Hannah & Chris: Before the Circuit (Show Circuit Series Book 0)

by Kim Ablon Whitney

  Harris always wanted Nova showing. He couldn’t stand not having a chance at the win—whether it be at a historical show like Devon, or a run-of-the-mill supermarket show offering decent money. But what he didn’t understand was that the best horses won due to proper management. They won because they didn’t show every week or jump in as many classes as possible. Nova had shown much more than Chris would have liked in Florida and then he’d competed in the World Cup, a grueling multi-day competition over 1.60 meter jumps and the toughest courses. The horse needed some time off.

  Mary Beth was rattling on about Bravo. “I’ve been really focusing on building up his fitness. I feel like a few times at the end of WEF and this spring he had his faults at the last couple jumps. It just seemed like it must be a fitness thing with him.”

  “Could be,” Chris said, still distracted by thoughts of Nova. He wished there was someone he could talk to about the horse but it was tricky. You didn’t want to go talking down your horse or your owner to just anyone. Mary Beth had been his go-to person. But now she wasn’t. Dale, his barn manager, was probably his best friend and he’d talked to him about it. Dale agreed with Chris whole-heartedly.

  A young girl, in a ball cap with a galloping horse stenciled on it, moved from Birdie and Dieter to Mary Beth. “Hi, there,” Mary Beth said. “Can I sign something for you?” The girl shyly handed her a show program. “You’ll definitely want to get this guy’s autograph too,” Mary Beth said to her as she signed her name with very round, cutesy letters. She looked at Chris pointedly, as if she was trying to let him know just how much she thought of him—like that should somehow convince him to take her back. “He’s going to be one of the winningest riders in the country—mark my words. Probably in the world, actually.”

  “Okay, okay,” Chris said. “Don’t go overboard there.”

  The young girl handed Chris her program, her hand trembling slightly. Chris signed it. It was pretty damn cool to have someone want your autograph, even if your line for signing was much shorter than Birdie and Dieter’s.

  More people came to get autographs and Chris’s line built up. He was a young, handsome, straight grand prix rider, and that counted for nearly as much as wins with a certain demographic. Chris smiled and asked each person’s name so he could personalize the autograph. Many times he had to ask how to spell names—these days there were so many crazy spellings. He began to think when he had kids he’d be sure to name them something utterly boring like Jane or Ted. But sometimes even those names had funky spellings like Jayne or Tedd. Thinking about having kids of course made him think about Mary Beth again. He flushed with anger because she was quite possibly supposed to be the mother of his children. Yet, she had ruined all that.

  A few teenage girls in tight T-shirts that read, Real Princesses Ride Horses, had him sign the issue of Practical Horseman with him on the cover. It was titled: Chris Kern Earns His Way To the Top. They leaned across the table, showing cleavage, and giving him unnervingly sexy smiles. They were pretty but much too young. He knew plenty of other riders his age and much older who had no problem sleeping with junior riders, but he made sure to stay far away from them. Even though some girls could be nearly predatory in their course of attack that didn’t mean they still weren’t underage.

  “They were all over you,” Mary Beth said when they left.

  “Whatever,” Chris said.

  “I can’t blame them,” she added.

  Chris was glad when a solidly middle aged woman in an ugly sweater approached and told him some story he couldn’t quite follow about a horse he’d once ridden that she’d either owned or owned part of, or maybe just the horse boarded at her barn. He’d ridden so many horses; he couldn’t remember them all. He nodded politely, though, and acted like maybe he remembered and she told him, “I could tell then you were going to be great.”

  The whole autograph session should have been a total ego-builder, but he wasn’t feeling good about himself at all. All the attention and compliments felt false and underneath he felt nearly sick to his stomach.

  By the time the lines dwindled, Chris’s hand was cramped and his cheek muscles were tired from fake-smiling. He just wanted to go back to the barn and see how the horses were doing. Yet Mary Beth touched his arm as he was putting on his jacket.

  “Can we talk? Like privately?”

  “I don’t want to talk privately,” he said. He nearly said, I don’t want to talk to you at all. Ever. Again.

  “I really miss you,” she said, leaning close to him. “Like brutally miss you.”

  He knew he should pull away from her, but having her stand so close to him nearly killed him. He could almost feel his arms moving toward her, a magnetic pull.

  “You can’t do this to me,” he said. “You can’t come here and try to make it better because you can’t make what happened go away.”

  “I know that,” she said. “I realize that. But it looks like we’ll both be in Europe together this summer and I just thought—”

  “You thought what? That I’d be able to forget what happened and we’d go back to the way we were?”

  “Maybe not right away. But Europe could be just what we need. We’ll be there focusing on our riding with just the few other American riders. It could be like a fresh start for us.”

  “There is no fresh start,” Chris said, emphasizing each word. “Here, or in Europe. If we’re on the team I realize we’ll have to work together and that’s fine. We can be professional. But that’s where it ends.”

  “You know you did the same thing to me,” Mary Beth said, her hands on her hips.

  He had started to leave but he stopped in his tracks. “What? How?”

  “That time with Ashlynn.”

  “We’d broken up,” he said.

  She shook her head, indignant. “No, we hadn’t. We had a big fight and then I went to Europe to try horses and you slept with her.”

  “You specifically said, ‘we need to break up.’”

  “But I didn’t say, we are breaking up.”

  Chris could feel himself getting hot under his jacket. In part she was right. They hadn’t officially broken up. And he’d gone and gotten completely drunk and ended up sleeping with Ashlynn. He still felt ashamed of that to this day. But it wasn’t the same and he told her so. “This was totally different. You were going behind my back… sneaking around with Burkie. For months. That was one drunk night.”

  “Still,” she tried.

  Chris shook his head. He wasn’t doing this again. He wasn’t letting her get him to rehash what was one mistake a long time ago. “I’ve gotta go,” he said.

  Devon was a funny show because there wasn’t much room at the show grounds. There was barely any space to hand-walk your horse and only a few tiny patches of grass to graze on. Riding areas were limited too. Yet, for its inconveniences, it was such a unique, old-timey show with a small fair with rides and booths that drew people out for a night of fun and watching horses. The night classes always sold out and spectators filled the pretty pale blue grandstands that lined the Dixon Oval for many of the day-time hunter classes too. The people who came embraced the ambiance, wearing fun hats and dining on Devon’s famous tea sandwiches, lemon sticks, and buckets of fudge.

  But no matter how fancy the show, the temporary stalls were always the same from show to show. There were only a few companies that rented the actual canvas stalls. A stall at Devon could have a time-sheet from Kentucky still stapled to its door, reminding riders that the circuit was a giant carousel ride—round and round it went, show after show, year after year. Chris checked in with Dale at his group of stalls, making sure Nova had spent time with the magnetic blanket on, and on the vibration pad. The masseuse was also scheduled to come and he’d had his joint shots. Chris wanted to make sure he was doing everything possible for the horse. Jasper, Chris’s dog, glued himself to Chris’s side the moment Chris was back. Chris had found Jasper a few years before at a horse show, just wandering around, without a col
lar. No one ever claimed him and now the dog wouldn’t leave Chris’s side. Sometimes Jasper’s clinginess was a little annoying but after Mary Beth it felt more like loyalty than phobia and Chris appreciated the dog for his dedication.

  Jasper lay down outside the stall door when Chris went into Nova’s stall. Chris wanted to spend time just being with Nova. Seeing how he was in the stall. Did he turn one way more than the other? Did he not want to reach his head down or to one side? Did he favor one front foot more than the other, standing with one pointed out? Was he wringing his tail or pinning his ears? Was he in pain? He almost wished Nova would show a bigger sign of overwork, or have a minor injury. Something that would justify scratching him. Chris caught himself—what the hell was he thinking? Was he actually wishing his top horse would be hurt?

  “Sometimes I worry about myself,” he said out loud to Nova.

  Jasper whined at the sound of Chris’s voice.

  The horse pricked his ears and reached out to bump Chris in the chest with his nose. Nova was a friendly, personable horse. Sometimes Chris felt like if Nova were a person he’d be the kind you’d invite over for pizza and beer to watch the football game. He’d be the kind you’d call when you found out your girlfriend was cheating on you. Chris rubbed Nova under his chin and then moved to scratch the middle of his neck along his mane. No dirt came up—Dale kept the horses spotless. Nova stretched out his neck and wiggled his nose in ecstasy. You scratched a horse in the right place and every time he was in heaven. If only the rest of life could be so straightforward. You loved a girl and gave her your everything—wasn’t she supposed to love you back?

  “You okay?” Dale said, coming to stand at the slightly open stall door.

  “I’d feel much better if I wasn’t showing him here.”

  “So do the stake, and then we’ll see.”

  Devon was full of good money classes. There were four $10K Open Jumper classes, a $25K class, a $50K class, and the $100,000 Grand Prix of Devon. Chris had brought three horses. He would jump Nova in a $10K Open Jumper class and the Grand Prix. He also had Titan, an up-and-coming horse he would jump in another one of the $10K stakes and the $50K Open Jumper Stake. Lastly, he had one of his eight year-olds whom he would jump in the $10K Hit & Hurry and the $25K Speed Stake. The other two horses were ready and in good shape. They hadn’t shown much after Florida since Chris had been at the World Cup. It wasn’t them Chris was worried about.

  “Do you think I should just stand up to Harris and tell him I’m scratching Nova?” Chris asked Dale.

  Dale ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. It had a little gray in it now. He’d started working for Chris nine years ago, when Chris was fourteen. He was the one constant in Chris’s life—the only person he felt he could trust now that Mary Beth had cheated on him. “If you do that, you might not have a horse for Europe.”

  What he meant was that Harris would find a new rider. Did anyone ever feel completely safe with their owners, Chris wondered? Because nearly the whole time he’d been with Harris he felt he was close to losing his support. Were there owners that gave you the feeling that no matter what you did you were safe? Did they let you make the decisions and call the shots? If so, Chris wanted one of those. Of course at the time, landing Harris had felt like a dream come true. Chris was young to have an owner backing him, buying him horses. It had seemed like the ideal situation and he knew there were riders as good as him, even better, who were stuck showing babies in the 1.30 meter classes because they didn’t have anyone to buy them a top horse.

  “But if I show him, I might not have a horse for Europe either.” Chris came out of Nova’s stall. The horse followed him to the door, trying to stick his nose out so the door wouldn’t get shut. Maybe he was a dog in a horse’s body. He acted more like one. Chris gently pushed his nose in and slid the door shut. Nova stuck his nose between the bars of the stall—one last plea for more attention. “Maybe if he wins I can convince Harris to give him a few weeks off.” Chris sighed. “All this stuff with Mary Beth… it’s not helping either. She was at the autograph session. I feel like my head isn’t where I need it to be right now.” Chris dropped his head slightly, shoulders slumped.

  “I know,” Dale said.

  “So what do I do? How do I get myself together?”

  “You just do,” Dale said in his straightforward way. “You pull yourself together. You forget about that, that—” Chris could tell Dale was wanting to call Mary Beth something really bad, but wasn’t sure how far he could go with it and whether they would get back together this time. “Forget about her, and concentrate on your riding. That’s all we can do right now. Okay?”

  “Yeah.” Chris picked up his head a little.

  “Come on,” Dale said. “You gotta get her out of your head. Just focus on the riding. That’s all that’s important.”

  Chris straightened up. “Thank you,” he said, suddenly desperately grateful for Dale. For Dale’s ability to see things clearly and simply. Dale was right. From now on, he needed to have a one-track mind. Riding. Riding. Riding. No Mary Beth. No other women. Just riding and showing. Nova was fine. He had shown too much but back in the old days didn’t riders show their horses all the time on what was mostly terrible footing? They didn’t even have all the treatments and injections they did now. The horses lived. In fact, there seemed like more injuries now. Maybe that was from babying horses. Maybe they needed to work harder and toughen up. He had to stop imagining disasters that weren’t even happening. So the horse wasn’t being as careful. Maybe that was just what happened after a horse had shown at some of the biggest venues in the world. After competing in Sweden at the World Cup, maybe you didn’t bring your A game to every other smaller show you went to. Nova loved Devon and the crowd on Thursday night would probably make him jump the shit out of the jumps. Then Chris would go to Europe and so what if Mary Beth was there too? He wouldn’t let her get back in his head, or his life. A summer away from the usual horse shows at home would be good for him, even if Mary Beth was going too. Being in Europe with her and not letting her get under his skin again would just be further proof that he was over her. Nova would love showing in Europe—each show a new venue, an exciting atmosphere.

  “Thank you,” Chris said to Dale. “I needed you to tell me that.”

  To Nova, who was still pressing his nose through the bars, he said, “I’ve always wanted to win under the lights at Devon.”

  Chris jumped Nova on Tuesday night in the $10K Open Jumper class. He chose to do the 2a instead of the speed. No need to run Nova off his feet. Nova jumped okay, but Chris still felt like something was off. He had one rail down and coming down the last line, Nova tripped. Both Chris and the horse recovered in plenty of time. Maybe the horse just stubbed his toe in the footing but it was uncharacteristic of Nova. Nova was incredibly athletic. He always seemed to have his legs in just the right place.

  Harris called after the class. He’d watched the livestream but wanted to hear from Chris why the one rail had come down. Or rather, he wanted to tell Chis what he thought the reason was.

  “I think it was the lights and the crowd,” Harris said before Chris could even begin to speak. The man always wanted to hear his own voice. Sometimes Chris couldn’t understand how a person like Harris could have so much success in business when he had no ability to listen to anybody else.

  Chris knew Nova didn’t need to get used to the lights and crowd. Nova lived for the hype. He was the type of horse that grew four inches when he walked into the ring. Noise only served to pump him up and make him jump higher. He’d been fifth at the World Cup for God’s sake.

  “It wasn’t the crowd,” Chris said. “He’s fine with atmosphere.”

  “Maybe it’s good—he got a good rub for Thursday night,” Harris proclaimed.

  Thursday night was the $100K Grand Prix of Devon. Harris would be flying in for that.

  “Did you see him trip?” Chris said.

  “No, where?”

  “D
own the last line. I still feel like something’s not right with the horse.”

  Chris heard background noise on Harris’s end of the connection. He knew his few minutes with Harris were almost over. Harris’s workday never seemed to end. Even well after ten he was going strong. “What if we hold him out of the class? Just wait and make sure he’s fine,” Chris said.

  “Hold him out of Thursday night? No. I gotta go. I’ll see you Thursday.”

  If Harris hadn’t rushed off the line, Chris would have explained to him how if Nova got hurt, it could be the end of the horse’s career. Wasn’t sacrificing one class better than sacrificing a career? But he’d tried that before with Harris in terms of managing Nova’s schedule. Harris didn’t understand that a horse only had so many jumps in him, and he also didn’t understand how special a horse like Nova was. Sure, you could always find a good grand prix horse to jump the $50K to $100K classes. Those were in abundance and easily acquired. But the real good ones? The ones who could win on the international stage? They were rare. Chris knew they had one in Nova, the horse he’d selected as a seven year-old and brought along. Nova had the scope, the carefulness, and the attitude. So far he’d also had the soundness and durability. But for how much longer at the rate Harris was pushing the horse?