SECRET RIDER
BY
CLAIRE SVENDSEN
Copyright © 2013 Claire Svendsen
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This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, places or events is purely coincidental.
For Merlin
CHAPTER ONE
There were some things in our house that I wasn’t allowed to talk about. Horses were one of them. My dead sister was the other. I was only five when she died, a tubby little kid on her even fatter pony. I idolized my sister who soared over jumps like she could fly like the wind. I don’t remember the accident but I do remember the scream. Sometimes, when I’m doing things I’m not supposed to be doing, that scream echoes around my head and I can’t get it out.
“Emily, are you going to hurry up or what?”
It was Mickey, sounding impatient as she banged on the tack room door.
“I’m changing as fast as I can,” I yelled back.
I shuffled out of the stupid floral dress I’d scampered out of the house in and hung it from the tack hook with the bridles that were waiting to be cleaned. Pulling on the breeches and boots that used to belong to Mickey, I felt a twinge of guilt but only for a moment. I had to lie to my mother. It was the only way to get what I wanted.
“You know,” Mickey said. “If you got one of those really long dresses that came down to your ankles then you could just wear your riding clothes underneath. Then you wouldn’t have to waste time changing when you got here.”
I flung the door open and glared at her, my best friend who was prettier and far more confident than I was. At least out of the saddle anyway.
“I already feel like a freak as it is,” I said. “Now you want me to wear some kind of awful geeky dress too?”
Mickey just laughed. My lies were funny to her but they were serious to me. The only reason I got to ride at all was because my mother thought I joined the choir club at school. Every Saturday morning for the last year, I’d been sneaking out of the house under the pretense of attending club meetings. Instead I came to the barn, mucking stalls so I could ride in one group lesson a week. It wasn’t enough, it was never enough but it was all I had and while I was here, I felt like I could breathe again. I could only hope that Mom would forgive me if she ever found out.
“I checked the board and you’re on Harlow today,” Mickey squeezed my arm as we walked down the barn aisle.
Since coming to Sand Hill Stables I’d ridden nearly every horse in the barn. Starting out rusty and scared on old Duke the Quarter Horse who babysat all the beginners and graduating through them all until I was finally able to ride Harlow, the dapple gray Thoroughbred with the heart of a lion and jump of a stag.
I stopped outside his stall and he stuck his head out and nickered. Of course that probably had more to do with the carrot stuffed in my waistband than the fact that he was happy to see me. Because no matter how much I loved him, he was a riding school horse and that meant many other people rode him too. But I didn’t care because when I rode him, I still pretended he was mine.
“We’d better get to jump today,” Mickey said, her voice muffled from the next stall. “If we have to ride without stirrups for another hour I’ll just die.”
I patted Harlow’s long, sleek neck and breathed in his sweet scent. Mickey stuck her head around the door.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay.”
Mickey knew about my sister. Well, she knew as much as I did. The details of Summer’s accident were still a mystery and if my mother knew the answers, she wasn’t telling. Even the mere mention of her name sent Mom to the bedroom with a cold cloth on her head and the bottle of aspirin.
I grabbed the curry comb and got to work on Harlow’s coat, dust flying up into the air. He turned around and pinned his ears, letting me know I was being too rough.
“Sorry boy,” I whispered. “But you have manure stains all down one side.”
“Was he sleeping in his poop again?” Mickey laughed.
“You know how he is,” I said.
“That’s what you get for falling in love with a gray.”
“I know.”
But I couldn’t help it. I loved Harlow’s dapples and the way his mane turned from black to white. Still, despite being my favorite and one of the most talented horses in the barn, he was nothing compared to Mickey’s horse Hampton. Her parents had bought him for her last year and she pretty much won everything at all the local shows. It wasn’t really fair. Mickey might have been pretty but she wasn’t that great of a rider. Her reins were usually too long and her stirrups too short. She sloshed about in the saddle like a mermaid but Hampton didn’t care. He could jump a house. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t need a rider and the fact that Mickey was up there on his back farting around didn’t bother him one bit. That was a Warmblood for you, always there to do the job at hand. Hampton was all business and it was wasted on Mickey.
The riding school saddles were slick with wear. I chose the one that looked least like it was going to fall apart and put it on Harlow’s back.
“Don’t forget his special pad,” Mickey called out.
“I know, I know,” I mumbled.
Harlow had been having problems lately with a sore back and the pad was supposed to help. I didn’t think it helped very much, his stride still felt short to me but I kept my mouth shut because I wanted to ride him so badly. And I figured that if he was really hurting then he would let me know by refusing to jump or something.
“Come on girls. Get out there and start warming up,” a loud voice drifted in from outside.
“Hurry up,” Mickey pulled a gleaming Hampton out of his stall. “You don’t want to make Esther mad.”
“I’m right behind you,” I slammed my helmet onto my head.
Esther was already out in the ring, fiddling with the poles that lay against the fence. She owned Sand Hill and most of its horses and I was grateful that she let me clean stalls to pay for my riding lessons but she was Scandinavian and she had a short temper. If you got on her bad side, she’d start talking really fast in her native tongue, waving her hands about and sometimes she’d even throw things. She’d also make your next lesson pure hell. Mickey once had to ride for a whole month without her stirrups when Esther caught her riding without her helmet.
There were only two other girls in the ring, both mounted on Sand Hill horses. They didn’t look familiar. I raised an eyebrow at Mickey and she shrugged back. Esther was known to fill the group up with riders who thought they were better than they were. I hoped these girls could keep up because today I wanted to jump and I could tell Harlow did too.
He jiggled the bit in his mouth as I mounted and lifted my leg to tighten the girth one more hole. He was sneaky and liked to hold his breath when you put the saddle on the first time. I learned that the hard way when I was practically swinging under his belly after a triple combination. But he couldn’t fool me twice.
“Suck it up, buttercup,” I told him as he shook his head.
We walked off down the rail, following Hampton’s bay rump. The two other girls filled in behind us. As the horses stretched and warmed up, I watched Esther put together a course of five jumps. It looked like we were going to get some real riding in today after all.
&n
bsp; “Let’s trot now girls,” Esther called out.
I closed my legs around Harlow and gave him a little rein. He burst into a ground covering trot while Mickey was still pummeling her heels against Hampton’s sides. I circled back around so that I didn’t run into them, noticing that the other girls were also trotting by now too. Their shoulders back and heels down, looking like two perfect little riders. I wondered where they had come from and what they were doing here at Sand Hill but there was no time to dwell on it. Harlow always knew when my attention was drifting and this time he took advantage of it by nipping at Rocky, the chestnut one of the perfect girls was riding.
“Oh no you don’t,” I told him, swinging Harlow away as Rocky pinned his ears and threatened to kick in retaliation.
Mickey was still trying to rouse Hampton into a trot. He looked positively lethargic, his ears back and mouth set.
“What did I tell you about riding with a crop?” Esther shouted at Mickey.
“I didn’t think I needed one,” Mickey said, red faced and flustered.
Esther picked up a crop from the pile by the gate and took it to Mickey, who looked like she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole.
“Next time he ignores your leg, tap him with the crop,” she said. “I know you think I’m being mean but he has to listen to your leg.”
“I know,” Mickey mumbled.
But Hampton didn’t need any reinforcements. Just the fact that Mickey had the crop in her hand was enough to send him into a forward trot. Eventually Esther told us to canter on and we all flew around the arena while she put the finishing touches on her course.
“Okay girls, line up please,” she called out.
We brought our horses into the center of the ring and stood facing Esther. I was glad to catch my breath and I could feel Harlow’s sides puffing in and out beneath me. We were both kind of out of shape. Mickey clutched her side like she had a stitch. The two new girls just looked straight ahead, hardly seeming to have broken a sweat.
“Mickey, Emily, this is Rena and Carla. They are visiting for a few weeks from England and since they had to leave their horses behind, they’re going to be riding with us while they are here.”
Mickey and I smiled weakly at the two girls who barely acknowledged we were there. It had to be a British thing or something. The other riders who joined our group usually weren’t so cold.
“I’m glad you are riding with us,” I said to Rena, the black haired girl who was closest to me.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
She stuck out a gloved hand and shook my sweaty one stiffly.
“I love your accent,” Mickey said.
“Wonderful,” Carla replied.
“Okay, well now that the niceties are out of the way, I have some great news. There is a show coming up at the end of the month and the four of you will be competing.”
“What?” Mickey and I both squeaked together.
It seemed like I’d been trying to get Esther to let me enter a show for ages and now here she was, just handing it out like it was nothing. I grinned at Mickey and patted Harlow’s neck. Competing was my dream and I’d been waiting ages for this opportunity. I just didn’t know why we had to share it with two stuck up British girls. Still, I’d be willing to put up with them if it meant actually going to a show.
“You heard me,” Esther tucked some of her hair back behind her ears. “Fox Run Stables is having an end of season open competition. Local barns will put together teams of four riders and although you’ll compete individually, your scores will count towards the score of the team. I don’t need to tell you how great it would be if Sand Hill Stables won the team cup.”
I couldn’t believe it. Fox Run Farm was the best in the area. I’d never been there but Mickey said that every stall had a brass nameplate and ten inches of shavings. All the best riders in the state kept their horses there and they won at all the big shows. I mean Sand Hill was nice but Fox Run was the sort of place I dreamed of riding at.
I hardly heard a word Esther was saying as I took Harlow around the course of jumps. I counted his strides and adjusted his pace but all the while I was thinking that this was my big chance. If I could win at Fox Run then maybe Mom would see what a great rider I’d become and she wouldn’t stop me from doing what I loved. Plus they had world class trainers there. If one of them spotted my talent then maybe they’d ask me to ride for them.
I was so preoccupied with my future fame and glory that I didn’t even notice Mickey go flying through the air. She hit the dirt with a squeal.
CHAPTER TWO
“It’s not broken, is it?” I asked.
I was covered in sweat, both mine and our two horses as I dashed to hose off both Harlow and Hampton. Mickey stood there clutching her arm, her face pale and eyes red. She tried to hold it together because Esther always told us that there was no crying in horse riding but I was pretty sure I heard her sobbing in the bathroom.
“No,” she said. “It’s probably just a sprain.”
But she didn’t sound so sure and I wasn’t convinced either. It was the first time I’d ever seen her not get back on her horse. It must hurt pretty badly. I felt horrible for Mickey but I also felt even worse for myself. If there weren’t enough students to pay Esther her show fees then I was afraid that she would scratch us from the competition before we’d even had a chance to practice. And three riders weren’t a team. We needed four. Esther said she would wait until Mickey’s Mom took her to the doctor. Then she would make her decision. Of all the times for Mickey to fall off and hurt herself. I wanted to be mad at her but it was kind of difficult when she was standing there blinking back the tears.
The Brits had untacked their horses silently but I heard then whispering to each other that we were a bunch of hack cowboys who couldn’t even stay on their horses. I bet they wished they’d decided to ride at Fox Run instead and not just compete there. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if they left and never came back. Both of them had been more than capable of handling the mediocre horses that Esther put them on and obviously needed better mounts.
I hugged Harlow’s wet neck.
“They’d better not try and take you away from me,” I said.
But at the end of the day I knew that the decision was Esther’s. After all, he was her horse.
A red minivan pulled into the parking lot and honked its horn.
“Your Mom is here,” I told Mickey.
“Great. I get to listen to her go on and on about how dangerous horse riding is while I’m getting poked and prodded and x-rayed. She always said she wanted me to be a ballerina.”
“Tell her dancers get hurt all the time too,” I called out after her. “And good luck. Call me later.”
“Okay,” she shouted back.
Poor Mickey. I knew what it was like to have a mother who thought that horses were the devil but at least my Mom had her reasons. Mickey’s Mom wanted her to quit because she thought her daughter was too much of a tomboy. Her Dad was the one who bought Hampton and after that her Mom didn’t speak to him for a week. I guessed I wasn’t the only one whose parents were crazy. I put Harlow in his stall and tossed a pile of hay into the corner. He sniffed it a few times to make sure that it was good and then took a giant mouthful.
“You’d never dump me off like that, would you?” I asked him.
He raised his head and looked at me with those big soft eyes, then went back to his hay.
“Good boy,” I said.
The Brits had gone and Esther was in the office making phone calls. I swung through the stalls with my pitchfork and muck tub, scooping piles of manure and straightening bedding. When I had finished everyone got a big flake of hay. Then I changed back into the loathed dress and picked up my bike from the wash rack where I’d left it.
“Bye Esther,” I called.
She waved through the window and I inhaled one last lungful of good barn air before I pedaled away. It wasn’t fair that I had to go but it
was already late and Mom was starting to get suspicious. Last time I was late, I told her that the choir had extra practice. I don’t think she believed me.
I rode my bike back as fast as I could, my riding clothes snug in my backpack. I washed them while she was at work. I had a system and it worked but I was deathly afraid that one day it wouldn’t anymore.
“I want to come and see you sing,” she said at dinner that night.
I choked on my chicken leg. “What?”
“In the choir. I’ve been thinking about it and you know I’m really proud of you for taking an interest in something. I want to come and see what you’ve being putting all this time and effort into.”
I looked at my mother across the dinner table. The woman who had refused me the one thing I loved. Her blonde hair was short, her blue eyes still wary. Always looking like a deer caught in the headlights since my sister died. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. I didn’t look anything like her, except for the blonde hair. I looked like my Dad. Only I couldn’t remember what he looked like anymore. I had to rely on the pictures I found in the attic. He left after Summer died and all I remember of him is a man with broad shoulders and a crooked smile. And the way his strong hands used to lift me up onto my pony.
“You don’t want to hear us,” I said. “We’re really bad. That’s why we have to practice all the time.”
She put her fork down thoughtfully. “Well maybe I could just hear you practice then.”
“No,” I almost shouted. “Parents aren’t allowed to watch.”
I don’t think she believed me. In fact I was pretty sure she was getting ready to demand the number of the choir master so she could invite herself to the next practice when the phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” I said.
It was Mickey.
“Did you break it?” I whispered, crossing my fingers in the hope that she would say no.
“No,” she said. “But I sprained it. No riding for a week.”
“A week?” I said. “But Esther wants us to practice on Wednesday’s as well otherwise she says we won’t be ready.”
Secret Rider (Show Jumping Dreams ~ Book 1) Page 1
