“Oh, really? How so?” I didn’t really want to know, but I couldn’t just let the statement hang.
“Do you honestly think this girl is taking time out of her life to do battle with your little jerk of a horse, every single week, for as long as it takes, not even getting paid, for fuck’s sake, because she wants a training challenge? This girl wants you. Bad. If you can’t see that, that’s why you’re a fucking moron. And, if you keep taking advantage of her feelings and using her, then you’re also a fucking jerk.” Amber sucked in a quick breath.
“That’s your opinion.”
“Yeah, it is. But I’m totally right.” I glared at the back of her head as she walked away. Elle raised her head from the grass. Stupid human drama.
Erica
It had been over a week since I’d driven down that dirt road to work with Harry. The days should have dragged, torturing me as my eyes hungered for a glimpse of something hot. But instead, they had flown by. I had been impossibly busy, polishing D.M.’s coat, his responsiveness, his maneuverability, everything that needed to shine when we made our debut. And on top of that, I had the usual crop of sale horses to school each day and show every weekend. Pressure. It was piling on my chest, making it hard to breathe (or sleep) at night. I needed an escape – one that didn’t involve watching bad reality TV, eating an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s without stopping for breath, or both.
I took off around mid-day. An empty ice cream container rolled around in my floor well, shaming me. I nearly pulled over and threw it into a ditch. Calm DOWN, dammit, I ordered myself. Littering won’t help you fit into your show breeches. That ship has sailed.
As my tires hit the dirt road, I got that familiar tingly feeling…an intoxicating mix of euphoria and terror. I wanted to see him, of course. There was nothing that I wanted more (except maybe an Olympic show jumping medal, or a million dollars). But, almost instinctively, I also wanted to run away, because I feared that once I was actually looking into those eyes (oh God…those eyes) I would contract foot-in-mouth disease, and say something stupid. And beyond that basic (and justified) fear, there was the unfortunate fact that my physique, due to the impending show season and aforementioned pressure, was steadily slipping away from “curvy but athletic”, and deteriorating into “could be called curvy if one was in denial, but really borderline chunky”.
And with that reassuring thought firmly stuck in my mind, I reached his driveway. My traitorous hands turned the steering wheel sharply to the left, and my truck eagerly made the turn and coasted to a stop. I realized I was bouncing uneasily in my seat, and I made myself stop. So much for an escape from pressure. I must really loathe myself.
It wasn’t until I nearly got to his door that I realized there was another vehicle in the driveway…a huge, beige pickup with so many rust stains it looked like a burn victim. I froze. Does he have a girl over? Oh God. That would be bad. That would be seriously freaking bad. But wait. That doesn’t really look like a girl kind of vehicle to me. That’s probably sexist, though. I drive a truck, and I’m a girl. Although I’ve been mistaken for a guy before…but only by an old person who was legally blind. It doesn’t really count. I glanced at the vehicle again. I had thought the beige color was from a paint job, but on second look, I realized it might just be the cumulative effect of years of grime. Definitely a guy’s car, I decided. A girl would take better care of her ride than that. He’s just having a buddy over. And maybe he’s hot. Emboldened by the possibility of eye candy, I stepped up onto the front porch and knocked on the door.
From within the house, I heard Lawrence call out, “Amber! Get the door.” I had just enough time to think, Uh-oh. Guys aren’t named Amber! When the door was jerked open, and I was face to face with a pretty girl. A really pretty girl, who would never in a million years be mistaken for a guy, even though she was wearing clothes that looked suspiciously like they came from the guy’s section. She stared me in the face, and hostility wafted off of her like a heavy perfume. “Hi,” I said nervously. “I’m Erica.” My voice cracked as I introduced myself.
The incredibly pretty Amber snorted. Even when she snorts, she’s still prettier than I’ll ever be, I thought bitterly. “So you’re the horse trainer generously donating her services to a poor, washed-up polo player,” she said, sounding amused. “And without getting anything in return.”
“Um…I guess so.” I was sure there was some kind of double meaning behind her words, from the way she was smirking at me. But I wasn’t following. Amber kind of scared me, despite the fact that I had a couple inches on her, and she was so delicately built that I probably could have picked her up and thrown her off the porch.
Amber smiled, but her expression was less like a person being friendly, and more like a cat as it plays with a mouse before beheading it. I was seriously creeped out, and considering running away like a little girl, when Lawrence appeared on Amber’s right. I relaxed. I could totally handle Amber. “Hey,” I said, surprised I could manage even that much in the way of speech.
“Erica. Hi.” Either he was a really good actor, or he was pleased to see me. Or, third option: I’m in total denial. “I thought I wouldn’t see you for a while. You know, show season?” He said in response to my blank look.
“Oh. Right. Yeah, the big show is in a few days. I’ve been getting ready, that’s why I haven’t been here in nine days. But I needed a break from, um, show preparations. So I came here. I hope that’s okay.” I finally shut up, eyes glazing over in horror. Okay, we have a problem. Shut up, Erica. It’s too late, but shut up anyway.
Amber looked gleeful. I was clearly making her day. Lawrence, however, was either unaffected by my blathering, or nice enough to not appear affected. “That’s great,” he said. “Harry’s due for a ride. I’ve been focusing more energy on Vegas lately.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said, intensely relieved that he wasn’t pointing and laughing, or even quietly snickering behind his hand.
“I see you’ve met my friend Amber,” Lawrence added, glancing at Amber, who looked incredibly bored now that I’d stopped making an idiot of myself. I watched his face carefully, and I saw that he was into her. I knew that look well, having seen zillions of guys give my friends that look. This revelation might’ve killed my self esteem, but fortunately, it was already rotting away inside of me, so no harm done.
“Yes,” I said, smiling bravely. “It was great to meet you, Amber. I’m gonna go catch Harry now.” I jumped off the porch and headed for Harry’s paddock, blinking back the moisture that clung to my eyelids.
Harry was wearing his leather halter, with a short “catch rope” attached. “Have you been a naughty boy lately?” I asked him. Harry pawed the ground, rolling his eyes so the white showed. He was clearly ready to play chase, but I wasn’t in the mood for games. As he prepared to run, I turned around and walked away. From the corner of my eye, I saw him stare at me, perplexed. “I’m not going to play your game,” I told him. “You’re going to come to me.”
This went on for some time. Every time he took a step in the wrong direction, I ignored him. Gradually, he began to take steps towards me. Then I decided to really blow his mind. I jumped at him, waving my arms, which was enough to send him galloping away from me. He slid to a stop in front of the fence, then turned to face me. What next? His hard-pricked ears and attentive eyes asked. I walked alongside him, and directed him to turn on his forehand from a distance with my body language. Then I sent him off again. Remembering to keep it varied, I asked him to change directions and gaits, refining my signals as he understood better.
Eventually I stood in the center of the paddock, relaxed, relying only on voice commands to control Harry. A click of my tongue signaled him to trot. A kiss got him to canter. A soothing, drawn out “walk” told him to walk. A slight hand signal and the words “that way”, and he changed direction.
I saw Lawrence walk up to the fence as Harry circled me. He gave his owner the evil eye as he passed, but kept trotting. I kissed to him, and Harr
y lifted into a canter, shaking his head and striking out with his forelegs. He stayed on the rail and wasn’t being threatening, so I didn’t correct him for this display of character. I pointed to the right and told him, “That way,” and Harry abruptly switched his lead and wheeled around to the right. “Good boy,” I said lazily. “Now whoa.” Harry slammed on the brakes, tucking his butt under him and stopping beautifully. “Good!” I cried. I turned to Lawrence , grinning. “I wasn’t sure if that would work. Guess he was really listening.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Lawrence looked dumbfounded. It was a good look for him. I walked over to Harry and petted him. Then he followed me back to the gate. I had won his heart, at least for a moment. I savored the satisfaction that filled me.
“He’s never listened so well on a longeline,” I said, recalling the time that a cracking longe whip had panicked him. “It’s like the less equipment you weigh him down with, the better he does.”
Lawrence cocked his head. “That gives me an idea. Wait here.”
I watched as he jogged up to the house, wondering what he had in mind. He soon reappeared, with the black schooling helmet I’d watched him buy on his head, and Amber in hot pursuit. “Are you completely NUTS?” She yelled.
I heard him say something like, “No one’s making you watch, Amber.”
“Oh, I’m gonna watch, alright. I want a front row seat when you fall on your pretty-boy head.”
“I’m wearing a helmet, Amber,” he replied, sounding none too impressed by her ferocity.
She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might disappear. “Yeah, like that’ll save you when you break your neck.”
So it’s not just me, I thought, comforted. Amber’s mean to everyone.
Lawrence quickly scaled the paddock fence, startling Harry. I rubbed his neck, trying to sooth him. He settled a bit, but there was a great deal of suspicion in his big, dark eyes.
Lawrence went to Harry’s head, buckling reins to Harry’s halter. I realized he had taken my casual remark about “less equipment” quite literally.
Amber leaned on the fence, shaking her head. I glanced at her, our eyes met, and we both sighed deeply, sharing a brief moment of total agreement. He’s insane.
Harry stood “calmly” (his rolling, white-rimmed eye provided a glimpse into his questionable mental state) as Lawrence climbed partway up the fence and vaulted onto his back, landing as softly as he did when using a saddle and a mounting block. He stroked Harry’s neck with one hand, and the gelding’s eye quieted. Then he gave Harry a feather light signal, and he responded by walking forward. Harry danced around a bit, wide-eyed and unsure about the unfamiliar feeling of a human’s rear end on his back without the extra padding of a saddle, but Lawrence sat, completely chill, and Harry settled down. They rode neat little turns and circles, even a few steps of rein back. I was wondering where the real Harry had gone when Lawrence made a clicking noise with his tongue and touched Harry with his calves. Harry trotted two steps and then balked, twisting his head around and giving his rider the “evil eye”. Lawrence calmly pressed him on.
Unhappy with this new demand, Harry leapt into the air. His hind legs lashed out, and his head dropped to the ground. This was a buck that would have sent me onto Harry’s neck, or into the stratosphere, depending on whether I had stirrups. Lawrence barely moved. In one quiet motion, he brought Harry’s head up, and pushed his hind end back down to earth. Defeated, Harry trotted on, and did everything Lawrence asked of him without so much as a nasty facial expression. It was hard for me to rip my eyes away from Lawrence, whose form, once again, could not be faulted, but I did notice that Harry was moving exceptionally well with Lawrence in the nonexistent saddle. He was using his hind end to propel himself over the ground, and he was perfectly “on the bit” in just a halter. It was a stunning display of horsemanship.
Apparently satisfied with what he’d gotten from Harry, and unwilling to tempt fate any longer, Lawrence halted Harry (a square, connected halt that would’ve coaxed a perfect 10 from any dressage judge) and slid off his back, lifting the reins over his head so he could walk him cool.
Amber finally spoke up. “Well, congratulations. You beat the odds. Good thing I didn’t bet any money on that horse killing you.”
I could only gaze rapturously in Lawrence’s direction and sigh longingly. But I soon realized that Amber was going to notice if I kept it up, and that brought my head back into working order. “He went really well for you,” I called out.
Lawrence looked a bit surprised at the compliment, but pleased. “Thanks. He was great.” He scratched Harry’s withers as they walked. “He showed a lot of restraint by not killing me when he had the perfect opportunity.”
“Yeah, Harry’s losing his touch,” Amber snorted. “If he keeps this up, you’re gonna have to rent him out for kids’ parties.” She turned on her heel and walked off.
Now that Amber was gone, I felt I could talk freely again. “Harry may be a hard nut to crack,” I mused. “But I think he’s worth cracking.”
Lawrence laughed softly and nodded in agreement. He stopped Harry and unfastened his helmet, setting it on a fence rail and shaking out his thick black hair. “I want to thank you for all your help with Harry, Erica.”
When he said my name, it sent an enthralled little shiver up my spine. “But I haven’t done hardly anything,” I said, stumbling over the words.
His stare didn’t waver. “That’s not true. You’ve given me another set of eyes when I’ve been blinded by frustration. You’ve given me fresh, new ideas about training. Working successfully with this horse takes an incredible amount of imagination. That’s not something a lot of people are able to harness and use. But you can. You have a true gift with horses, Erica.”
I haven’t ridden in the Olympics, or even the Grand Prix ring, I thought as his impassioned tone rang in my ears. I’m a struggling, small-time hunter/jumper trainer still living with my parents. But I can die now.
Lawrence
“So that’s the famous Erica?” Amber asked incredulously as she watched her walk down to the paddock.
“Yeah, that would be her. What’s your problem?” I snapped, surprising myself. Calm down. Snapping at Amber is a bad idea. It fell into the category of really fucking dumb ideas that can only end badly. Right along with sticking your hand in a bear trap, or clubbing with Wilson.
“I don’t have a problem,” Amber replied, sounding amused. “You will, though, when she figures out you’re totally using her and decides to beat you up. She’s more built than a Williams sister.” Amber shook her head almost enviously.
I shot Amber a half glare while rolling my eyes. The two expressions didn’t blend well. She walked away laughing.
“I’m not using her, okay?” I yelled at her retreating back.
“Whatever,” she shot back snottily.
“I didn’t even ask her to come back. She’s doing this voluntarily!”
“Because she likes you. Honestly, you are such a tool sometimes. Did you not see how her brain fell out her ears and she started blathering on and on like an idiot when you came to the door? I mean, she practically had an immaculate orgasm when you said ‘hi’.”
“I don’t – what did you – how did you – Amber, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“God, guys are so universally retarded. That’s what they should use that word for. Not special people. Guys.” Amber looked thrilled, like she’d cured cancer or something epic, instead of just insulting men.
“I’m leaving.” I announced, even though I knew she didn’t really give a shit, and stormed out the door.
I strode down to the barn. I was nearly there when I realized Erica was still in the paddock with Harry. Guess she’s not having much luck with him either. That made me feel marginally better. He’d been impossible lately. He was on 24/7 turnout and still bursting with uncontrollable energy. He needed to be exercised, but he wouldn’t let me catch him. Erica typically had better luck with him, and
he was even giving her a hard time. I stared daggers at Harry. You worthless little…
I didn’t finish that thought. I was too distracted by what I was beginning to see. Erica didn’t wear the frustrated expression of someone who couldn’t catch her horse. She looked calm, even pleased. Harry was moving free, he wasn’t caught, but his movement was controlled. The changes of gait and direction he executed had a rhythm and purpose that was not his own. His ear was locked onto Erica, who treaded a circle in the center of the paddock, not doing much of anything that I could see. I stepped closer, intrigued. Harry saw me and gave me an ugly look, but he didn’t lose focus. I barely heard the kissing noise Erica made, but it prompted Harry to step into a canter. I watched her carefully, letting Harry blur.
“That way,” her voice rang out as she waved a hand to the right. Harry switched his lead and direction in the blink of an eye, nearly jumping out of his skin to do what she asked. I had never seen him so enthusiastic about anything. Even fighting.
“Good boy,” Erica said. She seemed to consider something for a split second. “Now whoa.”
Harry threw down the anchor, stopping with the efficiency and timing of a high-goal pony. I almost fell over.
“Good!” Erica’s voice was clear and joyful. The look on her face made it impossible for me to be jealous and small. “I wasn’t sure if that would work. Guess he was really listening.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I stared at Harry, who stood there, immobilized and mentally engaged. That is not my horse. That is not Harry.
Erica walked up to Harry and stroked his neck. He didn’t twitch his skin madly, wheel away or bite her. He followed her as she walked toward me. Either she’s a training genius, or Harry somehow got a brain transplant.
She opened her mouth. I perked up. Maybe she’ll tell me her secret, I thought, knowing as I did so that there are no secrets in good training. Even so, I paid attention as she mused about Harry’s apparent aversion to equipment. And something got illuminated in my brain.
Training Harry Page 16