The Boy Who Loves Horses (Pegasus Equestrian Center Series)

by Diana Vincent

  “Um, yes…I guess I could,” Sierra answered, even though she hadn’t actually planned on going.

  “Great, we can meet after our game and watch the varsity game together if you want.”

  Allison smirked as Sierra blushed.

  “What am I going to do now?” Sierra moaned after Luke left. “My mom has swing shift clinicals this Friday and she won’t be able to pick me up. I know Luke rides around with Justin’s older brother and my mom will only let me ride with an adult driver.”

  “Don’t worry,” Allison soothed. “My dad loves football and he never misses a home game, so my parents are coming. You can get a ride home with me. I’ll ask Peter if he wants to watch the JV game and then you can sit with us.”

  “Thanks, if you don’t mind me tagging along.”

  “Don’t be silly. And, this will give you practice for the prom; sort of a dress rehearsal.”

  With Luke and homecoming absorbing all her thoughts, it became easy for Sierra to ignore River. He had really hurt her feelings last Saturday, and quite frankly, she felt as if she no longer cared about him. He was simply a blight in her vision that she had to move around and avoid while at the stable.

  *****

  Friday morning, Sierra woke feeling the same queasiness in her stomach that she experienced on horse show mornings. She spent extra time getting ready for school; glad now that Allison had made her stop at the make-up counter in one of the large department stores and undergo a professional make-up demonstration. She had bought all the recommended products but so far they had remained in a drawer, still in the packages. This morning, she carefully applied make-up, following the instructions the professional had written out for her; and then donned her favorite jeans and a dark green sweater that Allison always told her was ‘her color’. She tossed the make-up bag into her backpack, thinking she might want to touch up after school.

  Concentrating on lectures and class work proved difficult. Instead of going to the library, Allison said, “Come on, we’re going for a walk and talk about ‘worst case scenarios’.

  Sierra complied and somehow it did help as Allison asked ‘what would you do’ if various events might happen, such as: a rip in the seat of your jeans, lettuce stuck in your teeth, grease spilled down the front of your sweater. The discussion had them both in fits of laughter.

  After school, Sierra joined Allison and Peter in the bleachers. Although she really didn’t understand the rules of football, she did enjoy watching Luke on the field. She understood enough to stand and cheer with everyone else when their team made a touchdown.

  “He’s quite good,” Peter commented, knowing Sierra had eyes only for Luke on the field.

  When their team won, Sierra joined enthusiastically into the cheering. She thought of the times that Luke had watched her ride at a horse show, and how easily he had poured forth congratulations and comments on her ride. The team’s victory and the fact that Luke had played in every quarter, would provide plenty for her to talk about.

  After arranging where they would meet later, she said goodbye to Allison and Peter. In nervous anticipation she stood outside the team locker room to wait for Luke. Then as he emerged with his teammates from the locker room door, and his face lit up as he caught sight of her, Sierra’s heart warmed in gratitude and she at last felt glad she had agreed to come.

  “We won!” Luke exclaimed as he came up to her, his face split in a wide grin.

  “You were awesome!” Sierra greeted him with an equally broad smile.

  Luke took her hand as he led her through the crowd of happy kids; greeting his friends and receiving myriads of congratulations. Sierra noticed many eyes looking at her in surprise that she was with Luke, and even some envious glances from other girls. She could not help feeling a little smug and pitied the girls without dates milling around in groups.

  He bought her a hotdog and soda at one of the many booths set up for the upcoming game, and then insisted she share a hot fudge sundae from another booth. How fun it was, the simple act of sitting side by side at a table, eating ice cream from the same dish.

  When it was time for the varsity game, Luke guided her to a section of the bleachers where his teammates and their dates were gathering. Even the condescending looks from Crystal, sitting with Justin, could not dampen Sierra’s spirits.

  Luke had brought a fleece blanket that he wrapped around the both of them, and underneath the blanket, he held her hand. Their team played well, but Sierra almost resented every time they gained yards or when they scored a touchdown, for Luke jumped up and cheered, letting go of her hand. When the game was over and they had won, Luke hugged her exuberantly, picking her up off her feet.

  “How did the dress rehearsal go?” Allison asked at the end of the evening and they were settled in the back seat of her parents’ car.

  “He is wonderful!” Sierra sighed out. “Allison, he held my hand all during the game. He is so considerate, and he is so easy to be with.”

  Allison laughed as Sierra gushed on about Luke all the way home.

  That Friday was the first day Sierra had not gone to the stable since she had started boarding Fiel there.

  *****

  Saturday, as Sierra and River finished sweeping the aisles (in frigid silence), he suddenly asked, “Where were you yesterday?”

  “What?” Sierra frowned at him, startled and confused by the question. River hadn’t said a word to her all morning; in fact had not spoken to her all week.

  “You didn’t come here,” he stated, looking at her with an accusatory expression.

  “It’s homecoming, River,” Sierra explained. “I planned on letting Fiel have the day off yesterday so I could go to the game.”

  “You went to a football game?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes, I had a date.”

  River stared at Sierra as if she had committed a crime. In spite of herself, she felt guilty, as if he were accusing her of neglecting her horse. Then he abruptly strode off to hang up his broom.

  Sierra remained at the end of the aisle and leaned on her broom handle, trying to sort out what was going on with him. What have I done wrong now, in his crazy opinion? Not coming to the stable for one day certainly did not constitute neglect. She sighed in frustration and then made her way to the equipment bay. I don’t suppose he’ll give me a lesson today.

  River was needlessly rearranging the pitchforks, shovels, and brooms and Sierra got the impression he was waiting for her. “Saddle Fiel and I’ll give you a lesson,” he stated with his eyes intent on straightening a pitchfork next to a shovel.

  Don’t order me around! Sierra wanted to yell at him. She wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Instead, she stared at him in helpless exasperation. “Just what is wrong with you?” she finally managed to ask.

  He looked at her then, with an expression of such hurt that her frustration immediately vanished, and instead of wanting to shake him, she wanted to hug him. “Everything is wrong with me, Sierra, and it can’t be fixed. Just go get Fiel.” He walked away.

  Okay, so he’s in a self-pity mood today, and something about me not coming to the stable yesterday seems to have triggered it. With her anger dissipated, she did feel sorry for him; sorry about whatever was upsetting him now. She just didn’t know how to help him and was too filled with her own happy anticipation of seeing Luke again tonight to be sucked into his gloom.

  She brought Fiel in from his paddock, groomed and saddled him, and started her warm-up in the indoor arena. River emerged from wherever he had disappeared to, and as if nothing had happened, watched Sierra ride at walk, trot, and canter; in circles, serpentines, leg yields, and transitions. He told her what to do moment by moment with her seat, legs, and hands, and Fiel responded with energetic impulsion, working correctly from his strong hind end muscles. His ears flicked in concentration, in tune with Sierra’s aids; his attitude relaxed and happy.

  “You both look good,” River said after about forty minutes of work. “C
ool him out now.” Then he left the arena.

  “Thanks,” Sierra said to his retreating back. The session had been the best ride she had had on Fiel all week. How nice it would have been to discuss it with River and let him know how much she appreciated his coaching. “Fiel, you are so awesome.” She turned her attention to her wonderful horse, praising him as she gave him a long rein, and patted him on both sides of his neck as he stretched forward.

  Sierra finished taking care of Fiel and then rode Silver, her assigned mount, around the trail. After the ride and taking care of Silver, then cleaning her tack, her work was done for the day. She could go home and concentrate on getting ready for tonight.

  As she retrieved her bicycle from where she had left it near the back of the barn, she saw River in the paddock with the black horse, brushing him. So, he’s managed to win the horse’s confidence enough to approach and touch him. She felt a pang of remorse that she was not included in River’s care of the abused animal.

  *****

  The black snorted and shook his head as River walked slowly toward him. He murmured to his horse in a low, soft voice; pleased that the black held his stance as he came to stand in front of him. Slowly River reached out to touch his shoulder. The horse quivered his skin at the touch, but did not move away. Keeping one hand on the black’s shoulder, River extended the flat of his other hand with a piece of carrot. Delicately, the horse snuffled at it and then lifted it with his lips. With the hand still on his shoulder, River began to gently stroke the black’s neck and pull his fingers through the horse’s thick mane.

  It had taken patience and perseverance, but finally, three days ago, the black had allowed River to touch him. Today, he had brought a soft body brush. After stroking the horse on his neck a few minutes, he pulled the brush slowly from inside his shirt and let the black smell it. Starting low on the shoulder, River began to brush the rough, neglected coat. The black lowered his head, relaxed, and half closed his eyes as River groomed him.

  “You’ve been brushed before,” River murmured to him in Spanish, observing the black’s state of relaxation. “I bet you had a good start before someone stole you.” He took his time, gently but thoroughly grooming his entire body. Then he brought out a bucket of warm water and a sponge, and cleaned the sores with the shampoo Dr. Patterson had given him.

  “Está bien?” The black actually turned his head to nuzzle at River’s hand for more treats. River fed him the rest of the carrot, and with a final pat, quietly left the paddock.

  *****

  8 Homecoming

  It is not as much of an accomplishment to make an excellent military or dressage horse from a well-built, young horse, as it is to make a weak horse with irregular conformation into a conditionally useful, acceptable horse. - Gustav Steinbrecht

  *****

  After finishing the evening chores, River and Manuel walked toward the lower paddock and Manuel’s mobile home.

  “Why are you not getting along with Sierra?” Manuel asked, their conversation in Spanish.

  River ducked his head away shamefully, and then admitted to his friend. “It’s stupid. I’m stupid. I got mad at her about something one of her friends did. It’s not her fault. I should apologize.”

  “Why have you not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Manuel shook his head sadly. “You apologize to that young lady. Do not waste your life holding grudges or holding on to what you think is your pride. She is a good friend to you.”

  “I know that.”

  “So?” Manuel persisted.

  “I will, I will,” River replied, annoyed. But it was himself he was annoyed with, not Manuel.

  “Good; next time you see her…tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  Manuel smiled and clapped River on the shoulder. “Good work with that one.” He raised his chin indicating the black as they neared the paddock. The black watched them warily but actually nickered softly at sight of River.

  “Thanks.”

  Manuel watched as River gathered an armload of hay and entered the paddock. The black without hesitation followed the boy to the feed crib and tolerated River’s hand stroking his neck as he thrust his muzzle greedily into his hay. Manuel called out, “buenas noches,” and left the boy and horse alone.

  River stayed with his horse, talking softly to him, until the waning evening light faded to deep shadows. He quietly left the paddock, and whistled for Storm. But instead of heading for home, he turned onto the path that led behind Sierra’s cottage. Maybe he would just see if there were lights on, and if he got up the nerve, maybe he would knock and try to apologize to her tonight…maybe. He approached the edge of her yard and looked with hope and longing at the light filtering out from the curtained cottage windows. He imagined Sierra and her mother inside, probably in the kitchen having dinner.

  Headlights lit up the front yard as a car pulled into the driveway and came to a stop. River quickly slipped back into the shadow of a tree. A boy dressed in a suit got out of the back seat of the car, and knocked on the cottage door. When the door opened, he disappeared inside.

  Of course, homecoming prom. He had forgotten. Knowing he should leave right now, River nevertheless shamefully waited and watched, feeling like a stalker. About ten minutes later, the front door opened and the boy and Sierra came out, followed by her mother. Storm barked once softly. River bent down, signaling her to hush, but Sierra must have heard for she glanced toward where he hid, squinting into the darkness.

  The sight of Sierra momentarily took his breath away; then he gulped in air as his heart sped up, filling his chest with pain. Heaviness seeped into his muscles so that he could not move or pull his eyes away from staring. She is beautiful! The porch light lit up her bright face as she walked out the door, wearing a blue dress, her hair worn loose and cascading around her shoulders. The boy held open the car door and River gaped at a glimpse of bare thigh as she sat down. She slid over on the seat and the boy got in next to her. Sierra’s mother had gone back into the house, the car engine started, and the driver backed up and drove away.

  River sat on the ground, holding onto Storm until the sound of the car motor receded beyond his hearing. He squeezed his eyes shut, forbidding what felt like tears from forming. Why does that girl make me feel this way? He recalled the image of the well-dressed, handsome boy sliding into the car next to Sierra; the same boy, Luke or whatever his name, that hung around her at the championship. Jealous? I can’t be jealous. She’s just a kid. Even so, River folded his arms up and squeezed his fists as he thought about how he wanted to punch that boy in the face and shove him as hard as he could away from Sierra.

  Storm whined and nosed at his folded arms.

  “Let’s go home.” He hugged Storm and then pushed himself up to his feet. Think about your horse. He forced his thoughts around the progress he had made with the black. Tomorrow, he would try to get a halter on and then he would lead him out into the fields and let him graze. Through the months of winter he would just spend time with the horse; grooming him, letting him graze, and settle into a safe life, building trust. By next spring the black should have gained enough weight to think about starting him under saddle. Unbidden images of Sierra helping him with the black crept into his plans; how nice it would be to have a helper. Anguish flowed over him as he realized that she might not be willing to accept his apology (did he blame her?) or ever help him again.

  As River rounded a bend and stepped into the short, rutted drive leading to his aunt’s house, he saw a familiar pick-up parked in the yard. For the second time that night he drew in a sharp breath as his heart flipped; but for a very different reason. Cray Blackthorn, his father, was home.

  “He’s not supposed to be back for two more weeks,” River said out loud, mournfully. His father, a racehorse trainer, had finished the local racing season and then took off to a track in California with an extended fall racing season. Something had gone wrong for him to be home early.

  He fed
Storm, and then in resignation walked to the back door of the house. He heard his Aunt Hazel’s voice raised in scolding anger, loud enough to penetrate through the door.

  “You had no right! He belonged to me,” Hazel screeched.

  “In name only; he was my horse and I could do what I wanted with him,” his father shouted back, equally loud.

  “The one good thing you had going for you and you couldn’t even hold onto that.”

  “Just shut the…,” Cray cursed angrily. “It’s not my fault!”

  “What possessed you to race him again? You should have kept him at stud.”

  Something happened to the stallion, River guessed from what he overheard. Curious now, he opened the door and stepped inside.

  His father sat at the kitchen table, dejectedly curled around a whiskey bottle. His sister leaned back against the counter, arms folded tightly and her eyes blazing fire as she chastised him.

  “Here’s another one of your failures,” Hazel spat out as River entered the kitchen.

  Cray shifted around in his chair to focus his bloodshot eyes on River. It seemed to take him quite awhile to recognize him, but eventually he slurred out, “Hey, son.”

  “Hi,” River replied. “You lost the colt?”

  “Damn you, Hazel,” Cray lurched back around in his chair to face his sister.

  “Entered him in a claiming race,” Hazel stated. “How utterly stupid is that!”

  “I had no choice,” Cray snarled back. “He lost his last two races. No one was going to want to breed to him. I needed a win.”

  “Someone would have; you’d just have to lower the stud fee,” Hazel said through tight lips.

  “You don’t know anything so just shut your trap.”

  Hazel picked up a half empty beer bottle on the counter and flung it at Cray. A spray of beer flew in an arch across the table and the bottle smacked against his shoulder before it shattered on the floor.