Natural Attraction

by C L Green

  Natural Attraction

  C L Green

  Published by C L Green

  Copyright 2013 C L Green

  ISBN-10: 0987552406

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9875524-0-2

  Front cover image © Maria Itina/ 123RF

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead is coincidental.

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  *****

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the love of my life Damian.

  The only person in this world that I truly trust.

  Thank you for believing in me, supporting me, and encouraging me to tip my life upside down to chase a dream.

  *****

  Table of Contents

  Prologue -Jax

  Chapter One – Second Chance

  Chapter Two - Trouble

  Chapter Three – Natural Horsemanship

  Chapter Four – Rowena Walker

  Chapter Five – Heimlich Maneuver

  Chapter Six – Horses and Hairspray

  Chapter Seven - Spooning

  Chapter Eight - Magic

  Chapter Nine – One for the road

  Chapter Ten – No funny business

  Chapter Eleven – You had a wife

  Chapter Twelve - Jessica

  Chapter Thirteen – Slow Burn

  Chapter Fourteen – Eject Maneuver

  Chapter Fifteen – You’re the boss

  Chapter Sixteen – I don’t want to go home

  Epilogue - Qualified

  Enduring Attraction

  Prologue

  Jax

  “Jesus Ash, just relax. You look like your gunna have an aneurism up there.” Jen calls from the side of my solid timber round yard where she stands watching me with concern.

  “Shut up!” I snap at her. “I do not. I’m fine. If anything I’m just a little bit stressed that it's going to be yet another case of false advertising and so I’m taking it slow.”

  Sure, ten minutes sitting stock-still in my saddle, clinging tightly to the reins of my bridle while I concentrate on Maverick’s every breath and twitch may be a bit excessive.

  A woman can’t be too careful can she?

  “Why don’t you try a little squeeze or a quiet cluck? Perhaps even take a step? I’m bored to the point of doing something erratic just to see if this new horse of yours does anything more than stand there. Any chance you’ve got a loud cracky stockwhip in your tack shed, or am I going to have to improvise and drop a pebble in my Coke can and give it a good shake? He’s an Arabian; it should do the trick nicely.” Jen offers, chuckling with amusement at her own evil thoughts.

  “No, I’m good. In fact I’ve decided we’ve both had enough for today. It’s hot, it’s windy, and we’ve made a great start in building our riding relationship,” I mumble realizing how lame I sound. Blind Freddy can see I’m petrified that something is going to go wrong and no matter how long I sit here, I am never going to relax and enjoy myself.

  I suppose I should say that I have fair reason for concern. Maverick is the fourth horse I have bought in the last two years. I have been on a quest to return to horse riding since buying my own property on five acres about three years ago. The first three horses all turned out to be disaster stories. These last two years have seen me constantly recovering from various injuries. I suffered these injuries when I was late to discover that each horse carried repressed emotions which meant they were far from being safe riding horses. They were not safe horses because they suited high-energy disciplines such as sprint racing or the rodeo circuit. There were not suited to general riding like I wanted to do.

  I still can’t believe all the false advertising that I’ve come up against. ‘Bombproof, ridden by children, experienced in traffic, blah de blah…’ No matter what the advertisement says, I am only now cottoning on that most advertisers lie. The reality is that I can expect to buy a fire-breathing dragon that will run forwards, backwards, sideways, upwards and even downwards at various speeds. Owners do not sell good horses, they keep them.

  Jen stops chuckling, rolls her eyes and then starts shaking her head disappointedly.

  “Ash, why did you do this? Why did you spend so much money – again? Why did you buy sight unseen, without being sure he was as quiet and easy to ride as they advertised?”

  A very good question.

  A question I plan to ponder when I am safely on the ground. Especially now that I am sure Maverick is not in the best of moods and he is having a bad day. I can feel it, something is just not right.

  Perhaps it has something to do with the shitty weather today? It’s hot and it’s windy. Not a good day for riding at all. I can’t believe I stupidly thought today was the best day to give him his first test ride. He’s already been here three weeks, what would one more day matter?

  Giving this more serious thought, I’d be in a crap mood too if my owner came out to my paddock, saddled me up and wanted to go for a ride on a hot, windy day such as today.

  Why am I such an idiot and why didn’t I think about this more clearly earlier?

  Oh my God! What was that?

  I knew that something would go wrong. I am sure I just felt him twitch – a bad twitch, not a good twitch. I suppose it might have been a shiver. Although I do get the distinct feeling it was a muscle spasm. One of those spasms you have when you are planning on doing something that takes energy. The sort where you tense or flex your muscles beforehand to ensure they are in good working order and ready to do the mighty job you have planned for them.

  Either way, I know whatever it was I just felt, it was not good.

  But then again, do horses even do that? Have pre-exertion muscle spasms? I don’t remember my pony club instructor telling me that horses did that when I was seven years old, horse mad, and riding my beloved Shetland pony Twinkle at a pony club rally. Although, would I have even been listening if she had passed on such an insightful piece of information to me? Probably not, I had bigger issues to worry about at the time. Issues like did my darling Twinkle look awesome in his new bright pink bridle or was I sitting straight enough? Were my heels pushed down far enough? Was Twinkle ‘collected’ up?

  No, I’m sure not a single instructor during my junior years at pony club ever mentioned pre-exersion muscle spasms. Nor did they explain that pre-exersion muscle spasms give you extra warning that your horse is about to send you a much stronger message. I am also definite they did not explain the need to think more carefully about notions of ‘riding’ your horse on a hot and windy day such as this. Especially when he has better ways to spend his day. Better ways such as standing under a shady tree swatting flies with his tail.

  So there you have it. I’m sure I felt it.

  A significant muscle movement made by Maverick.

  A muscle movement that I am now positive he is employing to gain my attention.

  A significant muscle movement that advises me he has plans to do just a little bit more than stand patiently in the middle of this round yard. Plans other than us both standing here while I get my head together and build up enough courage to ask him to move off.

  Perhaps he is preparing to prove my wo
rst fears correct? Perhaps he is yet another fire-breathing dragon advertised falsely?

  Is it even normal for a horse to stand still for this long?

  Shouldn’t he be chewing at the bit, or swishing his tail, or something?

  I’m not convinced this dead still stance he has going on with his head stiffly held straight up in the air, not blinking at all, is normal.

  Yet again I have forked out an enormous sum of money (over eight thousand dollars this time). Eight thousand dollars to buy the perfect horse and then have him sent down from Queensland to Victoria only to find out I’ve done my dough.

  Why me?

  Maverick is, according to the full page glossy spread in Horse Deals, the complete package for a beginner rider. Not that I would consider myself a beginner rider, all those years riding Twinkle surely account as experience right?

  It was only at my sister Evie’s insistence that I buy a beginner's horse that I’d even considered Maverick. Evie was impressed with the advertisement claiming he was quiet, sound and had been here and done that. There had even been video footage of Maverick and his previous owner, a fifteen year old girl, riding happily around an arena at a walk, trot and canter.

  Perfect!

  Surely he had to be the right horse for me, an experienced pony club rider from way back who could manage to win any egg and spoon race on my beloved Twinkle.

  Although, obviously not.

  Because there he goes again!

  Another twitch, shiver, muscle spasm or whatever the hell it is he’s doing.

  Holy shit. I’m outta here!

  It is at this precise moment that I know my plans to dismount are half a millisecond too late.

  I know this because Maverick goes from standing rock solid still in his weird high headed, no blinking pose, to what I would describe as an animal version of an erupting volcano.

  With a God Almighty snort that blows dust out of the yard, he starts rapidly shaking his head from left to right. After finishing his furious high-speed head shaking, he then continues to round his back and launch what feels like five meters direct up into the air.

  In total shock, I grab madly for the front of my saddle with one hand, while giving an almighty yank on the reins with the other. I am now in a desperate bid to take control as his feet hit the ground again. This sharp movement however, only fuels the fire and he launches forward while rounding his back in preparation for the next explosive sky launch.

  I feel my foot fall out of my right stirrup, my body flings forward and to the right. Then, much to my horror, I sail straight over his shoulder and headfirst towards the ground.

  Please don’t jump on me and break my back.

  I hit the ground direct with my forehead, the sound of blood roars in my ears and then I black out.

  *****

  “We must be close now,” Jen grumbles. “The instructions say his driveway is seven kilometers on the right, after the railway line. Unless that was the wrong railway line, we should be about on it.”

  “What description of the house or landmarks did he give you?” I mumble with little enthusiasm.

  “He said it is a wide set timber entryway with double gates. The gates operate by a solar power opener. We press the button on the lamp post to open the gates. The house is a brick veneer and he said there is a large barn complex behind it with day yards clearly visible from the road. He told us to pull down past the house in front of the yards and he’d be hanging around the barn somewhere.”

  “Okay,” I respond flatly. It isn’t like I’m bursting with excitement at the prospect of our arrival. I don’t even want to be here, but Jen has insisted that I come.

  I don’t want to be here because I am embarrassed that I have finally admitted I need help.

  Admitting I need help is something I don’t like doing.

  Admitting that my knowledge of horses and riding is not enough to deal with a full sized, full-blooded Arabian is something I don’t like doing.

  Add to that, having to allow a stranger to view the damage my lack of skills has caused and I think I’m moving from the ‘don’t like’, to the ‘hate’ point of my ‘doing’ scale.

  I am also annoyed the trainer insisted I, as the owner, deliver Maverick personally.

  As well as that, he expects that I, as the owner, will ride Maverick in front of him to demonstrate the issues I am experiencing.

  What type of trainer is he?

  Surely if he’s such a super star trainer he shouldn’t care if I ride Maverick today or more to the point, ever? It really isn’t any of his business that I may have decided to never ride my horse again. That I may have decided to have him retrained so I can sell him on. That the only reason I need him retrained is so that I can sell him without the bad conscience that he could hurt someone else.

  I think that the trainer just needs to treat Maverick like an unbroken horse and get on with the job. I think that the trainer just needs to buck it out of him, or whatever it is that horse trainers do.

  Hopefully I can convince the trainer that I don’t need to ride Maverick when we get there. Hopefully he’ll take one look at my physical injuries and decide it’s not necessary. Hopefully he won’t push me to reveal my terror at having to climb back on him.

  It has been a long enough day getting here as it is.

  It all started off badly when it took us three bags of carrots, over the course of two hours, to coax Maverick onto the float - the first time. These first two hours were spent trying to convince him that the float did not in fact resemble the Devil’s own mouth. They were spent convincing him that it was not going to instantaneously devour him if he entered it.

  The funny part was that when he finally decided that he had had enough carrots to tempt him onto the float, he did so without any urging from us.

  He did this after we tied him loosely to the back of the float and headed to the house for a drink. It was while we were inside that we heard a bang, a thump and then another bang followed by the sound of hooves in the float.

  Looking out the window, we saw that he had untied himself and was standing happily in the float eating the hay net we had hung up inside for him.

  Really? Are all Arabians crazy?

  When we got back, he was standing there munching hay looking relaxed and happy to be inside the float. He then added insult to our injury by feigning to have no concerns with us tying him off, raising the tailgate or even starting the car. It was only when Jen had moved my Land Cruiser forward about half an inch that he obviously took a severe disliking to something inside my horse float.

  This he communicated to us clearly by throwing the wobbly from hell. This particular wobbly involved flinging himself all over the place, smashing the interior light off the roof of the float. I think he did this with the top of his head. He then landed upside down on the other side of the divider with his lead rope stretched so tight that we had to cut it to enable him to breath.

  Jen and I had then taken apart most of the float to ‘roll’ him out and then put him back on again. Which to our astonishment, he did without hesitation.

  What the fuck?

  I could only figure that he had worked out the fling and launch maneuver didn’t result in a comfortable traveling position. He also worked out that he would just have to suck it up for the rest of the trip.

  So now we are running three hours late. The hour-long drive has proven to be a nightmare. This is because I have felt every single bump and dip in the road because of my two freshly broken ribs, my sprained right wrist and the shocking residual headache that I am experiencing. The headache is from the concussion suffered during my monumental stack off Maverick three days ago.

  It sucks to be me.

  “This has to be it.” I hear Jen announce as she slams the indicator on and takes her foot off the accelerator to start slowing us down.

  I look up and across to our right to see a beautifully presented entranceway to a gorgeous rural equine facility that is fully set up to cater
to every equine need. It has a beautiful set of double front gates that look to be handmade from wrought iron. The gates are set well back into the driveway to allow vehicles to pull off the road before the gates open.

  The gates are hanging on a magnificent set of chunky post and rail timber gate wings that flank the driveway as they stretch towards the road. The wings then angle out widely to allow large trucks and floats to turn into them so the vehicles are safely off the road before opening or closing the gates. At the end of each angled wing sits a small, neat garden bed with shrubs and flowers creating a friendly and inviting entranceway to the property.

  The driveway itself is lined with beautiful old English trees and leads about two hundred meters or so up to a neatly presented, ranch style brick veneer home. Behind the house I can see an enormous blue-gray American barn and day yards with various horses camped in them.

  The property looks to be about fifty acres in size, with lots and lots of double, single strand wire fences dividing individual paddocks. The paddocks are bordered with bands of native flowering gums trees, alternated with thick shrubs to provide shelter belts to their inhabitants from all directions. There are many horses scattered throughout the paddocks, grazing happily on thick, lush pastures.

  This is not exactly the entranceway I was expecting to a property owned by a cowboy. I suppose I was expecting rickety old barbed wire fences and a plain farm gate entrance. I wasn’t expecting flowers. Perhaps this particular cowboy has a neat freak wife, or some hired help to care for his property while he does cowboy stuff all day?

  With property presentation being my first pleasant surprise, maybe I’ll be even more surprised and he will just be an old man who's only too happy to help sort my disaster of a horse out. I can’t say I know anything about this guy other than Jen got his name off a friend. She has been told that this old guy called Jack is into natural horsemanship (whatever the hell that means), and he is also into Arabian horses. This in itself is a rarity as everyone I know is into those ugly assed, bucket headed Quarter Horse horses. She has also heard that he sometimes helps others out in getting their horses going and solving issues such as bucking or bolting.