Dance from the Heart (Dancing with Horses Book 3)

by Toni Mari

  My eyes lifted from the screen to the poster hanging on the shabby wall. The pose was nearly the same. Could I ...?

  My phone rang, and I snatched it up when I saw Michelle’s name.

  “Did you see it yet?” Michelle demanded before I could say hello.

  “Yeah, and it’s over the top.”

  “I know. I did a good job getting you into those magazines. It’s a major promotional success, if I say so myself.”

  “Do you think I look good?” As good as Erica? I wanted to say, but didn’t have the guts to hear the answer.

  Michelle’s tone sobered. “You look amazing. Things are shaky this year at EMA with the loss of Erica. Some folks think that the organization will fizzle out without her. Which is why we brought you in, to save it, to keep it going in memory of Erica. Thank you for taking this position. The animals we rescue need us, need this organization to stay afloat.”

  Recalling Mandy’s words, I resisted her praise. “I want to help, but I’m not Erica. I can’t be like her. She was an amazing rider, beautiful, charismatic.” I shook my head and almost said “I’m just plain Jane Mitchell, dressage kid wannabe.”

  Michelle’s voice softened. “Jane, we chose you because you have those same qualities. I know you’re young and unseasoned, making you fit perfectly in our budget, but you will be a good thing for the rescue. Put your big girl pants on, sister. We need you to bring in the donors.” Leaving me with that responsibility echoing in my overwhelmed brain, she hung up.

  Erica’s image practically rode off the wall, and I slipped into the past. I was sitting in the bleachers with Shawn and Mandy watching Erica ride Grand Prix. My heart was in my throat. Her elegance and charisma evoked emotional responses in those who watched. It wasn’t a big crowd that day, but the fans applauded the pair with tears in their eyes and love in their voices. She garnered support not by asking for it but by being someone people wanted to follow.

  “Erica, what if I don’t have any big girl pants?” I mumbled, tapping the scroll button on my mouse.

  I read a couple more articles in other magazines, and then I started reading the comments that followed each one. The comments linked to Facebook pages that linked to blogs. I came across one linked to Robert Peterson’s name. Knowing that he had praised my riding at Finals, I eagerly opened the article.

  My heart dropped with an audible thud when I read his quote: “Jane is a good young rider, but she lacks the mileage needed for open competition. She needs a few more years under her belt before I expect her to be competitive at something like the Festival of Champions.”

  There it was in black and white. My euphoria fizzled like a struck match in water. I closed out of the browser and shut the lid of my computer. My first instinct was to call Cory. He could bolster my confidence with a few words, cutting to the chase and reminding me of the important things. But he wasn’t answering my calls.

  I scrolled to Shawn’s name.

  “Well, if it isn’t the beautiful and sexy Jane Mitchell,” he answered in a throaty purr. “How are you doing?”

  Always the flirt, but it was exactly what I needed right now, to talk to someone who thought I was great.

  “I’m not sure, a lot has happened since I spoke with you last.”

  “I know, I know. Me too. I saw the results of Regionals and Finals, girl. You rock.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t remember one time that Shawn had ever criticized me. “I’m not so sure. I don’t have any big girl pants.”

  After a brief pause, Shawn answered slowly. “I don’t know what that means, but I always thought you wore your pants well.”

  I huffed, “It’s just that Robert said I was inexperienced and not competitive enough for the Festival of Champions, and Michelle said she needed me to put on my big girl pants and save EMA. And Windsong is his normal crazy self, so he could spook and blow the whole thing. If that happens, then destroying my parents and infuriating Cory would have all been for nothing. Nothing!”

  “Whoa there, Nelly. Slow down. You have to fill in a few of the blanks for me.”

  He listened without interrupting as I related the events that were making me shake the more I thought about them. The words tumbled out, faster and faster each time he made a sympathetic noise.

  When I finally finished, I had to take a few breaths to restore oxygen to my brain. “And so here I am, in a rinky-dink barn trying to get Windsong ready for the biggest show of my life, and my parents and Cory don’t believe I can do it, and Michelle is relying on me to win to save EMA.”

  “Geez, girl. You really know how to load the weight of the world on your own shoulders. Ease up.” Shawn laughed.

  I smacked my head. What was I thinking, calling Shawn?

  “No, sorry,” he said, but I could still hear the smile in his voice. “Listen, I left school, too. My parents weren’t happy about it, but after losing Erica, who was more of a mother to me than my own, I didn’t want to be there and I was wasting their time and money. Since it would have disturbed their social calendar to argue with me, they agreed to let me drop out for a year or two.”

  “You do sound better than the last time we talked.”

  “I came down to Florida with Robert. I’ve been riding two or three horses a day, doing barn work, and learning so much from him. This is where I belong.”

  “Shawn, I’m really happy for you. I wish my parents could understand.” I sighed.

  In my mind I could see Shawn shrugging as he answered. “Erica used to tell me that I would have to get serious someday. I am now. I’m working really hard, but I’m focused. Tune them all out and do what you got to do. That’s the Great Shawn Delaney’s advice to you, girl.”

  I smiled. His enthusiasm was infectious. “All right, I’ll do what I gotta do, and I hope it’s enough.”

  “I’ve seen you get ready for a championship. It’ll be plenty.”

  I restarted my laptop, Shawn’s last words echoing in my head. Do what you got to do. Right. I needed to stop googling my name and reading other people’s opinions. I needed to stay focused on my goals. I needed to keep up with my schoolwork. And if I accomplished those things, my success would follow: I would establish myself in competitive dressage, I would save EMA by attracting sponsors, and I would make good grades.

  I clicked open my email account. Scrolling past the Facebook messages and Twitter alerts and stopping on the one with my professor’s name in the from line, that one I read.

  I scanned the contents and then leapt off the bed and did a dance of joy on the threadbare carpet. Pointing my fingers up and wiggling my hips, I shimmied around singing, “Who got an A-plus on her essay? Jane did, Jane did.” I did what I had to do and, see, good results were already happening.

  I stopped in the middle of the rug. My father thought I couldn’t manage riding and school. He should see this grade. Why not? He had ordered me to send him every grade when he thought he could keep tabs on me that way. I forwarded the email to his address with no included message.

  Breathing in the smell of success, I wondered who else I could tell. I already knew Cory wouldn’t answer, and I would feel silly calling Shawn back about a grade. No one else would really care, especially since it was after ten o’clock at night.

  Windsong would be happy for me, and he didn’t care what time it was. I opened the door and began to trot down the stairs but was puzzled to find the aisle brightly lit. I had left only one bulb on as a night light. I crept back to my room and searched it for a weapon, and then I remembered the broom at the bottom of the steps. I tiptoed down, grasped the broom handle in two fists, Ninja style, and slowly eased my head around the corner, peeking down the aisle.

  Chapter 28

  My muscles instantly relaxed and, leaning the broom back against the wall, I stepped forward. The man and the horse never even noticed me.

  Santos had his head and neck over the stall door. His ears were pointed forward and his gaze was fixed on the man who stood six inches in front of his
nose. Mark’s hands were in his pockets and his attention was just as absorbed by the horse.

  Mark spoke in a low tone, “I miss her, too. I’m sorry I left you alone on this farm, but I hated you for a while. If she hadn’t been driving you to that stupid horse show, she would not have been in that awful traffic.” He rubbed his temples and blew out a sigh.

  “But it screwed Amanda up, taking her away from the farm. The city changed my little girl. I want her back, I need her back, and I don’t know how to fix it. Erica used to say that you could hear each other’s thoughts. Talk to me, Santos. What does Erica want me to do?” Mark’s voice cracked on those words, and he covered his face with his hands.

  I held my breath, reluctant to interrupt.

  Santos stretched his neck and nuzzled Mark’s stomach gently. It wasn’t his usual door banging and shirt pulling. Mark wrapped his arms around the big bony head and Santos remained still, allowing the man to hold on long and tight.

  My throat closed and my heart ached for them.

  After a moment, Mark stepped back and wiped his face on his sleeve. “What about you? You’re too big for Amanda. What do you want to do?”

  I sucked in a breath, trying not to make any noise, but Santos’s ears flicked in my direction. He nickered and banged the door. Mark spun around, reddened eyes wide.

  His expression sent me over the edge. I choked out a sob, “I’m so sorry.”

  “Stupid. Talking to a horse, I know.” He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

  With a watery smile, I shrugged. “I talk to them all the time.”

  Mark rolled his eyes. “Do they answer?”

  “Sometimes.” Tugging my coat closed, I moved off the bottom step. “Not in English, more like expressions. For instance,” I held my hand out to Windsong, who pushed his nose against my palm. “He clearly said ‘Get me a treat.’”

  Mark pointed at Santos. “What is he saying?”

  Reaching up, I scratched Santos’s scars. He tipped his head sideways, stretching his neck toward me. When I stopped, he toed the door. “He is saying that, while that feels very nice, he is bored and wants to go back to work.”

  Mark eyed me suspiciously. “Do you really think that’s what he wants?”

  “I think he was born to do dressage and that he was famous and people miss him. Some great rider, like Robert Peterson, would kill to have a chance to ride him. Would probably take him to the next Olympics.” I slapped my hand over my mouth. Wrong choice of words.

  Mark just shrugged. “Erica was qualifying him for the Olympics.”

  Santos took my jacket in his teeth and tugged me toward him. I rubbed behind his ears and down his cheek. He leaned his massive head against me, so I kept rubbing.

  Mark touched the jagged lightning blaze. “He likes you.”

  “I like him.” I kissed the furry red nose.

  “Erica used to say he was a snob, didn’t like anyone but the family.” He glanced at his watch, shaking his head. “It’s late, I should go. Mandy and I had a fight, and I just needed a moment. I don’t know why I came here.”

  “I didn’t mean to overhear, but I agree that Mandy needs to get back into the horses. Maybe they can help her with, well, you know, your loss.”

  With a noisy sigh, he agreed. “That’s what I’m thinking. But my idea of her feeling connected to her mother by riding Santos probably won’t work. I forgot how huge he is.”

  Pushing that regal ruddy head away from me, I stepped out of Santos’s reach. “Bring her here. Some of the rescues need attention. They’re not show horses, but they can rekindle her interest.” I stalled, realizing I was giving advice to this accomplished, worldly man like I was smarter than him. “I mean, it might work. Ask Donna, though, she would know more.”

  Reddening under Mark’s intense stare, I crossed my arms and braced for his response, wishing I could just keep my mouth shut sometimes.

  He nodded, his face losing that lost look and becoming thoughtful. “You may be on to something there.” Scratching his head, “I think I’ll do that.” He opened his arms to me and squeezed me, pressing his lips to my hair. “Thanks. Erica always said you had an uncanny way of knowing the right thing to do,” he whispered.

  It wasn’t until the next day while brushing my hair, standing in front of those two posters, that Mark’s words sunk in.

  “You thought I made good choices?” I asked Erica’s image.

  I looked around at the bare barn board walls and the stained, drooping ceiling and compared this place to Erica’s gorgeous house and state-of-the-art horse facilities. I had arrived at her place with everything a successful rider needs—provided by my parents. When things were difficult, I ran to my father or to Cory for help. Racking my brain, I couldn’t remember one instance when I displayed the good sense Mark had commented on.

  Now, Cory believed I was giving up my home and family for a trivial pursuit. For the first time, I had made a choice that the people most important to me didn’t agree with. Here I was, basically alone, living in a barn, with no transportation or money of my own. I was hinging my future on one class at one horse show to prove that I was doing the right thing. But when it was all over, win or lose, what would I have proved?

  Wobbling with uncertainty, I put out a steadying hand on the dresser.

  Too late to change my mind. I had to forge ahead. Straightening, I reached up and stretched mightily. Sucking in as much air as my lungs could hold, I blew it out making a noise low in my throat. I touched Erica’s forehead with a finger and said out loud, “I hope you’re right.”

  I sat down, opened my laptop, and started schoolwork.

  Chapter 29

  With my eyes still on the computer screen, I answered the phone without looking at the display.

  “It’s Michelle. I’ve had a call about a couple of horses. A neighbor has been watching the owner for me for a couple of weeks. We have to go get them before he gets his paycheck. Apparently, he only buys feed when he gets paid and only if he doesn’t hit the bars first. If we go right now, we have grounds to take the horses from him or take him to court if he won’t sign them over voluntarily.”

  I sat up, ready to put my feet in my boots. “What do you need me to do?”

  “No one I called so far is available with a trailer. Do you know anyone?”

  “I can call Kate or Brandon.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep trying my people. Call me back if you get someone.” She hung up.

  I quickly scrolled to Kate’s name and pressed dial.

  I explained that we needed her trailer for a rescue.

  “Why do people go through the trouble of getting horses if they don’t want to take care of them? I’ll never understand it. Absolutely! You can count on my help.”

  “Great. Thank you so much. I’ll talk to Michelle and text you the address and time.”

  Thirty minutes later, Michelle lifted a sheaf of papers from the passenger seat to make room for me in her little silver car.

  “Hold these. It will be easier if we can convince the man to sign the horses over to us. Usually the threat of court proceedings is enough to get them to sign. If not, we take him to court.”

  I settled into the seat, papers on my lap, but before I could snap the seat belt on, Mark’s car rolled in the driveway.

  “Shoot! Hold on a minute, Michelle.” I slid back out and jogged to Mark’s window. When it opened, I filled him in on our destination and apologized for forgetting that he was coming by with Mandy.

  “A rescue? I’ve never been on one. Do you want to go with them, Mandy?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t care.” But the eager look on her face said otherwise.

  Mark rolled his eyes. “I’ll make an executive decision. We’ll come with you.”

  He waved Mandy to follow and got out. He stopped with his hand on the back door to Michelle’s car. “Maybe I should drive.”

  Michelle grabbed her stack of documents
and slammed her door. “Okay, but let’s get a move on. I want to catch him before he finds out we’re coming and throws feed in or something.”

  We all caught her urgency and leapt into Mark’s car.

  Mark drove fast, but the ride was smooth, even in the back seat. “This is a great car,” I commented.

  “Thanks, but it won’t haul two horses.”

  I laughed. “Kate is meeting us there with her trailer.”

  The big luxury car slowed in front of a tired, gray tiny rancher. Behind the house stood a small, barely upright barn surrounded by broken cars and rusty equipment. Inside a sagging barbed wire enclosure, two shaggy, bony, mud-encrusted horses stood side by side. Both were dark brown, and one lifted its head and pricked its ears as we all got out. The other didn’t bother to look, its head drooping almost to the ground.

  Mandy ran right over to the fence, clucking and holding out her hand. The sleepy horse jerked up its head, looking at her in alarm, but neither horse moved. Mandy bent down and stuck a leg between the wires.

  “Hey, kid! Get outta there. That’s private property!” a gravelly voice yelled. A screen door banged.

  I caught up to Mandy and took her arm. “Wait, Mandy. Give Michelle a minute to talk to the guy. Do what he says so we don’t make him mad.”

  Michelle was talking fast, throwing around terms like “citation” and “court appearance.” She was doing her best to wrangle a signature out of the owner.

  “Animal abuse is a felony. We won’t press charges if you sign your horses over to us. Just think of all the money you’ll save on feed.”

  The gnarled old man practically growled, “They don’t eat much. I like having them around. Go away.”

  Michelle tapped the papers. “My friends will testify as to the horrid state of your animals. I have photographs. We’ll be happy to take this to a judge, and you’ll have to appear and testify if you want to keep your animals.”