by Kate Lattey
He laughed, but shook his head. “Nah. Too late now, isn’t it. Too out of practice. And I don’t think I could do it anymore.”
“Not flexible enough?”
He grinned, that mischevious smile that had made him such a perfect Peter Pan lighting up his face once more. “Hey, I’m plenty flexible, trust me.” He paused as I blushed. “But I just don’t think I’ve got the drive anymore,” he carried on, his grin fading as quickly as it had appeared. “I lost all that passion somewhere along the line.”
“Is that so?” I moved closer to him, turning towards him and hooking one of my legs over one of his. “Because I seem to recall plenty of passion the other night.”
The smile was back. “Well, yeah. That kind of passion I can do.”
“Good to know.”
And this time, I kissed him first.
THE END
PONY JUMPERS
Follow AJ, Katy, Susannah and Tess
as they negotiate the ups and downs of
life, love and show jumping.
#1 First Fence
#2 Double Clear
#3 Triple Bar
#4 Four Faults
#5 Five Stride Line
#6 Six to Ride
COMING SOON:
#7 Seventh Place
(sneak preview on the next page!)
“The series gives you thoroughly enjoyable, character-driven stories loaded with authentic content: just what we have come to expect from this author. Her skill with dialogue and the nuances of family life is really outstanding."
- Jane Badger, author of "Heroines on Horseback: The Pony Book in Children's Fiction"
Pony Jumpers #7
SEVENTH PLACE
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
The island appeared out of the mist ahead of us, shimmering into existence as the large ferry motored across the Cook Strait. I leaned against the railing, the wind whipping my long blonde hair around my face, and stared out at the approaching South Island. I usually enjoyed this trip, but this year, for the first time, I’d begged Dad to skip the National Championships altogether, and just let us stay at home.
He’d said no, of course. None of my arguments – that Buck and Skip were already qualified for Pony of the Year so we didn’t need the extra points; that I’d won it last year and so had nothing left to prove; that Forbes didn’t like long journeys or extended periods away from home and was unlikely to go well – had held weight. Dad had had answers for everything – yes the ponies were qualified, but they weren’t at the top of the national table, so could always use more points; that I’d won it on Buck but not on Skip, and nobody had ever won it back to back, so another win would be impressive either way; and that Forbes had to get used to the travel sometime and he might as well start now.
And so here I was, with my father, and without my mother. She’d stopped coming to shows a few weeks ago, preferring to stay home and work. A skilled interior decorator, she’d only worked occasionally while I was growing up, taking on jobs that she liked and turning down anything she didn’t feel particularly inspired by. But lately she’d decided to resurrect her business, picking up contracts left right and centre, and working every hour of the day. She’d moved into the home office, and when she wasn’t shut up in there, she was out looking at fabric samples and paint swatches, trawling around furniture stores and hunting down light fittings that would add just the right touch to a room. She’d lost almost all interest in the ponies and my riding career, listening idly whenever I discussed them, but no longer contributing anything to the conversations. If she could’ve picked one thing that would irritate my father beyond all others, that was it. And he’d upped his game in response, taking more of an interest than ever before in my riding, coming down to the arena every evening when I was schooling and giving me pointers, offering to move jumps and poles around for me, and generally being a nuisance. But I knew why he was doing it, so I didn’t complain. I nodded, and smiled, and did as I was told.
As always.
My parents had never had a particularly loving or affectionate relationship – that’s just how they are. But I’d never doubted that they loved each other until a few weeks ago, when my brother had briefly returned from his exile in South Africa and tried to convince Mum to go back with him. She’d almost done it too, had almost left my father, had almost dragged me along with her. I hadn’t wanted to go, but I’d resigned myself to it until she’d changed her mind at the last minute. I’d been relieved, and had naively assumed that everything would go back to normal.
Nothing was ever normal in my house. I should’ve known that by now.
“There you are.”
I turned my head and saw my father striding towards me, tall and upright, always looking like he’s in a hurry to get somewhere more important. He stopped next to me and leaned one hand on the railing. His wedding ring glinted in the sunlight, and I wondered if they would get a divorce. It certainly wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility, although it gave me a cold feeling to even consider it. Things weren’t perfect, but I wasn’t sure I could handle that much change.
“I told you I was coming up here,” I reminded him, but he wasn’t really listening.
“I’ve just been talking to the Campbells,” he told me. “They’ve got a horse for sale that might suit you.”
This again. “I don’t want another horse.”
“Now hear me out,” he insisted, and I resigned myself to listening. “It’s a very well-bred jumper they imported from Australia last year for Grace, but it’s a bit much for her to handle, apparently.” No kidding. I didn’t know the horse, but Grace Campbell was only about twelve years old and barely managing to get her super-reliable pony Summertime going consistently around the Pony Grand Prix circuit as it was. “Nothing that would trouble you, they assure me, just a bit spirited for her. Very talented though. It’s won metre-forties over in Oz, and they say it’s a super Young Rider prospect.” He paused for a moment, then carried on. “Well, what do you think?”
“Why doesn’t Connor ride it, if it’s that good?”
“Too small for him. She’s only fifteen two, and slender-built.”
I nodded. Connor was only a couple of years older than me, but he was over six feet tall. His long legs wrapped around a little 15.2hh mare would be laughable.
“What’s her name?” I asked, wondering if I’d seen it out. There were some nice horses on the circuit, and as much as I insisted to my father that I didn’t need a fourth mount, there were a few that I wouldn’t have turned away.
“Small Talk, but it’s not been out much. They’ve kept it at home and tried to get it going with Grace, but it’s not working out, so they’ve brought it to Nationals to do the metre-twenty Champ. Got a friend riding it, apparently. Didn’t say who.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll let them know we’re interested then.”
I frowned at him. “I didn’t say that. Dad, we’ve been over this. I’ve got three ponies already in work and school starts again in a few days. I don’t have time to work four during the term.”
“And I told you that I’d get you some help.”
“I don’t want help,” I reminded him. “I can do it myself. I want to do it myself.”
Dad sucked in a breath, clearly trying to school himself to patience. I looked away from his angry eyes and out across the blue ocean that rippled around us. Someone on the top deck shouted as a pair of bottlenose dolphins leapt out of the water, curving gracefully through the air, then diving back into the depths. I envied them their freedom.
“We’ve talked about this.”
“No, you’ve talked about this.” I wasn’t sure where the courage to talk back to him was coming from, but I embraced it. It wasn’t something I did often, but something in the open sea air was giving me a stronger sense of self. “I’ve been there, but you’ve been the one deciding.”
“You’ve only got a season and a half left on ponies,” Dad said resol
utely, as though by repeating himself yet again he could somehow change my mind. “And Buck’s starting to feel his age.”
I clenched my jaw, staring out across the water and willing the dolphins to reappear. I didn’t want to think about Buck. At eighteen years old and with a long career behind him, his joints were starting to wear down. We babied him along as much as possible, cosseting him with massage blankets and joint formulas, but nothing could reverse the process of time.
“He might not be a contender next season,” Dad said, pressing down on that wound. “Could be we have to retire him after Pony of the Year. And then you’d be down to two, and it only makes sense to get a horse instead of another pony, so you can get started in the Young Riders.”
“Might as well just retire him now,” I snapped. “Might as well retire Skip too, he’s fifteen, must be getting past it.”
“Watch your tone,” Dad warned me, and I desisted. “Just take a look at the horse, all right? Watch it go, see what you think. If you’re not interested, then you’re not. But they want it sold before winter, and the price is right.”
He walked off as I continued to watch the Marlborough Sounds slide ever closer. I wanted to see out my pony years successfully, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to compete beyond that. Maybe I didn’t need a horse. Maybe I’d just give up. Retire the older ponies, sell Forbes. Have a life outside of horses.
I wondered what that would even look like. I couldn’t imagine it, because I’d never had one.
I turned my head away from the approaching shore, staring back out across the open water, but the dolphins never reappeared.
* * *
The ponies cropped the grass greedily, stuffing their faces with it as though they hadn’t eaten since we left Napier. The sun was going down, and it turned cold quickly in the South Island, even in summer. I shivered as a cool breeze whisked past, making Forbes’s mane stand on end for a moment. I zipped my puffa jacket up to my chin and flexed my cold fingers on the three leadropes, watching the ponies munch. We’d finally arrived at McLeans Island an hour or so ago, and I had taken the ponies straight out to stretch their legs before letting them graze under the setting sun.
The rings were all set up, and Dad had managed to park reasonably close to Ring One, where the premier competitions would be starting tomorrow. Three classes over three days, and consistency was key. The scoring was so complex that I’d never bothered to work it out, but Dad always did. He’d study the scoreboard every evening, working out exactly how many faults I had in hand, if any. Last year it’d been tight, but I’d managed to eke out the win over Hayley Maxwell and Misty Magic.
At least I didn’t have to worry about Hayley this year. She’d well and truly disappeared off the circuit, and although nobody seemed to know what was wrong with her, there was definitely something going on. I got along okay with her sister Tess, who had inherited the ride on Misty (much to her disgust), but Hayley and I would likely never see eye to eye. Not that I was losing any sleep over that. I could do without bullies like Hayley in my life.
But I missed AJ and Katy. Neither of them had made the trip down South, and Tess wasn’t here either. I wasn’t exactly surprised by her absence, and I’d known that Katy wasn’t coming because she’d told me last week on Facebook. Another reason that I hadn’t wanted to come, but another one that Dad didn’t consider to be a reasonable excuse to miss what was, outside of Pony of the Year, the biggest prize in New Zealand pony show jumping.
Buck’s muzzle nudged the side of my boot as he sought out the patch of clover under my foot, and I shifted it for him with a smile. He was such a good pony, and had been a far better pony for me than I’d deserved. I owed it to him to make his life as easy as possible in his old age.
“At least Dad’s not trying to sell you,” I told the dark bay gelding. “He knows we’re going to have to retire you ourselves. You’ll like that, won’t you? Getting to hang out in the paddock all day, not having to travel and compete anymore?” Buck blew out through his large nostrils as he ate, and I scratched his ears around his leather halter. “Soon, buddy. Only a few more shows.”
As much as I hated to admit it, Dad was right. Buck was slowing down, and probably didn’t have many competitions left in him. We’d play it by ear, but I wasn’t going to push him. He deserved better than that.
Forbes lifted his head then, and Skip followed suit, both of them staring at something over my shoulder. I turned to see a big chestnut horse trotting in our direction with another horse being ponied off either side. I recognised the chestnut at once, and felt my pulse quicken.
Connor Campbell. He rode well, keeping his big horse Tiberius Rex under easy control. A tall steel grey with a white tail trotted on one side of him, and a pretty little bay on the other. I sized her up as they came closer. Fifteen-two would be about right. Slender, well-bred. This must be the horse that Dad had been going on about, and despite myself, I liked the look of her.
Connor had noticed me, and brought his horses closer, reining them in only a few metres away from where my ponies were grazing. Once he was satisfied that he wasn’t going to be trampled, Skip had gone back to eating, but Forbes was still paying keen attention to Connor’s horses.
“Hey there.”
I looked up at Connor, squinting a little into the setting sun behind him. “Hi.”
I couldn’t keep the wariness out of my tone, but for good reason. Connor hadn’t exactly been friendly to me in the past, alternating between ignoring me and being outright mean, but he was being congenial enough right now. I guess that’s what happens when your father approaches people with an open chequebook.
“Heard you were interested in one of our nags.”
I shrugged coolly. “Dad mentioned something about that.” Unable to stand the sunstrike any longer, I looked aside, and my eyes fell on the bay mare. “This one, is it?”
“Yeah. Get over, Rex.” Connor shifted his weight, and the big chestnut stepped sideways, shading the sun from my eyes. “Better?”
I nodded. “Thanks.” I studied the mare. She had good conformation, slender but strong, with well-developed hindquarters and a sloping shoulder and graceful neck. “Nice-looking.”
“If she was a couple hands bigger, she wouldn’t be going anywhere. But she’s far too short for me, and too much for for Gracie.”
As he spoke, the bay mare turned her head and whinnied, straining against the leadrope as a dark bay pony trotted past, its legs encased in fluffy pink paddock boots.
“Shut up egg,” Connor told her, tugging on the leadrope, but the mare ignored his remonstrances and shifted her hindquarters into Rex as she tried to watch the pony circling behind her. It was a nice mover with smooth paces, and although it was being ridden in draw reins, they were loose enough to be barely having an effect. The rider sat well, with steady hands and low heels, and as she circled back in our direction, I recognised his sister.
“Summer’s looking good.”
Connor glanced over his shoulder idly at Grace. “Be looking better without all that pink crap on her,” he said, referring not only to the pony’s hot pink boots but also her matching saddleblanket, not to mention Grace’s pink puffa vest, which had some kind of sparkly diamante pattern on the back and a faux fur-lined hood.
“At least she’s not chestnut,” I told him. “Then it’d clash as well.”
He rolled his eyes. “Let’s be grateful for small mercies then,” he agreed. “How’re your lot going?”
“Um, okay.” I was still a little flummoxed by the fact that I was standing here, having a perfectly friendly conversation with someone I’d spent the last year or so avoiding like the plague, and not without good reason. I was still wary, but it was nice to have someone to talk to. “So what’s her name?”
He looked at me blankly for a moment, then realised I was asking about the bay mare, who was still watching Summer anxiously.
“Oh, this thing? Small Talk.”
“Paddock name?”
&nb
sp; “Star.”
I frowned, looking at the mare’s narrow blaze. “Interesting choice, since she doesn’t have one.”
“Because she is one,” he grinned. “Trust me, wait ‘til you see her jump. Got springs in her legs, this horse. Like I said, if I could put it on stilts…” He shook his head in disappointment as Star whinnied loudly at Summer, who responded in a muffled sort of way, since her head was still held down by the draw reins. “She’s only seven, got years left in her too.” His eye scanned over Buck and Skip, and I knew he was well aware of their more advanced years.
“Why not just keep her then, let Grace grow into her?”
“Because it’ll be years before she’s up for it,” he replied. “Waste of a good horse. Mum wants to, she’s convinced Grace’s overdue for a growth spurt, and the moment we sell Star she’ll shoot up like a beanstalk, but I’m not holding my breath. And Dad wants her gone, says she’s a waste of space if neither of us are competing her.”
“Great, so I’m stuck in the middle again.” Always seems to be the way.
“Nah, Mum’s the only one stuck on her. Grace doesn’t like her anyway. She’s looking for another Grand Prix pony instead, so keep your eyes open for something that a dwarf can ride.”
I couldn’t help grinning at that, and he winked down at me. Damn. There was no denying that Connor was attractive, with his dark eyes, slanting eyebrows, and high, carved cheekbones. Don’t even go there, I told myself. Dangerous territory. Connor was one of a meagre handful of straight young men on the show jumping circuit, and hands-down the best-looking – a fact that he exploited on a regular basis. I had no ambition to be his latest conquest.
“So who’s riding her here?” I asked, trying to focus on the mare.
