“Dur! That’s the other reason I’m riding with mis amigos. I’m going to tell Tito and Felix about the New Deal and have them quiz me on my reflexive verbs. Nos metimos en una mala situacion,” she said with a grin.
“Kid, you’re going to find yourself in a whole new impossible situation if you don’t start hustling to get Aspen ready. Scat!”
“Si, si, señor,” Jade laughed, giving Travis a mock salute before trotting the rest of the way down the aisle.
Jordan knew her smile was as wide as Travis and Margot’s. “Tito and Felix will be lucky if they get a word in edgewise.”
“I know. To think there was a time when getting her to talk was like pulling teeth. Although I’d rather have Jade’s motor mouth any day of the week,” Margot added hastily.
“Me, too,” Jordan said. “I suppose a happy medium would be too dull for our sister.”
“You’ve got that right,” Travis said, laughter threading his voice.
Aspen, the least accustomed to riding in a trailer, was loaded last. Jade led the gelding up the rubber-covered ramp without incident, however, and then Travis helped her back him into the stall next to Sweet William. While Jade fed each horse a carrot, Travis and Felix made quick work of hanging the hay nets so that the horses could eat during the trip to Lexington.
Within minutes the van’s ramp was up and its doors shut with Felix, Tito, and Jade settled in the cab. Behind the van, Travis drove the Range Rover with Margot beside him.
Waving good-bye and shouting, “Good luck!” and “Ride clean and clear!” Jordan waited with Ned and Andy until the van had rumbled out of sight. Then the three of them set to work.
The morning flew by as they followed the farm’s daily routine. The horses that would be turned out for the first half of the day were walked down to the pastures. Then the mucking out began. Divvying up the stalls, they made their way down the barns’ aisles with their pitchforks, filling the wheelbarrows with soiled shavings and droppings and then laying down a fresh layer of wood shavings. After topping off the water buckets and sweeping the concrete aisles clean, they were ready to exercise the horses.
Key to their horses’ soundness and happiness was the carefully devised schedule of exercise and turnout times and days off that Travis and Ned planned for each horse. On days like today, with three riders and two stable hands traveling, Jordan was especially happy to do her part to keep the farm running smoothly. And though she couldn’t say that she was happy to be divorced from Richard, she realized that were she still with him, the demands of her married life would have made it next to impossible to help her sisters with the horses they bred and trained.
That would have deprived her of something special. Helping Margot and Jade was much, much more than saving their family’s horse breeding farm and beautiful old home. Their coming together had strengthened the bond between them in so many ways. Jordan liked, admired, knew them in a way that few adult siblings with their disparate lives ever enjoyed in this day and age. For that gift, she was more than willing to put in a twelve-hour day tackling any job that needed doing.
First on her docket was to school Mistral and Indigo, two of their four-year-olds, since Andy, who normally rode them, would be exercising the stallions, Faraday and Nocturne, in the indoor ring, and Ned would be riding three of the broodmares. After that, she’d give Ned a hand with the foals while Andy worked with their two- and three-year-olds. Attentive to the last detail, Travis had even allotted time for her to longe Doc Holliday and turn him out in the upper pasture so he’d be relaxed when she gave the children a lesson.
Then there were the foals and their dams to bring in from the pastures. The foals needed daily handling as part of the gentling and training process. When the remaining horses were brought in from the fields, all would be watered and fed. With the horses tended to, Jordan would clean her and the children’s saddles, as well as the bridles she’d used. Only then would she go into the office and return phone calls or emails inquiring about the horses or booking fees for Faraday and Nocturne.
Andy had jumped both Mistral and Indigo the day before, so Jordan’s job was to give them a good workout on the flat. Jordan groomed Mistral, a bay Thoroughbred gelding who possessed both the conformation and easy, willing attitude to make a fine hunter prospect.
After tacking Mistral, she led him down to the outdoor ring. Walking into the center of the ring, she slipped the reins over his neck, checked her girth, lowered her stirrups, and then, sticking the toe of her field boot into the stirrup, swung herself up into the saddle.
She let Mistral stretch his muscles at a loose-reined walk for ten minutes and enjoyed the noises of the spring morning: the chirping of the birds and the chattering of the squirrels punctuated by the occasional whinnies of the horses in the south pasture calling to each other. By the time she gathered the braided reins, Ned
had entered the ring with Tidbit.
She was glad of Ned’s company in the ring. Ned was of the old, classic school of riding, espoused by such greats as Bert de Nemethy and George Morris, and he’d taught Jordan and her sisters to ride—and Travis, too. His presence made her pay even greater attention to getting the horse beneath her moving in a collected, balanced stride. A happy, engaged horse carried himself in an unmistakable way—with a smooth forward flow of motion—and was equally supple rounding corners and circling. Achieving this fluid athleticism was the goal of every serious equitation rider.
Having Ned in the ring didn’t just make her ride better; watching him was a treat in itself. Tidbit was a twelve-year-old mare who’d given them four fine foals and had already been covered by Nocturne this season. Yet Ned had the broodmare moving around the ring with her ears pricked forward, her neck slightly arched, and her hooves skimming the sandy footing, as alert and responsive as any of the horses they showed.
When they’d ridden for a half hour, they slowed to a walk, allowing the horses to rest and stretch. Glancing over at Tidbit, Jordan said, “You should have taken her to Lexington, Ned. She’d have been in the ribbons.”
“Tidbit would have come home with a blue.” And he leaned over to scratch her sleek white neck fondly. “But you would have had to show her, Miss Jordan. I don’t have the patience for it anymore. I can get more accomplished staying here at Rosewood. How’s Mistral going for you? Looked like he did that simple change real nicely at the canter.”
“Yes, he did. I know Andy’s been introducing him to the flying change, but I didn’t want to ask him for it in case I confused him.” A flying change was aptly named, conveying the way a horse would switch leads in midair between strides at the canter—thus while “flying.” It was an essential move for both show hunters and jumpers. A flying change allowed a horse to switch leads as it changed direction, and thereby approach a jump balanced on the correct lead. In the show ring, a hunter could be penalized and lose points for a poorly executed or failed lead change.
“Mistral’s not easily rattled. Why don’t you do a figure eight down at the end of the ring and see how he goes? Just be sure you’ve got his haunches engaged when you give him the command, because that’s where the change is initiated. Ask him for one change in each direction and then bring him back down to a walk.”
“Okay, I’ll give it a try.” Gathering her reins, she sat straighter in the saddle, closed her legs, moving her outside rail leg slightly behind the girth and applying a light pressure on the outside rein, and gave Mistral a “cluck,” a verbal cue. When he responded, lifting his inside shoulder to pick up the gait, she urged him forward with both legs.
Moving along the rail, she kept his canter collected and concentrated on feeling the rolling movement of his hindquarters beneath her while maintaining a light pressure on the reins so that when she reached the point in her circle where they would change direction, she’d have him set up to make the flying change.
When she reached the center of the figure eight they were executing, she shifted her seat bones deeper into the saddle while moving her outside leg slightly behind the girth, as her fingers closed about her inside rein. She felt Mistral respond to the dual signals with a surge of his hindquarters as he took his next stride. When he came down on his foreleg, he’d changed leads.
Jordan’s face split in a grin as relief flooded her. She continued cantering, however, reminding herself to make her circle large enough to set him up properly for this last change of lead. It wouldn’t be right to screw it up for Mistral when he’d executed the first change so cleanly. She couldn’t afford to be complacent, either. Horses, like humans, had a stronger and weaker side and this might well be Mistral’s weaker side, although he’d picked up the lead easily enough when she’d cantered him earlier.
She focused on the rocking three-beat gait as once again they neared the spot where she would apply her aids to ask for a flying change. Mistral was a smart fellow, answering with a swish of his tail and a flick of his brown ears. Jordan felt a surge of power beneath her as he took his next stride, and then he was cantering on the other lead.
Straightening in the saddle, she closed her legs and hands to bring him to a walk, then immediately patted his neck. “Good boy, Mistral. Andy’s done a terrific job with him, Ned. He didn’t hesitate a bit when I asked him.”
“You rode that nicely, Miss Jordan, real clear and consistent. That’s why he didn’t back off on the changes. Even a nonrider could see that, ain’t that right, Owen?”
Jordan nearly gave herself whiplash looking around to where Owen stood, forearms propped on the top rail. His casual stance indicated he’d been watching her for some time.
“Uh, hi,” she said only to fall silent as she became abruptly aware of how filthy she was after a morning spent cleaning stalls, brushing horses, and then riding under the warm spring sun.
From her perch on Mistral’s back, she could tell Owen was as impeccably dressed as usual, a fact she found particularly irksome at the moment. Did he always have to look so good? And what was he doing here?
He didn’t seem put off by her less than genial greeting. “My office assistant is alarmingly efficient. She faxed me the tax forms yesterday afternoon. I brought them over for you.”
“Oh.” Pricked by guilt that she’d been less than thrilled at his unexpected presence when he was actually being a considerate employer, she quickly tacked on a “Thank you.”
He nodded before shifting his attention to Ned. “I think I saw them practice that maneuver at the Spanish Riding School, only in Vienna the riders did it several times in a row while crossing the ring.”
“That’s called a ‘tempi.’ It’s a dressage movement, performed at the Grand Prix level,” Ned told him. Jordan could tell he was thrilled that Owen had made the connection between her flying changes and the far, far more advanced dressage movement. “So you’ve been to the Spanish Riding School?” he asked.
“My parents lived in Vienna for a while. The performances and some of the training sessions are open to the public. One of my nannies liked horses.”
“If I lived in Vienna, I’d be at the school, ticket in hand, every time they opened the doors. Do you know they accepted two women into the program in 2008, Miss Jordan?”
“No, I didn’t. They must be exceptional riders.”
“That’s for sure. I saw the riders—all men—perform in D.C. when they were on tour. Not a sight to forget. You’re lucky to have been able to see them in the Winter Riding School.”
“I know. The building is almost as impressive as those Lipizzan stallions.”
Smart of him to know that for Ned the beauty of a horse would always outshine any man-made marvel, Jordan thought. But when Owen added, “Jordan looked pretty darn impressive doing that flying change on this horse here,” she was sure that even Ned, though proud as one could be of Rosewood’s horses, would think he was going a bit far.
But no.
“You’ve got a good eye,” he said approvingly. “Mistral’s only four, but Miss Jordan had him moving as smooth as cream poured from a jug. You should stick around and watch her ride Indigo. Now there’s a real talented mare. Travis and I think she’s got the potential to be a three-day eventer.”
“I’d like that. I don’t need to be in Alexandria until later this afternoon. Actually, I was going to ask you both if I could spend some time looking at the main barn, taking measurements and getting a sense of the layout. I know you’re busy today, so if it’s inconvenient—”
“That won’t be a bother, will it, Miss Jordan?”
It would be useless to say anything to the contrary. Ned wouldn’t understand her reluctance. In Ned’s world, anyone who showed a smidgeon of interest in anything equine should be encouraged until the person was certifiably horse mad. Then, too, if she made any protest, Owen might conclude that his presence somehow affected her, which was definitely not what she wanted her brand-new employer to believe.
And wasn’t she being a little silly and overreacting, anyway? Owen was obviously respecting her request that their relationship be strictly professional. He was being a good employer and an affable neighbor. Maybe it was time she followed suit.
Recalling the grace with which her mother had treated their neighbors, she said, “Certainly. And if you have time, feel free to go up to the house. John Butler’s pattern book is in the library. It’s easy to spot. It’s on the fourth shelf from the top, to the right of the writing desk. Ellie Banner or her niece, Miriam, my babysitter, can help you if you have trouble finding it.”
It was just too darn bad that when he smiled, Jordan felt a delicious warmth unfurl in the pit of her stomach, a sensation she hadn’t felt in ages and one that made her forget why exactly she wished to maintain a professional distance from Owen.
OWEN DID HIS BEST not to get in Ned and Jordan’s way. Essentially a city slicker, he found the work at Rosewood Farm fascinating. He’d always liked watching horses, so this was hardly a surprise. What did astonish him was the breadth of Jordan’s involvement in their training. He’d expected her day to involve riding a number of different horses, impressive enough, but soon he discovered her duties and abilities extended far beyond that.
Finished walking around the main barn and taking notes and measurements, he’d wandered outside to find Jordan and tell her he going to take her up on the invitation to browse through John Butler’s pattern book. He’d spotted her walking with Ned, the two of them bringing a mare and her foal in from the pasture. Ned was leading the mare. The foal, wearing a tiny halter, was being walked by Jordan. At the sight of Owen, the foal tried to bolt, rising up on its hind legs in a half-rear. Holding on to the lead rope, Jordan brought its head down. Its forelegs back once more on solid ground, the foal started skipping around. Although only a tenth the size of its mother, it still had enough strength to inflict some damage. But Jordan never lost her cool. Bringing the skipping, circling young horse back under control with a “Whoa, Cosmo. Easy, boy. Walk, Cosmo,” she then praised him quietly when he settled into a prancing walk.
