At Top Speed (Quartz Creek Ranch)

by Amber J. Keyser

  So she worked on correcting the tiny imperfections that showed themselves as Lacey walked and walked and walked. She could feel Lacey’s mouth now through the rein, and kept it just taut enough that a small movement of her finger brought an instant response.

  “See, Ella?” called Mr. Bridle. “It’s all in the whisper, not the yell.”

  Ella knew what he meant now. The more quietly she “whispered” to Lacey what she wanted, the more Lacey was willing to give it to her. By the end, Ella hardly had to move to request a turn or to hug the rail closer. She and Lacey shared the same goal.

  When the day was up, Ella was reluctant to get off Lacey’s back, as much as her thighs hurt. She’d gotten so used to riding that she felt like the pony’s four legs belonged to her more than her own two did.

  Now, in addition to her arms aching from mucking the day before, Ella’s legs burned from thigh to ankle. All the kids walked like they were made of Jell-O.

  “This is abuse,” Kim muttered as they headed to the ranch house for dinner, tripping over chickens in the yard that they were too tired to step over. “I know it is. It has to be.”

  “We signed up for this,” Ella said.

  “Not me,” said Ash. “My mom was the one who picked cowboy camp. She has a weird sense of humor.”

  “I think Ella means us acting like idiots,” said Drew. Ella had to give him credit—even he was acting a little more perceptive after their lesson.

  “Oh, yeah.” Ash sighed. “That’s annoying, isn’t it.”

  No one had a response to that, because before that lesson with Mr. Bridle, it was hard to say that any of them except Jordan had been taking horse camp all that seriously.

  “Sorry you had to go through that with us,” Ella said to Jordan. “You haven’t really caused any trouble at all.”

  Jordan gave her usual shrug, but this time, Ella thought that was nice of her not to say anything. She could have gotten mad at them for dragging her into this, and she’d have had every right to.

  But she didn’t.

  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

  That night around the dinner table, Madison and Fletch were in a chatty, boisterous mood after their day off. Mr. Bridle seemed to have decided that, with penance over and the day’s grueling lesson at a close, he could return to his usual jovial, quiet self. He offered the kids rolls with butter slathered on them, baked potatoes, turkey and gravy, and even cranberry sauce.

  “Thanksgiving in August?” asked Kim, pouring gravy over every single thing on his plate until it was swimming.

  “That’s a lot of food, Kim,” said Madison. “I hope it doesn’t all go to the compost.”

  “Oh,” he said, “don’t worry. I’m going to eat all of it.”

  “Thanksgiving in August,” agreed Ma Etty. “Why not? You kids need the protein after the last two days.”

  At least she acknowledged how much work they’d done, Ella thought, and followed Kim’s example with the gravy. The boy did understand food. Gravy on a crescent roll, with butter also, was the best thing ever.

  Then, after dinner, it was strawberry rhubarb pie with vanilla ice cream, and the kids all thought they’d died and gone to heaven.

  Even though it was Monday night, they didn’t go back to their bunkhouses after dinner. “Everybody follow me,” Fletch said, getting up from the table and looking a bit mischievous.

  He led them out of the house and around to the side, where they found Paul already standing by the fire pit, warm flames billowing up from the tinder pile in front of him. Ella squealed in joy. Goofy Paul was back, and he didn’t look the least bit mad at them as they took seats around the fire.

  “Before you get too comfortable, let’s take care of the important things,” said Paul, and distributed two bottles of bug spray. The kids covered themselves in it from head to toe, at his urging. “Don’t want you to wake up itching all over tomorrow! You don’t see ’em now, but they’re nasty little buggers after dark.”

  Madison, Ma Etty, and Mr. Bridle joined them with s’mores, passing out long sticks, chocolate, graham crackers, and two bags of giant marshmallows.

  “Didn’t we just have dessert?” Ella whispered to Jordan, hoping all the activity had put her in a conversational mood.

  “You know what they say,” whispered Jordan. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “Who says that?” asked Ella. “And why?”

  Jordan laughed. “It’s about being grateful for gifts. Someone gives you a horse, you don’t look at its teeth right there to see if it’s old. It’s free. Be happy.”

  “I’ve always wondered what that meant.” Ella grinned. “Thanks. You’re pretty smart.”

  Jordan cracked half a smile, but stayed looking at the ground.

  As they overlooked the few glimmering lights of the town of Quartz Creek, Paul pulled out a banjo that looked as old as Mr. Bridle. “This is an antique,” he was eager to point out. “Real deerskin drum.” He tapped the wide, round base of the instrument.

  Ella expected some dreary old folk music, but the first song Paul played was a loud, fast, bluegrass song that made her feet tap. Ma Etty and Mr. Bridle must have felt the itch, too, because soon they were up on their feet dancing. They swung around, hands intertwined, like they were thirty years younger. Then Fletch and Madison joined them, and one of Paul’s ranch hands who worked with the cows even pulled out a tiny drum to keep some rhythm.

  Then Jordan got up, swinging a long imaginary skirt around, twisting and twirling with the music in a country way Ella could only describe as highly experienced. Mr. Bridle whistled and the trainers started clapping. Soon Drew was up too, tossing himself all around like a puppet on a string. The ranch hand whooped. Then Ella was up and spinning in circles around the fire, unable to fight the music anymore, and Ash and Kim joined her.

  After the dancing, Mr. Bridle told a surprisingly scary story that involved howling wolves that weren’t really wolves—they were moon people, from an old legend about people that could turn into wolves and hunt at night. But then came strange foreigners who didn’t understand. As Ella predicted, the foreigners tried to kill the moon people.

  “And then,” said Mr. Bridle, as a coyote with flawless timing yipped off in the distance, “the wolf came at him, and nearly bit off his face!”

  Jordan and Kim both yelped as Mr. Bridle abruptly raised his voice and threw his hand out at them.

  Later, Paul played some slow, soulful banjo songs that Ella liked even better than the fast ones. Within minutes Drew was half-asleep on Ash’s shoulder, which made all the kids crack up. Ma Etty finally roused him and sent everyone off to bed.

  “Easy day tomorrow,” she promised.

  “Oh good,” said Kim as he waddled off to the boys’ bunkhouse. “Only three hours of poop-scooping instead of five.” Ella and Jordan both laughed as they made their way to their own bunk.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ma Etty kept her promise.

  “Free time,” she said at breakfast. “All day.” She held up a finger. “But any bickering, any at all, and the day resumes as normal. Horse lessons and chores and you-name-it.”

  The five of them nodded furiously.

  “All right. Go forth, then, and have fun. There’s a list of things you can do posted on the wall over there.”

  Ella scanned the list with the others—bean bag toss, Frisbee, music, and more. But the thing she was looking for wasn’t there.

  Learn barrel racing on Figure Eight.

  Even the television was teasing her. Fletch and Madison had put on the stock show in the living room, although they were sticking to the strict no–screen-time rule for campers. But the trainers kept dashing there and back to see riders they liked or livestock events that were interesting. From the dining room Ella could hear the announcer reeling off winning times in barrel racing.

  As Ella stood in front of the list of activities, she wondered why even horseback riding wasn’t on it. That was all she thought
about doing these days. Wasn’t it the same for everyone else?

  She jumped when Madison tapped her shoulder.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  Uh-oh. It sounded so ominous—but what had she done? Ella followed Madison outside, wondering what this was about.

  Then they started heading to the barn in silence, and Ella’s heart skipped a joyful beat.

  Inside the barn, Madison stopped in front of Figure Eight’s stall. Ella took a breath. She could only hope.

  “Mr. Bridle spoke with me after your lesson yesterday,” Madison said, leaning against the stall door.

  “What . . . what did he say?” Ella asked, trying to keep her voice cool.

  Finally, Madison grinned. “He said you were a natural. Working with Lacey has been good for you—but she’s too easy. He told me to bump you back up to the big leagues.” With that, she grabbed Figure Eight’s halter off the hook and opened the stall door.

  “Think you can handle working with Eight again?” Madison asked.

  Ella’s mouth fell open.

  “Yes! Yes, please!” Ella wanted to bounce up and down, but she wasn’t going to pull a Drew and scare Eight, just as they were getting paired up again. “I mean,” Ella corrected herself, straightening up, “thanks, Madison.”

  “Thank Mr. Bridle,” she said, handing Ella the halter. “Now show me what you can do.”

  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

  “I wasn’t sure if a lesson was what you’d want to do with your day off, after the day you had yesterday,” Madison said as Ella led Figure Eight out of her stall and put her in cross-ties.

  “Ha!” Ella had to laugh at that. Throwing a Frisbee around didn’t hold a candle to the possibility of riding Eight again—not to mention one-on-one instruction from Madison.

  Out in the arena, climbing up on Eight was a completely different experience from getting on little Lacey. Ella could see everything with Eight’s extra two hands of height. And Figure Eight felt different underneath her. Maybe it was her imagination, but Ella thought she could feel the horse’s taut muscle through the seat of her saddle, could sense the power in her huge lungs.

  Sitting on Eight’s back felt, to Ella’s immense satisfaction, like being inside an overfull hot air balloon, just waiting for someone to twist the valve and start the fire.

  “Very good seat,” Madison called. “Heels are perfect, your legs are back, and your shoulders are relaxed. Memorize that feeling, Ella. That’s your go-to point. Now take her into a walk.”

  Eight tried to move forward at Madison’s utterance of the word walk, but Ella said “Whoa” and tugged her backward. Eight reluctantly stopped.

  Ella tried to remember everything she’d learned in Mr. Bridle’s lesson. She drew her hands up to the spot in the reins where she had contact with Eight’s mouth, but wasn’t applying any actual pressure. Satisfied, Ella gave a single click of her tongue to start into a walk.

  And Figure Eight listened.

  At first, she refused to stay on the rail, pulling her head back toward the middle of the arena—and toward Madison.

  “Correct her each time she tries that,” said Madison, and Ella pulled Eight back to the rail.

  On the other end of the arena, Eight cut the corner dramatically, and Ella corrected with another tug on the rein, toward the railing where she should have been walking. Eight straightened, but only a little.

  “Use your inside leg to reinforce your request, if you need to,” Madison called.

  But Eight was wise to what Madison was saying, and she didn’t cut any more corners. Now that Ella could see how shrewd Figure Eight was, she felt intimidated. This wasn’t little Lacey anymore.

  After a few laps Madison said, “She’s done warming up. Take her to a trot.”

  At Ella’s first small kick, Figure Eight hurtled into a lopsided canter. It tossed Ella to and fro, and she lost her gentle hold on the reins. One of her feet slipped out of its stirrup.

  “Slow her back down,” Madison called. “And don’t let your legs go rogue like that. You’re throwing her away just when she needs you to be firm. Show Eight she can put her trust in you.”

  That feeling returned of there being too many moving parts to control all at once. How could Ella keep her foot in the stirrup while flopping all over Eight’s back?

  Ella finally got Figure Eight back to a walk again, and they did another lap before attempting the trot a second time. She gave the signal—pressure on both of Eight’s sides—and again, Eight leapt into a fast, bouncy, nervous canter.

  “You’re too tense,” said Madison. “That’s why Eight keeps trying to go fast. She thinks you want her to go fast.”

  Ella tried to relax, to soften her shoulders, but she was annoyed now. Not at Madison, though. She was irritated at herself. Why was this so hard?

  She kicked for a trot again, but Eight wanted to run, and the loose reins whipped about like an attacking snake as Eight sped up again.

  “Don’t let go of your reins,” said Madison. “Pull her back, Ella.”

  She was trying, but Eight wasn’t listening to her—again! Ella tried to breathe, but Eight was still lunging ahead.

  Ella remembered Mr. Bridle’s lesson: lower your elbows. Sit deep in the saddle. She focused on one aspect of her posture at a time. Suddenly, Eight’s pace slowed. Ella applied a little more pressure to the reins, pulling them directly into her torso instead of up toward her neck, and Eight slowed down more—until she ambled along at a nice, even trot.

  “There you go!” called Madison, giving her a thumbs-up from the middle of the arena. “Keep her at a trot. Relax more, Ella. You’re trying too hard to match her gait, and that’s why you’re bouncing all over the place. Let your body match up to hers naturally.”

  Naturally? There was nothing natural about this motion. It hurt less at this speed, but Ella still couldn’t stop bouncing. At this rate, she’d never get to a gallop, and she needed to gallop in order to run barrels.

  “Relax!” Madison called to her. “You’re so stiff.”

  “I’m trying!” But the bouncing only got worse. Why was she so bad at this? Relaxing should be the simplest thing in the world.

  “You’re even stiffer now.” Madison went quiet for a while as Ella and Eight bounced around the arena. Then Eight started speeding up again, her trot getting faster and rowdier. “Slow her down.”

  Ella jerked too hard and Eight slowed all the way down to a walk. At least now Ella could breathe again. Her whole body hurt. Why couldn’t she do a simple trot right? Her annoyance at her own inexplicable lack of skill rose to full-blown anger.

  “You’ve got to relax,” said Madison as Eight continued at a walk, and Ella tried her hardest not to snap back with a retort. “You’re bouncing because your hips and legs are fighting Eight’s. You have to let your body synchronize with hers.”

  “Easier than it sounds!” Ella couldn’t understand why riding Figure Eight was so hard for her. She’d been good at this yesterday.

  She supposed she was actually a terrible horsewoman. Lacey was a beginner pony who had made Ella feel too comfortable.

  “Here,” Madison said, gesturing for Ella to return to the center of the ring and climb out of the saddle. Once Ella was off, Madison took her place on Eight’s back in a quick jump.

  Madison easily guided Eight back out to the fence. She gave a light kick. Eight, sensing she had a much more experienced person riding her who wouldn’t put up with that jump-into-a-canter business, glided into a smooth, slow trot.

  “This is what you’re doing,” Madison said. She went rigid, like a human iceberg, and immediately Eight’s bouncy gait tossed her into the air. They bounced like that for a few steps and it made Ella’s legs ache to watch. Eight’s gait immediately changed and she lifted her head, looking unsettled.

  “This is what you should be doing,” Madison said. “See, I’m not stiff. I’m not forcing myself to move. I’ve just freed up my hips to move however Eight moves
.”

  Something in her posture went slack, and Madison settled into the saddle like she was out in the car for a cruise. Her shoulders dropped forward, not so much that she was slouching, but enough that she looked at home—comfortable, even.

  “Don’t try to force a straight posture,” Madison said as she and Eight sailed around the arena, her legs moving with the horse, her hips and stomach and shoulders all rising and falling at the same speed, in time with Eight’s own motion. “No need to be nervous.”

  Pfft, Ella thought. Don’t be nervous. How was Ella supposed to feel, doing so badly in front of Madison?

  “I’m not judging you,” Madison went on, as if she could read Ella’s mind. “I’ll keep helping you until you figure it out.”

  “What if I never figure it out?” Ella asked sourly as Madison came back to the center of the arena.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “You will. Just give yourself the same leeway you gave Eight today.”

  “Leeway?”

  “You were so patient with her!” Madison smiled as she hopped off Eight’s back and handed the reins back over to Ella. “You corrected all her mistakes without getting mad. I was really proud of you.”

  “But I did so badly!” Ella’s eyes burned. Madison had given her this great opportunity, offered to teach her on her off-time, and Ella had disappointed her.

  “You did great,” Madison said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  But the torrent came anyway. “I suck at this.” Now that Ella had seen Madison in the saddle, so perfectly relaxed and comfortable and not bouncing around at all, she felt like even more of an epic failure. “I was supposed to be good at this, but I just really, really suck.”

  “Ella,” Madison said, “you are learning. Everyone has to start somewhere. Cut yourself some slack.”

  But how could she? Yesterday, Ella had finally felt that connection to her horse, finally got a handle on all of the parts and pieces and they’d fit together so wonderfully. How come today, on the horse she’d dreamed about riding again, it had been so different?

  “Eight is just so difficult to ride,” said Ella, her eyes feeling wet and glassy.