by Toni Mari
The first two rescues had graduated and joined the group in the first pasture. I put feed in a rubber tub for each horse. The four horses lined up with a minimum of head tossing and tail swishing, confident that everyone would have their own breakfast. I moved down the dirt lane to the two other pastures and was greeted by soft nickers. By the time I was tossing hay into the pens, Mandy was helping.
Knowing Santos had the better manners despite his bigger size, I let Mandy lead him out to the pen, and I followed her with Windsong. Santos nickered and nudged her and lowered his mighty head so that she could unfasten the halter. I pretended not to see when she put her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek into his coppery fur. Since Mark and Mandy had been coming more often, Santos seemed less anxious around them. He stood politely while Mandy pulled his halter off.
She wanted to lead the gelding, so I helped her put a new halter on him, careful not to irritate his raw spots.
“We found out they are mother and son, so wait for the mare and keep him close as you follow me to the pen. His name is Shooter and hers is Sunny.”
Mandy handled the horse with confidence, and we released them together into the smallest pen. Both charged directly to the piles of hay we had set out.
Windsong’s head flew up at the new arrivals in the adjacent field. Snorting and prancing, he trotted to the fence. Santos followed at a sedate walk. Both horses studied the shaggy pair, who completely ignored them and continued eating. Santos soon lost interest and moseyed back to his pile of hay. Windsong blasted air out his flared nostrils, sounding like a train starting up, then whirled and galloped a circle around Santos, tossing his head until I thought it was going to fly off.
“He’s a nut.” Mandy watched with wide, shocked eyes.
“You got that right.” I laughed.
“I like him. And I really like Shooter, too. I know he doesn’t look like him, but for some reason he reminds me of Tucker. A taller, skinnier, browner, younger Tucker. Okay, he’s not like Tucker at all.”
“Sometimes it’s not the looks but the attitude that seems familiar. You must miss Tucker, but we all move on from our first horse. I had to sell my horse Paddy in order to get Windsong. It was hard, but for the best.”
Mandy shrugged, “I was ready for a bigger horse anyway.”
She blinked rapidly, working to keep the sneer in place. Pretending not to notice, I continued talking. “Shooter seems friendlier than Sunny, and he’s a nice height. It was hard to tell if he was a nice mover, but we’ll find out more this afternoon. Right now, we have work to get done.”
Mandy talked more than she cleaned, but I didn’t mind. She told me a little about New York, mentioning that she was sick of the kids there with their constant competition to see who was richer or more popular or the wildest.
“I made some friends, but it got boring after a while. Most of them didn’t even own a dog. Besides, Popcorn hated the city. When I took him for walks, he would duck and cringe and dodge the other people walking on the sidewalk. It took him forever to figure out where to pee with so much cement.”
“I hardly recognized you that first day you came. Black hair?”
“Everything was so different, I wanted to be different too.”
I ripped open a bag of shavings and didn’t respond. Really, what could I say?
“It didn’t work. I still miss her.” There was a pause and a sniff, and I panicked. Was she going to cry? Please, don’t.
“Let’s go get some hot chocolate up in my room before Brandon gets here.”
I filled two cups in the bathroom again, hoping this conversation would go better than the one I had with Cory.
Mandy was in front of my posters. “Why don’t you have your poster hanging here?”
Pressing my lips together, I put the cups in the microwave. I looked at Erica’s image and smiled. “I talk to her sometimes.”
Mandy’s head whipped around.
“I know, it’s crazy, but I talk to the horses too, remember.”
A slow smile lifted her lips. “You’re as bad as your horse.”
I slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Mandy, you once said that if I worked for EMA, people would forget your mom.” I turned her gently toward me. “I will never let that happen, I promise.”
I ducked down to look right into her glistening eyes. With a tiny nod, she let me pull her into my arms. We both jumped when the microwave dinged.
Chapter 31
My promise must have released something in Mandy and she morphed into her old, perky, outgoing self. She didn’t protest when I signaled her to climb in the truck and sit between Brandon and me. In fact, her presence kept Brandon from randomly flirting with me.
“You should come more often, Mandy. I am having such a good time with you,” I encouraged.
She chattered the entire twenty minutes, and neither of them noticed my nervous silence as we approached the farm. I didn’t know what I would do if we ran into Cory. I was the one who told him to leave. I hadn’t texted him or left a voicemail—but neither had he. Would he try to talk to me? I was only half sorry for what I had said.
My worries were for nothing. I led Windsong out the back of the barn toward the arena and scanned the parking area. His truck wasn’t even there. My heart sank, but then relief lifted my shoulders. It was better this way; I could concentrate on my ride. I would call him later or something.
Always pumped after a lesson with Kate, I loaded Windsong on the trailer inspired once again for another week of training. On the way home, Mandy and I talked about the new horses and what we should do with them. When Brandon pulled into the driveway and we saw that Mark’s car was already there, we turned mock frowns on each other.
Mandy pushed past me and ran up to him. “Dad, we haven’t had a chance to brush Sunny and Shooter. We can’t leave yet,” she whined.
“You want to stay longer? I thought you’d be ready after all these hours.” Mark’s tone was surprised, but he seemed pleased. “Sure. Sure, we can stay as long as you want.”
Mandy hopped back and forth from foot to foot, barely containing her impatience as she waited for me to unload Windsong, undress him, turn him out, and put away my equipment.
Mark watched his daughter bounce and then shook Brandon’s hand when I introduced them. I didn’t think he admired the rust spots that dotted the trailer or enjoyed the soothing sound of Brandon’s back ramp squealing, but he didn’t say anything until Brandon pulled away.
“I can’t believe you put your horse in that thing! Is it safe?” Mark might have been looking at a murder scene. The look of horror on his face was almost comical. When I remembered what Erica’s trailer looked like after the accident, I stopped laughing.
“Brandon helps me. I don’t even have a car anymore. He gives me rides.” I shrugged and carried my saddle and bridle to the barn.
As I passed him on my next trip, I patted Mark’s shoulder. “It’s not that bad. I’m only going about twenty minutes away.”
“What are you going to do when you have to go to New Jersey?”
My head snapped back to him and I stopped. “You know I’m going to the Festival of Champions?”
“Michelle sends the board meeting minutes to me. I’ve started reading them.” He shrugged.
“Oh. I don’t have a plan yet. Michelle said she would ask one of the other recipient farms if we could borrow a trailer or try to find someone Windsong could ride along with. We’re trying to keep expenses down.”
Finally, Mandy and I lifted the halters to capture the filthy newcomers.
We put them on crossties facing each other in the aisle, and I placed a bucket with brushes on the floor. After Windsong’s sleek black coat and smooth, muscular body, I was almost reluctant to touch the bony mare’s thick, matted hair and angular, lumpy frame.
As long as she could see the gelding, she stood quietly, accepting my ministrations.
“Dad, don’t just stand there. Come help.”
Start
led at her request, he seemed unable to resist her demand. Mandy was currying with a rubber brush, leaving wads of brown fluff on the floor. Mark poked around in the bucket and pulled out an old hair brush.
I giggled and took it from his hand. “Your wife was one of the best riders in the world and you don’t know how to brush a horse, do you?”
“I was the money man,” he defended himself, but took the body brush I handed him.
I smiled wider when the little girl instructed her worldly father in a very teacher-like voice on how to stroke in the direction the hair grew. Forty-five minutes later, the two horses looked marginally better. Both trotted a circle around the pen when we turned them out, proof that they at least felt better.
Days later, I was cooling out Windsong when Mark’s BMW rolled in the driveway. Santos recognized the car and charged to the gate. Windsong responded with a head toss, but I had already shortened my reins and kept him from joining the run.
Mark leaned on the arena gate, waiting for me to stop in front of him. “You’re all set for New Jersey,” he said. We watched Mandy run to Shooter’s gate, calling and clucking to him. “I hired a professional shipper for Windsong. One that uses a tractor trailer rig.”
My head whirled back to him. “You did what?”
“I couldn’t see you trailering all that long way in that rust bucket from the other day.” He chuckled.
I grinned. I had worried about Brandon’s truck being able to make the trip. This was one big worry lifted right off my plate. “You’re amazing! Thank you so much! I’m going to owe you big time. I’ll babysit, or whatever you need. Thank you again!” I gushed, finally closing my mouth only when I recalled having said the same thing to his wife the first time I met her. Erica had called on me for help a few days later, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Mandy came over and ducked through the fence, stepping right up to Windsong. She scratched his cheeks and played with his lips. He bobbed his head, trying to convince her to give him some grass or cookies or crackers or whatever she had in her pocket. Her hands were sure as she touched my tall black horse, and I was impressed that his size didn’t alarm her.
Then Mark spoke again, distracting me from my memories. “Actually, I booked a spot for Santos, too. I took your advice and called Robert Peterson. He’s very interested in Santos, and since he’ll be at the Festival, we arranged for him to try out the horse there.”
I looked over at the big red horse, who was staring at us, his neck arched over the gate and his ears pricked forward. I twirled a piece of Windsong’s mane around and around my finger and my eyes misted. Santos would go far with Robert. But I would miss him. I would miss his hoof knocking on the stall door at feeding time, miss the way he lowered his regal head to touch my palm, miss his calm, easygoing company for Windsong. My voice was flat. “That will be nice.”
Mark grinned because he thought he was giving me good news, but it took all of my strength of will to push the corners of my mouth up. Mark’s face fell. “What? You suggested this. You don’t think Robert would be good for him?”
Still not meeting his eyes, I said, “I do. Robert’s the best.” With a shrug of one shoulder, I kept my voice steady. “I’m happy for him.”
Mandy’s eyes snapped to mine. She recognized a flat-out lie.
Mark put both hands on the fence between us, like an executive at a board meeting. “Okay. I was going to ask a favor. If you would get Santos ready for the trip, you know, ride him, cut his hair, whatever it is you guys do to get him show ready? But if you think it will be too much for you with school and Windsong, that’s okay, I understand.”
“Ride him?” I looked at Santos, who lifted a hoof and banged the gate. My stomach flipped. I would do anything to ride a horse like him, even if it was for only a few weeks before handing him over to someone else. The ecstasy would be worth the anguish. “I would love to! I mean, I would love to help you by getting him ready to go to Robert.”
Still rubbing Windsong, Mandy’s face lit up. “I can help. I used to help Mom. Sometimes she would let me walk Santos out at the end of her ride.” That explained why she was comfortable with Windsong; he was smaller than Santos.
Mark, who was still standing on the other side of the fence, far from Windsong’s reach, raised both eyebrows. “I don’t know. Would you really be helping? I don’t want to make things harder for Jane.”
“Of course.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I can handle Santos. Mom used to let me.” Her hand perched on her hip, and she did a little head waggle thing.
Mark’s lips twitched and our eyes locked. “It would be an honor to ride Santos and to have Mandy’s help.” I meant it. I would enjoy Mandy’s company again, especially since I was basically alone here.
Mandy gave Windsong one last pat and reluctantly moved out of my way, barely hiding a wistful look at my saddle.
I slid down, my fingers already itching for Santos’s reins. I realized Windsong was still slightly winded. “Can I let Mandy get on and cool him out for me?” I asked Mark.
With a grin, he nodded.
I handed her my helmet. She started toward Windsong, but I held her back. The helmet was a little loose and I took a moment to tighten the straps around Mandy’s chin. She was as fidgety as a horse, eager to get started. She sprung out of my hands and into the saddle like a pro.
“I know how to hold the double reins,” she announced as she wove the leather between her fingers. “You don’t have to hold him, I got this,” she instructed me when I started to walk with her.
And she did have it. Kneading the reins, she signaled Windsong to lower his head down below his knees in the classic stretchy frame used to warm up and cool out dressage horses. Windsong responded happily to her hands and legs and walked calmly forward. Mandy sat tall and straight, rocking in perfect rhythm with his long, powerful strides.
“She’s her mother’s daughter,” I commented. I glanced at Mark. His glistening eyes were riveted on Mandy, and he nodded.
Chapter 32
Standing on the top step of the mounting block, I looked over at Windsong. Even though the pen was not far from the arena, he paced and whinnied like Santos had been taken to another country. Santos watched his antics with idle curiosity, patiently waiting for me to get on.
Butterflies danced in my stomach and my arms were weak with adrenaline. Taking two slow deep breaths, I reminded myself that I was an excellent rider and Santos was a horse. A gigantic, powerful, international horse that hadn’t been ridden in months . . . but I was an excellent rider.
Santos turned his head to look at me, probably wondering how long it was going to take me to set my butt in the saddle. I patted his neck. Windsong would have moved away from the block three or four times by now, but Santos continued to stand. What a good boy. I stuck my toe in the stirrup and hauled myself up.
Mark had brought over Erica’s tack, and a moment of sadness swept over me. The stirrups were set for her long, elegant legs. Sending her a silent prayer, I adjusted them up two holes. “Thank you, Erica, for letting me ride your precious beast. Please ask him to be kind to me.”
Santos was both an easy ride and a hard ride. He was easy because he had a very calm, workmanlike attitude, responding without any of the jumpiness I had to deal with when I rode Windsong. But he was hard because his stride was much bigger and bouncier, his body thicker with muscle; even unfit, he was twice as strong as Windsong. I warmed up and then ran through some of my freestyle sequences. Our timing was off, but Santos knew the moves and responded to my aids as if someone had schooled him days—instead of months—ago.
Cooling him down with a calm walk, I again thanked Erica. She trained this horse. His responses, his confidence, his willingness were all a direct result of her work. Mark was right. I felt like she was talking to me through this horse. When Santos halted askew, “Jane, too much left leg.” When he stiffened for a moment in the half-pass right, “Soften his jaw.” When he inched forward in the pi
affe, “Square your shoulders.” Her voice was so clear in my mind that, when Donna spoke from the gate, I jumped.
“For a moment I thought I was watching Erica.”
Blinking away tears, I shook my head. I leaned forward and reached under Santos’s neck to scratch those naked scars. He lifted his mane, cocking an ear back toward me. “Such a good boy,” I whispered.
The first time Mark came to watch me ride Santos, he made me self-conscious, remembering what Donna had said. I stopped as soon as I noticed him at the gate.
His face pale and his eyes riveted on the big red horse, he rasped, “Keep going. Don’t stop.”
I did, but I stared at Santos’s ears, afraid that if I let my gaze stray to Mark, I wouldn’t be able to bear the sight of his sadness.
He surprised me, though, by smiling when I finished and dropped the reins. “I should have done this sooner; he looks great. You look great.”
Mandy, looking younger every day with no makeup, her black hair in a ponytail, and a T-shirt hanging over schooling breeches, leaned against the barn door frame. Mandy used to ride her pony following Erica on Santos, mimicking her figures.
Remembering her joy on Windsong and her comment about cooling Santos for Erica, I hoped offering to let her ride him wouldn’t mess her up emotionally. She looked a little shaky about seeing me on him.
Her hand trembled as she gathered the reins. I put a hand on her back to steady her as she placed her paddock boot in the stirrup. We both ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks. Santos moved slowly, walking with half the stride and power that he did with me. He knew. He knew he was carrying a child, a family member.
After that, they came almost every day as long as the weather was nice. Mandy always cooled out the horse I was riding. Then I started having her help me tack up both of them at the same time. She would warm up one horse at the walk and trot, and then we would switch mounts, and she would cool one off.
