by Toni Mari
Miss USET led us out of the main barn to a smaller more normal-looking barn. Windsong propped and whinnied when he came out into the sunshine. Ears pricked sharply forward, head high, he listened intently. Faint answers drifted out of the barns. Could he tell if one of them was from Santos? Softly nickering, he marched forward.
I was happy when we finally reached his assigned stall. It was bedded deeply, and Windsong kicked shavings everywhere, making a few laps around the space. I tugged the strings off the bale of hay left for us and threw some in the corner. He barely glanced at it but drank deeply from the automatic water bowl.
I was pleased that he took a drink, but his nostrils were still flaring, and I couldn’t tell if that was from whinnying so much or if he was short of breath. I needed my stethoscope.
Billy’s truck was gone when I returned to the loading zone, but my things were in a neat pile by the door. Carrying as much as I could, I bumbled back to Windsong’s stall. He hadn’t settled down at all.
I checked his vitals. They were elevated, but not alarming. That would be expected with our arrival and his separation from Santos. There wasn’t much I could do; it was too dangerous to take him out when he was in this state. I decided to go collect my show packet and look for Santos.
Chapter 34
A gazebo-type tent was set up at the back door of the atrium. While I waited for my paperwork, I looked around at the people laughing and talking in small groups. It felt weird to be here all by myself. It was early on arrival day, so more exhibitors would be coming as the day went on.
Michelle should be here somewhere, manning a booth for EMA. I texted her. Kate was planning on arriving in the morning before my class. Later on, I was going to school Windsong by myself. I half expected Melinda or Shawn to get in line behind me, but this wasn’t like one of my local shows. I recognized a lot of faces—riders whose photos had been published in magazines and equine quarterlies—but I didn’t know any of them personally.
I took the large envelope from the clerk and asked her if she knew where Robert Peterson was stabled. She pointed over her shoulder at one of the wings of the main barn.
I made my way through the crowd, admiring the glass skylight, which was the floor of the upper level. I stopped, surprised, when I realized people were looking down at me. Neat.
I wandered through elaborate stone archways and peered into each stall as I walked past. Beautiful, well-dressed equines looked back at me, but very few came forward, no longer interested in the passers-by. The aisle of this barn was spotless and clear of equipment. Only one groom was carrying a groom kit into a stall.
I looked into the fourth stall, and there he was. Despite a thorough bath and my meticulous trim job, Santos’s coppery coat still wasn’t quite as brilliant as the coats’ of the other pampered animals. But a few weeks of work and daily grooming would have him up to snuff. Except no product would hide his scars.
“Santos,” I whispered, like we were in a church. His ears pricked and he put his nose through the bars. The sliding stall door reached up to the ceiling beam, so he couldn’t put his neck out. I slid my whole arm in to reach his chest and scratched the bare skin with my fingernails. He twisted his head up, enjoying it.
The peace was disturbed by clumping boot heels and cheery voices. A group of people came through the archway, Robert in the center with his head turned and arms waving as he related some pertinent piece of information. All heads were cocked toward him so as not to miss a single word. He looked every inch the celebrity. Immaculate white breeches disappeared into tall black boots and a white polo shirt sported a blue-and-red-striped collar. The United States Equestrian Team logo was prominent on the left side of his chest.
I snatched my arm back and shoved both hands into my jeans pockets. It was a long way to the other end of the barn so there was no way to escape his notice. Even if he didn’t approve or think I deserved to be here, I had been invited. Raising my chin, I turned and looked him in the eye, bracing my shoulders against the force of his personality.
He stopped talking and walking, and my knees trembled. I leaned back against the stall to steady myself. Santos nuzzled my head and took my ponytail into his mouth. I tried surreptitiously to swat him away, but he tugged and my head bumped the bars. My face heated and the group smiled and chuckled. Finally, I got him to let go, and I ran trembling fingers over my hair, trying to smooth out the lumps.
“Jane.” Robert grinned and stepped closer, intending to draw me into a hug. I looked down at my dusty boots and saliva-smeared sweatshirt, not wanting to mar his pristine shirt. He tugged me in anyway, and over his shoulder I could see chins dropping in the whole group. Frankly, mine wanted to hit the floor, too. Robert was hugging me? He said I wasn’t seasoned enough to be here. He thought I wasn’t good enough.
I did a quick inspection as we parted, thankful I didn’t leave any green splotches on him. I picked a few black hairs off his shirt sleeve. “Sorry, I just finished setting Windsong up in his stall and wanted to make sure Santos was settled in and didn’t need anything.” The red devil nickered softly, pushing his muzzle through the bars. I gently stroked his nose.
“I hear I should thank you for recommending me to Mark Grant. I always envied Erica for getting her hands on Santos before any of us could.” He waved absently to the rest of the group.
I kissed that soft velvet but then slapped my hand over my mouth, realizing how unprofessional that must have looked. Santos’s hoof bumped the wall and another nicker had me shrugging. I really liked this horse, and I couldn’t, wouldn’t resist showing it. “He’s a really special horse, and you’re the best. You’ll get him out there again, so the world can see that.”
There was an awkward moment. I thought I sounded too much like a teeny bopper. I stuck a fingernail between my teeth but stopped myself before biting down on it. Instead, I made a fist and shoved it into my jeans, and planned on keeping it there.
I shifted my weight and hoped Robert said something soon. Or maybe I should just make an escape now. I looked down the aisle and then back at him.
Robert gave me the warmest smile, and my nervous fidgeting stilled. Softly, he said, “Thanks. I heard you worked with him to get him ready for me. I appreciate that. I have great plans for him.”
“He’ll do great things. He’s so talented and pleasant. Really easy to work with, great focus. Well, you know that. Anyway, you’ll love riding him. I know I did. Not that I did anything near what you will, I’m just saying, he’s great. Really great.” Now was probably a good time to stick my fingers in my mouth to stop the torrent. I touched Santos’s nose again and pressed my lips together.
Robert’s smile widened. “Kate’s not here yet, is she? Meet me in the ring at three. I’ll help you with your warm-up ride.”
I blinked. “Seriously? I mean, absolutely. I’ll be there.” Giant, giant advantage to have someone like Robert coach me before a big show like this. He knew my horse, he knew what the judges wanted, he probably even knew exactly whom I was riding against.
“Thank you!” I called, and the group continued down the aisle. Thank you for not making me look like a fool—well, feel like a fool, anyway. I slid the rubber band out of my rat’s nest and gave Santos another kiss on the nose. “See you later, big guy. Don’t worry, you’re going to really like Robert.”
I kept looking over my shoulder, and Santos kept his nose pressed to the bars. I finally turned the corner and sighed, resisting the temptation to peek around the wall to see if he had gone back to his hay. The barn at home was going to be awfully quiet without his vibrant personality.
And without Santos boarding there, Mark and Mandy would have no reason to come by anymore. It would go back to being just me and Windsong, alone.
After lunch with Michelle and a couple hours in the EMA booth handing out brochures and talking about our mission, I returned to a quieter Windsong. I tacked him up, led him to the end of the barn, and used a mounting block to climb on. After adjusting my hel
met, I steered him past the main show arena, weaving between other horses and pedestrians, nodding with feigned nonchalance at people whom I only knew from pictures in magazines. When Bethany Stillman—a two-time Olympian and top national trainer—said, “Hi, Jane,” I nearly fell off of Windsong.
More people addressed me by name, and I stopped at the top of the path that led to the schooling rings. I watched riders school their top-class horses. They looked so smooth and unruffled. My jittery nerves returned.
Did I ever look unruffled on Windsong? I had to maintain fierce concentration and total focus so I could feel the slightest change in his movement, to catch his overreactions before they turned into spooks. I considered letting Robert know that I would be warming up in another ring, one with fewer famous riders—or none if I could find an empty one.
Just then, a fiery chestnut horse with elastic, floating gaits that outclassed all the rest entered the ring. When Santos was in motion, his scars were unnoticeable. Under Robert’s capable hands, even his warm-up was mesmerizing. Santos was all business, eyes straight ahead, not distracted by the many horses working around him. As he rounded the near corner, Windsong’s gaze locked on the distinct red horse.
Windsong’s ribs expanded under my legs. He tested the scent and then whinnied, lurching forward and sliding down the path a few feet. I tightened the reins, trying to control our skid and looking for the safest path.
An answering whinny from Santos surprised me but fueled Windsong’s desire to join his friend. He bent his knees, taking fast, tiny steps, mincing forward and tugging on the tight reins. His hooves half slid, half gripped the gravel. Windsong was focused on Santos, not paying any attention to his treacherous descent. He would have leapt to the bottom if I had let up on the reins. I didn’t.
Finally, we were safe on level ground and I was able to look up from the ground. Santos was halted on the other side of the fence, ears locked on us. So were most of the other horses.
Robert grinned at me. “Well done.” Obviously, he was recalling some of my other unconventional entrances on my crazy horse. He rolled a shoulder toward the gate. “Most people come in from the other side.”
A smooth, paved path lined the approach to the gate. It had escaped my notice when I was ogling the horses. My face burned. I nodded and pointed Windsong in that direction.
Chapter 35
This wasn’t the first time Robert instructed me, and like the previous times, his directions were clear and on target. Windsong was happy that Santos was in the ring, and he worked without dramatics. I thanked Robert and promised to be on time to warm up for my class with him the next day.
Windsong had other ideas, though, and refused to leave Santos behind. He went sideways, back and forward, shaking his head when I gave him a strong kick. When he continued to try to turn back, I poked him with my spurs. He answered with a half-hearted rear.
Deciding not to be the entertainment again, I slid off and pulled the reins over his head. With a sharp tug, I started up the path. Windsong followed reluctantly, with one last whinny to his friend.
He continued to look for Santos all through his bath and braiding. He ate his dinner while he paced circles and looked for Santos. His heart rate stayed elevated, but it was lower than when he worked. I interpreted that to mean that he was okay, just upset.
After I had dinner with Michelle, I went back to the barn to check on him. His nostrils were slightly flared, and when I counted his heartbeats, the count was the same, elevated. Blowing out a sigh, I decided to stay near the stall with him all night, checking hourly until he settled down.
I called Michelle and told her I was staying here instead of with her in the hotel room. I opened a director’s chair in the aisle and settled down for a long night with one of my textbooks and a nervous equine.
One of the grooms doing night check stopped in front of me and explained that she and the rest of the grooms were responsible for checking all the horses. There was no need for me to stay.
“My horse has a heart condition, so I want to monitor him until he calms down. I’ll only be here an hour or so,” I lied, disguising my unease at Windsong’s agitation and my plan to stay here all night.
“Okay. I’m sure that’s fine. But you’re missing the informal exhibitors’ reception in the atrium.” She wriggled her eyebrows encouragingly.
“I’ll definitely stop in there.” I smiled, hoping she would get on her way.
After a boring hour of watching Windsong snatch a bite of hay and pace a circle in the shavings, I took his vitals. They were the same, slightly elevated, but not as high as during work. I decided to make a run to the party, get some snacks, and return within half an hour.
I hustled through the main barn, heading toward the warm glow of light in the center atrium. A low rumble of chatter filled the area. Grooms in jeans and paddock boots took advantage of the wet wipes volunteers were offering. Riders still dressed in their breeches and tall boots were milling around the serving tables against one wall, piled high with sandwiches, salads, and bowls of chips. A tall stack of cups wobbled and a nimble groom caught them before they could tumble.
After filling a plate, I leaned against the smooth tongue-and-groove wall, chewing and watching. I returned a few nods but didn’t attempt to talk and eat. I tossed my plate into a trash can and tried to be discreet as I took a selfie with my lips drawn back, exposing my teeth. I was checking for bits of broccoli when a loud clap of thunder made me jump.
I shoved the phone in my pocket and speed-walked to the end of the barn aisle. It hadn’t started raining, but the air had that ozone smell. A thunderstorm was predicted but forecasted to be long gone before classes started in the morning. Knowing how Windsong hated storms, I hustled back to his stall. Hopefully, his location in the center of the aisle would help him stay calm.
In my dream, the crowd was cheering, and Windsong was happily prancing under me. Then he lowered his head and kicked out, his hooves drumming the wooden arena fence. He bucked and bucked, I let go, and I was falling, falling.
I awoke with a jerk, grabbing the arms of the chair. I was disoriented and flinched at heavy thumping in the pitch black behind my head. Blinking, I tried to peer into the blackness, but there was not a glimmer of light and I couldn’t see a thing.
Gradually, my groggy brain remembered that I was in front of Windsong’s stall. The sound of the applause that I had been dreaming about must have been the heavy rain slamming the roof of the barn.
A bright flash of lightning seared my wide-open eyes at the same time a loud clap of thunder shook the building. The pounding started up again, and it was coming from Windsong’s stall.
I stood and felt my way to the bars. “Windsong, what are you doing in there?” Not even a shadow of his black body was visible.
Another crash of thunder with an immediate flash of lightning outlined his silhouette. He was standing straight up on two legs. Then it was pitch black again. What the heck?
My hands scrabbled at my pocket, fingers feeling for my phone. Where is it? I threw myself onto my knees, arms outstretched, feeling the aisle floor. More thumping. I smashed my thumb into the chair leg. “Ow.” I shook my wrist and inched forward, my knee hitting against my phone.
I clicked on the flashlight feature and aimed it between the iron bars. The glaring light was just bright enough to illuminate the stall. Windsong had paced a trench in his deep shavings and had strewn hay and manure everywhere.
Another clap of thunder and he reared up, pummeling his hooves on the wall like he was trying to climb out. His long, dark silhouette was barely visible against the back of the stall, and a glimmer of white from his eye hovered high up in the air.
I yelped, the phone jerking in my hand. Criminies! He was going to hurt himself, damage a tendon or fall and break his neck. His body slid down the wall, and he whirled around snorting.
“Easy, boy,” I whispered ineffectively.
I moved slowly to the door and rolled it open, but the
bobbing light terrified him, and he lurched back, bumping his rump into the wall. Inhaling sharply, I slammed the door closed and pounded my palm on my forehead. What do I do?
This was the worst I had ever seen him act. Another explosion of thunder shook the barn and I cringed instinctively. The storm must have been right over the show grounds. I could hear the rustle of movement from other stalls, but none of the horses were pounding on the walls like Windsong was.
I thought of the snow storm and the sound of the tree falling and his wild-eyed craziness then. I had been able to ease his tension only with the sedative. But it wasn’t legal to administer medication at a horse show, and it would eliminate us from the competition.
Smacking my hand on my thigh, I tried to prod my paralyzed brain to work. Do something, Jane!
Thunder cracked and Windsong’s hooves drummed the wall again. The sickening sound of his body sliding down the boards galvanized me to action. I rifled through my trunk, trying to hold the light with my chin. I dropped the phone twice before I found the show program. Windsong thumped and banged, and I ducked away from the ruckus. Hold on, hold on.
I flipped through the book and located the information page. Laying it on the floor and holding the page with my knee, I dialed the listed show veterinarian.
A monotone voice answered. “This is an answering service. Please state your name, your location, and the nature of your emergency. I will give the message to the on-call doctor.”
I had to raise my voice over the storm and spoke quickly. “My name is Jane. I’m at Gladstone and my horse is flipping out because of the storm.”
“I’m sorry. The signal is breaking up,” the calm voice returned. “Where did you say you were?”
“Gladstone!” Did she not get that this was an emergency?
“Gladstone? Is that a town?”
