Jumper Page 2

  “Did you see that?” I said to Grandpa. “That mare jumped those logs like they were nothing!” I knew untrained horses almost never jump—they’d rather go around obstacles if they can.

  “She’s a natural, all right,” Grandpa agreed. His seamed face relaxed in a smile. “Now you just have to catch her.”

  I snorted. “Good luck.”

  There was a soft thrum of hooves, and several more horses burst over the ridge. Something was wrong. This was no playful gallop but a flat-out run. The other horses pricked their ears, immediately on edge, ready to run.

  Far away, I heard a chugging, metallic sound. The two groups of horses joined, and the herd streaked across the prairie toward us, away from that noise. Panic was etched in their every movement, from the frightened eyes to the straining limbs. They thundered past, near the fence line, nearly close enough for me to touch. I could smell sweat and dust as they passed.

  The red chestnut trailed the band. She didn’t look as frightened as some of the mustangs, but she ran behind them in a resigned sort of way. She skimmed by the fence. Without thinking, I put out my hand. She shied and summoned a burst of speed—in less than a second she caught up with the herd, fighting her way in among the ranks. Man, she was fast. I watched them go.

  “What spooked them?” I asked.

  “Sounded like tanks. The soldiers are out here training, after all.”

  “Would they shoot them?” The thought horrified me.

  “No. But those horses are probably a bit of a nuisance. I imagine that the military would like to be well rid of them.”

  “Is that why they’re going to round them up?”

  “No. Apparently the land is getting damaged by the bands of horses roaming out here,” Grandpa said.

  I stared after the horses as they grew smaller in the distance. “They sure are beautiful though, running free like that. I wonder what it would be like to ride one of them.”

  Grandpa looked at his watch. “Come on, Reese. If I’m ever going to get that tractor fixed, we’d better get going.”

  “Okay.” I turned back toward the truck, stepping carefully over the sludge and tangled grass, but I couldn’t get my mind off that chestnut mare. As Grandpa let out the clutch on the truck and we bumped carefully back onto the road, I kept turning the same thoughts over in my mind.

  If I could catch her, could I break her? And more importantly, could I train her to jump?

  chapter four

  “So Dublin will be gone tomorrow, then?” I heard Kayla’s voice from inside Twilight’s stall.

  “The new owners will be here in the morning.” Laurel handed Kayla a hoof pick over the half wall.

  I stopped dead, dropping a bucket of grooming tools with a clatter on the stable floor. Twilight skittered at the noise, jerking at his lead rope. Kayla had to grab the halter with both hands to keep him calm. She glared in my direction.

  “Sorry,” I said. “But what was that about Dublin?”

  “He’s been sold,” Laurel answered.

  “When were you going to tell me?” The sharpness of the loss hit me like a blow.

  “Today,” Laurel replied evenly.

  “So I just show up for a lesson and Dublin’s gone? I’ve been training on that horse for months!” My face stung. I always knew Dublin didn’t belong to me, but I felt as though he did. We were like partners.

  “Reese, Dublin was on loan to us. If someone wants to buy him, he’s for sale. You know that. Better go tack up. You’ll be riding Boots today.”

  Kayla’s expression melted into a tiny, smug smile. She began to currycomb Twilight, but I could see she was listening.

  “Boots!” My stomach sank with dismay. I thought Dublin had been stubborn, but he was an angel compared with Boots. Boots was the oldest horse the stable had. She was well named—she had the personality of an old boot and the looks to match. I wouldn’t care about that except that I had no chemistry with her at all. If there was a rider who could get her to jump, it wasn’t me, and I was trying to prepare for a competition. How was I supposed to compete on an old nag like that?

  “Boots is a good horse. She’s a solid jumper and she knows the ropes. You’ll do just fine on her,” Laurel said firmly, obviously guessing what I was thinking. “Besides, there’s no other horse available right now.”

  I swallowed. It was Boots or nothing. So just like that, my chances of winning in the next show were in the toilet. Even if Laurel had handed me the best jumper in the world, it would be difficult to get ready in time with a new horse—but with Boots? Forget it. No wonder Kayla looked so smug. I picked up the currycombs and brushes I’d dropped and tossed them in the bucket with more force than was really necessary. Then I marched down the row of stalls without a backward glance. Kayla didn’t need to know how I felt.

  Boots stuck her nose over the half wall as I approached. Her coat was gray and speckled, her dark mane wispy. She laid back her ears at my grumpy expression. I swear, horses know what you’re thinking before you’ve even thought it. She knew I intended to saddle her up, and she knew I wasn’t looking forward to it. She was already shifting her rump in front of the gate to make it harder for me to get inside.

  I sighed and dug into my pocket. Holding the carrot out to her, I let her smell me and take the treat. She crunched it thoughtfully, as if to say that bribery might help, but I still hadn’t won her over.

  “Move,” I said, slapping her hindquarters. She sidestepped away from me and let me in the stall. I haltered her and led her out, tethering her to the gate before I grabbed a hoof pick. She let me lift her feet and clean the hooves, but it was when I had worked my way around to her other foreleg that she made her move. My bum was nicely exposed when I bent over. She nipped me hard with her blunt, yellow teeth.

  “Yowch!” I yelped. It felt like someone had pinched me with a pair of pliers, and I stood up in hurry. I clapped a hand over my backside and glared at her. I wanted to smack that horse a good one, but of course I couldn’t do that. If you want an animal to trust you, walloping it isn’t a good idea, even if it is an ornery old mule of a horse. Instead I grabbed the halter and gave it a small, fierce shake. “Don’t you ever do that again, you walking reject from the glue factory!” I fixed Boots with the most menacing stare I could muster. Then I let go of the halter and rubbed my backside. “Rotten horse,” I muttered. I tacked her up as quickly as I could and led her to the arena.

  The other kids in my riding lesson were already there. Kayla was waiting with Twilight, who looked more beautiful and docile than ever, I noticed bitterly.

  “Everything okay?” Kayla asked. “I heard a yell from over there. What happened?”

  “Nothing. Everything’s just fine,” I said through gritted teeth. I swung up into the saddle. All I wanted to do was get through the lesson. I could be riding an elephant at this point and it wouldn’t matter.

  “All right, ladies,” Laurel called as we entered the arena. “We’re doing flatwork today. You can all use some polishing, and Reese needs the opportunity to work with Boots before attempting a jump, so I’d like you to warm up. Then we’ll start with leg yielding.”

  Leg yielding is when you instruct the horse to move with his body on a diagonal. That might seem weird, but it’s useful for two reasons: one, to keep your horse supple; and two, to make sure he’s listening to you and obeying instructions.

  I adjusted my helmet and gave Boots the signal to trot. She began smoothly and carried me around the ring. Surprisingly, I found her gait quite easy to post to, and we finished the warm-up without a problem. I had half-suspected that Boots might toss me off, but when Laurel called to begin the leg yielding down the long wall, Boots obeyed my signals without complaint.

  “I need to see a bit more angle from a few of you,” Laurel hollered from her seat in the arena. “Reese, that’s not bad. Make sure you’re holding your position. Now look for your diagonal.” Laurel watched for a few minutes without comment. “Good job, folks. Let’s move on to
downward transitions. Let’s ride a few canter-trot transitions. What you want to be thinking about during these transitions is using your legs.”

  I began to relax. Boots was doing better than I expected. I signaled her to canter and she speeded up immediately. But when I gave her the direction to slow to a trot, she didn’t stop but barreled on ahead.

  “Whoa!” I hissed at her, signaling harder. Boots reluctantly dropped to a trot, tossing her head in defiance.

  “Boots needs to be a bit rounder on that trot, Reese.” Laurel watched me carefully.

  I wrestled with the horse, but she refused to pay attention to my signals and trotted however she wanted.

  “She’s not listening to you,” Laurel yelled. “And she’s being a bit rude about it.”

  “I know!” I answered in exasperation.

  “I want you to stop. Make her halt, wait, back up four steps, then trot,” Laurel called.

  I tried, but Boots was difficult, shaking her head and backing up only slightly before trying to move forward again.

  “Tap her with your crop,” Laurel said.

  I moved to grab the whip, but Boots knew exactly what I was going to do. With a quick backward kick, she tossed me out of the saddle and into the soft dirt. Landing on my already-sore backside, I unclipped my helmet and threw it down in frustration. I knew I could kiss my chances of placing at the Greenbriar Invitational goodbye. As I stared at Boots, the image of that wild mare with her chestnut coat gleaming red in the sun rose up in front of my eyes. And suddenly I wanted her more than anything else I had ever wanted in my entire life.

  chapter five

  “Honey, I’m really sorry.” Mom stopped peeling potatoes and leaned against the counter. “I know moving up to the next division is really important to you, but Dad and I just can’t handle the cost of leasing a horse. There’s a lot more to it than just the price tag on the animal—and you know that a good jumper isn’t cheap.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “There are vet bills and feed and boarding the horse.” Dad put the stack of plates he was carrying down on the kitchen table. “It’s very expensive.”

  “I know,” I repeated miserably. After my disastrous lesson on Boots, I was hoping that I might be able to lease a horse—the stable usually had several horses available, and it would be a way for me to move up a level next season and get away from Boots.

  “I just don’t see how we could do it,” Mom continued.

  “If I were able to get a horse cheap and board it at Grandpa’s after the competition season, would we be able to afford that?” I asked.

  Mom frowned in thought. “Well, maybe. That would help with some of the expenses, but where are you going to get a trained show jumper for a low cost? That just doesn’t happen, Reese.”

  “Maybe not.” I sighed. Laurel had stopped me after the lesson and told me that even though I was having trouble with Boots, she still wanted me to compete on her at the Invitational. I didn’t think that was such a hot idea—after all, she had already tossed me off once, but Laurel insisted that we’d be fine after a few more lessons.

  Dad rubbed a hand through his thinning gray hair, making it stand out like a wire brush. “Besides, it’s not really a big deal. You’re such a good rider, I’m sure you’ll do great on this new horse once you get used to her.”

  I closed my eyes. Dad knew basically nothing about show jumping. He was much more involved with my two younger brothers’ hockey teams than my riding. I had no doubt that part of the reason we couldn’t afford to lease a horse was because every year we had a whopping bill for hockey fees, skates, equipment, sticks and tournaments. I didn’t resent that—my little brothers were great skaters and they had as much right as I did to want to do something they loved. It’s just that Dad seemed to think horses were a hobby, not something really important. So he didn’t blink when it came to paying for extra ice time for Drew and Liam, but new tack or boots or something always took some persuasion.

  “You don’t understand,” I complained.

  “This isn’t a horse. It’s an old nag! I may as well try jumping with a donkey.”

  “Well, a donkey would definitely be less expensive,” Dad tried to joke. Then he saw my face, set in a stubborn frown. “You may as well stop whining, Reese. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “I know that!” I bit back an angry retort. It would help if my parents shared my passion for riding, but since they didn’t, I would have to figure this problem out on my own.

  “I don’t know if we can find them, Reese.” Grandpa bumped the truck along the back-country road. “If the mustangs are deep in the military land, we’ll never spot them from the road.”

  “Can’t we drive onto the military base?”

  “No,” Grandpa said. “It’s restricted access.”

  “Don’t you know someone who could let us in?” I persisted.

  Grandpa chuckled. “I’m not a magician, you know.” He glanced over at me. “This is really important to you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t explain it. There was just something about that red chestnut mare that I couldn’t forget. Part of me knew logically that buying one of the wild mustangs was probably the only way I could ever afford to own my own horse, but the other part of me wanted that horse just because. Because she was fast. Because she was beautiful. Because in that split second that our eyes had met, I felt a connection with her that I’d never felt with any other horse, not even Dublin.

  “Look! There they are,” I cried, pointing to a group of horses grazing in a small gully. Grandpa glanced in the direction I was pointing. I gripped the edge of my seat as we hit a rut in the road. The truck gave a tremendous clank, and Grandpa jerked the steering wheel to one side. The truck bucked like a farting bull, then wobbled to the side of the road.

  “Uh-oh. Looks like we’ve got a flat,” Grandpa said. He guided the limping truck to a stop, then opened the door. “This could take a few minutes, Reese. I haven’t changed a tire on this old truck in years.”

  “That’s okay.” I looked around. “Is it all right if I have a look for the horses?”

  “Sure. Just stay away from the fences.” Grandpa pulled a toolbox from the back of the truck.

  I climbed up the embankment, taking care to stay away from the barbed wire that enclosed the military base. The land stretched away from me, a smooth, rolling surface. I glanced over my shoulder, but Grandpa was still wrestling with the lug nuts on the tire.

  “Need some help?” I called back. Grandpa waved me off. “No, it’s all right. They’re just a little tight. I’ll get it.”

  I nodded and started walking along the fence line. The truck grew smaller in the distance as I walked farther. I felt entirely alone, even knowing Grandpa was there, with that vast prairie stillness surrounding me.

  The horses were much closer now. I could see them, but the barbed wire fence prevented me from getting near enough to really get a good look. I studied the fence. Grandpa had told me to stay away from it. He hadn’t specifically said I couldn’t go through it. I glanced back. Grandpa was still working on the truck—his back was to me. There were some bushes and tall grasses that helped hide me a little.

  I took a deep breath, lifted the bottom wire and wriggled underneath it. Facedown, I could smell the dusty, sunbaked grass and the earthy scent of the damp soil. My shirt was getting smudged with it. I dug my knees into the dirt and dragged myself under the fence.

  The horses were watching me, their eyes alert, ears pricked. I saw the red chestnut mare standing near a wild rose bush, munching some still-green grass that had been sheltered by the bush. She eyed me thoughtfully. I took careful, slow steps toward her.

  “Hey, pretty girl,” I said softly. “You’re sure beautiful, aren’t you?”

  The mare gave a snort and ambled out of the rose bush, moving leisurely away from me as I came closer. I stood still and held out my hand. The rest of the horses were edgy. They gradually backed into a nervous cl
ump and watched the mare uneasily.

  The mare lifted her nose. Her nostrils widened as she caught my unfamiliar scent. Slowly, I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the carrots I’d brought. I didn’t know if I could tempt her—wild horses would never come near a person, carrots or no carrots. But Grandpa had told me that some of these horses used to be tame. The mare didn’t really seem afraid of me, which made me wonder if she used to belong to someone.

  She stretched her neck out, but it was hard for her to investigate the carrots in my hand from twenty feet away. She took a cautious step forward. I held my breath.

  An angry squeal erupted from the far side of the band. A mighty head shot up, ears pricked, eyes fiery wild. My heart gave a great frightened thud. The stallion had apparently decided he didn’t like what we were up to and was not shy about letting me know.

  I backed away. He circled the band, drawing them into a tighter ring, contemplating me all the while. I backed away faster. I was only ten feet away from the fence when the stallion charged. I bolted for the fence and dove under, the barbs catching on my shirt, scraping my back. I wiggled frantically, but the barbs caught on the belt of my jeans and held fast. The stallion’s hooves pounded against the ground. I tried to roll sideways to loosen the barbs, struggling to get most of my body underneath the fence. I knew that the stallion could still reach me, though. He could kick or trample me—those hooves would pummel me to a pulp.

  I looked up in terror as the enormous creature pounded toward me and I fought to get under the wire, thrashing my legs, yanking the wire upward.