“What’s wrong with him?” Sierra persisted.
“There’s nothing right about him.”
“River…” Sierra said, exasperated, “that’s ridiculous. How can you say that? You don’t even know him.”
“I know enough.”
“That’s unfair. He’s a nice person,” Sierra insisted.
River dumped his forkful forcefully and then stood with his arms folded around the pitchfork. “He’s too old for you, he’s using you, and he’ll hurt you.”
Sierra squeezed the handle of her own pitchfork as tight as possible to hold in her exploding emotions. She had thought the same things, and it hurt so much to hear that expressed out loud. But River couldn’t know, anymore than she, and now it was River hurting her. “You’re wrong,” she stated, struggling to keep the tremor out of her voice.
River shook his head again and turned his back as he returned to mucking.
“I don’t get you,” Sierra said to his back. “Dean is fun to be with. He likes horses. He thinks you’re a great rider. (Dean had never said that to her, but he had inferred it when he talked about River as the competition.) I think you and he could be friends.”
River made a derisive sound. “I will never be friends with him.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t like horses. He uses horses…like Crystal.”
“How can you say that? I’ve seen him around the horses and he shows a lot of affection. He’s not at all like Crystal.”
“I’ve seen him around horses too, and he doesn’t care about them.”
That statement made no sense at all. She had never seen Dean do anything harmful around a horse. Of course he likes horses. “You just don’t know him.” They returned to mucking in thick, bitter silence. After a few more forkfuls, Sierra shot out, “And he’s not too old for me.”
“Yes he is,” River insisted.
“What about that girl you were seeing? Laila or whatever her name is. She’s way older than you,” Sierra demanded.
“That was different.”
“I don’t see how.”
River faced her again. “Exactly; that’s why he’s too old for you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
He turned away and dug in forcefully with his pitchfork.
“And it’s really none of your business,” she added spitefully, although in her heart, she felt it might be his business if they were friends.
“Right. So forget it.”
“Fine.”
They finished the last few stalls in cold, brittle silence.
*****
When Dean and his sister came for their lessons, he would find Sierra and talk with her while Caroline rode. She anticipated his arrival on their scheduled day, and delayed her rides so that she would be at the stable when they pulled up in his BMW, the groom driving the trailer behind them. Sometimes it meant that she cut her ride short on Fiel, though she always made sure she accomplished the allotted time on her assigned horse for that day. But she grasped at all the short intervals of time she had with him – walks between classes, a few minutes in the cafeteria, and a full forty minutes or so during Caroline’s lesson. Dean and Caroline always left as soon as both their lessons were finished, leaving the groom to take care of their horses.
Then one evening as she pedaled her bicycle homeward, she found Dean sitting in his car, almost hidden in a stand of trees near the Pegasus driveway.
“Sierra,” he called to her.
“Dean! What are you doing here?” Sierra rolled her bike alongside his car, smiling in her happiness to see him.
“Waiting for you.” His tone was serious and he didn’t smile.
“What’s wrong?” Sierra’s heart jumped as she imagined a tragic accident to their trailer with the horses in it.
Dean breathed out a long sigh as he stared straight ahead, his arms extended in front of him with his hands gripping the steering wheel. “I try not to think about you. I know I shouldn’t be interested in you. I’m too old for you; that’s what all my friends say.”
Sierra could not think of a response. Her mind filled with the idea that he talked about her with his friends. She stood awkwardly, squinting in at him.
He turned his head to look at her, his eyes dark in the shaded light. He studied her face, his expression serious and unsmiling. It made her feel vulnerable and self-conscious and she flushed a deep red.
“Could you just talk with me for a little while?”
“Okay,” Sierra answered, confusion mingling with the pleasure of seeing him; unsure of why he was here.
Dean leaned over to open the passenger door. “Sit down,” he invited. When Sierra hesitated, he did smile and coaxed, “I’m not going to drive away with you. I just want you to be comfortable.”
“Um, okay.” Sierra set her bike down and got in the car. I’m not disobeying; he’s not driving.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.” Dean picked up her hand, stroking her fingers and then lacing his own fingers with hers. “Do you have any idea how special you are?” he asked in a husky voice.
“No,” she replied in a whispered squeak. His words sent thrills down her spine. His touch sent heat surging up her arm. Her heart pumped with such force that she feared Dean would hear it. She stared down at the hand holding hers.
He began to run a finger, feather-light, up her arm. “I’m obsessed with you. I can’t concentrate in class or on my homework because you are always in my mind. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I toss and turn every night wondering what you look like in your bed.”
Sierra looked up to meet his penetrating gaze, speechless.
He dropped her hand and sat back from where he had been leaning in towards her and covered his face with both hands.
Is he going to cry? This entire situation felt surrealistically weird.
“Sierra,” he said in a muffled voice. “Do you care about me?”
“Yes,” she croaked through her dry throat, coughed and said again in a clear voice, “yes.”
He scrubbed his hands down his face, turned to face her again, and reached out to touch her cheek with his thumb. He picked up one of her braids and rolled it between his fingers. His other hand reached forward and cupped her chin as he slowly leaned in with his eyes on hers. He kissed her softly on her parted lips.
Sierra closed her eyes. When he pulled her against him she did not resist. He kissed the top of her head, then her forehead, her nose, and when he reached her mouth again, she kissed him back. She put her arms up around his shoulders and allowed herself to melt against his chest, feeling the thump of his heart and thinking it beat in time with hers.
He stroked her shoulders, her neck, traced her ears, her jaw line, and then when she lifted her face, he pressed his lips to hers more firmly, but oh so sweet.
But when his tongue probed into her mouth, Sierra’s eyes flew open and she pulled away in shock.
Dean broke away and held her by her shoulders, gazing into her startled eyes. He smiled and touched his finger to her lips and traced them gently. “Never been French kissed before?” he whispered.
She shook her head.
“You didn’t like it?”
“I…I don’t know. I think so…”
“I liked it,” he continued in a seductive whisper. “You taste like honey…sweeet.” He drew the last word out on a whispered breath as he leaned in and kissed her softly; then traced her lips with his tongue. “So sweet,” he repeated. This time he closed his eyes and kissed her deeply.
Sierra kissed back, losing herself in the warmth of his embrace and the eagerness of his mouth. She did like it!
He broke away from her mouth to whisper, “I want you,” and then kissed her again. And now his hands were rubbing her shoulders, and between her shoulder blades. It felt so wonderful. He stroked over her shoulder and down her neck, to trace her collar bone, and then down her chest.
His touch seemed to draw heat from her deepest core to spread throughout her body…
her body that tingled mysteriously in places it never had before…a mystery she wanted to unfold, but…not here, not now! “Stop, Dean,” she asked him. He did not and she pushed his hands away.
“Please,” he pleaded, looking mournfully into her eyes.
“I can’t.” She shifted and moved herself away.
His expression shifted into a frown. “You’re not very nice.” He almost sounded angry.
“Please,” Sierra pleaded in turn, not liking how he glowered at her. She felt a little scared. “I’m not ready for this.”
He stared back coldly.
“Don’t be mad at me.”
His expression softened to one of wistful reproach. “Why are you rejecting me? Do you know how that hurts me?”
“I’m not rejecting you…” she started to explain, but he interrupted by leaning in to kiss her again. As he tried to take her back into his arms, she pushed them away. “No. I don’t ever want to hurt you, but I can’t.”
“Okay.” He moved back away and dropped his hands onto the steering wheel. “Goodbye.” He didn’t look at her as he reached forward and turned the ignition key and the engine purred to life.
For one frightened moment, Sierra feared he would drive off with her. But he waited, his hand on the gear shift, still looking straight ahead.
“Dean…” When he didn’t move, she opened the door and got out. As soon as her door closed, he drove off. She stood forlornly watching him drive away.
The next day at school, Dean acted as if the incident in the car had never happened. Sierra, feeling very inexperienced, confused, and embarrassed to ask what it had been about, pushed the whole thing to the back of her mind.
*****
23 Jumping
The essential joy of being with horses is that it brings us in contact with the rare elements of grace, beauty, spirit and freedom. – Sharon Ralls Lemon
*****
I am not jealous. I just don’t want to see her get hurt.
River tried to convince himself that was his only concern, whenever he saw Sierra with Dean.
River never thought about love; it was not something he felt like he needed or that would ever happen to him. Of course he had loved his mother and he had loved João. He loved Storm and the horses…but that is easy love. He probably had loved Laila, although he didn’t think he had been in love with her. He never expected to fall in love.
He did not like the way Sierra invaded his thoughts, or the fact he found himself having imaginary conversations with her in his mind; conversations where he convinced her to stay away from the biggest jerk in their school. All the pleasant memories of things they did together - riding, working, cooking in her kitchen, playing with Storm and Charlie - now only caused an acute sense of loss. He missed her, but that doesn’t mean I…
I am mad at her. How could she be such an idiot? He tried to think of all the things he didn’t like about her. But honestly, there was only one thing - the fact she had chosen Dean over him.
He had seen them together in Dean’s car and that had inflicted a wound more painful than any beating he had ever received from his father.
Yesterday on his way home, he saw the parked BMW, almost hidden next to the driveway leaving Pegasus. Storm had barked once, and maybe her warning had triggered him to slip into the foliage to clandestinely peer into the front seat…a couple making out.
He recognized the back of Dean’s head, and quickly looked away, because he already knew who the girl was. But he had to look; and when he saw part of Sierra’s face, her eyes closed with that jerk’s mouth on hers, it felt as if a giant fist punched him through his chest. His vision momentarily went black and he dropped down to the ground, squeezing his fists against his tightly folded arms to hold in the screams that ricocheted within his heart and mind. He couldn’t move until he heard a door open and close, the car drive away, and Sierra pushing off on her bicycle.
I hate her! I don’t care about someone who is so stupid. But he did care, and he did not hate her; he… His emotions vacillated between jealously and anger to profound feelings of wanting to protect and care for her.
Boys’ locker room banter did not interest him and most of the time he tuned it out, but when he heard Dean’s name and something about a bet, he did listen. He had missed the details but understood that it involved a contest between Dean and two other seniors, and it had to do with girls. Even then, he had a bad feeling that Sierra might be a target of this bet. He had wanted to warn her, but had nothing definite he could warn her about.
Don’t hurt her! If you hurt her I will tear you apart, he threatened Dean in his mind. He knew he could take him on. The guy might be slightly taller, and maybe carried twenty more pounds; but he was a wimp without muscle. The guy obviously never stacked hay bales, repaired fences, or dug drainage ditches; all the things that had given River firm chest and arm muscles in spite of his thin build. I could pulverize him…and her! No, he never wanted to hurt Sierra…ever! He wanted her to open up her beautiful brown eyes and see the truth about Dean.
Of course, if Dean did hurt her badly, she would give him up and she would need someone to comfort her and… But that was not how he wanted things to happen. He did not want Sierra to come to him on the rebound with a broken heart.
*****
No real food in the house, no hot water when he took his shower, a night of thumping his pillow as he tossed and turned, left River in an extremely foul and bitter mood the next morning with the weekend ahead of him. He knew better than to try anything new or difficult on his rides today; he did not want to project his despondent feelings onto the horses. He trail rode Penny, Moose, and his other assigned horse; and lunged Felicity in the arena. Then he went out to a corner pasture where Corazón had been turned out.
His horse whinnied and trotted up as River stepped inside the gate. The sight of the beautiful animal with his mane flowing and his black coat glistening in the afternoon light; at least temporarily lifted his mood. A horse moving in freedom with head and tail held proudly, had always thrilled River’s spirit, transporting him to a place unhindered by the problems of the world.
“Hermano,” he greeted his horse and reached up to touch his nose and stroke his neck. The black nuzzled at his chest, and then at his pockets. River fed him a carrot, and allowed Cory to lick the salt flavor from his palm.
The shadow of a hawk passed overhead, followed by its piercing cry. Cory snorted and shied away from River, tossed his head and kicked out with his back legs, then returned to face the boy, standing squarely with head high. He blew out one loud snort and stomped a front leg.
River laughed. It seemed obvious that Cory wanted out for a run. With so many horses assigned to him every day, he often didn’t have time for his own horse, and it had been two days since he had last ridden the black. He did make sure he worked him at least four times a week, either on the trail or twenty to thirty minutes of basic dressage exercises, to maintain his fit condition. Cory’s gleaming coat, prominent veins, and rippling muscles confirmed he was in top form.
“Bueno, vamos.” River walked over to the gate and picked up Cory’s halter, his horse following close behind. He fastened the halter on the black’s head, looped the lead rope around his neck and tied it to the halter ring, forming reins. He led him outside the gate and glanced surreptitiously around to be sure no one saw, although this part of the property was not visible from the stable yard or the back field. Tess would have a fit if she found out he rode without bridle, saddle, or helmet. He swung himself up onto Cory’s bare back, picked up the rope reins and guided him onto a path that edged the lower part of Pegasus and intersected with the network of trails.
Cory jigged impatiently as River tried to keep him to a walk to at least attempt a warm-up. He gave up after a few minutes and allowed him to break into a lengthened trot. As soon as they reached the intersection to the trail, he let go, and Cory leaped into a gallop.
They raced up and down the hills of the trail, the speed cl
earing River’s mind of troubles and soothing his aching heart. He couldn’t think; only feel…Cory’s muscles bounding beneath his seat and between his legs felt like they belonged to his own body. The wind from their speed whistled in his ears, silencing the world around. He only heard Cory’s deep breathing in rhythm with his galloping stride, and the pounding of his hooves. His eyes watered, blurring the vision of Cory’s black head moving rhythmically in front of him. His spirit melded with his horse and they moved together as one animal, filled with pure joy. He never wanted to stop.
But they had to stop, and when the trail led them to the back field, River sat deep and quiet and ‘spoke’ to Cory to slow down. The black brought his hind end muscles underneath to slow from a gallop to a canter and then trotted off the trail onto the field. He pricked his ears, snorted, and turned his head to look at a log jump to their right.
Has he ever jumped? Recklessness suited River’s mood, and impulsively, he turned Cory to face the log. If he goes straight, we’ll take it; if he veers, I will guide him to the side, River decided.
Cory jumped back into a canter and moved confidently toward the log, took off at the correct spot, and sailed over, galloping on toward a low stone wall straight ahead of the log. River let him go, and he took the wall boldly. Awesome! He turned him toward a rail fence; it seemed all he needed was to point the black where he wanted, and his horse soared over.
“Está bien.” He guided Cory to the perimeter of the field and down to a walk. He leaned forward and hugged him around his neck, patting and stroking his chest and shoulders. Cory dropped his head and snorted, relaxed and happy. River slipped off his back and hugged him again, his heart bursting with pride and exhilaration. Cory can jump and he likes it!
A figure walked toward them, waved and then called out, “That was so amazing! Incredible!”
River looked up, startled, and recognized Katrina. Uh oh, caught in the act. “Hi, Katrina,” he greeted. “What are you doing here?”
The Boy Who Loves Horses (Pegasus Equestrian Center Series) Page 24
