JUMP GIRL (The Go Girls Chronicles Book 2)

by Leigh Hutton

  To take the edge off the pain, Ebony had bought a brand new sketch pad and entitled it ‘Gallant, BC’: life before the loss of him. She couldn’t shake that sick sense of dread; a feeling that everything would just get worse from here, and hoped her drawing would help. Within the pad, she’d spent every evening re-creating the happiest memories that she’d ever had, starting with the day Cecile brought Gallant home. Ebony had been sitting cross-legged on the front veranda of Cecile’s large country homestead, located at Millarville, in the foothills of the Rockies. Sketching the outline of the mountains, the green hills, the lake in front of the house and some late summer crocuses, growing on the lush green lawn in front of the stone and natural timber home. She heard a car approaching before she saw the white Range Rover, pulling Cecile’s white trailer.

  ‘Here’s our new mane man!’ Cecile had joked, as she helped Ebony to lead him down off the trailer. The name had stuck. Gallant was the only man they could ever rely on.

  When Ebony locked eyes with him, it was as if he too came alive inside. His dark eyes, heavy with lines from worry and stress, opened wide and softened. She led him straight down the hill to the lake, and let him graze on the summer grass all day long. He even laid down, weary from his journey, and let her rest her head against his silvery white coat. He stayed home with her for a few days, to settle in, before being taken to Jenny Pedrosa’s barn to start into work. They were the best days ever for Ebony, filled with laughter and a joy that she’d never before experienced. Like she finally had a real family; her, Gallant and Cecile.

  The next image she drew was of Gallant free jumping, in the outdoor ring at Jenny’s. She’d never seen a more glorious creature. His legs, front and back, were straight, clean and always perfect; his knees tucked up close under his chin, his big, back hooves perfectly in line as he easily cleared the towering fences. His ears were always forward, he was confident, loving his task.

  Then there was their first victory, the first of many to come.

  Spruce Meadows 1.40-meter Champion at the North American show. She sketched herself aboard Gallant, shaking the hand of a man in a suit who had just adorned the great horse with a coveted red Champions rug. Gallant looked out at the crowd, his ears pricked, standing still and strong with the serene calmness he always seemed to radiate. Ebony was beaming, the green medal sash gleaming with the green of her eyes. Her skin looked fresh and she only had two rows of earrings in her ears. She remembered Cecile, sitting in the front row of the corporate box, cheering loudly as she always did, and sketched her in, too.

  To mark the peak and pinnacle of their career together, Ebony drew Gallant, standing without tack in the middle of Spruce’s International Ring, the huge trophy, red ribbon, green ‘Home of the Classics’ sash and folded blue rug from their win of the $200,000 Power Queen Elizabeth II Cup, set out in front of him. He was glossy with health, in perfect form. Free to roam, but choosing to stand and honour his victory, as he had on the day; keeping perfectly still like the professional athlete he was, for dozens and dozens of photos to be taken of he and Ebony; the winning team.

  She filled the rest of the pad with sketches of Gallant resting in his stall. She sat cross-legged in the far corner, the yellow nighttime light of Marcus’s facility casting striking shadows off his soft ears, the dark flare of his nostrils, his mane and the long curve of his body, as he lay his head in his shavings to sleep. Occasionally, he would lift his head, even stand, to nuzzle her hair and ask politely for a carrot or a treat.

  Ebony knew she would need these images to survive the loss of him.

  ‘That’s it!’ the groom yelled. ‘I’m gonna have to call the owner!’

  ‘Please, senore, you don’t understand!’

  Ebony was roused from her thoughts by more banging on the stall door. Her cheeks were cold from her tears and suddenly she was shaking. She put her hands on her temples, pushing hard, trying to silence the screaming wails of her thoughts. Do Something! Get him away from here! RUN!

  But she knew there was nothing she could do. Never was. People had been telling her where to go and what to do her entire life with the exception of Cecile, but she was gone. And now they were taking Gallant. Her family, stolen.

  With a loud sob, Ebony jumped to her feet, and rushed to Gallant’s side. She buried her face in the soft, warm hair of his shoulder, and threw her arms up around his neck. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I’m so sorry!’

  Gallant brought his nose around, and rested it in the curve of her waist. His breath was warm against her skin, and his whiskers tickled, even through the fabric of her hoodie. His heart was pounding, faster than normal. She didn’t dare look in to his face. Days ago, when the vet had arrived to update his needles and check his overall health for travel, he’d started to sense that something was up. The old worry around his eyes had slowly returned, his posture beginning to sink with sadness. He knew what was coming.

  The stall door opened.

  ‘NO!’ Ebony held out her hand. ‘Please don’t. I’ll do anything!’

  A halter was raised around Gallant’s nose, Ebony grabbed it and threw it at the person behind her. ‘Friggen hell!’ The man said, jumping back. ‘Look, I didn’t sign up for this! Who’s gonna control this crazy—’

  ‘Ebony …’

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she registered the voice of her new trainer. He grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her gently away from Gallant’s body.

  She clung on to her horse for dear life. ‘I love you, Gally.’ His coat was wet from her tears. ‘I’ll get you back. I promise.’ He was prancing now, his huge hooves packing the shavings down. He dropped his head, to look her in the eye, then threw it up, into the air. He was scared. She could sense it. ‘I promise you.’

  The groom threw the lead rope up around his neck, and wrestled with him, as Gallant wove uneasily in the back corner of the stall. Winnie rushed in to help. Gallant’s nostrils flared, his breath coming fast. He let out a shrill whinny of warning at the man, but didn’t lash out. Winnie managed to get his halter on.

  Marcus held Ebony tight, and she didn’t resist. It was the first time since Cecile’s death that she’d felt the warmth of another’s embrace. It didn’t feel unwelcome.

  Marcus let her collapse to the ground, shaking. She gritted her teeth and swallowed, to keep her stomach down. She could spew.

  Gallant was led out of his stall and taken to the transporter.

  Tootsie Roll whinnied desperately after him.

  ‘I love him,’ Ebony said into the collar of Marcus’s polo shirt. He smelled of horse and strong cologne. He kept her close to his chest, one hand on her forehead, as he would to calm a horse. ‘Please settle,’ Marcus said, squeezing her shoulders. ‘No one likes a scene.’

  Ebony released a sharp breath, and instead of cursing him, she started to laugh. She didn’t find Marcus amusing, but she wasn’t sure what else to do. She was all cried out.

  ‘Now,’ Marcus wiped her face with the sleeve of his shirt, ‘you’ll be happy to hear that I’ve turned Timmy Tuckshop out. He’s fit for nothing more than pony club. I knew Annika was an idiot, but I wasn’t aware she was quite this bad.’

  Ebony smiled, for the first time in days. He’s got that right…

  ‘She’d be dead dumb if she didn’t get something else out of the deal, but, no matter.’

  Ebony knew exactly what Annika had gained. In, with one of the richest, most influential families in North America. Giving Gallant to Paisley was a huge favour, and the pair had been ‘besties’ ever since the deal was made.

  ‘We’ll find you something else.’

  Ebony shook her head. The panic was rising again, and she forced a deep breath. Keep the darkness away. She opened her eyes wide and didn’t let herself blink as she spoke, ‘Annika’s already said there’s no money for more horses.’

  Marcus’s long frame stiffened. He sat back against the wall. ‘What do you mean, no more money?’

  Ebony gr
imaced at this new, harsh tone to his voice. This was the man she remembered. All business, zero emotion. ‘Are you deaf ?’ She asked.

  ‘But, Cecile was loaded to the eye balls.’

  ‘Cecile is dead!’

  ‘Didn’t she adopt you?’

  Ebony shook her head violently. ‘That jerk she was married to would never let her and by the time she got free of him, it was too late.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘I took on her last name, legally as soon as I turned eighteen — when she was already gone. That was always our plan. She was my family.’

  ‘Cecile always was a sucker for a charity case — no offence intended,’ Marcus said, raising his hands defensively. ‘All I’m trying to say is my bills had better get paid.’

  ‘Are you for real right now?’ Ebony shoved him hard, then jumped up. She was shaking again and her legs felt like they would collapse before she could make it out the door.

  ‘Sorry! Whoa—’ Marcus lunged for her and caught her by the arm. He held her tightly, silencing her struggles, and pulled her into his chest. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Forgive me?’

  Ebony wriggled with the last of her strength and managed to free her hand. He caught it before she could claw at his face.

  ‘Whoa! Easy there, girl.’ He relaxed his hold, slowly, until she was ready to give up her fight. Marcus locked his eyes with hers, and she couldn’t look away. ‘You need to relax, live a little, have a bit of fun.’

  Ebony tensed to run.

  He took her hand carefully, and held her in front of him. ‘We’ll work it out, it’ll be fine. Johnny’s going much better, I’m confident we’ll have him ready for the first Nations’ Cup in Florida, I’m sure you’ll make the cut, after your results with Gallant. And as far as finding an extra horse, I have plenty I’m sure we can find something suitable for you to lease. How about you accompany me to Spruce tonight, to see the Christmas lights? I think you’ll enjoy it. And we can talk strategy.’

  Ebony rocked back on the heels of her Ariat’s and eyed Marcus suspiciously. ‘I’m not gonna get with you.’

  ‘Jeeze.’ He let her go, raising his hands in surrender. ‘Is that all you think of me? No — I would never take advantage of a girl in your state. Just, let me help, show Miss Agony a bit of fun. You’ve been working hard here. I’m proud of you.’ He ducked his head to hers, his eyes softening. ‘Don’t make me beg.’

  ‘Fine.’ Ebony shook her head, and looked away, her eyes darting around Gallant’s stall. A space that would soon be filled with some other horse. She breathed back the sting of sadness, and walked briskly from the stall. ‘Okay Marcus,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘I’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Eight o’clock? We can grab dinner afterwards.’

  ‘Just the lights, Marcus.’

  Ebony wasn’t sure why she accepted his invitation. Maybe she was tired of being alone. Winnie was her only company when she wasn’t riding, grooming, or helping to care for the horses. She would hang out for hours, in Winnie’s warm, homely room above the arena. But she felt like a leech staying for too long. Winnie was social, friends with everyone, and although she loved including her, Ebony didn’t want to cramp her style. The other grooms were nice to her only because they had to be and she loathed running in to any of the other riders. She spent as much time on her horses as she could. The remaining time she spent in her white cell of a room at Annika’s, on the top floor of the house she hated, taking her frustrations and anger out on her tattered old sketchpad, the one she turned to when sketching Gallant hurt too much. She hadn’t even unpacked her clothes. Her boxes were piled up in the corner. There were no pictures on her walls. She’d been plotting to steal the Lamaze and Hickstead picture from Annika; it didn’t belong on her walls. She didn’t appreciate it or understand its true value, not like Ebony did. But she didn’t dare take it. Annika saw all. She’d even decorated Ebony’s bed with a pastel pink duvet cover and pink fluffy cushions, intentionally to irk her, she was sure. Her house was kitted out for the holidays with lights and a tree and the usual festive cheer, but Ebony would rather miss out than risk encountering Annika.

  Ebony had some pleasant memories of the holidays and light displays from her childhood, especially from her time with Cecile.

  Many of her foster families went as big as they could afford on their tiny budgets, with meals and decorated trees and Christmas carols. There was rarely money for presents, especially for her, but they were still happy times. Happy times that never lasted long enough. There was always a reason for them to move her along. The strain and reality of everyday life always returned, there were always dramas. No one wanted Ebony, and the only person she’d ever wanted was dead.

  Her drawings had gone dark, her nightmares even more horrid, terrifying and inescapable. The horses she sketched were looking more like black demons than the beautiful creatures she so loved and cherished. Maybe her soul was going black, being lost to destruction. She hoped it wasn’t. How could she win, and keep Johnny and Tootsie safe from Annika, if she was depressed? She needed to get out. Move forward, and find some light. Cecile would have wanted her to.

  Maybe this year, seeing the lights at Spruce Meadows, with Marcus, could bring her some happiness. After all, she owed it to Johnny and Tootsie, and Winnie, to keep soldiering on. Their first show was fast approaching, being held in just six weeks time, and without Gallant, getting in the money and making the senior team for any of the Nations’ Cup events, and ultimately for the World’s an event that could make her career — was going to be near impossible.

  Spruce Meadows was always a glorious sight, but decked out in the thousands of brightly coloured lights, with the white of winter draped over its statues and fine buildings reflecting the colour of this most joyous of seasons, the world’s top show jumping venue truly was a sight to behold.

  Ebony had only ever driven past Spruce in the holidays, seen the lights from Highway 22X, and longed to visit in person. But she’d always been too tired from long days on her horses, or too concerned that she’d run into one of the show jumping princesses who would give her a headache and tempt her to risk jail time for assault. So she stayed away.

  Tonight, as she swung in the main entrance and past the first row of dark spruce trees — drenched in iridescent colours of blue, green, red, and purple — Ebony felt a calmness settle within her chest. A bit of happy, maybe, to chisel away at the darkness within her soul. The lights were stunning. The night, so peaceful. Drawing her in.

  She was glad she came. It was just like a show day, arriving at Spruce, only peaceful and quiet; minus the nerves, which was pretty nice.

  Ebony parked her Mustang a few spots down from Marcus’s charcoal Aston Martin, in the parking lot adjacent to the main riding hall and offices of Spruce Meadows. She sat for a moment, enjoying the heat blowing gently on her face and the pumping punk tunes streaming from her stereo.

  No matter how many times she visited this place, the central building always seemed to take her breath away. It was a landmark many top riders passed without a second glance, but not Ebony. The sheer size and peaked architecture of the barn, with its red brick and black timber construction, was glorious. Tonight, lit up in fluoro green, with the ‘Spruce Meadows’ logo glowing and tall Spruce trees on either side laced in blood red, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Even when her phone beeped from within the pocket of her black, puffa Grand Prix jacket, she didn’t look down. It beeped twice more before she reluctantly pulled it out, and read the messages; both from Marcus:

  You here yet? Just meeting with Trip, be out in a minute. I’m at the riding hall.

  OK??

  She typed back, yep.

  Twenty minutes later, Marcus was bashing on her window. She cracked it, peering out.

  ‘Out ya get,’ Marcus said, rubbing his hands together and puffing his cheeks out in the freezing night air. ‘I’ve got something amazing to show you.’

  Removed from the comfort of her car, Ebony let Marcus link her arm
with his as they walked down the red cobble road, heading back towards the main gates. The winter air froze her face, and she pulled up the collar of her jacket, snuggling her chin down inside. Past the running bronze horses, blanketed with snow and galloping to a backdrop of bright, gorgeous lights. The Terrace Halls, The All Canada ring. It seemed strange not to be on horseback; the sound of her Converse high-tops crunching on the snow vastly different to Gallant’s shod feet.

  ‘You’d better not be taking me to the tree fort,’ Ebony said. ‘To try any funny business.’ She could see her breath, escaping in fast puffs into the frigid air. They’d been walking for a good five minutes, and she was getting out of breath, keeping up to Marcus’s thoroughbred gait. Surely she was fitter than this? She was rarely out of breath on her horses.

  ‘You’ve been there, have you?’ Marcus poked her in the ribs. She retaliated with a hard punch to his shoulder. He rubbed it dramatically. ‘I’d pictured you as more of a back seat kinda girl.’

  Ebony ignored him, struggling for breath. ‘Seriously, where the heck are we going?’

  ‘Good things come to those who wait.’

  ‘Is there anything good awaiting the person who pines for Marcus Frank?’

  He laughed. ‘Wow, a comedian. A badass goth comedian show jumping goddess, I never thought I’d meet such a character.’

  Goth. That was interesting, she considered. She’d never labeled her style ‘goth’ before. It didn’t worry her, though. It was better to fit into a category than none at all. She was only concerned with being labeled a winner, number one in the ring. And being loyal to those she loved.

  ‘Close your eyes.’ Marcus placed a cold hand over her eyes. ‘No peeking.’

  She tried to avoid holding his elbow, but slipped and had to, as they made their way along the icy road, now in complete darkness. Marcus eased her onto a park bench. ‘Open … Now, wasn’t this worth the walk?’