I wished I could find local kids with half the resiliency and dedication of those golfers, out swatting at balls under the merciless sun. I wished I could find kids just out riding their bikes who were drawn to the siren song of a stable next door. But even in the subdivisions where actual year-round residents lived, the cul-de-sacs stayed empty and the driveways stayed bare. Being a kid in Florida had somehow become an entirely indoor affair, as far as I could tell.
If I was fair, I had to admit that Colleen hadn’t broken her promise to use the PTA to drum up business for the farm. The handful of child-friendly school horses were busy, true, but thank goodness I hadn’t lived up to my promise to buy new school ponies. Even though we’d spent the school money on sales ponies, I questioned whether they’d find a market here, or if they’d just end up in another barn further up the road, with more space and more kids to fight over them.
The lesson business was chugging along, but it wasn’t enough. If I had decided to do things entirely Colleen’s way, I would be out of options and feeling the pinch worse than ever.
At least with the trail business, I had a chance. Rodney had been true to his word, and put several resort concierges in touch with me. There would be bookings coming in the future… once I decided I was ready for them.
Whenever that might be…
I stood in the barn aisle and gazed out towards the county highway. Between me and the road, the grove of turkey oaks shivered in the breeze, their dry leaves rattling together like castanets. It was too dry. It hadn’t rained since, what, March? While we were showing in Ocala, the dry weather had been a delight. Now here it was, almost May, and the grass was brown, the flowers were wilting, and all across Florida, the pine savannas and scrub were becoming a tinderbox waiting for a spark.
Anna trotted by on the new gelding she was trying out, a rangy knob-kneed Thoroughbred who had obtained local fame at his former barn after his propensity for jumping out of things was discovered — jumping out of paddocks, jumping out of pens, jumping out of his stall. He could be bought for a song if we could manage to keep him off the highway. The little-used round pen next to the paddocks had seven-foot walls, which even the flying wonder couldn’t leap over, and as long as we had an extra stall guard over the top half of his stall at shows, he’d be easy enough to keep inside, so I told Anna to bring him down on a trial. Cheap athleticism was nothing to sneeze at, especially when you were a working student and couldn’t afford to be choosy about your horse’s looks or bad habits.
She smiled and waved as they went jogging past, leaving a choking cloud of dust in their wake. The sand washed over me and made me sneeze. The arena was so dry that every gust of wind spread a layer of sand over the neighboring grass and the entrance to the barn. I was afraid to put sprinklers on it; I’d had the well run dry in droughts before, and if I had to run a hose from the city water at the house, I’d go bankrupt in a matter of days just from watering the horses. It had been a sad day, I reflected, when they ran the sewer lines out here and introduced the concept of a water bill.
I started back inside, brushing off the sand that was settling atop my shoulders, when a flash of sunlight on metal caught my eye. I turned back, looking at the driveway. It was too early for clients.
A black car was silently sailing up the driveway.
I mentally ran through my appointment book, open on my desk in the office, wondering if a prospective boarder or student had made plans to come out today. But no, we hadn’t had anyone new in weeks.
I squinted. The car came gliding into the parking area, a black Mercedes with a company logo on the side that was suddenly all too familiar.
Hannity and Roth.
I clenched my hands into fists and marched up the creaking stairs to my office. If they were here to try and strong-arm me, they’d find a professional behind a desk, ready to do battle, not a tired woman surrounded by a barnful of mouths that were becoming increasingly difficult to feed.
Tom stuck his head through the doorway, pale eyes darting about until he saw me. I wasn’t easily found; I was kneeling behind the desk, frantically stuffing overdue bills, lesson calendars, and show fliers into desk drawers. It hadn’t occurred to me until I’d flung open the door, but my office was currently the least professional place on the farm, not excluding the manure pile.
Tom’s white eyebrows met Tom’s white hair. “Grace?” he whispered. “There’s a man here to see you. I told him to wait downstairs while I saw if you were free.”
“Well, thank God for that.” I got up from behind the desk with a little difficulty.
“It’s one of them in suits from the place next door,” he went on worriedly. “The ones that want to buy the farm.”
I surveyed the office. Far from clean — there was dust everywhere, hay on the floor, and a pervasive odor of horse — but at least it was in some sort of order now. And there was a tidy desk to put between me and the enemy. I nodded at Tom. “Send him on up.”
Tom emitted a frightened squeak, and I realized that he didn’t think he’d have a future here once the man in the suit had left.
No one believed I could keep the farm going, but me.
Well, maybe Kennedy.
I felt the radio clipped to the waistband of my breeches, and thought just for a moment of locking the door, calling Kennedy back, and not letting the developer come in until I had an ally by my side. Almost — but no. This was my fight to win. It was my promise to protect.
I’d told my grandpa I would hold this land dear, and I wasn’t going to go back on that vow.
There were footsteps on the groaning stairs outside. I pulled my hair loose from its ponytail and shook the short waves out. This was no time to look like a kid obsessed with ponies.
Two sharp knocks on the door, and I shouted “Come in!”
The door opened. It was Roth, the bald one with the red face. He stretched his face into a false smile even while he was dabbing at his sweaty forehead with a white handkerchief. City boy, I thought viciously. Northerner.
“Have a seat,” I said pleasantly, ignoring his offer of a hand to shake. I couldn’t fathom touching that clammy white paw.
He withdrew his hand and settled down into the wobbly guest chair. “Ms Carter,” he said warmly. “How nice to see you again.”
I raised my eyebrows. Really, that was taking things too far. “What do you want?” I asked pointedly.
Roth seemed pleased that I wasn’t going to play some sort of politeness game after all. He cleared his throat and made sure his smooth smile was pasted into place. “Ms Carter,” he began in oily tones, “I’m here today to formally discuss the future of your — uh — property here.”
“You mean my farm?” I asked, as if there might be some mistake about the location. “By property, you mean the barn where we’re sitting, the arenas where horses are being worked outside, and the house my grandfather built, is that right? I’d just like to get that straight. We’re talking about my successful working farm and historic house.”
The sarcasm was lost on Roth. “That’s right,” he agreed, undeterred. “And the wooded property to the east. We would like to make you a generous offer, Ms Carter. For all of it.”
Well, Colleen had said they would come with their checkbook out. It had just taken them a little longer than I had expected. They had waited until they knew I was hurting. Who had told them things were tight and business was down?
Who indeed?
I pushed the uncomfortable thought away and managed a smirk for Roth’s benefit. “Oh well, you don’t want much, do you? Only all of it.”
He didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed. “We are prepared to make the sale entirely in your favor,” he went on. “With plenty of time for you to make arrangements to move the business. Your neighbors have moved up to north Florida — why wouldn’t you? You could buy three, four times as much land as you have now. Or you could retire. Maybe a little place just for you up near Ocala? Have you considered the possibilities?”
I felt my face flush red. “Retire? How old you think I am?” I knew the sun and outdoor living aged a person, but Jesus Christ! Retirement? This jerk had some nerve. Suddenly I didn’t feel capable of listening to another second of his nonsense. I had no stomach for this game of polite-and-nasty — I just wanted this guy to get out of my office and never come back. I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes until Roth moved back in his chair. “Mr. Roth,” I intoned icily, “This property will never be for sale so long as I’m living. I don’t care if I go out of business and can’t afford to keep my own lights on, I will never see your bulldozers on my grandfather’s land. You can’t have everything. You won’t destroy every last inch of this part of Florida. What makes you think you can show up, rip the heart and soul out of every good, beautiful, unique place, slap some stucco buildings on a fake hill, and call it Tuscany? You’ll never get this land, and if I have anything to say about it, you’ll never have anyone else’s land, either.”
I didn’t have anything to say about it; there wasn’t anyone else’s land left; he already had it all, and I was nobody in the face of the great Florida real estate development machine. But still, the vitriol in my soft voice was enough to deflate the developer. Roth’s stitched-on smile disappeared and a deep vertical crease between his eyes appeared in its stead. He was furious, I thought with a small thrill. I’d really pissed him off this time. I wondered what was next. Would he storm out, uttering threats, or remain calm and continue to try and reason with me?
It turned out to be a little bit of both. Roth got up and pushed the chair out of his way. “They told me you’d say something like that,” he said in a voice flat with suppressed feelings. “I should have believed them, but I thought someone who had built up such an impressive business must have the sense to see when a market has changed and it’s time to move on. This land has not been countryside for a long time, Ms Carter. You can’t save something that’s already gone. All you’re doing now is wasting everyone’s time. Including your own.” He was at the door, his hand on the knob, when he turned to cast his final blow.
“I can convince the state that our road is absolutely necessary for the public good. A connector between two major county roads that could cut traffic and drive-times for the area and promote growth. We can take the land that way. I’ll lose residential lots and you’ll lose a fortune, but if that’s the way you want it…”
I picked up a paperweight, a Connemara pony of cut and polished green marble, and I flung it at him. Roth darted out and the pony hit the storm door, cracking the glass. His eyes glittered at me from outside before he turned and disappeared, and I knew I had twice the enemy I’d had before.
I slumped down in my chair and put my head in my hands, trying to hold back the terrible feeling that I was going to cry like a teenager. My sore throat and my aching ears were just a backdrop though, to the real agony — the piercing pain of knowing, beyond a doubt, that I was going to lose.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Hope had been asking for a change of pace for a few days. The long winter’s constant round of horse shows had gotten to him, and after the second time he refused an easy fence in the jumping arena, I decided to go easy on him. The timing was good for me, after the interview with Roth. I wanted nothing more than to disappear. Hope gave me the perfect excuse.
“He’s still a baby,” I explained to Anna, who was trying to pick up any hints she could to use on her new horse. “And he’s about to have a meltdown, so it’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen. He’s getting a vacation and some trail rides to loosen him up.”
What a change, me taking horses on trail rides. My nerves still ate at me out there, my mind still full of visions of white ponies and broken reins, but still… there was no time to dwell on the past, when the future was at risk. We’d spent so much time taking the trail horses out, making sure they were fit and ready for their job, that it was becoming just as familiar to me as the arena.
Anna kissed him on the nose and narrowly avoided losing her own nose when he flung his head impatiently. “I can see,” she said, backing away. “Hope, have a nice long ride, okay?”
The farm was quiet today, with Kennedy off looking at a clearance sale for helmets for the trail program. Until the afternoon lessons started up around three thirty, it was just me and the grooms. I could afford to take my time out there.
“Perfect, isn’t it?” I asked Hope, getting him tacked up. We’d start with a hack around the indoor. A nice walk on a loose rein, a little trot and canter to keep his brain working, and then the surprise trail ride. A shower, back in his stall for a few flakes of lunch hay — that was exactly what the silly boy wanted. He’d be asking for work again in no time.
I led him to the indoor, listening to the even rhythm of his footfalls on the pavement, and positioned him beside the mounting block. I swung into the saddle, looked through his half-mast ears at the red clay of the arena, shadowed by the roof above, and felt an enormous wave of discontent. Judging by Hope’s sagging head and disinterested ears, he was feeling the same way.
Burn-out, I thought. Somehow I had avoided it all these years, but now it was hitting me and my young prospect at the same time. “Hell with it,” I said aloud, and Hope’s ears swung backwards to listen. “Let’s live dangerously.” We’d skip the warm-up in the arena. I swung the reins against his neck and shifted my seat, spinning Hope around. He turned on sluggish hooves, but when I rode him right out of the arena and through the grassy area between the barn and the railing, his head came up and his ears pricked, looking at the world around him with new eyes.
“It looks different without a fence around it, doesn’t it buddy?” I asked, giving him a sliding pat on the neck without loosening my reins. I was making a major safety gaffe in taking Hope out on the trails alone — he’d already let me know he thought the outside world was a pretty scary place. But now, I thought, now when he was so bored with arena life, now when he had the show horse blues, he might just think any change of pace was a good one. Even a scary one.
“I’m heading out on the trails!” I hollered as I passed Margaret and Tom, driving the Gator back to the barn from the compost pile. “I have my phone on me. Send the posse if I’m not back in two hours.”
Margaret just looked at me blankly, no doubt comparing me unfavorably to her previous employer, the competitive trail riding hero who had conquered Cougar Rock a dozen times. Tom waved and nodded and smiled as if I was a celebrity on a passing parade float. I smiled in return and turned my attention back to the trail ahead. They were both so damn weird, which was a huge part of why I loved my staff.
Hope began to prance, huffing and puffing, as we passed between the two palm trees marking the trailhead, and as the clatter of his hooves on asphalt faded to thuds on hard sand, I loosened my fingers and let him slip into an energetic working trot. My hands low and my body slightly ahead of the motion, I rode him like a green baby just starting out under saddle, never trusting where his body would be from one stride to the next. Granted, for a little while he did nothing to earn that trust, weaving from side to side and making little jerking spooks and starts in mid-stride, watching the waving palmetto fronds on either side of the trail as if they were horse-eating panthers.
Once there had been panthers out here, I reflected, giving his hot neck a comforting stroke without letting the rein loose. My grandfather used to tell stories about them. He said they screamed like a woman, and newcomers used to think there was some poor lady being murdered in the woods, but it was just a panther meowing. Well, I’d never seen nor heard a panther, and it wasn’t likely I ever would. They were shy, and all the construction would have scared any hold-outs from the neighborhood long ago. “Nothing out here now but lizards,” I told Hope soothingly, and he snorted at the notion, as if he’d never seen a lizard before.
With his long reaching stride, it wasn’t long before we had reached the shell mound, and in its cool shadows I reined him back to a walk, ducking bene
ath the low-hanging oak tree branches. He pulled at the bit a little, then realized the foliage up here was actually edible and started snatching at the grass and brush that tangled along the trail’s edges, his youthful interest in eating anything green overtaking his trepidation about being alone in the scary scary woods.
I peeked through the branches, eager to get to the clearing where I could look out over the scrub. It was a priceless spring day, a warm golden sun blazing down from a cerulean sky. That big blue Florida sky, that got even bigger and bluer in the dry, cloudless months of winter and spring, stretching over the brown-green of the scrub, could transport me back to childhood in an instant, racing out of school at two-forty-five on the dot, hopping onto my bike and skidding my way towards the barn as fast as my legs could pedal, to fit horses into every last minute of daylight before an early sunset sent me home to do my homework by the yellow light of my desk-lamp, a mighty herd of Breyer horses keeping me company.
Hope did not share my enthusiasm, being far more interested in the shreds of greenery he could fit into his mouth along with the bit, but eventually we came out into the sunlight, passing by the broken branch that had fallen down and spooked Maxine all those months ago, and I let him put his head down to tug at the sparse grass while I looked out over my domain.
Show Barn Blues Page 25