Dance from the Heart (Dancing with Horses Book 3)

by Toni Mari

  “Heck, if I qualified for the Rodeo Nationals, nothing would stop me from going. You gotta do it, girl.” The deep dimples flashed at me again.

  “You’re a good friend, Brandon.” I molded myself against the door when that provoked the wrong kind of inviting smile.

  “I’m at your service, sweetie,” he drawled.

  We parked. Brandon leaned against the truck. “I’ll wait here.” His eyes were already roving over the kids walking past, and he tipped his hat at a passel of girls, flashing those dimples. He apparently had a different opinion of the purpose of a college education than Cory did.

  My adviser, a professor in the Business Department, waved me in while he wrapped up a phone call. I sat on the edge of the cushioned chair, setting my laptop on the floor next to me. His dark hair had gray starting at his temples. With one eyebrow lifted, he rolled dark brown eyes at me as he repeated himself into the mouthpiece of the phone. He tugged on his tie, loosening the knot.

  Smiling in sympathy, I wriggled back on the chair. My knee bounced in a frantic rhythm as I looked around the cluttered office and chewed my nails. The sealed window behind the professor faced the parking lot, and I could see Brandon’s cowboy hat. His long, well-worn duster floated in the gentle breeze as he chatted with two girls. He raised his hat, and I could see his dimples from way up here on the second floor.

  I chuckled. Those girls didn’t have a chance against those blue eyes and that blond hair. Brandon was a foreigner on campus, a cowboy, and he couldn’t hide it if he tried. Not just how he was dressed; it showed in the way he walked, how he talked, and even in the way he held his body. He was quite the novelty around here, and two more people stopped, joining the girls hanging around him.

  Professor Link placed both hands on the desk and leaned toward me. “How can I help you today?”

  With both knees vibrating faster than I could talk, I stuttered, “It’s a long story.”

  “Aren’t they all?” He sat, leaned back into his padded desk chair, and crossed his legs. “Lay it on me.”

  I explained everything—not going into my parents’ lack of support at all—and ended with my invitation to the Festival of Champions. “So, I need to study, but I need to train, too.” I bit my lip.

  He stroked his silver goatee. “That is an amazing story. How often per week do you train?”

  I swallowed. “At least five, sometimes six days per week. I have to keep my horse extremely fit; it takes all kinds of strength and power for him to perform upper-level dressage. It’s a very athletic sport.”

  Instead of the expected disparaging argument, he remained thoughtful. “Hmm. I see how being on campus would make that difficult. I was thinking we could tighten your schedule to just a couple of days, but even that wouldn’t be enough.”

  Timidly, I lifted my laptop and set it on my knees, trying to keep them still, and suggested, “I looked online about taking courses on my computer. Do you think there is a possibility that might work? I can take my laptop everywhere with me and study in between my training.”

  “You might be on to something.” He started opening desk drawers and slamming them shut. “Now where is that thing?” he asked himself.

  I rose from my chair to look over the desk as he leaned way down, reaching into the back of a bottom drawer. “Got it.” He held up a paperback catalog triumphantly.

  Flipping the soft cover open, he started scanning pages. “You’re a business major, right?”

  Holding up one finger and grimacing, “Well, I wanted to ask about that, too.”

  He stopped. “You want to change your major, right?”

  I nodded, still cringing.

  “Okay, to what?”

  His easy acceptance made my mouth drop open.

  He chuckled. “Freshmen do it all the time. What were you thinking about?”

  I rubbed my eyebrows, gathering my thoughts. “There’s this cool organization, the one I told you about, EMA Rescue, that I want to stay involved with. What degree would a person have who designs their advertising promotions and organizes the confiscation of animals?”

  He stared at me silently, and I braced myself for a derisive response.

  He started flipping pages again. “Hmm. A business degree with a minor in marketing? No, marketing with a minor in business administration, that way you can take a course or two about the legal end of it.” He held the book out to me, marking a page with his thumb. “The university does have that major online. These are some of the courses you will need.”

  I took the book from his hand. “I keep expecting you to talk me out of my plans,” I said with wonder.

  “Why would I? You seem to be doing your best to come up with a successful plan. And you are already well on your way to achieving it.”

  “But my grades were horrendous last semester.”

  “You’ll make them up, Jane. I haven’t had a kid in my office with half as much perseverance as you are showing. I am happy to help. In fact, I am thrilled to be at your service. You can call me anytime, even just to chat.” His grin was genuine, and my head felt lighter than it had in weeks.

  Back at my dorm, Carly, her hands full, held the door open with her butt for Brandon, who was carrying an armload of my belongings from the room to his truck. As I passed her, she wiggled her eyebrows. “Yum. Your cowboys sure are hot.”

  I laughed. “He thinks the same thing about college girls.”

  She let the door bang closed and followed me down the sidewalk to Brandon’s truck. We both had a bag in each hand. “After you called me last night and told me everything you did, I could barely believe it. I’m really going to miss you.”

  I sighed. “I know, me too. Do you think I’m crazy?”

  “I think you’re amazing. And smart, too. You found a way to do everything you need to do. Like I said, I’m really proud of you.”

  I smiled. “That means a lot. And you better be ready, because every time I need to hear that, I’m going to be calling you.”

  I hugged her tightly before climbing in the truck.

  “What the heck!” She reached up and hugged Brandon, too.

  The ride home was so much shorter than the ride to school, or so it seemed. I filled Brandon in on my new major and the courses I had signed up for. I gushed about Professor Link and how great he was. I talked about easily studying in between riding and chores. Finally, I paused. “What do you think?”

  “Darn, I guess that means I won’t get to come back again. I liked college.”

  Rolling my eyes, I patted his knee. “You mean you liked Carly.”

  “You know you’re the only girl for me,” he answered, with deep dimples and false charm.

  We were bumping down the driveway to the farm when I noticed a strange car parked near the barn. Donna was at work and hadn’t mentioned anyone would be stopping by. It was an expensive black BMW that would have fit in better at my old barn than here.

  I thanked Brandon one more time and promised to call him as I slid out of the truck. The barn aisle was empty. I set my laptop on the bottom step and patted Windsong’s head as I passed him to look out the back door. Shading my eyes, I surveyed the farm.

  A huge red horse was careening down the path, a wispy dust cloud and a man chasing after him. My stomach flipped, and then I darted left and right, finally running to Windsong’s stall to yank his halter and lead off the hook. I waved my arms, hoping to stop or at least slow the galloping horse. When he spotted me, he whirled and ran toward the man. Flapping arms and faint curses turned the pounding horse in my direction again.

  His eyes wide and neck stretched out, the horse ran straight at me. I had to do something to halt his panicked flight, so I leapt toward him, throwing my arms out and growling like a bear. The regal head flew up, and the horse locked knees, skidding to a halt.

  Time stopped and I froze, too, tingling slivers of electricity skittering over my nerve endings. A lightning bolt blaze glowed in the sunlight. He stood square, , his triangle-sha
ped ears sharply pointed at me and his nostrils flaring slightly as he tested my scent. I blinked. Was I seeing a ghost?

  “Santos?” I breathed.

  When he heard his name, he lowered his majestic head. I held out my hand as I walked toward him. “Santos, easy boy.”

  He opened his eyes so wide that white circled the dark brown orbs, but he held his ground, lips trembling. He blew gently on my hand, whiskers tickling my palm, and tasted my skin with his big, smooth tongue.

  Slowly, I raised my other hand and ran it over the bulging muscles of his shoulder. My fingers floated over stiff, hairless ridges, and I turned my eyes from his for the first time. His shoulders, chest, and lower legs were crisscrossed with gray scars. His mane was long and tangled, and his coat was crusty with dried mud.

  Breathing through my mouth, I hissed, “Baby, what happened to you?” Quickly, I slipped Windsong’s halter on him with gentle fingers.

  Mark Grant trudged up the path, not looking as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

  I grinned even though his shoulders slumped. Santos was alive! And here, mysteriously, on the same farm that I wound up on.

  “He broke through the fence down there.”

  “Yikes, let’s put him in a stall until Donna comes home.”

  Mark shrugged. “I don’t come here that often. I guess he got excited when he saw me.”

  I led the horse into the barn and put him in the stall next to Windsong. I threw a few flakes of hay in and dragged the hose over to fill the water bucket. Mark talked disjointedly over my shoulder as I worked.

  “Amanda isn’t doing well in New York.” When I glanced at his car, he quickly assured me, “She’s not with me now. I want to get her to ride again. Taking her away from the horses was a mistake.”

  Standing in the middle of the aisle, he stared in the stall at the giant red horse. I was dying to ask about the injuries, whether Santos was sound, and why he wasn’t in training with another rider, but Mark’s dejected demeanor and soft voice kept me quiet.

  “This is actually the first time I’ve come here.” Hands in his pockets, he kept talking, and I moved closer so I could hear his low words. “As soon as he saw me, he got excited. Whinnying and running. As I turned to leave, he came right through the fence.”

  “He’s been here the whole time?”

  He nodded and shrugged. “When I closed the farm, I told Michelle to get rid of all the horses except him. He was Erica’s heart, you know.” Santos stood with his head over the stall door, studying the man as hard as Mark was staring at him. “Maybe he thinks she’s with me.”

  It did seem like Santos was watching and waiting for something.

  With a noisy sigh, Mark turned toward the door. “I guess he’s not really suitable for Mandy, though. I have to leave now. Tell Donna I’ll pay for the repairs; just let me know what she needs.” He turned toward his car and Santos nickered, pawing violently against the stall door.

  I stroked the horse’s neck and pushed him back in the stall. “Easy, boy.” He whirled and charged the door again. I was afraid he was going to break it. He watched Mark’s car drive away, and then backed in and pawed, sending shavings flying.

  It was painful to watch the horse’s anguish. Windsong stuck his nose through the bars, nickering softly in sympathy. Santos arched his neck and touched Windsong’s muzzle. Windsong’s needy, nonthreatening stance eased Santos’s anxiety. He glanced out the barn door one last time and then settled down, chewing hay. Windsong, who loved a stall more than being outside, happily lit into his pile, looking over at Santos now and then.

  When Donna came home, I explained what happened. She patted Santos and said, “You miss her, don’t you?”

  He stepped away from her toward me. I stroked him, feeling so sorry for him. He nuzzled my shirt, twisting his neck to encourage me to scratch his scars.

  “Huh, he’s not usually very friendly,” Donna commented, walking out the back of the barn. I followed her down to Santos’s pen. “The beauty of electric fencing is that I can repair most of it myself.”

  The white tape was pulled off the posts and was laying in the middle of the aisle. Santos must have charged through it, dragging the lines with him as he ran.

  “Aren’t you worried that he’ll just do it again?” I asked as I helped her pick up the pieces.

  “He’s lived in this pen for over five months and never touched the fence. It clearly was due to Mark’s visit. It surprises me that Mark came here. I wonder why.”

  I shrugged. “He didn’t say, just that he wanted to get Mandy riding again.”

  It didn’t take us long to fix the fence, and while we worked, I told her about my online courses.

  “That’s great, Jane. I’ll have to give you the code for my Internet service when we go inside.”

  Windsong and Santos were touching noses again when we entered the barn.

  “They seem to like each other.”

  I explained how they lived side by side at Erica’s for a month. “They stayed close to each other even though they were on opposite sides of a fence.”

  Donna began preparing the evening grain, showing me her chart and the supplement containers. “Maybe they should live together.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Windsong can’t get hurt.”

  “Every horse does better with a buddy, plus we would keep a close eye on them. Any marks show up and we wouldn’t turn them out together anymore.”

  I watched both horses eating and wondered if it would be a dramatic squealing and kicking ordeal like sometimes happens when you put two horses together. Or would Santos chase Windsong around, biting his rump and not letting him eat from the same pile of hay? Santos had lived by himself at Erica’s. I didn’t know why. I wished I could ask her. Or Cory. He had more experience with this type of thing and he knew Windsong well. But then again, he thought selling Windsong was a viable solution, so he might say just throw them together and see what happens. Windsong did like company and did better with a calm friend who didn’t react to his neurotic behavior. But what if they hurt each other?

  Was it worth the risk?

  Chapter 23

  I waited until the next morning to put Windsong and Santos together in Windsong’s smaller pen. I carefully put protective wraps on both horses’ legs and left their halters on for a quicker capture if things went bad.

  I released Santos first, and he walked straight to the hay pile, only flicking an ear at Windsong’s desperate whinny that echoed from the barn. Windsong danced and jigged through the gate and raced toward Santos when I unsnapped the lead rope. Skidding to a stop in front of the larger horse, he arched his neck and held out his nose. They sniffed for a moment and then, as if in mutual agreement, took off galloping.

  After a joyous lap around the perimeter, they greeted the two rescues over the fence. Both show horses towered over the two skinny animals, but that didn’t make much difference to the Thoroughbred. He flexed his neck, prancing a few steps; striking out with a front leg and letting out a squeal. Two minutes later, all four horses were quietly eating hay—Santos and Windsong out of the same pile.

  As introductions went, that was an easy one. My body relaxed and I rubbed my dry, tired eyes. I had tossed and turned all night worrying how that was going to go, and it was a piece of cake. So far.

  Windsong’s neediness kept him close to Santos’s side throughout the day, and Santos seemed to like it. I didn’t witness one mean expression or a single aggressive posture, and I kept a close watch on them all day.

  I rode Windsong in the roped-off area alongside the barn that served as an arena. Since Santos was able to see us, he waited by the gate, only pawing the ground occasionally.

  Later, up in my room I waited for my computer to boot up and called Michelle to ask about continuing lessons with Kate. She authorized one per week, so I happily called Kate to arrange it. After setting up a time to haul in on Saturday, I stared at my phone. Should I call Cory to trailer me? I pressed on his name.<
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  “It’s me,” I cautiously admitted, surprised that he picked up.

  “Yeah.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, and you?” He answered in overly polite tones.

  “Come on, Cory. Can’t we talk like normal?” I clicked the browser icon on my computer.

  “I thought we had nothing to talk about.” His voice still cold, still devoid of emotion.

  “Are you mad at me for moving Windsong?” I shoved the laptop off my legs, stood, and paced to the dresser.

  “No. I’m not mad.”

  “Then you’re okay with what I did?” I leaned one hand on the dresser, looking right in Erica’s eye.

  “You’re doing what you want to do. Why do I have to be okay with it?”

  “Cory, I love you. I don’t want to fight anymore.” I put all the feeling I had into my voice, trying to break through the ice in his.

  “You have what you want and you have Brandon to help you with it. Leave me alone.” He hung up.

  My heart stopped. Leave me alone. He couldn’t mean that, he was just mad that I asked Brandon. If I told Cory I was paying Brandon, would he see that it was just business?

  I redialed, but Cory didn’t pick up. I texted the information, but after a half hour, he still hadn’t responded. I had my answer. Sighing, I flopped on the bed and wearily called Brandon.

  Saturday morning, I leaned heavily on the door jamb of the barn next to my pile of tack as I waited for Brandon and his little trailer. My arms and legs ached from shoveling manure and pushing the wheelbarrow all week, chores I wasn’t used to doing.

  I tapped the call history on my phone and counted. Eight unanswered calls to Cory. Eight. I should have known. We got along so well, agreed on most things, were loving and respectful to each other. But when things went wrong and we fought, Cory gave me the silent treatment. More than the silent treatment. He ran away. Through my anger, a tiny finger of fear pierced my heart. What if time wasn’t going to fix it? What if he really was breaking up with me for good? Did he really believe I was starting something with Brandon?