“Okay—it was a good hamburger.”
She climbed in the cab and snapped her seat belt. “Just good?”
Christopher laughed. “Better than good.”
“Try this on for size: ‘Grace, that was the best hamburger I’ve ever eaten. And those fries? To die for. Then there was the olallieberry milk shake. I’ve never had a milk—’ ”
“Enough,” Christopher said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ve never had a meal as good as the one I just had.” For good measure, he winked and added, “And the company was almost as good.”
Grace stuck out her tongue. She’d spent half the night wondering if she’d made a mistake trading surf lessons for riding lessons. It was a lot of time to spend with someone she didn’t know, especially someone she didn’t have a clue if she’d like when she did get to know him. She was good at getting herself into these situations, bad at getting herself out.
Christopher started the truck. “Where’s your car?”
“I had my dad drop me off.” What if she and Christopher wound up hating each other, and his grandmother said something negative about her to Julia?
He reached across her to open the glove box and pulled out a hand-drawn map. “How are you at navigating?”
“If I’d been with Columbus, he would have found China.”
“Just so you know, I’m not interested in going to China.” He handed her the paper. “See what you can do with this.”
She recognized streets from all the running she’d done in the hills behind Watsonville when she was on the cross-country track team. “Okay, I know where we’re going.”
“And how to get there?”
“One way or another.”
“You do remember we have a two-thirty lesson.”
“I thought you were going to teach me.”
“They insisted on handling the basic stuff at the stable, but I’ll take over when we’re on the trail.” He stopped at the curb and fanned his hands out from the steering wheel. “Which way?”
She pointed toward the stoplight. “We’re going to go south on 101 for a couple of miles and then get off on Sea Cliff Drive.”
Grace felt a flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach. All her life, or at least all that she could remember, she’d imagined herself horseback riding. First on a unicorn, then on a palomino, and then when she came to live with Andrew and Cheryl, on a gleaming black horse with a perfect white star on its forehead running along the beach. She’d come to believe the dream was so impossible that she’d never told anyone, not even her sister Rebecca. And now here she was, headed for her first up-close-and-personal meeting with a horse. How was she going to keep from acting like a kid who’d been told there was no Santa Claus only to wake up Christmas morning with a dozen presents under the tree?
“You need to get in the other lane,” Grace said, forcing herself back into the present.
Christopher changed lanes, turned, and merged onto the highway. “Mind if I fill you in on what to expect when we get there?”
“Please. I’ve heard horses can smell fear.”
He took her concern seriously. “Not fear so much as hesitancy. The horse expects you to know what you’re doing and gets nervous when you do things that let him know you’re a beginner.”
“Like?”
“Gasp, shriek, giggle, scream—making any loud sound when he does something that surprises you or that you’re not expecting. I’ve asked for their best beginner horse, and the woman I talked to described one that sounds perfect, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to put up with a lot of rookie mistakes.”
“Such as?”
He held up his hand and started counting off with his fingers. “One—clamping your legs against his sides like a vise because you’re afraid you’ll fall off. You’re looking for the same kind of balance you use on the surfboard. Brute force just throws the horse off his stride. Two—yanking the reins. This will really piss him off. He might put up with it a couple of times, but he won’t be happy. That doesn’t mean it’s never appropriate, just that you and the horse need to know it’s intentional and that you mean business. Three—it’s tempting, and feels natural, but don’t ride on the ball of your foot. Ride with your heels down. You’ll get in all kinds of trouble later if you don’t do this. Which is why I told you to wear boots with a heel that you can fit into the stirrup. Four—when you’re on his back, don’t look at the horse, look at where you’re going. Preferably pick a spot between his ears and then focus on the area thirty to forty feet in front of that. Five—don’t ever walk behind a horse without letting him know you’re there. In the wild, predators attack the back legs and thigh to bring the animal down, and then they go for the throat. If you surprise him, he’s going to try to protect himself and you’re going to wind up on your ass and possibly in the hospital.”
“Makes sense.”
“None of that makes you want to rethink getting on the back of a horse when you could be out riding a wave?”
“Nope,” she answered, turning her face to the side window to hide the huge grin of anticipation she hoped he couldn’t see reflected in the glass.
Christopher came up beside Grace and ran his hand down the flank of the horse she had been riding. She was still talking to Louis, the owner of the stable. After first asking him if he ever traded labor for lessons, she was now caught up in learning everything she could about the horse she’d just ridden. One ride and she was hooked. Louis insisted she was a natural. From the moment she was settled in the saddle, it was as if she’d always been there.
Christopher had left when the negotiating started, eager to look at a couple of Danish warmbloods he’d spotted being worked in the back paddock. One was a chestnut with perfectly matched white stockings, the other an almost black bay with a small star in the middle of his forehead. Both were well over sixteen hands and had near-perfect conformation. Neither was on the list Christopher’s trainer had given him.
He returned a half hour later and discovered Grace still in deep conversation with the owner. Christopher casually slipped the reins from Grace’s hand and started toward the barn.
“Hold up,” Grace called, running after him. “I want to watch how the groom puts him away.” She hadn’t stopped grinning the entire time they’d been at the stable. “I know it’s not something they’ll let me do right away, but I might as well learn what’s expected.”
“So you got the job?”
She nodded.
“Congratulations.” He handed the reins back to her. “When do you start?”
“Not until August. I won’t get to do much with the horses until they see that I know what I’m doing, and I won’t get many hours until the people who work here throughout the summer go back to school. But I will get free lessons whenever they have an opening. And I can hang around the stables and ask questions whenever I have free time.”
Her excitement was contagious, and he did something he rarely did with anyone outside his close circle of friends in the dressage world. “As soon as we’re through in here, there are a couple of horses out back that I think you should see.”
“Dressage horses?”
He liked that she’d picked up enough clues to know there was a difference between the horse she’d just ridden, the horses in the far paddock that were being worked for barrel racing, and the kind of horse he rode. “They could be hunter/jumper-trained, but I’d be surprised if they don’t have dressage in their background.”
A groom took the horse from Grace and secured him to a hitching post. He removed the tack, then took out a brush and thoroughly went over the horse’s coat. He gave him a drink and then a piece of apple and led him into the barn.
“I can do that,” Grace said to Christopher.
“Not all horses are like this one. Some can be downright cranky.” He started toward the back paddock. “And they’re smart enough to do mean things on purpose if they don’t like you. Or it could have nothing to do with you. It could be that t
hey’ve had a bad day.”
“What do you do then?”
“Like everything else, you play it as it unfolds. Horses are like humans—each one is different. You need to learn how to read them. Sometimes you can speak their language, sometimes it’s Klingon.”
“You realize you’re not being very helpful.”
Christopher laughed. “Okay, here we go again.” He held up his hand with the fingers splayed. “First, when a horse that’s new to you sticks out his nose, that means he wants to smell you. Let him sniff the back of your hand. Second, don’t ignore a horse that’s pawing the ground. He’s either trying to get your attention because he’s bored, or he’s spoiled and wants you to do something for him, like give him a treat, or he’s letting you know that something is bothering him. Until you know which it is, be careful around him. Third, never forget you’re dealing with a thousand-pound animal. Steel-toed cowboy boots work a whole lot better than something fancy like Uggs when it comes to a shoving contest.”
“Voice of experience?” she asked as they neared the paddock.
“Unfortunately, it was my mother who learned the hard way. She stopped by one of my practice sessions on her way home from work, and when she tried to get a horse to move so she could see better, she wound up in a cast for six weeks.”
“Ouch.”
“She tried to convince everyone that ruining her Jimmy Choo heels hurt more than hurting her foot. But then she’s one of those women who has a thing for shoes.” Christopher looked around to pick an advantage point to watch the rider who had just come out of the stable area on the black stallion. He held his hand out to Grace and led her to the top of a grassy mound.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she whispered.
He leaned back on his elbows. “Is there nothing that doesn’t interest you?”
She leaned back with him. “If there is, I haven’t found it yet.”
An hour later, Christopher’s phone vibrated. He checked to make sure it wasn’t his grandmother—she had a thing that was a mile past normal about not being able to reach him. It was a text from a friend back home. Without reading the message, he stuffed the phone back in his pocket.
“It’s getting late,” he said. “Do you have to get back to fix dinner?”
She shielded her eyes from the low-hanging sun. “Not tonight. It’s Rebecca’s turn.” She reached for her own phone. “But I should tell her what time I’ll be home.” She looked at him expectantly.
“How long does it take to get there from here?”
“Half an hour.”
“Make it an hour from now.” He stood and brushed off his jeans. “So, what did you think?”
“I’m impressed,” she said, finishing her text. “The black horse seems a little full of himself, but I would imagine it’s because he’s still so young.”
She couldn’t know this. It had to be a lucky guess. “What makes you think that?”
She shot him a sideways glance. “Really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Louis told me.”
He shook his head. “I should have guessed.”
“You have to admit, I had you going for a couple of minutes.” She followed him to the truck. “So, are you interested in the black one?”
“I could be. But he’s young and not very well trained.”
“Why do you suppose he’s not on your list?”
“Could be because he’s not for sale.”
“Are you going to ask?”
Christopher stopped and looked at her. “What’s up? Why all the questions?”
“No reason. I was just wondering about actually buying a horse out here. How are you going to get it home?”
“By plane.”
She frowned. “You’re kidding, right? That would cost a small fortune.”
“Three or four thousand. Maybe a little more.”
“Is it safe?” She climbed into her side of the truck. “For the horse, I mean.”
“It’s actually less stressful than trailering it that far.”
“Why?”
“They’re not very good travelers. They stress out easily, and that lowers their immunity system, which makes them prone to respiratory infections. Once you get where you’re going, it can take days for them to regain their strength.”
“Can you imagine the first time they put a horse on a plane? I’ll bet there were some nervous people at the other end of that flight.”
“I don’t like thinking about one of my horses boxed up in the belly of a plane,” he admitted. “But if I ever get good enough to compete in Europe, I won’t have much choice.”
“One of your horses? How many do you have?”
“Right now I’m down to three. Only one gets shipped anywhere. The other two are too old for anything but a slow stroll along the trails around my house.”
Grace wished he hadn’t told her about owning three horses and buying another one and shipping it home in an airplane. Normal people didn’t have that kind of money. And she wanted him to be normal because she liked him.
“Do you need me to give directions?” she asked.
“I think I’ve got it. I’m pretty good at getting back from someplace.” He glanced at her. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m fine. Why are you asking?”
“You’re not going to go all weird on me just because I have a couple of horses, are you?”
“Maybe,” she admitted. How did he know?
“Well, don’t.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “You still owe me a surfing lesson.”
Grace stared at him long and hard. “You busy Friday?”
“I thought we’d settled on Wednesday.”
Of course he’d think she was talking about surfing. “There’s a party on Friday. One of my friends is leaving to spend the summer in France.”
“All by herself? Not shipping any animals to keep her company?”
She laughed. “Do you want to go or don’t you?”
“Yes—I want to go.”
“Good—all the other guys I know have turned me down.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
She took off her boot and brought her foot up to tuck under her leg. “I’m going to give you the name of a rental shop in Santa Cruz that will fit you for a wet suit and a board. I’ll tell them you’re coming and that I’m going to be there at noon to pick you up. They’ll take good care of you.”
“I assume you want me to go there Wednesday morning?”
She nodded. “They usually show up around nine, but if the surf’s up, they may not be there until ten. If you have to wait, there’s a great coffee shop and bakery around the corner.”
“Are we going to Manresa?”
“Those aren’t novice waves. You want to start where you can learn the basics without fighting the water. Cowell’s is a great place to learn if it’s not too crowded. It’s to the right of the pier as you’re facing the ocean.”
“What pier?”
She laughed. “I guess that would help—the Santa Cruz pier.”
Chapter 8
Christopher considered himself in decent shape, but he couldn’t remember ever being as sore as he was when he woke up Thursday morning to the sound of the doorbell ringing. “Grams?” he called.
She didn’t answer.
He stumbled out of bed and grabbed a blanket to wrap around himself. The doorbell rang again before he was halfway down the hall.
“I’m coming,” he shouted, wondering who in the hell would be at their front door at this hour. . . . He glanced out the sliding-glass door and realized it was later than he’d thought.
“Hi,” Grace said when he peered outside. “Dude—you look awful.”
He opened the door wider. “Dude? No one says that anymore.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, this is California, and we’re not into caring what the rest of the world says or doesn’t say.” She came inside.
He brought the blanket close
r. “I thought you were working this morning.”
“And I thought you had an appointment to look at a horse.”
“Been postponed until tomorrow. There was some emergency with one of the colts.”
“I realize this is none of my business, but you don’t seem all that excited about finding a new horse.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Aren’t there other places you could be looking?”
“I have appointments for all the horses my trainer felt I should see while I was here.”
“And that’s it?”
“Pretty much. Horses at the level I’m looking for are hard to find. Which is why I’m free today. . . .”
“The shipper can’t pick up our order today, so I’ve got the day off. I saw your truck outside and thought I’d come by and see if you wanted to hit the waves.”
He yawned as he ran his hand through his hair. “Sure. Just give me a couple of minutes.”
“In case I forgot to tell you, you did great yesterday,” she called after him.
“I felt like a total spaz.”
“Everyone does their first time out. It took three years before the guys around here stopped calling me Gidget.”
“I don’t have three years.”
“Then what do you care what someone calls you?”
He came back wearing his standard cutoffs and T-shirt, this one a faded lime green with a bird falling out of its nest screaming TWEET.
“Are we in a hurry or is it okay if I eat something first?”
She glanced at her watch. “We have an hour before the tide’s good at Cowell’s. And the fog should be burned off by then.”
“You want something?”
She followed him into the kitchen. “Like?”
He opened the refrigerator. His grandmother had picked up the basics, but little else. “Bacon and eggs?” He checked the cupboard. “Cereal? Toast?”
“Go for the protein. I don’t know why, but it helps with the cold.”
He fixed the bacon while she scrambled eggs and put a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster. They ate sitting at the counter. “When does your school start?” he asked.
Return to the Beach House Page 7
