Road to the Regalia (Nadia and Winny Book 2)

by Rachael Eliker

  “How many other horses named ‘Headed for the Win’ owned by a Nadia Wells do you know? I’m sure we do.”

  I sniggered and had to agree. Winny sniffed her vacant stall and found the water as Kally poured it in. Kally huffed as she raced about, bringing supplies over on a dolly, promising she’d get the mares situated as soon as she could. Expertly, she sliced open a bale and tossed a few flakes of crisp hay in their feeders.

  Glancing in the next few stalls, most of the barn was full. Next to Isis was a silvery grey mare with an inky black mane and tail and a pair of deep, soulful eyes named Chaos. By the looks of her build, she was a Holsteiner like Winny. Trying to get her to turn to see if she had the brand of the Holsteiner on her hip, I clucked, only to spook her away from me.

  “Poor thing’s pretty skittish,” I muttered.

  “Probably just show jitters.”

  “Do you know a Gloria Reed?”

  Winny pricked her ears at me from her stall, the circular grinding motions of her jaw stopping. “No,” Gretchen unfolded a camping chair and slumped down into it, slurping a chilled water. “Why?”

  “Just wondering. It’s this horse’s rider. Wanted to know who we were up against.”

  “All you have to worry about is me,” Gretchen said with an impish smirk and pretended haughtiness. “I don’t mind if you come in second place but you better believe I’ve got my eye on first prize.”

  I laughed. “We’ll see. We’re both pretty novice to this level.”

  “And when has that ever stopped me?” Gretchen sassed. “I was born for this.”

  “Oh, I know. But so was I.” Meandering to the next horse, I wrapped my fingers around the smooth steel bars and peeked in to see the mountainous, snoozing horse. “Hey, look at this paint, Gretchen! He’s pretty. Who’s your rider?” I asked him, looking down at his nameplate. “Keystone Special. Stoney’s his nickname.”

  Gretchen leapt from her chair, practically snorting water through her nose. “Is the rider Harvey Freeman?” she asked urgently.

  I glanced down at the plaque, nodded and slowly said, “Yeah…why?”

  Gretchen practically fainted into her foldout chair. “Nadia! Do you live under a rock? How do you not know who Harvey Freeman is?”

  I shrugged. “I’m a busy person.”

  “Yeah, but part of being more than just a good rider is knowing who your competition is. Harvey Freeman is one of the most successful eventers on the circuit and he’s riding a horse that’s won the Regalia twice.” Her eyes darted back and forth, making sure we were alone and leaned in to whisper, “And he’s super hot.”

  “Who is?”

  Gretchen and I both jumped at the interruption. A tall young woman, probably a couple years my senior, strolled into the barn. She flashed a friendly smile, her blue eyes jovial in her lightly freckled face.

  “Oh, uh, Harvey Freeman. The rider of that big bay overo right there,” Gretchen motioned.

  The girl smiled broadly, “Yeah, he is. A bit cocky too, but a pleasant enough guy. He’s won just about everything he entered last year. He’s the favorite to win here, so I’m told. We’ll see if he can keep up his streak.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see,” Gretchen agreed.

  “I’m Skylar Enz. I’m grooming for Gloria Reed. Who are you guys here with?”

  “We’re actually competing, not grooming,” Gretchen corrected her. “I’m Gretchen Fitzgerald,” she said, extending her fingers and giving a quick wave at Skylar.

  “Nadia Wells,” I stuck out my hand to shake Skylar’s.

  “Who’s your trainer then?”

  “Danika Price,” I answered.

  Immediately, Skylar retracted her hand as if she’d touched a hot stove. The expression on her face flipped from cheerful and pleasant to downright enraged.

  “I didn’t know she had anyone coming this year,” Skylar said with a frown and furrowed brow.

  “Do you know Danika?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Yeah,” Skylar said bitterly, “I used to be her star student.”

  Chapter Four

  “Wow,” I stammered, unsure of why she’d be cynical about being a former student of Danika’s. In the horse world, it wasn’t uncommon for riders to bounce between trainers to maximize their exposure to varying techniques. “Small world, huh?”

  “Too small, unfortunately.” Without another word, Skylar spun on her heels and left.

  “What was that all about?” I asked Gretchen.

  “Dunno. Danika’s never mentioned her so I’m assuming she was before my time at her barn. It’s hard to imagine anyone not liking Danika.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  Kally arrived again, hauling bags of pine shavings which she slit open in Isis and Winny’s stalls. As expected, Winny dropped to her knees and slumped down into the shavings, rolling like a pig in the mire.

  “Glad she’s comfortable,” Kally chuckled.

  “Let’s go take the horses for a walk,” Danika announced as she ambled into the barn. “Carlos said we can use arena one to let them stretch their legs without getting in anyone’s way.”

  “Carlos?” Gretchen asked.

  “Carlos Rodriguez, the show manager.”

  “Ah. And who’s Skylar Enz?” Gretchen cocked her head and took another swig of her drink.

  Danika’s eyes grew wide and her cheeks unexpectedly blushed a hot red, a phenomenon I’d never seen before. “Did you meet her? Is she here?”

  “Sort of,” Gretchen pulled her trademark blond locks from behind her slender shoulders and began braiding nonchalantly. She didn’t seem to notice her question flustered Danika. “She came over and was all friendly when we were chatting about Harvey Freeman but when she asked who our trainer was, got all angry and huffed off.”

  “Hmm. Small world,” Danika said, lost in thought.

  “That’s what I said,” I interjected. I hesitated, then decided I should pry a little more. If there was going to be hostile competition, I wanted to know what I was up against. “Did you two part on bad terms?”

  Danika laughed a little. “You could say that,” she said as she rearranged her enormous wedding ring. “Skylar is a very talented rider, but she has a touch of ruthlessness in her. On more than one occasion, she was entirely too rough with the horse she was riding. It boiled down to us disagreeing on training methods and just what qualified as abuse. She left, and from what I understand, was picked up by another trainer.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That must’ve been rough.”

  Danika sighed. “It was but that’s part of the game. There’s no surefire way to train a horse but in my mind, there are some definites. Beating a horse to get them to do something is unacceptable, and once it’s done, it’s hard not to repeat.”

  I turned to Winny and leaned my head against the unbending bars. Winny glanced back at me, hay and shavings peppering her forelock. She breathed in slowly, probably checking the air for the scent of carrots. I dug in my pocket and found a peppermint which I unwrapped and let her lick from my hand.

  “Let’s go for a stroll,” I slid the door open. She stuck her head out, elevating her gaze high enough that I had to reach on my tiptoes to slip the soft leather halter behind her ears.

  What are you thinking? I wondered. It had been years since Winny had spoken to me in words I could understand, and there were moments of intense loneliness that I would have given anything to hear some of her frank wisdom. As much as I wished for it, I couldn’t make her speak.

  Isis and Winny’s shoes clinked along the concrete until we stepped onto the grass where their footsteps became a deadened thud. Meandering in the direction of the warm up rings, I didn’t mind the horses grabbing occasionally at a tuft of tender grass. Both mares spun around at the sound of honking Canadian geese waddling slowly over a hill. Otherwise, our short-lived exploration was uneventful. In the shadow of the main show ring, we plodded around the arena, letti
ng the mares loosen their joints and muscles.

  “There’ve got to be at least thirty thousand seats in there,” Gretchen pointed toward the Regalia Arena. Suddenly, my heart hammered against my ribs. Thirty thousand? That’s a lot of people to potentially mess up in front of.

  I hid my apprehension and suggested, “Let’s go get some dinner.”

  Despite the nerves, I knew I was going to sleep well that night. My sponsors had been generous with their endorsements and put me in a swanky suite near the Regalia Horse Park. When we pulled up, my first impression was that it looked more like a replica renaissance castle, with its stunning architecture and abundant sculptures, than a hotel. I’ve definitely moved up in the world, I thought to myself, remembering how many shows I’d slept in the loft of the trailer on an air mattress that never seemed to be able to hold air. Between the heavenly soft mattress, mound of pillows and sheer exhaustion, I’d be out like a light. I changed out of my dirty barn clothes into a silken robe and took the opportunity to investigate the bathroom. Among the tubes carefully arranged on the marble countertop, I found a high-end lotion. I squeezed a glob into my gritty, chapped hands, enjoying the light vanilla-lotus scent while at the same time, worriedly thinking of all the things I needed to do before the start of the show. There were a couple interviews—one at the conclusion of the show that would be televised—a pre-event gala where Gretchen firmly reminded me I was expected to show up in heels and a gown, vet checks and course walks, all on top of a very specific training schedule. I could feel ulcers forming.

  I grabbed my cell and dialed Mike, knowing it was already past midnight back at home.

  “Hey, Nadia. What’s up?” Mike croaked on the other end. Unloading my grief, he chased it away with his simple reassurances. “Don’t worry about it, babe. You’ve got this.”

  “At least you’ll be here in time for this ridiculous horse-people prom, right? It won’t be so bad mingling with equestrian greats while balancing in heels if I’ve got you to cling to,” I quipped.

  Mike laughed whole-heartedly. “I bet a lot of people would pay to see that. I promise I’ll hop in the car the moment mid-terms are over. It’ll be tight, but I’ll make it there in time. My tux is already in the car.”

  “You’d better,” I warned. “I don’t care if you show up in old jeans and a ball cap as long as you’re there. I don’t think I could forgive you for skipping out.”

  “Promise, Nadia. I’ll be there.”

  The next few days of preparation went smoothly. Mercifully, my first interview was for the magazine Eventers Today so any awkward pauses and fumbling answers would be doctored before they appeared in print. I’d been featured in a couple magazines before, but they’d always been about me—no one had ever asked me for a quote. I tried to shrug off my less-than-stellar interviewing skills. I wasn’t there for witty quips with journalists. I was there to ride.

  I did my best to focus on training Winny and let Kally worry about the chores. For the most part, she’d figured out an efficient routine that kept things running like clockwork and I occasionally lent a hand. I still found mucking stalls a good stress reliever.

  “Your mare has been doing well,” Ms. Diederich pointed out as I double-checked Kally’s tack up work before a lesson with Danika. “She has come a long way, no?”

  “I think so,” I answered. “It’s all still so surreal. I can’t believe we’re finally competing at a four star. I’m so anxious sometimes, I’m positive I’m going to totally biff it.”

  Ms. Diederich nodded and layered one hand over the other on the tip of her cane. “I felt much the same way when I was in the Olympics. Then I came to the realization that I was nervous and apprehensive because it meant so much to me. It wouldn’t have been normal for me not to feel those emotions. What is important is that we do those difficult things regardless of our fears.”

  I let her words sink in and become my maxim for the show. Do difficult things regardless of fear.

  Gretchen and a sweaty Isis were leaving the ring as we were strolling over. I stopped to chat with Gretchen and Winny immediately dropped her head and began mowing down grass like she’d never eaten before. “How was your lesson?” I called ahead.

  “Good. Really great. I’m sure the judges are going to love Isis. She’s a crowd pleaser, you know,” Gretchen said with a wink. I laughed at her undying confidence.

  A few other horse and rider pairs were circling the arena practicing various dressage moves. It seemed like everyone was showing off with lots of flashy moves—powerful extended trots, graceful laterals and tediously difficult flying changes. Only three days before the start of the show, all the competitors had arrived and were doing their best to psych out their rivals with a sneak peek of their capabilities.

  I swallowed hard. It was working.

  “Over here, Nadia!” Danika raised her hand and waved. In her wide brimmed sunhat, dark sunglasses and flowery, designer blouse, she looked more suited as a spectator. She was playing the mind game, too.

  I nudged Winny into a trot and posted over to Danika’s side. Winny was alert, breathing deeply and taking long glances at the other horses, but under saddle, she was relaxed. It’d been a long time since she’d been difficult to handle at shows. She knew her job and was there to do it.

  “Go ahead and warm her up. I want to see her reaching forward and stretching through her topline as much as she can, so take her in a few nice, big loops around, then come back, and we’ll work on some sections of your dressage test.”

  I guided Winny to the rail and gave her a loose, long rein to which she responded with a deep, yoga-like stretch, dropping her nose to the ground and relaxing her back while trotting. After a few laps, I gathered up the reins and was silently grateful eventers didn’t use a double bridle for dressage: one rein in each hand was enough.

  Just as I collected the reins, Winny’s body tightened and she gave a spectacular buck, lurching forward, up and sideways in a struggle against something unseen.

  Gallant Meadows flashed in my mind: Winny had reacted to my overreaction with the whip and had bucked me off the day before our first big event in front of a group of my peers. I was mortified, humiliated and worst of all, angry. It’d led me to make an innocent birthday wish that resulted in Winny and me switching places for the duration of the show.

  All of the green horses I’d ridden the past few years had given me the skill to stick in the saddle better than most bronc riders. “Winny!” I shouted, “Calm down!”

  A few sidesteps and one more four-footed leap in the air, she focused enough to listen. Huffing and sweaty, I could feel her tremble through the saddle.

  “What was that about?” I leaned over and calmingly stroked her neck.

  “What did she spook at?” Danika called through cupped hands as she hurried over.

  I shouted back, “I have no idea! She just lost it!”

  Behind me, someone cackled. It was the kind of cruel laughter that prickled the hairs on my neck and gave me goosebumps up and down my body. I swiveled in the saddle and saw Chaos’ rider throwing her head back, continuing to laugh downright sinisterly. Winny spun to face her and snorted at the woman whose eyes were so coal black it was hard to distinguish where the pupil ended and the iris began.

  Feeling indignant for someone finding humor in my misfortune, I rudely asked, “Is there something you find funny about this?” My words would have been more intimidating if Winny wasn’t practically racing in reverse to get away from her. Putting it all together, I concluded she was the one agitating Winny.

  “I see she’s up to her old routine.”

  “Who? My horse? How would you know?”

  She chuckled darkly again. “Because I used to own that nag.”

  Chapter Five

  “I knew I’d heard of Gloria before!” I hissed to Gretchen, back at our stalls. If it weren’t bad enough having an entire field of human rivals to overcome, Winny now had her own demon to fa
ce and she was only two stalls away. This was not good.

  “Remind me again who Gloria is?” Gretchen tussled her gorgeous hair and looked at me from the corner of her eye as she combed it into a ponytail.

  “Gloria is Winny’s former owner and also her abuser,” I said, feeling anger boil in the pit of my stomach. “When Winny had finally had enough, she bucked her off into the wall and broke her arm. Gloria’s the one that sent Winny to the auction where your dad bought her up before she could be snatched by a slaughterhouse. She’s the one who gave Winny her scar,” I motioned to the white line of hairs across her left hip.

  Gretchen cocked an eyebrow. “Who told you all this?”

  I wasn’t about to divulge that Winny had been the one who told me about Gloria after we’d swapped places. Though it had been incredibly enlightening hearing about Winny’s upbringing with a kind, gentle man who suffered a crippling car accident leaving him in a wheelchair, her abuse at Gloria’s hand, the resulting touchiness with her left flank and eventually being sent to the auction, it was a bit more detailed information than Chuck, Gretchen’s dad—the man who’d rescued and sold Winny to me—had available. Still, he was the only plausible explanation. “Your dad,” I lied.

  “That sucks,” Gretchen sighed. “Unfortunately, there are some who do well in equestrian sports because they boil down to being outright bullies. Not every horse will stand for it but some are just too submissive for their own good.”

  I thought of Chaos cowering at the back of her stall whenever I saw her. She was gorgeous and talented but I had no doubt Gloria controlled her with an iron hand.

  “Are you sure your information is accurate?” Gretchen questioned. “I haven’t spoken much to Gloria other than exchanging pleasantries as we cross paths. She seems nice enough. It’s that girl Skylar who’s all prickly and uptight since mentioning Danika’s our coach.”