“Whose horse?”
“Schrader’s.”
“Oh. Not good.”
“Yeah, that’s not all. There seems to be a rash of these lately.”
“Your students?”
“I know what you’re thinking. Three of my students’ horses have had various injuries in the last couple weeks, but Hans has also had several according to Dr. Matt.”
“Is that unusual? I recall my sister’s horses getting injured all the time. They’re no different than any athlete that puts stress on their joints.”
Sam shrugged. “You’re probably right. I suppose Juan’s warnings have me on edge. He’s taking an online course to be a private detective.”
“I wonder if we should do a background check on him.”
“I did before I hired him. Nothing.”
“He could have changed his name.”
“Now he has us doing it.” Sam stood up straight and put her hands at her sides. “Maybe I should get going.”
Carson stood. His eyes searched her face. “Do you have to?”
“I think it would be smart.” Not that smart was really on her mind right now. In fact, what she was thinking was a far cry from smart—more like stupid. Real stupid. Regardless, she wasn’t going to get stupid tonight.
Sam headed to the door. “Go to bed, Carson,” she called out behind her.
* * * *
Go to bed?
That was exactly what Carson wanted to do, just not alone and not to sleep.
Besides, he needed to tell her about the contest between her and Hans. He suspected she wouldn’t appreciate his deal with his father.
She stopped with her hand on the doorknob and turned back to face him. Damn, she looked good, even without makeup and in those ragtag jeans and oversized t-shirt. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her, not when they were actually getting along. He’d save it for a moment when he wanted to get under her skin. Right now she was the one getting under his skin. She studied him as if she could read every thought he’d buried deep inside then she left.
Damn. His life wasn’t supposed to work like this.
Thoughts of her were invading his every waking moment and his sleep, too. Something had to change. He needed to walk off the field or play to win. But if his body joined the game, how could he keep his gullible heart on the bench?
Chapter 18—The Horse Show Debacle
Carson strode past millions of dollars in horseflesh, fancy trucks, and fancier horse trailers. It was mind-boggling. His steps increased the closer he got to Sam. It wasn’t that he was anxious to see her, not at all. He was excited about seeing his horse at her first show. It had nothing to do with Sam.
He passed Bridget’s truck and trailer. Her rig was new, shiny, and big enough to have its own zip code. His sister was nowhere to be seen, but a groom quietly and efficiently prepared her horse for the next class. Saddles, bridles, and grooming tools were neatly arranged in the trailer’s tack room, everything spotless and polished. She had a place for everything and everything in its place. It was an organizational masterpiece that did her brother proud.
Carson stopped dead when he spotted Sam’s rig. He’d thought her apartment had been a mess. It didn’t compare to this. The truck and trailer belonged on the movie set of Grapes of Wrath. Even worse, the surrounding area looked like a weapon of mass destruction had hit it. Carson maneuvered around ground zero in search of life, namely Sam and his horse.
The grass was littered with horse brushes, saddle pads—some dirty, some clean, leather bridle parts, pieces of clothing, boots, and other equine paraphernalia. Pieces of paper and old horse show ribbons fluttered in the breeze from various nooks and crannies.
Incredible. Maybe Dr. Phil could do a show on this woman.
In the midst of it all was Sam, running in circles in a panic but not really accomplishing anything. Damn, he had his work cut out for him. Organizing this woman might be tougher than keeping Bridget on a budget.
He walked closer, stepping carefully over the debris. His horse was tied to the trailer. The big mare nickered and gave him those doe eyes. Carson kept his distance and ignored his equine admirer. She wasn’t any safer than the human type.
Sam paused from her mindless circles to emit a muffled snort. “I’m glad you showed up. It would’ve broken her heart if you’d missed her debut. The poor animal is infatuated with you.”
“Great. Wonderful. I make it a rule never to date a female over five hundred pounds.”
“She’ll be crushed.”
“Not as crushed as I’d be.” Carson gave the mare the once over. The elephant blinked at him and yawned, showing two rows of very big teeth. “Horses are vegetarians, right?”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Make yourself useful and carry this to the arena. It’s too hot to wear it while I’m warming up.” Sam tossed a black riding jacket to him. It was smudged with dirt and dusted with horsehair.
Carson raised one eyebrow but bit back a smart remark.
Sam straightened her hat and checked her stock tie. “How do I look?”
“Like you just fell out of the eye of a tornado.”
“Thanks, that gives me confidence. They’re scoring my horse and my riding, not my appearance.” Sam huffed. That woman did have her huffing down to an art.
“I might be ignorant about horse shows, but I’m not stupid. It’s a subjective sport, so appearances play a part. You know as well as I do that it makes a difference with the judges, even if it’s unconscious.”
Sam pursed her lips and turned her back on him. Swinging into the saddle, she steered Gabbie in the direction of the warm-up arena, her spine stiff and proud. Carson tagged along.
He’d insulted her and hurt her feelings, but damned if he knew any other way to get through to her.
Leaning his arms on the top rail, he took in the scene before him. The warm-up ring resembled a demolition derby with as much dust or more. No one paid attention to anyone else. A dozen or more horses were going every which way, yet somehow they managed not to collide. It was amazing, almost as if it was carefully orchestrated for some movie. And he thought horse shows were boring.
Carson held his breath as an animal larger than Gabbie lumbered down the arena wall. The fat, middle-aged rider bounced in the saddle like a bobblehead; her arms flailed in the air, and her legs flapped against the horse’s sides. Her air time out of the saddle would have impressed an Olympic high jumper. The horse, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to her existence. He chose his own course, weaving in and out of the crowd like a hockey player driving to the net. The animal zigged when he should have zagged and sent a wild-eyed Arabian leaping almost vertically in the air. The kid on the Arab’s back hung on like an expert, as if it happened every day. The bobblehead remained focused on her horse’s ears, never noticing the havoc she’d caused.
“What is zeez?” boomed a familiar baritone with a German accent. Hans stalked to Carson’s side, gesturing dramatically at Sam who was holding Gabbie back, walking small circles.
Carson kept quiet. He figured Hans didn’t need an answer. After all, this was Sam the Chaos Queen.
“Shoulder-in! Ride forward!” he belted out in a voice that sent three horses shying across the arena. Sam nudged the mare into a trot, and Gabbie, in full drama-queen mode, overreacted and shot forward, almost unseating her.
“You are riding as badly as you look!” Hans seemed poised to leap into the ring and ride the horse himself. “Details! It’s all in the details!”
Carson couldn’t argue that point. Sam’s details left a lot to be desired. All the other horses had neat, tidy rows of braids in their manes. Gabbie’s mane stood on end in places and some of the braids were crooked. Her own appearance didn’t fare much better in comparison to the other riders. Her clothes were ill-fitting and too big for her. Her boots were dusty and unpolished. That white thing she wore around her neck, oh yeah, the stock tie, was off to one side. Two splotches of dirt graced her white breeches. Her hair peek
ed out from her helmet. Lord, she was a walking disaster.
Hans, on the other hand, was pristine in his tan breeches, boots polished to a mirror finish, and white polo shirt, which caused Carson to gloat. A person could wear white around horses and not get dirty.
And his sister, now there was a fashion example if there ever was one. Her impeccable black jacket looked like it’d never been close to a horse. Her boots were so polished they could double as a mirror for putting on her makeup.
Carson supposed he could make excuses for Sam. She didn’t have a groom. She’d been running from arena to arena all day trying to coach students and ride her own horses. Still, dressage appeared to be a very precise sport. Precise dress couldn’t help but impress the judges.
He’d have a talk with her before the next show. If need be, he’d hire a groom to take care of the details. He couldn’t have someone representing him with such a disheveled appearance. Hans wasn’t overly impressed with her appearance either.
Adam Schrader, who came to stand next to Hans, interrupted Carson’s musing. “Herr Ziegler, you have your work cut out for you.” Schrader gestured toward Sam, now careening around the arena on a half-out-of-control Gabbie.
Hans, disgusted, turned away from the arena and focused his attention on Schrader. Carson watched, attempting to appear detached and disinterested.
“How good to see you again. Have you given any more thought to my FEI prospect?”
“That question took care of itself. My daughter’s horse has suddenly come up irreparably lame. She needs something ready to go right now. The cost is immaterial.”
Saliva dripped from the corner of Han’s mouth, or it should have. “The horse has the talent, but he’ll need a tactful rider.” Hans paused to watch Sam. Gabbie was bolting left and right, sending horses and riders scurrying for cover.
“Of course.” Schrader’s eye followed Gabbie around the ring. She wrestled the horse under control, but only for a moment. Carson’s eyes narrowed as he watched his sister veer in front of Sam. She had to jerk the mare in a tight circle to avoid a collision. Like a skidding car, the mare slipped and almost went down. That damn sister of his was going to get a piece of his mind. Messing with Sam might be a misdemeanor, but endangering his investment constituted a felony.
“Sam is talented, but undisciplined.” Hans spoke with the superiority of a man who knew his place in the world.
“She’s her own worst enemy.” Schrader agreed.
“I am certain she’s an adequate instructor.”
Carson bristled. The German knew exactly what he was doing, courting Schrader’s favor. Sam was right not to trust him.
“My daughters are too gifted to settle for adequate.”
Gifted at being pains in the ass, Carson decided.
“Would you like me to schedule a time for your daughter to try the horse?”
Schrader gave a dismissive wave. “Absolutely not. I’m well aware of your reputation. If you say the horse is good, it’s good.”
“Ya, it is.”
“I’ll write you a check on Monday. I’d like my daughters scheduled for lessons starting next week.”
“My schedule is quite booked.” Hans made a show of consulting his smartphone. “But given their natural abilities and dedication, I will squeeze them in somehow.”
Carson almost choked. Hans was pouring it on way too thick. It was all about money. He could have those spoiled girls. Sam would be better off without the Schrader brats.
* * * *
As Hans’ critical voice boomed across the arena, Sam seethed from the humiliation of it all. Jerk. Pompous jerk. He was making an ass out of her in front of her students and most of all, Carson.
His bellowing was bad enough, but his silence was deadly and suddenly he’d fallen silent. She slanted a glance toward the man in between Gabbie’s airs above the ground. Schrader had joined them. That wasn’t good, not good at all. Even Carson didn’t look so smug anymore. He looked annoyed.
Unfortunately, Herr Doctor could ride, train, and teach even better than his immense ego believed he could. If there had been any justice in the world, he’d be all talk and no substance. That wasn’t the case. Hans was one of the best. He’d almost made her one of the best, until she’d lost her horse and—not the thing to be thinking about before entering a class. Pay attention, Sam, she chastised herself.
Perhaps just a small bit of her predicament could be attributed to her being just a teeny bit late to the show grounds—only about two hours—and just a little disorganized. She usually knew which pile everything was in, but it was her first show of the year. She’d get better.
Sam’s excuse making was interrupted as Bridget’s horse shot toward Gabbie in an extended trot across the arena. Sam had to wrench the mare in a tight circle to avoid a collision with Bridget’s massive gelding. Bridget was everywhere, getting in her way at every turn. She was purposely trying to undo her concentration, and she did it so well that no one else would notice how deliberate it was.
By the time her short warm-up was over, she’d worked herself into a state of nerves. Gabbie was in a lather and dancing on tiptoes. Her sensitive mare couldn’t handle being wrenched about. Bridget was a mean-spirited, self-absorbed bitch. Somehow, she’d find a way to get even with her.
Burke met her as she left the warm-up for the competition arena. “Take a deep breath, Sam. Don’t let those two get to you.” He swiped at her boots with a towel and shook his head in defeat.
“Gabbie’s fried.”
“Just get in there and do what you do best. The mare is a drama queen, and we both know it. If you calm down, she’ll calm down. She has her panties in a bunch because she doesn’t want to be here, and she doesn’t want to work.”
Unfortunately, Sam couldn’t find it within herself to put her frustrations behind her. Gabbie went around the arena, fighting every step of the way. She shied, bucked, and bolted at random. The judge watched with lips puckered as if she’d just eaten something sour and distasteful. It wasn’t a good sign.
At least, she stayed on the horse.
She turned Gabbie down the final centerline. The mare quit fighting, let out a large sigh, relaxed, and happily did a perfect square halt, as if nothing was wrong.
Sam had been had. A rider had to be smarter than the horse, and this mare had just outwitted her.
* * * *
“Your sister needs a lesson in sportsmanship,” Hans noted as he stood next to Carson by the competition arena. They watched as Sam rode Gabbie in her 2nd class of the day. The mare had worn herself out in the first class, and now just dragged her big body around the arena as if all the energy had been sapped from her.
“She’s always needed that lesson. It’s pointless. She’s in to win.”
Hans nodded sagely. “So I’ve noticed. She’s a good rider, but chooses to flit around from horse to horse and never sticks with one long enough to develop a working relationship with it. She is not focused or dedicated.”
“You can develop a working relationship with a horse?”
“Ya, certainly.”
“What about her?” Carson indicated Sam.
“She is still on that horse’s back, is she not?”
“Has that been a problem in the past?”
“This horse has thrown America’s best.”
“Can Sam make a winner of that horse?”
“She has the gift. Attention to detail is her key. Sam is an incredibly talented rider. She rides by feel and intuition. She needs to keep that, yet become more precise to pick up points. That vould separate her from the crowd.”
Carson appraised the man for a moment. Appearance wise, he couldn’t fault him. He epitomized the image Carson imagined for Cedrona. Yet, there were things that bothered him. For example, his German accent seemed to come and go. As far as ethics, he stole students from other instructors. Carson witnessed two more incidents in which Herr Doctor intimated that a rider could do better with his expertise.
&nb
sp; “So how is this scored anyway? I mean how does someone win?”
“Ah, it’s pretty complicated, but I will attempt to simplify it for you.”
“Give it a shot. I’m not as dense as you think.”
“The rider memorizes a pattern called a test. Each part of the pattern is performed according to the letters located around the arena. For example, trot the horse in a circle starting at letter A and ending at A.”
Carson held his hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn.
“Are you listening?”
He nodded.
“The tests are divided into movements and each movement is awarded a score from 1-10, similar to figure skating, but tens are beyond rare. A seven or eight is an excellent score; a six is average. There are four levels, First through Fourth. Then there are the FEI Levels, Prix St. George, Intermediare I, and Intermediare II, and Grand Prix. Grand Prix is the level ridden in the Olympics.”
“FEI? Sounds like a store that sells sporting goods.”
“It is French and is an abbreviation for Fédération Equestre Internationale and is the international level of competition.”
“What level is Sam competing?”
“Third and Fourth level, which is excellent for a young horse. Each level takes approximately a year to master. Assuming you start the horse at four, most eight-year-olds are at fourth level or lower. Gabriella is only six, but she’s talented and easily bored, so she was moved up faster.”
“If she’s so talented, why can’t she start at the FEI stuff?”
“Because it takes years to build up the muscles and skills necessary for the horse to perform without pain and with confidence. Would you put a ten-year-old in the same exercise program as a professional soccer player?”
“Well, no, of course not.”
“The judge’s scores are recorded on a score sheet, totaled, and averaged into a percentage. The highest percentage wins the class. Good scores are in the mid-sixties. Anything above seventy percent is wunderbar.”
“Seems a little odd.”
“You will figure it out.”
The Gift Horse Page 15
