by Leigh Hutton
Marcus nodded in the woman’s direction, then moved close to Ebony. ‘She’s just returned from Florida where she was working for Layla Potts,’ he said. ‘She travels a lot to work at other barns, and to show for Canada in the Nations’ Cup events in Europe like I do, as I’m sure you’re already aware.’ Marcus held a hand up to his face and blew on his nails, then rubbed them on his crumpled white show shirt. ‘I’d like Abia to start sitting in on some of your lessons. You could learn a lot from her.’
Ebony’s eyes rolled, without instruction from her brain.
Whoa, she thought, feeling herself blush. Do I really think that highly of myself? She glanced quickly at Marcus, to see if he’d noticed her reaction. He was staring out at the fences, seemingly unfazed. She took a quick breath. ‘Abia, she came back for this show?’ she asked.
‘It’s a great warm up to the season, and she gets bonuses from her sponsors for any wins — she could win up to fifteen grand if she takes out both meter thirty classes and that’s a lot of money to her, just like it is to you; would keep her horses going for a month. She wasn’t born with a silver spoon, she’s fought for every ride she’s ever gotten.’
Ebony always had an inkling that Abia wasn’t like many of the others, but, at the same time, wouldn’t let herself believe it. Disliking her was easier, especially as Abia had beaten Ebony more times than she liked to admit. Her best horse, Samurai, was a stunner. Dark bay, Holsteiner stallion with four white legs and a big white face. Abia bought him as a foal and with the help of Marcus, had raised him to greatness. She was currently ranked fourth in the country behind Marcus and two riders from Ontario: Trey Taylor and Winter Shoalhaven.
The three riders walked the course, checking out lines, strides and angles. They made it to the blue vertical, which was placed an awkward distance from the start of the combination. The trio lined up in a row, pushing their backsides up against the fence, and set off, walking the strides, in a slow arc, to the next jump. Two big steps for take off and four for every stride of the horse. They concluded that it was a long four or a tight five; technical for this early in the season, especially on a volatile horse she was only just getting going, Ebony thought, with a jump of nerves.
‘What’cha thinking, Ebony?’ Marcus asked.
‘We’ll do it in four.’
‘With Monster, I agree,’ Abia said. ‘You’re just concerned with keeping him going. But in Johnny’s class, why don’t you give five a try? Just remember to find your rhythm and really keep him locked between your hand and your leg — that will be enough to keep his attention.’
Ebony’s eyebrows rose. Then she nodded in agreement.
‘Control, Ebony,’ Abia said, clasping her hands behind her back. ‘Combine your balls out style with a bit more control, and I think you might just be unstoppable.’ She smiled at Marcus, and he put a finger to his lips. ‘Shhhh! You want her beating us all the time, do you?’ he said, sticking an elbow into Ebony’s side. ‘Just joshin’ you, of course. Go get that Monster organised. Let’s see if we can’t get him over some practice fences.’
Monster crashed though the warm-up fence the first go around and his state went from bad to worse when Luther intentionally cut in on Ebony’s second attempt, sending the poor horse into a spinning fit. She was still trying to calm him down, when her number was called by the ring steward.
Sweat ran down her ribs and dripped down her back and her heart raced with nerves. Here goes nothing, she thought, doing her best to steer Monster for the ring.
‘This is Ebony Scott Harris, from Calgary, Alberta, aboard …’ The announcer’s smooth, monotone voice paused, so he could clear his throat. ‘Monster. Number one-oh-seven.’
Monster trotted into the ring, across the centre he towed, between two verticals set in the shape of a ‘V’ and a solid, white oxer with sweeping fans hanging off either side, set against the far boards.
Go, bell—GO! Ebony thought desperately as she steered Monster towards the first fence and the beam where her time would start. Beep, went the bell just in the nick of time, marking the start of her minute and forty-five seconds to complete the course.
Monster broke into a canter, pulling like a freight train. She checked him hard, he was getting out of control, and again. He ground at the bit and stuck out his nose. At least he was going forward, she thought to herself, as she managed to aim Monster at the first fence.
He was charging that hard, Ebony was afraid he would plough through the solid vertical. She pulled hard on the reins … no response. Pulled again, ‘whoa!’ she pleaded, pushing her heels down in the stirrups, leaning back, feeling her stomach and shoulder muscles burn as she fought him back; all of her strength. Four strides out she saw it was long, and gave him her hardest half halt. This set Monster back on his haunches just enough. Three, two strides, one …
Ebony felt the thrill of a young girl jumping a pony for the very first time. Monster shot into the air and cleared the jump by what she could only guess would have been a meter. She was grinning that hard, pumped high from adrenaline, that she nearly forgot to look for the second fence. At least we won’t have to worry about time faults! Ebony thought as she wrestled him left, to a red and white ‘Canada’ oxer. At full speed, and she saw the distance — it was going to be tight. She pulled, hoping it would be enough to get him on the forehand so he could at least jump …
Their speed meant even more height, especially from a bit of a tight spot. His mane tickled her cheek and her hands rested on his neck as she moved forward, her bum up and out of the saddle, her body moving and bending with the shape of his huge jump.
His back end flicked up into the air, then they landed from the flight; her butt back in the saddle, moving with his stride, her heart speeding, the blood in her body coursing hot, just as fast as Monster’s steps. It was hardly her perfect, controlled round, but she was getting Monster around. That was all that mattered, they could build from here. The arena was silent, all eyes on her and Monster. His breath was coming fast, whoosh, whoosh, his head, tossing to go. Nostrils wet, black and flaring.
Tearing into the combination, and they cleared the vertical. Two huge strides, and they were tight into the second vertical, one stride, and over the oxer they sailed. It was like she was in orbit, and Ebony’s eyes locked on the next fence, even before the jolt of the landing. A sweeping left to a blue, planked vertical, then a tight right hand turn to another oxer — she prickled with fear, would Monster be going too fast to make the corner?
Miraculously, the little horse sensed the turn he would have to take, slowed just enough, and spun on a dime. Ebony was nearly unseated to the left, with the force of his turn.
Clean over the oxer, just two fences to go. Ebony was catching up with his pace, she loved speed, and he was so scope-y — it didn’t matter what spot they were in before the fence, she knew he wasn’t going to touch it. It was the best feeling you could have on a horse.
BANG!
The sound — like a child had just jumped down onto a wooden floor — cut across the ring from the spectator area.
Monster’s head shot into the air and he reared, coming to a standstill just a stride out from the oxer. His eyes locked on the spooky, gape-y green oxer, like he was searching for the bogeyman that was about to jump out. He eyed the fence frantically, and it was only about a second, before Monster pulled down his head and coiled his body … Ebony could feel he was going to try to jump, but it was way too far out and they were stopped dead; they would surely hit the top rail and flip through the fence.
She pulled hard and leaned back with all her might, it took every ounce of her strength and willing this poor little horse to keep from committing suicide he wanted to go that bad. There was no way he was going to accept defeat.
He was high in the air, rearing … he was that close to take off, his chest hit the fence, knocking the top rail down and upending the white boxes at the base of the fence. Ebony managed to steer him to the left, and wrestle him to a standst
ill. She held him firm, but slipped a hand down to pat Monster’s neck. ‘It’s okay, buddy,’ she said, giving him long, soothing pats, and slowly, cautiously, giving him his head. ‘You did so well. You’re such a good boy. Next time, buddy, next time.’
When she looked up, Ebony was staring directly into the pale green eyes of the most drop dead gorgeous guy she’d ever seen.
She studied his chiseled face, the stubble on his jaw, his black hair underneath a black ball cap. He was tall, at least six feet, and wide in the shoulder. His arms and torso were ripped with muscle she could see beneath his thin, white T-shirt.
His full lips spread into a smile, and her cheeks went hot. She tore her eyes away, and gently turned Monster from the fence, to allow Mr. Green Eyes to re-build it.
Damn, was all Ebony could think as she stole a quick look of the gorgeous guy’s back profile. Strong thighs in Wrangler blue jeans, wide, ripped shoulders and hands she could tell were used to rough work.
Ebony gave Monster one last pat, then, remembering exactly what it was she was doing in the Equi-Plex aboard this horse, decided she would retire him. Today was not the day to push Monster, especially after he’d showed so much heart and spirit. Still with the image of Mr. Green Eyes firmly in her mind, Ebony spun Monster around and exited the ring.
No matter how hard she tried to focus on the round she’d just had, Ebony could not keep her thoughts from the jump crew guy who’d just smiled at her and made her heart swell and race almost faster than her exhilarating round with Monster. Mr. Green Eyes was the first jump crew guy who’d ever made Ebony stop and really take notice. She always noticed them, it was hard not to, as there were more girls than guys around the shows, making competition for their attention fierce. She’d retired from trying for any of the eligible male riders, after the incident with Lorcan O’Connor. Lorcan was the hottest boy rider she’d ever seen, and after they happened to sit next to each other to watch the Double Slalom at Spruce one day, and Lorcan had asked to share her chocolate milk, the fellow pony jumper competitors had become very close friends. Until Mantina stole him, that was. Then, as if Ebony’s crush being with the princess wasn’t bad enough, just a few months later, Lorcan’s family up and moved to France.
The jump crew guys were usually attractive, too, which obviously was a bonus. Always sprinting about the ring to re-build fences that riders had crashed through or knocked down. Winnie usually gushed about the best looking ones and Mantina and many of the other princesses competed to see which girl could score their number. Often, at the smaller Spruce shows, the jump crew were made up of members of local football or hockey teams, volunteering to help out.
The guy she’d just seen, she was sure, was an athlete. He was so sure of himself, standing firm and still, with the utmost confidence. And so solid. Not light on his feet, like Marcus always one step from rushing away. Mr. Green Eyes, she concluded, was more like a Warmblood, and Marcus, a racetrack thoroughbred. It was how he’d earned his nickname, after all. Marcus ‘The Gale’ Frank always had somewhere to be and someone to whip into a frenzy.
She spotted Marcus at the rail. His face expressionless. A universal look, she decided, that all trainers go to some school to learn how to perfect. Like a poker face, never wanting to give too much away.
‘Good round,’ Marcus said, slapping her thigh as she rode out of the ring. ‘I think he’ll handle a stronger bit now, and it would certainly help you out.’ When Ebony didn’t respond, Marcus kept talking. ‘And we’ll definitely bump him up in Florida, get his attention.’
Ebony nodded, but found herself glancing back, over her shoulder. Searching for another moment with Mr. Green Eyes. Crap, Ebony! She thought, giving her head a shake. Get in the game!
‘Are you okay’? Marcus asked, as he walked next to them a safe half meter from Monster’s shoulder back to the practice ring. ‘You know pulling him up was the right thing, right?’
‘’Course—yep.’ She was beaming and dropped her hand, to pat the steaming horse on his strong neck. ‘I’m so happy with how he went.’
‘He was impressive,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen a horse so keen in a very long time.’
Ebony enjoyed the feeling of her smiling face, of the relief and happiness from Monster’s great effort. She patted him harder on the neck. ‘He was awesome,’ she said. Then the image of Mr. Green Eyes’ handsome face forced its way into her mind. ‘He was perfect.’
In his true, showman form, Johnny, sensing the crowd and eager spectators just waiting to gift him their applause, kicked off his show in spectacular form. Darting about the ring with perfect strides, jumping bigger than he had to, keeping his knees tight and perfectly in line, his ears forward and photogenic at all times. The duo scored a clear round and a super fast jump off, with just one rail; a silly one at the last fence, after Ebony had asked him to shave too much off of the corner before. It was good enough to claim third to Mantina and Crown Jewel and Marcus and Saudi Sahara in their first 1.30-metre class.
His second event and the finale of the show was the Friends of the Meadows 1.30-meter, held well into the evening on the Sunday. In the ring and Ebony paused, just before the bell when she normally would have been eyeing the first fence and feeling the adrenaline already taking over. She took a few deep breaths. Control, she thought, remembering Abia’s advice. Control. Johnny seemed to sense this new calmness, and went on the bit easier, clearly feeling less rushed himself.
The fences were massive and filled the big arena like oversized furniture stuffed into a doll house. She got him in tight to a huge oxer, rapped it hard, and was sure it was a rail down. There had already been two clears, so four faults would be well out of the top money. But when Ebony glanced back, holding her breath, the rail rolled, shook, and stayed in its cup. Wouldn’t have, she was sure, if she’d she’d been pushing for her usual, break neck pace. Over the last fence, and Ebony glanced at the clock: clear and eleven seconds within the time, with plenty of gas left in the tank for the jump off.
Five riders jumped clean in the first round, among them was Marcus aboard one of his up-and-coming hopefuls for the Rio Olympics, Saudi Sahara; a gorgeous buckskin Warmblood mare he’d purchased as a five-year-old from Prince Abdul Raheem. Also making the jump off was Abia aboard Samurai, Mantina and Crown Jewel, Luther Hammerstein on Lutweig and Ebony with Enerco and Appassionata Enterprise’s Johnny Cash.
Marcus and Saudi Sahara kicked it off with a fast, clean round they’d be near impossible to beat. Ebony couldn’t help but marvel at the stunning buckskin mare as she tore about the course, ever so careful with her strong legs and never once coming close to a fence. She had the most amazing movement and the prettiest of faces, strong, but still feminine, with long black eye lashes and the perfect, snaking white blaze. Marcus was a naturally gifted rider, smooth, always perfect in the saddle, despite his long limbs. He had gentle hands, but was firm, and the horses loved him for it.
Ebony and Johnny were up next.
Control was not the main focus in the jump off, speed was.
And Ebony’s specialty was just that. Johnny too loved the jump off, as it gave him the chance to really showcase his talents and impress his admirers. If only Tootsie could have been ringside, then, Ebony imagined, he really would have put on a show.
Even as it was, Johnny took off at the sound of the bell, his ears pinned back and his tail swishing as Ebony swung him round and they cannoned down to the first fence.
Clear they went, all the way to the vertical before the combination, which had been included in the shortened course for the jump off. They ate up the four strides into the combination, Johnny didn’t even seem to want to play up. The jumps were big, solid and challenging and such was Johnny’s talent that, sensing he was on the clock, he skimmed the fences, jumping just high enough.
Ebony cut it extra tight inside to the last fence, hitting the white vertical at more than a forty-five degree angle and undeniably long. Johnny was up for it, taking a huge leap. He rapped
the rail, and Ebony’s heart froze, even as she kicked him forward into a short burst of flat out speed across the finish line.
She glanced back as soon as they’d crossed the beam, grinning like mad, as she she already knew by the booming applause that the rail had stayed up and they’d jumped clean.
‘Ebony and Enerco’s Johnny Cash lay down a blistering time!’ The announcer even sounded excited. ‘Taking over the lead from her new trainer, Marcus Frank! This talented duo are going to be hard to beat!’
Ebony had to pull hard to get the excited Johnny down to a walk to exit the ring. Her whole body was buzzing — her first show out and she’d just beaten Marcus Frank! Maybe things really were on the up, she let herself hope, as pride for her horse and for her effort seemed to burst at the seams of her jacket, and her heart. She gave Johnny a strong pat, and then let him have his head.
‘Great round, Ebony!’ said the stout, friendly ring steward.
Ebony smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said. Then it was back to Winnie, who would have treats for Johnny, and Ebony could escape ringside to watch the remaining riders, and pray she didn’t get beat.
‘That’s our Johnny boy!’ It was his part owner, Clayton Prince, of the Prince family conglomerate of companies and owners of Enerco’s Johnny Cash — his formal show name. ‘Splendid ride, Ebony!’ The big man pulled her into a bear hug and patted her on the top of her head. Clayton slapped Johnny on the neck, then fed him a few clumps of sugar. Johnny was always delighted to see his part owner, as no one else allowed him such a delicacy.
‘Where are you rushing off to, Miss?’ Clayton grabbed Ebony’s hand, then slapped her on the back. ‘Next time you ride like that, I’ll have a few hundred waiting for you!’