by Tudor Robins
“Would you …”
“Yes?”
“Would you, Lacey Strickland, like to …”
“What? Meg, tell me!”
“Would you like to take Salem in a show?”
Thank goodness Salem’s a calm horse, because Lacey’s jumping and squealing would send her through the fence otherwise. As it is, the mare turns an ear in our direction, lifts her head and keeps her eye on us for a few seconds, before reaching for a fresh mouthful of grass.
We talk, and plan, and plot, and dream. Once Salem’s been turned out, as Lacey’s ready to go, I call her into the barn.
“Show me your feet.”
“Why? They’re huge. I hate them.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say they’re huge. But they’re big enough, and mine are ridiculously small, and I’m wondering …” I disappear into the empty stall that’s become my tack room. “If these would fit you.”
I hold out my tall black show boots. Not used since the day I crashed on Major. Sent, by my mom, in the box with my saddle. Still shiny, although they’ll look better with a polish.
“No. Way. You wouldn’t.” Lacey claps her hand over her mouth and shakes her head.
“Of course. There’s no point in them gathering dust here if you can wear them. Then, if you want to keep showing, you can buy your own.”
“Oh, I will. I already know that. I definitely, one hundred per cent, absolutely …”
“Sit down and let’s try them on.”
They fit. They’re not perfect. My calves are a couple of inches longer than Lacey’s, but the boots are broken in, so there’s some give around the ankles. “They’re going to push against your knees, but they’re not really supposed to be super-comfortable. They’re supposed to look good.” I stand back, tilt my head and narrow my eyes. “And they do look good.”
“Thank you so much, Meg.”
“My pleasure. There is something you can do for me, though.”
“What is it?”
I tell her, and she agrees, and we’re both happy as she drives off, talking Rod’s ear off about Salem, and showing, and riding boots.
While Jared puts away the equipment he was using earlier today, I tidy up the barn. When I sweep the final pile of dust outside, it’s already getting dark.
The summer’s passing, that’s why. The sun’s setting earlier and earlier. What are you waiting for?
Slate’s words, even though not exactly profound, have stirred me. You have lips, right? Jared got me Salem. Jared made my sand ring. Jared took my hand, that day in the rain. Jared’s taking me out for dinner.
Maybe it’s my turn.
The thought sends butterflies cartwheeling around my stomach. Half of them are big, bold, excited butterflies, the other half are tiny, flitting, and terrified.
I hang the broom in the barn, and stoop to scratch Rex’s ears. “I guess, maybe, I do need to get going. What do you think?”
The dog gives me a quick, darting lick, then whines, the noise generated from deep in his core. Jared’s walking across the yard in our direction. Rex jumps up, his whole body wagging as he runs to him.
“Hey buddy.” Jared reaches down to pat the dog. I’m still crouching, feeling like I might be sick. Because, now that he’s here, what next?
Rex breaks away from Jared and runs back to me.
“All done?” Jared steps toward me, reaches out his hand.
I take it, let him pull me up. “Yeah. I just finished sweeping the barn.”
“It’s getting dark to ride your bike back.” Now that I’m up, I wait for him to let go of my hand, but he doesn’t. “Do you want me to give you a lift?” We’re standing so close that, when Rex tries to walk between us, he doesn’t fit.
I whisper. “Maybe not right now.”
“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”
Go. Do it. Now. I reach for his other hand, pull him so near I can feel his body warmth. Put my mouth by his ear. “Can you hear me now?”
Instead of answering, he lets go of both my hands at once and circles me with his arms. Gathers me in, and almost literally sweeps me off my feet, so that I have to stand on my tiptoes to keep from falling over.
We stand breeches against jeans, shirt against shirt and, breath on breath. With our breaths coming faster and faster. And Jared’s eyes staring into mine, his lips so close the tiniest pucker of my own lips would reach them.
My whole body responds. I want to wrap my legs around his. I want to reach around to the small of his back and pull him harder up against me. I want to start the kissing, but I also don’t want this moment to end because we’ll never get it back.
We’ll never again be just about to have our first, serious, major, romantic kiss and I don’t want to let go of that lightly.
I blink. Remember this. He blinks. Lock this away; seal it up tight. Hold onto it.
And then one of us – I think it’s me – makes a little hiccupping sound, like a catch of breath, or a tiny exclamation of desire, and that breaks the trance, and Jared puts his lips on mine, and I reach my hands up and cup his cheeks, and we kiss, and we kiss, and we kiss. He pushes me backward until I hit the fence, and I hitch myself up on the rail and keep kissing him.
It’s Salem who saves us from being caught in the act. She nudges my back and makes me open my eyes and look over Jared’s shoulder, which is when I notice the light switched on over the kitchen entrance, and the door opening.
“Your mom,” I whisper, and “Shit,” Jared mutters but I’m kind of glad she’s there because I’m so high on adrenaline and hormones, I need a third party to supervise me, keep me in check. I need someone to force me to take my hands off Jared, because there’s no way I could make myself do it.
I pull away, breathing hard, and the thing I feel, stronger than the excitement, and the adrenaline, and the sheer lust crashing through my body is relief. Sweet relief at finally, finally sealing the deal.
“You’re great,” I whisper in his ear. “That was absolutely great.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I float to work, then fly through my duties. Nothing bothers me. Not the guest who takes a shower with the curtain hanging out of the tub. Not the one who studies Betsy’s extensive selection of teabags and asks, “Don’t you have any organic, vegan, fair trade, hundred-mile teas?”
It’s surprisingly easy to smile and say, “Unfortunately the only tea plantation within a hundred miles went out of business last year.”
“That’s a shame,” says the guest and, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Betsy, hand clapped firmly over her mouth, and shoulders shaking, scooting out of the room.
“You’re in a good mood.”
“The best.”
“Anything you’d care to share with me?”
“Just life. Things. Lacey’s going to ride Salem in a show.” My lips still tingle when I think of Jared kissing them.
“Well, that sounds good for Lacey … but are you sure that’s what’s got you so happy?”
I hesitate. I want to tell someone about Jared and me, but I also think of Betsy as a bit of a surrogate grandmother – how much can you really tell your grandmother?
I compromise by telling Betsy, “I’m going out for dinner with Jared tonight,” and, a few minutes later, in the murky warmth of the chicken coop, pulling out my phone and thumbing Slate a text:
Done. Lips used. Amazing. Perfect. Not sure why I waited so long.
Her answer comes back, short and sweet, before I’m even done sweeping out the coop:
Told you so! Good job Megsters.
I’ve come to love my loft bedroom. During the day, the sun on the roof stokes the heat under the eaves, so that when I come upstairs the air is hot, and dry, and smells like untreated wood. Then, when I go to bed, the night breezes float in, smelling like hay and the river and, sometimes, fresh rain on the fields.
Now, standing in nothing but my underwear, I’m glad of the softness of the warm air on my skin. I reach tall, bend over and t
ouch my toes. Stretch, bend, breathe.
This is no big deal. This is fine.
The white lace dress lying across my bed tells me otherwise.
I shrug into it. The dainty cuffs of the three-quarter sleeves look strange against my tanned arms. I don’t feel properly dressed with air around my legs, instead of breeches or running lycra.
It’ll look good with the cowboy boots I borrowed from Lacey, though. I’m sure of it. Pretty sure, anyway. It should look good … oh God, I just have to put the boots on before I lose my confidence.
The first boot sticks for a minute – this was a bad idea, it’s not going to fit, I should just wear capris and a t-shirt and sandals – then my foot slides right in.
Perfect fit. I sit on the bed, and stretch my legs out in front of me. Admire my pointed toes. The boots were definitely the missing ingredient.
Go downstairs to the mirror. That’s the best way to tell.
It’s from my precarious perch on the toilet that I look out the window to see Jared’s truck, halfway down the driveway.
Do I have time to change?
I look in the mirror. I look nice. Country casual. Like I made an effort, but not too much.
I’m not going to change. I’m going like this.
Still, stepping out on the front porch is more nerve-wracking than riding into a show ring. At least in the ring, I know my job, know I’m wearing the right uniform; know I belong.
Jared gets to the bottom of the stairs as I reach the top. For a minute, neither of us says anything, and then he whistles.
My cheeks are so hot I must look like a tomato. “I didn’t know you could whistle like that.” Stay calm. Walk down the stairs. Don’t trip.
He takes my hand at the bottom of the stairs. “I didn’t know you could look like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like …” He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m smart enough to describe how you look. You look the way I imagine when you’re not around, and I close my eyes and think of you.”
As he’s still talking, before he can even close his mouth, I step forward and kiss him, and while we kiss, I close my eyes and the picture that floats into my head of Jared is amazing.
I open my eyes, step back, look him up and down. “You look just that way too.”
I pause with a forkful of pasta halfway to my mouth. “Is this OK?”
Jared smiles. “Of course, it’s great.”
“I don’t mean the food. I mean, being here. On the wrong side of the harbour. With your mom and Rod on the island.”
His foot finds mine under the table, and he gives it a nudge. Somehow it’s more intimate than holding hands – and doesn’t come with the risk of knocking over the tall, skinny water glasses that stand between us.
“You know, Meg, the thing about that is, I just had to realize something.”
“Oh, yeah? What did you realize?”
“I realized feeling secure was about being with the right people – the right person – and the fact is, that person is sometimes going to be on this side of the ferry, and I can’t let that keep us apart.”
Yay! I want to yell it, but he’s not done talking.
“Also, I kind of just feel better,” he says.
“Better?”
“About me. About everything. About trying new things – or old things I thought I couldn’t do anymore. Speaking of which …”
His features tense. For a minute he turns into that unfamiliar Jared I saw in the barn when I took my mom to meet Salem.
My chest tightens. “What is it?”
“There’s something else. Something I hope you’ll think is good.”
“So, tell me. I like hearing good things.”
“Did you hear about the agricultural college?”
I nod. “They funded it, right? At least for one more year. Wait, are you …”
He picks up where I trail off. “I’m going to try. It’s too late for September, but maybe I can go back in January. If it might close, I should get through while it’s still around.”
I take my chances with the water glasses, grab his hand across the table. “That’s not just good: it’s great! I’m so excited!”
“Excited for me finishing college?”
“Well that, of course, but have you thought about how much closer it is to the city? We’d be — what — forty-five minutes apart?”
He opens his eyes wide, raises his eyebrows. “You think?”
My heart sinks. One kiss and I’m already making plans for January. Talk about a good way to scare him off.
He puts his hand on top of mine. “I had it figured at more like forty minutes.”
On the way back, we stand at the quiet end of the ferry – away from the benches where most people congregate. The hum of the big engine’s exhaust cuts us off from everything else happening on the boat.
We talk a bit.
“By the way, nice boots.”
“You like them?”
“Where’d you get them?”
“Let’s just say Lacey owed me a favour.”
We point at the huge sail being lowered on a yacht nearby, the dog barking on the end of a dock on Garden Island, the sun, burning pink and orange, hardly visible over the horizon.
We hold hands, and we kiss.
The light’s dim, and there isn’t anybody standing near us, and I try my best to keep the kisses short, and sweet, but I figure there’s going to be some talk about this – Jared Strickland, not just on the ferry, but kissing a girl, and not just kissing a girl, but kissing one not from the island.
“You must like me to put your reputation on the line like this,” I whisper in one of the moments I’ve pulled my lips away from his, and let them wander close to his ear.
“Oh, I’m happy to go from ‘weird loner who won’t leave the island’ to ‘happy boyfriend’.” His return whisper sends tingles running from my ear down my neck, and back up again.
“Did you say ‘boyfriend’?”
He doesn’t answer – just kisses me – which I take as a yes.
Chapter Twenty-Five
At least twice a week Lacey comes by, and we work on all the things she needs to have down pat for the show. The show, which is now just a few short days away.
We work on Salem’s pacing, rhythm and head carriage. We work on quietening Lacey’s seat and correcting her piano hands. We work on accuracy for both of them. Lacey needs to give her aids crisply and cleanly, and Salem needs to respond right away.
If they do all that, I’m not even sure they’ll win anything, but they’ll fit in. They’ll be in the ballpark of all the other competitors.
They need to do their absolute best, and then hope for luck on the side – that they both wake up feeling great, that their competitors are riders of similar ability to Lacey, on horses of similar quality to Salem, and, of course, that the judge doesn’t mind appaloosas.
They’re doing well. Today’s been a good schooling session. Jared harrowed the ring this morning, so my challenge to Lacey was to make only the most precise of tracks in the fresh sand. “I want to see perfectly round circles, accurate changes across the diagonal, and an absolutely straight turn down the centre line.”
After her first ten minutes in the ring, I came in with my critical eye and had to admit, her circles were even, the diagonal went straight from K to M, and there were only a couple of wobbles off the centre line.
“And the centre line’s hard, Meg, you know it is. Plus, we won’t even have to do that at the show.”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “Excuse me?”
“What? We won’t.”
“Tell me why we’re working on the centre line.”
Lacey held up her hand, ticked one finger at a time. “Accuracy. Obedience. Straightness. Forward pace – because she’ll wobble if we’re too slow, um …” She looked at me.
“Preparation to track right, or left, going back onto the rail?”
“Yup. That too.”
> “So, given all those things, does it matter that you won’t be asked to do this exact exercise on the weekend?”
“No. It’s good practice.”
“Exactly: now show me some transitions.”
We’re finishing up when Lacey brings up the thing she just can’t leave alone.
“Meg, come on! I can do it. You know I can!”
“Lacey, if I knew you could do it, I’d let you do it. It’s not as simple as you think.”
“Puh-leeeeeze, Meg.”
“Lacey, I swear, if you ask again, I’m tempted to pull you from that class right now – just call them up and ask them to cancel the registration, instead of waiting to see on Saturday.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“What wouldn’t she do?” Jared strides through the sand, to meet me in the middle. It’s hard not to reach out for him when he stops just a foot or so from me.
I speak up before Lacey can. “Lacey wants to jump on the weekend, and I’m not sure if she should.”
“But, I can do it, I can, and …”
I hold up my hand. “So, she’s registered in a few flat classes, and one over fences, and I told her we’ll see how she does on the day. How things are going. How Salem reacts to everything at the show. The thing is, doing an eight-jump course at a busy show is much different than popping over one or two fences here at home.”
“Would it help if we set up a course here first, so you could try it before the weekend?”
Lacey jumps off Salem and runs over to hug Jared. “Oh! Yes! You’re the best! That would be awesome! You’ll see, Meg …”
As she leads the mare away, he turns to me. “That OK with you?”
I smile. “Of course. Because guess who’s going to be the first one to take Salem over the course?”
**********
Jared was right about Tom, and his jumps. He didn’t so much want more work out of us, as he didn’t want to give us the jumps for nothing.
When we arrive, he scratches his head for a while and admits he can’t think of much to have us do right away.