Stagestruck

by Shelley Peterson

  The surprise in Dancer’s eyes was replaced by wariness. Abby walked slowly toward him, apple offered, eyes down. Humans are predatory animals, and horses are prey, and Abby did not want to appear threatening. Knowing that horses see better peripherally than straight on, she came to his side, not his head.

  Dancer sniffed the apple. He snorted. He pawed the gravel. He seemed to be torn with indecision. Abby tried to understand. Did he not want food from a stranger? Was she making him nervous by doing something wrong? Unsure, Abby continued to hold out the apple. Dancer refused, yet stayed beside her.

  Abby decided to put it down at his feet. He looked at the apple, then at her, and snorted again. He seemed amused. Puzzled, Abby turned to retrieve her bike. This is a very strange horse, she thought. Most horses gobble treats, regardless of who offers them. Abby picked up her bike and looked back at Dancer.

  He was gone. So was the apple. Abby looked around. She’d had her back turned for only a few seconds.

  “This is going to be even more difficult than I thought,” she said to Cody. “I have no idea what’s going on in his head.”

  Abby pushed her bike up the lane and leaned it on the barn wall, keeping an eye on the house. She expected Hilary to come out any minute. Abby wondered what she’d got herself into.

  While she stood there, a big bay head appeared over the fence around the corner of the barn. The large gelding eyed her appraisingly. This person smelled of apple. He sniffed her pocket.

  “You must be Henry. I’m Abby. I’m glad to see you’re a normal horse. I’m so sorry,” she said as she rubbed the long white blaze running down his face. “I only brought one apple, and I gave it to His Highness, the Ungrateful. If I’d known better, I’d have given it to you. At least you’d appreciate it.” Abby liked this horse. He had a kind eye and a calm intelligence. And she thought he looked handsome, too, in a friendly Clydesdale way.

  “I’ll look in the barn for a treat,” she told Henry. “Wait here.” Abby walked into the barn, looking for something she could give him. In the feed room was a huge sack of carrots. Perfect, she thought. Filling her pockets, she went outside. Henry stood, watching her.

  Abby pulled out a carrot and offered it to him. Suddenly, Dancer appeared out of nowhere and bodychecked Henry, pushing him away rudely and snatching the carrot out of Abby’s hand.

  “You greedy pig!” Abby shouted, as soon as she’d recovered her composure. She climbed over the fence, walked to Henry, and gave him two carrots, patting and consoling him.

  Dancer came charging, head down menacingly. Henry bolted away in a hurry, leaving Abby standing alone. She stood her ground, staring directly into Dancer’s eyes. He didn’t slow down. Abby waited until he was three strides away, then she punched her arms out quickly, and yelled, “Whoa!” in a deep, loud, gruff voice. Dancer swerved to the left, missing her by inches. Abby stood with legs shaking, then casually turned and walked to the fence as quickly as she could without appearing to be frightened. She kept Dancer in her sight as she climbed the fence, not trusting him one bit.

  Abby pondered her next move. I should get on my bike and go home, she thought. He’s a stallion. He has a bad reputation. He’s certainly unlike any horse I’ve ever known. Abby was unsure of herself. She wished she’d let her father come. He’d give her good advice. Liam would tell her to leave it alone, to stick with Moonie and Leggy. They were enough of a challenge for anyone.

  Abby nodded sharply. She’d made her decision. She would go to the house and tell Hilary that she’d changed her mind. Hilary would try to convince her otherwise, but Abby would remain firm in her resolve. There was absolutely nothing Hilary could say that could change Abby’s mind, and that was that.

  As she was gathering her courage and rehearsing what she’d say, Dancer sauntered up and touched her shoulder with his nose. “What do you want?” she asked, coldly. Dancer nudged her again. “What?” Abby stayed where she was, unresponsive.

  Dancer tilted his head to the left, then to the right, studying her carefully. He put his nose to her nose and gently sniffed and blew.

  “You say you want to be friends? How do I know you’re not playing with me?” Dancer had just let her know that he was curious, but Abby was not about to forget the scare he’d given her.

  They looked at each other for a couple of minutes, each sizing the other up. Abby searched for the scar on his neck where Samuel Owens had slashed him. It was hardly visible. There was a slight indentation about six inches long, but the hair had grown in and the wound had healed well.

  Dancer made the first move. He quietly lifted his front feet off the ground, balancing on his mighty haunches. Softly he dropped down. He gracefully stretched out his neck and bent into a full curtsy, front knees crossed. He held this position for two or three seconds, then lifted his head and looked at Abby.

  “Okay, I’m impressed. Let me return the compliment.” Abby stepped back from the fence and performed a flourishing bow, mirroring Dancer.

  Dancer repeated his act, ending once again with his nose on the ground.

  “Okay, you’ve won me over, Dancer. Here’s a carrot.” Abby held out her hand, smiling in spite of herself. Dancer delicately took the carrot in his teeth. He accepted the two small ones that remained in Abby’s pocket, then rubbed his head gently on her arm.

  “I think you just made a friend.”

  Abby spun around and came face to face with Hilary James.

  “I didn’t know you were here!” she sputtered. “How long have you been watching?”

  “I just came out. Why?”

  “Nothing. Nothing, I just wondered.” Abby decided to keep Dancer’s behaviour between the two of them. He’d tested her, that much was certain, and she’d passed. Abby felt a healthy respect for this smart, powerful stallion. He was unusually clever and unpredictable. She vowed to stay alert.

  “Well, Abby? Are you ready to try him out?”

  Who’s trying out who? she thought. Or is it whom?

  “Yes,” Abby said aloud. “I think I am.”

  “Good. Let’s get him tacked up and we’ll start in the jumping paddock.” Hilary casually threw a rope around Dancer’s neck and walked him into the barn. Abby followed, noting how docile he was with Hilary. He seemed quite ordinary and horselike.

  Hilary talked to Abby while she placed the saddle pad and saddle on Dancer’s back and tightened the girth. “You’re a sensitive rider, Abby. I know you’ll get along. I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise. Actually, you’re the only person I can think of who could ride him.”

  “Why?” Abby gulped, her eyes intent on the older girl.

  Hilary laughed. “I didn’t mean to put it quite like that. Once you get to know him, he’s really quite simple. He doesn’t need much urging. He reads your mind, then does it. He seems to know what I want him to do before I know myself.” Hilary smiled at Abby reassuringly.

  Abby didn’t doubt that Dancer would do anything Hilary wanted. The question was if he’d do anything at all that Abby wanted. Her stomach was in knots.

  “All set,” said Hilary, after she slipped on the bridle and fastened the buckles on the nose band and cheek strap. She led him out to the riding ring, through the gate, and over to the mounting block.

  With shaking hands, Abby put on her hard hat and tightened the safety strap around her chin. She zipped up her Tipperary crash vest and prepared herself. Breathe in, breathe out, she told herself. Calm down.

  Dancer stood placidly at the mounting block while Abby stepped up. He seemed bored, but Abby knew that sometimes a certain bored look comes before an explosion, and she had just witnessed him in action.

  Hilary stood at his head, still talking. Abby tuned in. “Today, we’ll just get you both acquainted. Just a walk and trot, and see how it goes. Okay?” Abby nodded.

  As she grabbed the saddle and started to put her foot in the stirrup, Dancer swung his rump away from her, leaving his head in Hilary’s hands. Abby stumbled off the mounting block, almost
falling onto her face.

  Before Hilary could say a word, Abby had scrambled up onto Dancer’s back from the ground. She threw her leg over and settled into the saddle in a flash. Her face held a firm resolve.

  “Stirrups okay?” Hilary asked as though nothing had happened.

  Abby nodded.

  “You okay?”

  Abby thought about it. Then she smiled. “Yes, I am.”

  Abby was okay. After his second little test, Dancer felt fine. Now that she was on his back she could sense his sanity and willingness. There was no hint of the craziness and untrustworthiness that Abby had expected. Her father always told her that a good rider knows the second he gets on a horse if he should be there. If his instinct questions it, he should get off right away, before he wishes he had.

  Abby tightened her legs slightly, asking Dancer to walk.

  He responded immediately. His stride was long and steady. He walked out nicely, neck flexing of its own accord. Abby stopped him and turned to walk in the other direction. She thought about trotting, and before she’d decided if she was ready, Dancer picked up a trot.

  It was like floating on air. His action was long and low and rhythmic. Abby could ride like this forever.

  “You can stop smiling anytime,” called Hilary, happy with what she saw. “Nice, isn’t he?”

  “Nice is an understatement,” Abby answered. “He’s incredible. I didn’t have any idea how powerful he was.”

  “Try him in a canter, if you like,” Hilary said.

  Abby merely pressed Dancer lightly with her right lower leg, and he went into a canter on his left lead. He rocked gently as he cantered, smooth as a ship on the ocean. His well-muscled legs lifted and fell, lifted and fell. They circled the ring twice, then changed leads and went to the right.

  After three times around, Abby slowed him to a trot, then a walk. “He’s beyond anything I expected, Hilary. He’s magical. He’s . . . I don’t know what to say.” Abby looked at Hilary in alarm. “Why are you crying? What am I doing wrong?”

  “Absolutely nothing, Abby,” Hilary answered, wiping her nose with her sleeve and sniffing. “It’s just that he’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen anyone ride him before.”

  “Thank you so much for letting me.” Abby took her feet out of the stirrups and prepared to dismount.

  “You’re not finished, are you?”

  “You wanted me just to walk and trot today, didn’t you? To see if we got along? We cantered, too, so I thought . . .”

  “Dancer has been bored for years. He wants to do things. You know how smart he is. He’d love it if you’d ride a little longer.”

  “Sure! I’ll ride him as long as you say.”

  “Great. Let me set up a couple of rails to make him happy. And ignore me if I start to cry again.” Hilary grinned as she spoke.

  Abby and Hilary worked with Dancer for close to an hour. Hilary asked Abby to jump one jump, then two, and by the end of the hour, she’d added four more. Dancer was happy to be working again. His eyes were bright and focused. Hilary watched him carefully for signs of fatigue, but there were none.

  A small crowd had gathered. Christine and Rory came out of the house to watch. Christine had phoned Liam and Fiona to tell them how well Abby and Dancer were getting along. Too excited to keep it to themselves, the Malones had asked the Piersons to join the fun.

  Hilary’s grandmother, Joy, had arrived earlier that morning. She stood at the fence with the others, her fluffy dog Diva close at her heels. An attractive, intelligent woman with short grey hair and a flair for fashion, Joy was a loving, supportive mother and grandmother. She was thrilled by Abby’s success with Dancer, knowing how much it meant to Hilary. If Abby could exercise the feisty stallion, it would take a big weight off her granddaughter’s shoulders. Joy had come up to the country to see the Wick property; this was an added bonus.

  “Do the whole course, Abby,” requested Pete Pierson, resting both hands on his cane to support his back. He’d been having trouble with his right hip, but he held his tall frame proudly, and his look was one of determination.

  Abby looked at Hilary. Hilary nodded. “Only once, though, he’s had enough for today.”

  All the fences were the same height. They were under three feet; a good height to start with on the first day. Abby collected Dancer into a slow canter and headed him squarely into the first fence, which was an X. They landed, took one stride, two strides, three strides, and jumped the rails, as Abby looked for the third hurdle. Land, one, two, three, four, she counted, and they soared over the oxer—two, identical jumps set together to form a box. Land, one, two, Abby counted, and over. Now she turned to look at the jump set on an angle. It was higher than the rest, and Abby hadn’t thought she’d jump it, but Dancer was so keen, and they were having such fun, that she went straight for it. One, two, three, over. Perfect.

  Abby eased him into a trot and patted his neck. “Good boy, Dancer! Good boy.” She smiled from ear to ear. Now she would walk him out until his breathing returned to normal.

  “Abby, that was great,” called Hilary. “He certainly works for you, doesn’t he?”

  Abby nodded. “He’s a great horse.”

  Liam and Pete stood together. They’d been conferring quietly the whole time they’d been watching.

  “Well ridden, Abby,” said Liam. “I’m proud of you, my girl.”

  “Me, too,” agreed Pete. “He’s not an easy horse to ride. Not many people have stayed on.”

  Liam added, “Not many people would even try.”

  “He never put a foot wrong,” replied Abby. “He actually made it really easy for me.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” said Laura Pierson, fussing with her bright pink head scarf. “You’re a very brave girl.” A petite woman with fine features, Laura kept her bouffant hair blond with weekly trips to her hairdresser. She still liked to look attractive for Pete, even after almost sixty years of marriage. Her actions were quick and alert, and her good-natured, devilish smile could light up a room.

  “Come on in for coffee and croissants,” said Rory, motioning toward the house. “Joy picked them up at Le Petit Gourmet in Toronto just this morning.”

  “One hour ago,” said Joy, pleased. “They’re not still hot, but they’re fresh.”

  Rory took Joy’s arm. “I like having a mother-in-law who spoils me.” With his generous nature and dark good looks, Rory was a natural leader. “Come on, everybody. Please come in. The show’s over. You girls join us when you’re ready.” He put his other arm around Christine’s waist, and they started for the house followed by the Malones and the Piersons.

  Diva and Pepper had been racing around, chasing each other and anything else that moved. These two dogs were great friends, co-conspirators in mischief. Now they fell in with the group of humans, hoping for treats.

  “You think those young girls can handle that wild horse?” asked Pete, tongue in cheek.

  “Better than you and me,” Liam responded proudly.

  Abby kept Dancer walking.

  “You rode great, Abby,” Hilary repeated.

  “Thanks,” replied Abby. “He’s the one who’s great. I just sat on him.”

  “I wonder if you understand, Abby. If he didn’t want you to be on his back, you wouldn’t be there. Many people can testify to that.” She laughed. “And if he didn’t want to jump, you couldn’t have made him budge.” Hilary tilted her head, trying to find the right way to explain. “He likes you. It’s as simple and as rare as that.”

  “I think I do understand. Before you came out, Dancer and I had sort of a testing. He passed my test. I must have passed his.”

  Hilary nodded slowly. “Yes, you must have. I’ve never seen him so good with anybody but me, aside from that little mounting-block avoidance tactic.”

  Abby grinned broadly, basking in Hilary’s praise.

  “Can you come back tomorrow?” Hilary asked. “I have to go back to school early Tuesday morning, and I�
�d like to work with you one more time. How’s after school?”

  “I’ll be here.” Abby felt good all over. The sky was the limit.

  Samuel Owens put down the phone. He smiled. Things were going his way. His goals were about to be fulfilled. It was all so easy when you had money. His real estate agent had agreed to keep Owens’ interest in Wick Farm a secret. He’d been told that there had been no offers in all the years it’d been on the market. Some woman was looking at it later in the day, but the agent assured him that it would come to nothing, and that Owens would get it for an extremely reasonable price. He had only to wait until Robert Wick became desperate, which should be soon, and lowball an offer. On the off chance that someone else should put in an offer, the agent would give him a chance to put in a higher one. Owens considered the matter done.

  The acre property next door was a trifle. It was hardly worth thinking about. That old woman would take anything he offered.

  Last but not least, the Casey property. Samuel Owens leaned back in his leather chair and sighed contentedly, savouring the events of the night before. Helena Casey had been receptive to his charms. He’d called on her around five o’clock for a visit and a drink, and had returned home at approximately two in the morning.

  She’d had a drink or two before he’d arrived, but then again, so had he. Her pale, beautiful face had looked surprised to see him, but she’d invited him in without hesitation. Owens knew the type. She was lonely and bored and tipsy. A little flattery, a little charm. It didn’t take much.

  Owens stretched out his arms and yawned like a satisfied lion after a full meal. The April sun streamed through his large windows and fell across his rich oriental carpet, warming the library with the colours of the Far East. Gone were the dismal greys of the previous day.

  How could she have been married to a man like Rory Casey? he wondered. She needs a man of the world like me. A man who knows the ropes. Helena intrigued him. Beauty, grace, and elegance, wrapped up with a wonderfully catty sense of humour and a piece of property that Owens coveted. She despised all the people Owens despised. She found the same things abhorrent. They had so much in common. She might be someone he could spend time with. There were opportunities here, beyond the mere acquisition of land.