Show Barn Blues Read online

  We always had frogs around the place. They were part of the barn wildlife, along with the feral cats and the occasional raccoon.

  Bailey was obviously having some sort of nervous breakdown.

  Anna disappeared into the tack room with my saddle and bridle and reappeared with a wash-bucket and a sponge. She filled the bucket with warm water and a big dollop of hard shampoo from the Orvus tub, which was nearly solid now that the temperature had dropped below eighty degrees. When the hose hit the shampoo, the bucket spat back curtains of bubbles. Bailey jumped again. “Settle down, silly,” Anna told him affectionately, and started spraying him with the hose instead. Bailey wheeled and shifted, moving as far away from the hose as the cross-ties would let him.

  “He’s acting like he’s never gotten wet before,” she said over her shoulder. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s acting like he’s never done a lot of things before,” I sighed. “Something’s up with him. I wish I knew what.”

  Anna shrugged. “Maybe he needs a change of scenery.”

  I cocked my head. “Why would you say that?”

  “What? Change of scenery?” She dropped the hose and grabbed the sponge, dunking it into the soapy water. “Oh, it’s something my old trainer used to do. Whenever a horse started acting out all the time, she said, it was always one of two things — he was either hurt or bored. First you call the vet, then you take him on a trail ride, that’s what she said. Of course,” Anna added quickly, “We know Bailey doesn’t like trail rides, and he sure doesn’t act like he’s hurt, so I guess that isn’t it.”

  I nodded slowly. But I was starting to wonder. Maybe a trail ride was exactly what this goofball needed to get his head straight again.

  Anna slapped the soap all over Bailey, scrubbing him with her usual efficiency. I watched her and thought about trail rides, and changes of scenery, and feeling like everything good had just gotten very boring.

  It was all starting to make sense. Maybe Bailey wasn’t upset, or hurt, or even scared. Maybe the big brat was bored and looking for trouble.

  “You’re a wonderful working student,” I told Anna suddenly. “The best.”

  She stopped her brushing and looked back at me, eyes wide with surprise and pleasure. “Thank you!” she said, blushing pink.

  “No, thank you, Anna.” I pushed off from the wall, my mind set on my next course of action. “You have a bright future in this business.”

  Ready to experiment, I stalked off towards Ivor’s stall.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Half an hour later, I was cantering Ivor down the broad white-sand road through the palmettos, watching the uneven ground warily through his pricked ears. The stallion had his head high and his blood up, his canter rolling through the savannah like a cavalry horse charging the enemy. He felt like a million dollars, and so did I.

  That itself was a betrayal of all my values. It was dangerous out here, a feeling I mustn’t forget for a moment. I kept reminding myself of the hazards of the trail, like the terrible footing. The sand was hard from the unusually dry summer and fall, and there were uneven patches of ground where a horse could take one bad step and put himself out of work for months. There were diamondbacks in the palmetto and coral snakes in the oaks and moccasins in the still, dark water beneath the cypress trees. There might be panthers, if you believed some of the good old boys’ stories, and there were definitely bobcats, who were good for a hard spook, a tumble, and a gallop home in the fashion recently demonstrated by Maxine. There were the less-lethal, but certainly unpleasant, banana spiders — yellow and black arachnids as big as your handspan, building thick, entangling webs right across the path in narrow tree-lined sections where it was hard to escape their sticky silken threads and creepy-crawly horror. I ducked alongside Ivor’s neck on more than one occasion, praying one of those creatures wouldn’t end up crawling down my back after I’d crashed through his web. Talk about an opportunity to tumble right off your horse.

  It would be a stop, drop, and roll situation, horse or no horse.

  I shivered just thinking about it. Ivor flicked an ear back in my direction, then affixed them back on the horizon. Ahead, the shadowy dome of the shell mound was rising against the fading blue sky. It would be dim and cool in the shell mound, up above the hot sunny sand of the scrub, amidst the boughs of the live oaks and the canopy of vines.

  We’d stop up there, I decided, and take a rest and a long look around the countryside we’d been cantering through.

  Ivor just carried on, as if he could gallop all day and all night, with no destination in mind but the sheer pleasure he felt in moving forward on a track without fences or boundaries.

  His muscles bunched beneath him as we rounded the curve before the shell mound, and then I felt his hindquarters hump up beneath him as he plunged up the steep rise, his neck arching as he rounded his back and dug his hooves into the sand. Ivor was a fit horse, all power from our ceaseless sessions in the arena, jumping which had built up his hind end, dressage which had suppled and smoothed those twitching muscles. I felt his athleticism now in a thrilling rush as he plowed his way upwards, grunting with exertion, focus still forever forward, still lost in the pleasure of the run.

  He gave a little buck as we reached the top of the mound, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, twisting his back and stretching out his hind legs behind him. I couldn’t even make myself discipline him, settling for a sharp “Hey!” that was more instinct than meaningful retort to bad behavior. Such happiness is contagious.

  Still, I pulled him up to a prancing walk afterwards. The tree branches hung low up here, and he was tall — too much festivity or airs above the ground from Ivor and I’d find myself hung up in a live oak while he went on towards the eagles’ pond without me. Plus, it would be getting dark shortly. I didn’t relish a night in a tree with the owls and the snakes and the panthers and lord knew what else while Ivor ate his fill of lush water meadow grass.

  I walked him to the clearing on the east side of the mound and pulled him up, letting him duck his head to pull at a few sparse blades of grass pushing through the gray sand. “Watch out for the cactus,” I told him, tugging his head away from a small bush of prickles which had found happiness on this sun-drenched hillside, and then let him get back to his scavenging.

  The dusk was settling in over the scrub, and as the air cooled cool, a fog from the warm hidden ponds and trickling streams that wound through the savannah. To my left, I could see the dark hump of the cypress dome and the mist trailing out from it like a creeping ghost. It glowed white in the spots where the sinking sun still lit it, a deeper gray against the velvety deep blue of the sky beyond. Florida stretched out beyond the dome, flat and endless and wild clear to the Atlantic Ocean, or so it seemed. The big Florida sky had a way of flattening everything, making the wilderness seem small and empty and ever-lasting, hiding the hotels and towers and houses and truck stops and railroads and power plants I knew were crouching out there. The two of us were standing tall above all the landscape, two deities on four legs.

  “It’s funny to feel so big when I know for a fact how small we are,” I told Ivor, but he went on plucking at the tiny blades of grass, wiggling his lips around in the sand like a starving horse. I supposed it was past his supper time, after all. “We should go home.”

  But the call of the falling night was a siren song. I looked west, towards home, and saw only the endless reach of palmetto, the tall black sentinels of slash pine against the yellow sunset sky. The stars were coming out all around us. “I should do this more often,” I said, and then a mosquito whined in my ear, and I slapped at it, hitting my hard hat, and Ivor jumped like a rabbit, nearly unseating me, and I remembered why sunset rides weren’t always the best idea. “Home again, then,” I sighed, picking up the reins and pulling Ivor away from his meager snack. “But we’ll do it again,” I promised him, as we turned back towards the darkness of the shell mound. “This obviously makes you very happy.”

 
It made me happy, too.

  The trail riding clients would eat this place up. I had forgotten how wonderful my wild “back forty” really was. I could scarcely wait for spring now. I felt long overdue for a new adventure.

  Anna was waiting for me in the Gator, her feet tucked up on the seat, her arms around her knees. She looked cold. “Why haven’t you gone inside for the night?” I asked, hopping off Ivor and landing on my toes, the asphalt sending shockwaves through my ankles and knees. I winced; there was a definite upside to mounting and dismounting in the clay arena. “You weren’t waiting up for me, were you?”

  “I was,” she admitted, hopping down from the Gator and taking Ivor’s reins. “I wanted to make sure you got back okay.”

  “Did anyone else know I was gone?” I relinquished my horse and walked into the barn alongside them. The parking lot and barn were empty for the night; the early nightfalls seemed to move up everyone’s bed time, even though the arena was lit up like a party every evening. “I tried to sneak away.”

  “Why?” Anna looked perplexed. “That seems pretty dangerous, to go on a trail without telling anyone.”

  “I told you.”

  “And that’s why I waited for you.” She turned Ivor in a tight circle into a wash-stall and tossed the reins back over his head so she could take off his bridle. Ivor took a playful nip in her direction, his teeth clacking together. Anna ignored him with the aloofness of a seasoned horsewoman. She was still focused on my wrongdoings. “I’m pretty sure you’d have a fit if any of the boarders did that.”

  “Well, that’s the boarders, Anna,” I said reasonably, taking off my hard hat. The mosquito that had sent us hurrying home was splattered on one side of the leather harness. I made a face and flicked it away. “I don’t think we’re quite in the same league as some of our boarders, do you?”

  Anna slipped the bridle off and the halter on in one smooth motion. Ivor nodded his head and tried to rub his sweaty face against her, nearly knocking her over. “Stop that!” she chided, voice sharp. “I know,” she went on in a more normal tone, getting to work on the saddle. “It’s just a big change. A few days ago you were on the warpath about anyone using the trails, and now you’re sneaking out there, and buying trail horses, and everything.” She paused. “Was this about the change in scenery thing?”

  I nodded. “Yup. All your fault. How do you like that?”

  Anna grinned. “I’m glad to help. But I don’t want to be blamed if anything happens to you out there alone! Take me along next time. Mason loves a good trail ride.”

  “Is that so? You never mention anything but showing.”

  She nodded, pulling Ivor’s saddle off and sliding it onto a nearby stand. She grabbed a brush and started knocking at the damp hair where the saddle and pad had been. “Well, it’s like… we’ve done everything together, you know? Even helped move cattle once. He’s my buddy. I’m sure he’d love to go on a trail ride. We’ve been working so hard on the jumping lately, trying to get good enough for WEF… but maybe it’s time for a break…”

  Anna’s voice trailed off, and I knew she was thinking about Mason’s bad jumping form. WEF, the Winter Equestrian Festival — it had been her dream since she was a kid. She’d told me as much when she’d interviewed for the job. To go to Palm Beach and ride with the best in the world, that was what it was all about. Not just for Anna, but for me… for all of us, that was why we were here, that was why we were working so hard, eschewing the earthly pleasures of a good trail ride at sunset. I saw her jaw set as she pulled the brush across Ivor’s back, and I figured it was time to bring it up. “Anna,” I said gently. “If I tell you something right now, something hard, will you promise to just think about it?”

  Anna didn’t look at me, but she nodded, twice, hard, and bit her lip.

  “If we find you a young horse to bring along, you can put Mason in the school program,” I promised. After all, Mason would be perfect for any intermediate kids who were too big for pony classes. “He can pay his own way, and your board for one horse can apply to a show horse that you have a future with. Or even a sales horse that you bring up through the levels, like Hope. It would be a big new start for you. And it would ease up the stress on Mason, too. Plus you could use him to guide trails, if you want.”

  She sniffed, hard, and redoubled her efforts with the dandy brush, pouring all her energy into the strokes of the brush. Ivor grunted and leaned into the rough treatment, loving it. “So you really don’t think Mason can go any further? It’s not just that he’s tired, or that he needs a break?”

  “I know he can’t go any further and I think he’s tired and needs a break. He’ll stay sound and happy much longer if you drop him down a few levels. He’s scoped out now, and that’s hard work to maintain.” I ducked under the cross-ties and put a hand on Anna’s shoulder. She stopped swiping the brush across Ivor’s back and stood still. “Listen — I know you love him. You don’t have to give him up. But you do have to get a new horse.”

  “If I want to show,” Anna said stiffly.

  “If you want to show. You can stay on here and take lessons, for as long as you want. But if you want to show… either take him down to something easier, or get a new horse.”

  She sighed and went back to grooming. I stepped back against the wall and let her take it out on Ivor, who was loving the Swedish massage.

  “Part of showing was about Mason,” she mumbled after a few minutes of silence. “I wanted to do it with him.”

  I nodded. I could completely relate to never wanting to give up your baby.

  “He’s special. Would it be as special with another horse?”

  I shook my head regretfully. “If you’re lucky, you’ll get it a few more times. Maybe not the next horse, or the one after that. But every now and then, you’ll find one that makes it that special again. That extra-special feeling.”

  Anna put down the dandy brush, all groomed out, and turned to face me. There was a redness around her eyes that hadn’t been there before. She was so young. The way we worked and rode together, I often forgot that there were decades between us. She crinkled her brow. “Is that what it’s going to be, just horse after horse, Grace? Like grooming in the barn — I groom one, then another, then another, and I don’t really care about them on a personal level, they’re all nice or not nice or whatever, but I don’t love them or hate them, I just do my job… is that what it’s like, being a trainer? Being a show rider?”

  I nodded, my eyes on hers. This was what made training a job, not a hobby. One of my old bosses had put it best: Do what you love, and you’ll turn what you love into hard work. “That’s what it’s like. A succession of horses. Some you love, some you hate, some you like, some you just ride because they’re on your schedule.”

  Anna tossed the brush back into the grooming bin and unsnapped the cross-ties from Ivor’s halter. She fixed on a lead-shank and walked him past me, out of the wash-stall, into the main aisle. I followed them slowly, and by the time she had come out of his stall, folding the lead up in her hands, I was there to slide the heavy door closed behind her. “It’s not a bad life, Anna,” I told her, slamming the latch home so Ivor didn’t go on one of his late-night tours of exploration. “It’s just that not every single horse is going to be one you have a connection with.”

  “I know,” Anna said dully. “I just have to decide if it’s worth that.”

  She hung up the halter and lead and left me behind, crossing through the center aisle of the barn. I knew she was going to Mason’s stall. I hesitated for a moment, then left her to it. She’d know to turn out the lights when she was done. We both had plenty to think over tonight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Three ponies went whirling around the last little paddock in the row of little paddocks across from the barn. Three flashes of silver, streaked with green and brown from other, dirtier playgrounds. Three four-legged devils, manes flying and ears pinned, kicking and squealing and bucking and snorting.

  Thre
e ponies I’d dropped quite a bit of cash on, looking for profits in all the wrong places.

  Only Kennedy was unconcerned with the hellions she had acquired for Seabreeze Equestrian Center’s burgeoning pony business. Which was good, because she was in charge of the little brats.

  She leaned over the fence now, one heel hooked on the lowest board, and risked her life by resting her chin on her arms, her face actually inside the paddock, within kicking distance next time the herd of hell-ponies came tearing around in a dust cloud of trouble. “Aren’t they something else?” she asked, delightedly.

  They most certainly were something else, although her something else was probably different than mine. “I thought they’d be half-broke, at least,” I said resignedly. The tallest of the ponies, still not fourteen hands in height, kicked on the brakes in a rather epic sliding stop right before he slammed into the far fence, and the other two skidded sideways and kept running without losing much momentum. The lead pony went flying after them, but not so fast he couldn’t throw in a few bucks along the way.

  “They’ll be a piece of cake,” Kennedy said. “Don’t worry, I’ll have them eating out of your hand before New Year’s.”

  I sighed. That wasn’t what I had been hoping for. I would have preferred them jumping fences by New Year’s, and courses by spring break, and ready to lease or sell to students by summer. But these three ponies were green as grass. “This just slows down the business plan, a little… but it’s fine,” I said carefully. I didn’t want to upset Kennedy — how times had changed! She was proving herself remarkably useful as a youth instructor. Along with Colleen’s spoiled daughter Maddy, there were two more kids already sharing Douglas in weekly lessons, and the first wave of Rodney’s students were starting next week, after his horses arrived. It was the start of something big for Seabreeze.