“I have to go check on Logan,” I said.
“Yeah, okay,” Nick said.
The look on his face said it all. He got it now. Whatever I had said or not said had made my feelings known.
“I’ll see you around,” he mumbled.
I wanted to kick my car tires and bang the steering wheel. I had scared Chris away for sure because he thought Nick and I were together and I’d been like a tease to Nick, who wasn’t a bad guy. Instead I started the car and drove over to the show. I couldn’t wait to see Logan. Suddenly everything about Logan seemed so much simpler. I would pick out his stall, put on his sheet, make sure he was feeling okay. There was such comfort in all those little things I now knew how to do. And there would be comfort in Logan’s smell, his nuzzling my hair as I tried to squeak by him with the pitchfork.
The show grounds were dark and quiet, just one or two trucks parked outside the tents. All the vendors’ trailers were closed up and the food tent had its flaps down. The quiet and calm was just what I needed. All the horses had their heads low, resting or picking at hay. Logan was dozing and raised his head, surprised to see me.
“You feeling okay, buddy?” I opened his stall door and traced my hand from his neck, over his back. He looked fine, but I put my ear to his stomach like Doc Sheridan had taught me. Even without the stethoscope I heard lots of rumblings and grumblings in there. For once I was glad to see plenty of manure in his stall, even if it meant I needed to pick it out. I checked Logan’s water buckets. One was half-full which meant he was drinking. And there was no poop in the bucket . . . yet. Maybe his plan was to drink out of his buckets all night and then poop in them right before I arrived. I smiled at the idea of him being crafty like that.
I picked his stall clean and threw him another flake of hay. I put his light sheet on, making sure all the buckles were done up just right. Before I left, I went back into the stall one more time to pat Logan and kiss him goodnight. I ended up throwing my arms around him, something I’d never done before. I hugged him tight, for the first time ever grateful to have him in my life.
As I was getting into my car, I looked up at the road going by the horse show. I didn’t know what made me look. There was a car parked parallel to my tent. I squinted to make out the kind. It sure looked like an Acadia—the kind of SUV Chris drove. But it wouldn’t be Chris, would it? He had gone home. Why would he be hovering near my barn? Unless he was checking on me. To see whether I needed help with Logan? Or to see if I was alone, whether Nick had come with me?
I felt like someone in the car was watching me. When I got to my own car and started the engine, the SUV pulled back onto the road and disappeared.
Chapter 20
Chris texted me later that night to say he wasn’t going to be able to teach me in the morning. I wanted to write back so many things. Like, why? Why can’t you teach me? Will you ever teach me again? Or, there’s nothing between me and Nick. Even, was that you at the show grounds watching me? Of course instead, I just wrote back, “okay, thanks.”
I woke up early the next morning, even though I didn’t need to be up since I had no lesson. I decided to go to the show early anyway because I was afraid I’d find Logan in pain, or worse. But he was there, happily looking up at me. I gave him his hay first and only after he’d eaten a bunch and lined his stomach did I give him his grain.
I hated not seeing Chris all morning and I was grateful to have Logan to take care of. I spent an extra long time cleaning his stall and scrubbed out his water buckets twice, even though he hadn’t pooped in them. I still had too much time after I was done so I flatted him, trying to work on everything Chris has taught me. Then I gave him a nice bath and grazed him while he dried. Grazing our horses was something none of us at Jamie’s barn ever did and I had discovered it was one of my favorite things. I loved how happy it made Logan and I loved watching as he negotiated the grass with his lips, picking out just the sections he wanted. He particularly loved clover and dandelions and he was like a surgeon with his dexterity—I swear he could pick up one single blade of grass if he wanted to.
At noon the announcer’s voice boomed over the show grounds. “We are set for a one o’clock start out on the grand prix field with the $30,000 Green Mountain Grand Prix. The course is now open to walk.”
Those were the words I’d been waiting all day for. My invitation to see Chris. I threw Logan a flake of hay and went up to the ring to watch. I settled into the stands next to a few other riders and some spectators. Signs from sponsors of the circuit lined the fence of the ring—Purina, Equifit, the Weathersville Inn—and flags from different countries hung from the stands. A few pretty trees had been planted next to the ring and were encircled with beds of colorful flowers. There were six pre-teen girls from a sleep-away horse camp. They all wore pink shirts that said HORSE CRAZY on the front and BRAE CASTLE CAMP on the back.
There was a breeze today, which kept the temps cool. Chris was wearing his team USA windbreaker. He looked so amazing and it killed me all over again that if there had been a glimmer of hope that he might like me, seeing me with Nick had killed it.
Chris talked with Tommy Kinsler, another rider, pointing out over the course, going over how to ride it.
The announcer said, “Ten minutes and counting before our start time for the grand prix. The riders will finish up their course walk and we’ll have our first in the ring right at one o’clock.”
More spectators filled the stands, including a mother with two young girls in pretty yellow and pink sundresses and cotton cardigans. The girls looked at the jumps with wide eyes. In the warm-up ring, the first few riders were schooling. Classes continued in the other rings at the show, but there was a tension in the air at the grand prix ring. This was the biggest class of the week—the class that the grand prix riders had trained for all week.
Chris finished walking the course and was standing near the in-gate. He must have drawn later in the class. Zoe came and found me. She sat down and put her head on my shoulder. “Ugh, that sucked last night, seeing Dermott.”
“I know,” I said. “It was icky.”
She raised her head back up. “Did anything more happen with you and Nick? I saw him at hunter land today, but he brushed me off.”
“Zoe, he’s really not my type. I mean, he’s a good guy and he’s cute . . .”
“I know, which is why he’s perfect to relieve you of your precious chastity.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“So you don’t want to give him your gift? I thought you wanted to be rid of your burden.”
Burden, gift. Which one was it? Being a virgin was totally confusing. “What about you and Nick?” I said. “I just think you deserve someone nice. Someone good for you. Someone who’ll be good to you.”
“You mean unlike the pride of the Irish, or are you talking about Hard-on?”
“You’re too good for guys like that. You have so much to offer.”
Zoe gave me a look. “You sound like a mother. Not my mother, but a mother.”
“I’m serious. You need to value yourself more.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like Jed. I’m just having a little fun.”
“It didn’t look like fun last night.”
“You’re sweet.” She took my arm. “You’re sweet to care about me.”
“I do care. And you should be better to yourself.”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
“Starting with Nick?”
Zoe winked at me. “No, honey, that bull is all yours to ride.”
“That’s not happening,” I said. “I pretty much told him last night it wasn’t, you know . . . there was no spark.”
“No spark, huh?” Zoe said.
“Like what you said about losing your virginity . . . You were attracted to T.J., right? I mean he was nice, but you were still attracted to him?”
“Yeah, I was.”
“I’m just not attracted to Nick.”
Zoe nodded like this
she could finally understand. “Okay, he’s not your type. I get it. We’re learning together what your type is. It’s not Nick. Maybe it’s the show crew thing. You need someone a little more intellectual.” Zoe looked out over the show grounds like she was thinking hard. “I don’t have it yet, but I’ll find someone else.”
Well, I had gotten Zoe off the Nick-thing. But it wouldn’t be long till she found someone else to push on me. I took a quiet breath, trying to savor whatever little time I had before she landed on my next set-up. Maybe I’d be so lucky as to at least watch the grand prix in peace.
Sandy McKay was the first to go in the class. No one ever wanted to go first and Sandy was young. She had been a top junior rider and now went to Princeton. She was new to the grand prix ranks, had three nice horses, and a private trainer. Zoe had told me that her father, a software mogul, had promised her trainer a million-dollar bonus if she made the short list for the next Olympic games.
Sandy looked nervous—her arms and back stiff. But her horse was a seasoned grand prix horse that had been part of the Swiss team at the World Equestrian Games. He marched her around the course. He was clear till the triple combination when she got jumped loose and he pulled the back rail of the last oxer. He had one more rail down for eight faults. Sandy patted his neck gratefully as she came out.
Next was Eve Benzinger. She was barely over five-feet tall and always seemed to be riding giant horses. Somehow she made it work, controlling them despite her tiny size. Today she was on a huge chestnut gelding. He wore an elaborate bit that looked like a mix between a Pelham and a hackamore. I didn’t know what the bit was called but at least now I could identify a Pelham and a hackamore. She cruised around the course, turning in a clear round. It was ten more rounds until another totally clear round. By the time Chris was on deck, two others had gone clean, including Dermott. I had decided that the main trap of the course was the triple combination. The distance between the first and second jumps was long and the distance between the second and third short. To execute it well a horse had to jump into the first part with enough speed to make it in one stride and then be able to slow down in time to make the two strides fit in before the last jump. Most riders had rails at the second and third efforts and a few had gotten so wound up to jump in forward to the in that they had botched it and had a rail there too.
At the in-gate Chris was calm and composed as he gazed out over the course. I stared at him, wanting him so badly. Wanting him to like me. Wanting us to be together. The rider on course exited the ring to light applause and Chris legged Titan in.
“We now welcome into the ring Titan and Chris Kern. Titan is a seven-year old, 16.2 hand Mecklenburg gelding owned by Harris Delaney and the Willow Edge Farm of Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania.”
Chris walked down the far side of the ring, waiting for the signal that the timer was reset. When the tone sounded, he picked up a canter immediately and headed toward the first jump without even circling. I had seen Chris riding “Buddy” around the show the other day. He was an impressive looking horse, with the cresty neck and proud head of a stallion, even though he was a gelding. Maybe he had been gelded late. Chris looked great too—his breeches, which were the required white for the grand prix, stood out against his navy jacket with the white shirt and tie.
Chris sailed over the first five jumps of the course, checking Buddy back on the landing side and then moving forward again. He rode the whole course on a measured stride, in control and smooth. On the turn to the final combination, the crowd became silent. Chris legged Buddy into a steady hand like he had taught me to do with Logan. Buddy surged forward, meeting the first effort of the combination on a forward stride but still in control. Chris landed from the jump, pressed Buddy forward for half a stride to make sure he would be at the next jump in time, and then steadied back. Buddy gave a tremendous jump over the second oxer, rounding his back and lifting his hind end almost as high as the jump standards.
On the landing side, Chris said, “whoa,” as he sat back in the saddle, shortening Buddy up for the two last strides and then legging him up over the last oxer. When Chris landed, the crowd applauded loudly. As he bent down to pat Buddy, the announcer said, “And that makes five coming back for our jump-off with six more riders to see in the class. Chris Kern and Titan have a clean go with 78.89 on the clock for no time faults.”
Unlike my classes, where the riders jumped-off immediately if they cleared the course to save time for the show, for the grand prix the jump-off was always run at the end of the class to add excitement. I had never cared so much about watching a grand prix before. This might as well have been a World Cup or Olympic qualifying class given how much I wanted Chris to win.
Dermott came into the ring for his second ride and Zoe and I put the hex on him. It didn’t work, however, as he rode a clean round.
As the last few riders went, Chris got back on Buddy. He trotted and cantered around the schooling area, flexing Buddy to the inside and then the outside. I hoped Zoe wasn’t noticing how much I was watching Chris, or how I looked at him when he was in the ring. I think she was so consumed with trying not to care about Dermott that she wasn’t paying much attention to me.
I noticed Dale trying to flag Chris down. He held out a cell phone.
Chris kept cantering and shook his head.
I wondered who could be calling that Dale would even consider interrupting him at a time like this? And what did it mean that Chris had waved him off? Could it have been Mary Beth calling from Europe, messing up the timing because of the time change? But why would Dale tell Chris she was calling? Unless she was still that important to him.
I told myself to stop the insanity. For all I knew, it could be his mom or dad calling. But wouldn’t they know that 2:30 on grand prix day was a bad time to call?
There was one more clear round to bring the jump-off to seven. The last horse finished the course and there were a few minutes of course adjustments before the jump-off began. The two girls in sundresses were getting restless and their mother pointed out the riders jumping in the schooling ring.
The announcer went over the jump-off route, which was seven fences and included an inside option to a big oxer and a long gallop to a tall skinny vertical. I wondered whether Chris would choose the inside turn.
Chris pulled up in the schooling area to watch Eve, the first to go. She was known to be a speed demon and went all out, even though she was the first to go. She took the inside turn and flew to the last jump, finding a long distance to the skinny. Her horse ticked the rail with his front hooves and it rattled in the cups, but didn’t come down.
“A very fast first round. Seraphina 7 and Eve Benzinger finish with no faults and a time of 31.75.”
I alternated between watching Chris school over one more jump and watching Dermott on his first horse. Of course, he went all out. Angling jumps, turning in the air, galloping when he could. Thankfully he got in a little deep to one of the verticals and had a rail. His time was incredibly fast but the four faults would cost him the win. When Chris entered the ring, there were two clears with Eve still in the lead, Dermott with four faults, and one eight-faulter. Eve would be hard to beat. To do it, Chris would really have to fly. And there were still two to go after Chris, including Dermott again.
Chris picked up a canter and pressed Buddy forward. He was approaching the first jump at a good clip, but it was still hard to tell whether he would go for it. I snuck glances at the clock to see if I could tell how fast he was going. He seemed fast, but perhaps a second or two slower than Eve. After the third jump, he chose not to make the inside cut to the oxer and I could feel the crowd give a collective sigh. He was clearly choosing not to try to beat Eve. He galloped the last jump, but not in a reckless way, finishing with a time two seconds slower. He patted Buddy and left the ring looking pleased.
Dermott went next and again he flew around the course. This time he had the last jump down. Zoe and I shared a pleased look. Todd Gabriel was last to go. I sil
ently willed him to have a rail down and he did, when he made the inside turn to the oxer.
“Four faults and a time of 34.56 which will put Todd Gabriel and Archangel in fourth place. We’ll have the full results and award presentation coming right up.”
I watched the award presentation even though the crowd thinned out and I was only one of the few people left in the stands, along with the camp girls. Zoe had gone back to the barn, saying she’d catch up with me later. Chris took off his helmet to accept the red ribbon and the camp girls learned close and tittered about him. I could make out the words “totally hot” and “gorgeous.” Once he was out of the ring, Chris dismounted and handed Buddy to Dale. He took off his helmet and put it under his arm, stopped to take a drink from a water bottle, and Dale handed him his phone.
I headed back to the barn. I picked out Logan’s stall, raked the aisle, and made the grain for that night and tomorrow morning. Then I sat around feeling agitated. All I could think was Chris, Chris, Chris.
So my options were to spend the rest of the day and night thinking about him and wondering what was going on. Or, to go talk to him. Before I could chicken out, I headed over to Chris’s barn. Halfway there I almost turned around, but I made myself keep going.
His barn was the first two aisles of the first tent, the part that looked out onto the front of the show grounds—the horse show equivalent of high priced real estate. Barns and riders were given tent locations based on their prominence. Olympic contenders got the first tent or two—no-name trainers were relegated to the back forty. The first aisle was well decorated with navy blue and gray curtains that said Willow’s Edge Farm in big letters across them. A few banners from Chris’s sponsors—Equifit and Adequan—hung on the side of the tent. There were pots of red geraniums lining the stalls and two of the front stalls had been converted into a sitting area with wood chips spread on the floor, director’s chairs, a coffee table, and a photo of Chris sailing over a huge jump. Chris was sitting there, looking at something on his phone. A big white dog was sitting next to him.
Summer Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 1) Page 10