Hunter Derby: (Show Circuit Series -- Book 3) (6 page)

There was Cruz, the six year-old jumper John thought might end up being an eq horse; Oakley, a five year-old prospect he thought showed the potential to be a high junior/amateur jumper, maybe even a grand prix horse; and Dibs, a five-year-old hunter.

He did most of his business with a dealer in Holland. John didn’t go there but instead watched videos and had horses sent over.

The last stall was the mare. A flysheet hung a little lopsided on her stall door, an errant strap dangling toward the floor. Chunky pink bell boots for turnout (or so Zoe hoped) were velcroed to the blanket hook. The whole barn seemed a little 4-H, but Zoe willed herself not to care.

She went to lean over the stall door, eager to have a look, nearly giddy with excitement, and John pulled her back. “Careful,” he said.

“Does she bite?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“Seriously?” she said.

“No, but she’s not exactly America’s sweetheart. Mostly she bites other horses if they come too close but so far she hasn’t bitten any humans.”

“And you bought her why?”

“The price was right and she’s fine once you’re on her. She’s just nasty in the stall. That’s partly why I thought she’d make a good derby horse. Some rich owner can watch her win, enjoy her from a distance.”

“And never even come to the barn to pat her?”

“You can pat her, she just doesn’t really like it. Let me get her out of her stall. She’s beautiful to look at.”

Zoe looked back at the grooming stall. A broom and shovel leaned against the wall—they didn’t hang neatly from wall-mounted hooks like at most of the barns Zoe was used to. “Where are your grooms, or groom anyway?”

“I don’t have any.”

“What?”

“I have one guy who helps me muck out in the mornings but that’s it. I’m a one-man operation.”

Zoe blew out a breath. This was getting worse by the minute. A bitch of a mare and a barn with no grooms. She stared straight ahead, unwilling to even look at the mare that John was putting on the cross-ties. Why had she gotten her hopes up?

She heard the snap of the clips on the halter and finally let her gaze fall on the mare.

Okay, she was pretty. She was a beautiful dapple grey. Oh, how gorgeous greys were when they were young! She had a nice slope to her shoulder and a level topline. Her hind end was compact and the angle to her pasterns correct. Her mane and tail were thick and her eye was intelligent.

Her coat gleamed and she was a nice weight. Zoe had to hand it to John—his barn might not be immaculate but his horses looked healthy and fit and that was what counted.

“See,” he said.

“Okay, she’s well put together.” Zoe checked out her legs and hooves, spotting a big splint. “I can see why she’s not doing the conformation.”

The mare flattened her ears as if she didn’t appreciate Zoe criticizing her.

“What’s her name?”

“Girl Next Door but we call her Gidget.”

“Girl Next Door.” Zoe laughed. It was just about the opposite of her. And it was the wrong name for a horse that was barn sour. “Please tell me she doesn’t pin her ears when you’re on her?”

“Let’s get the tack on her and you can see for yourself.”

His ring wasn’t large and a sprinkler hose was curled up in the corner along with a faded mounting block, a lunge line, a tattered lunge whip, and a few crops.

John got on her first. She wasn’t a beautiful mover but Zoe didn’t expect her to be. Most derby horses weren’t spectacular movers. They were a bit more of a hybrid between a hunter and a jumper. They could jump the moon yet do it in style, they had a huge step, but they didn’t typically sweep across the ground pointing their toes.

She did have a really nice canter, which was the gait that counted most in the derbies.

And she did wear her ears nicely. Up and straight ahead like a radar. But none of that mattered if she didn’t jump well.

John headed toward a small vertical. She jumped it fine but nothing amazing. Zoe wanted to see amazing. She felt a wave of disappointment—what if John was wrong and his idea of an amazing jump was really just an average jump?

He continued around the simple course that was set up. The jumps were plain, many just standards and rails with the occasional box wall or gate. The highest one was set at maybe three-foot-nine.

John’s eye was accurate and his position correct. He was big on the mare but given his height he rode lightly and controlled his upper body—a must for a tall rider. Zoe found herself impressed by his riding. He certainly would fit in on the circuit.

Gidget jumped the highest jump the best of the group, snapping up her knees. John came to a walk and said, “Want to put them up, or you want to get on her now?”

“I’ll put a few up,” she said. “If you don’t mind.”

She still hadn’t seen anything that took her breath away. Right now the horse was more an average 3’6” horse, and nothing more. With an accurate ride from someone like Zoe she could get ribbons in the derbies but Zoe needed to do more than get ribbons—she needed to win.

“Nope. That’s fine.”

She raised a vertical-oxer bending line a few holes. “Too high?”

“As high as you want. Just wait.”

She returned back to watching from the rail. He picked up a canter and headed to the line. The mare jumped the crap out of both fences this time. Knees snapped up and back rounded. John looked back at Zoe as he turned the corner. “See?”

“Do it one more time the other direction,” she said, her heart quickening.

Same thing—form, style, and scope. The mare was six inches over the oxer. Zoe felt goosebumps go up on her forearms. She was itching to ride her and feel her jump herself.

John gave Zoe a leg up, tossing her easily into the saddle. She could have vaulted straight over to the other side. She picked up a trot and soon a canter. She didn’t need to waste time. The mare was comfortable to sit on and had a great feel about her. She was naturally balanced, straight, and rhythmic.

Zoe aimed her for one of the smaller jumps. It felt fine—nothing to write home about. Then she turned to the bigger bending line and she felt what she had seen from the ground. The mare had unbelievable power and gave Zoe that ultimate sky bound feeling. John was right after all—she could be a winning derby horse.

“Is she ever spooky?” Zoe said, when she brought her back to a walk. She patted the mare tentatively on the neck.

“No, she’s totally brave. She’ll jump anything.”

“Anything?” Zoe looked around the ring. “Cause these jumps suck.”

“I think she’ll jump anything. She’s never not jumped anything.”

“We should take her over to Linda’s. See what she does over a real course—no offense.”

“No offense taken,” he said.

“You have a trailer?” she asked.

“Yes, I have a trailer,” he said.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Sounds promising.”

“Maybe. I just hope he’d let me show her instead of showing her himself. I don’t think he knew what he had in the mare and once he realizes how good she is I bet he’s going to want to show her.”

“I’m not so sure,” Linda said.

“Really?”

“I get the feeling he’s not really into the showing part.”

Zoe couldn’t relate. All she ever wanted to do was be in the show ring.

“Can we bring the horse over here and school it? Your jumps are like a world above what he has.”

“Of course,” Linda said. “Anytime. You don’t even have to ask.”

“Thanks. Back still killing you?”

“Yeah. My doctor ordered an MRI. I need to go in soon and get it done.” Linda yawned. “I’m sleeping like shit too because I can’t get comfortable. And now that I’m not riding, I swear I’ve like put on ten pounds. Getting old sucks.”

“You’re not old,” Zoe said. “What are you like thirty?”

“Thirty-six.”

The bell chimed that signaled a car had driven into the driveway. Soon after, a large SUV pulled up to the barn and Dakota got out. Angelique waved as she drove away.

“Hey there,” Zoe called to her. “We were just talking about how Linda’s an old fart!”

“You said I wasn’t old,” Linda said. “I distinctly remember that because for a second I felt better about myself.”

“You’re not
that
old,” Dakota put in. “You’re like medium-old.”

“Thank you . . . I guess?” Linda said.

Dakota sat down on the tack trunk next to Zoe. She seemed to naturally gravitate toward her, Zoe had noticed. Maybe it was because Zoe was closer to her age or maybe it was because the experience they’d shared in Florida bonded them in a way.

It was only a few hours that they’d spent together when Dakota had been roofied and nearly raped by a polo playing prick but Zoe had been the one who knew all about being roofied since she’d very unfortunately experienced it herself firsthand.

While Hannah was busy warning Dakota to never go out with older men, Zoe was telling her never to drink a cocktail she’d didn’t see poured. Zoe didn’t expect Dakota to be all innocent and perfect like others did; she was realistic and wanted to save her from making the same mistakes she had at her age.

“Did you see that Chris won the grand prix in La Baule?” Dakota asked.

“Yup, I did. And Mary Beth was fifth.”

“Do you think it kills Hannah to see that?”

“Not that Chris won. I know she wants him to do well. But I’m sure it’s hard for her to think of him there in Europe with her.”

Fernando walked by with Rudi by his side. Today the dog wore a yellow bandana around his neck.

“I feel so badly for her,” Dakota said. “I would go crazy with jealousy if my ex-boyfriend I was still in love with was in Europe with his ex-girlfriend who was still in love with him.”

“You are so sweet to care about her,” Zoe said. “It’ll all work out for her. She’ll find someone great at school.”

“You don’t want Chris and her to get back together?”

“I do . . . I mean if it’s meant to be. Of course, I do. I’m like a total romantic cheeseball at heart.”

“
You’re
a romantic cheeseball?” Linda put in.

“Yes,” Zoe said. “I love romantic movies. Give me a Nicholas Sparks movie and I’m like all done.”

Zoe sat on a box wall in the middle of the ring while Linda taught Dakota on Plato, her up and coming eq horse. Plato was so gorgeous, his stride oiled and smooth. He had a look about him, a presence, that would be a huge asset in the eq ring. It was why Dakota’s family had paid so much for him when he hadn’t even been to a Final.

Unlike John’s unimpressive ring, the ring at Morada Bay was first class. A four-board fence encircled the ring, which had irrigation and GGT footing.

The jumps were what really made the ring look professional, though. They were bright colors and interesting designs— cut-out walls, geometric designs, and vibrant green roll tops that could have easily been plucked straight from a horse show.

Actually, some of them were. There was a jump with standards in the shape of a butterfly—Plato had taken exception to said standards in a Talent Search class at WEF and so Linda had commissioned an identical jump to practice over at home.

Linda worked Dakota on the flat, asking her to drop her stirrups for much of the flatwork. Zoe liked that Linda didn’t go easy on Dakota like some trainers would have. She worked to improve her instead of just telling her all the things she was doing right and stroking her ego.

They warmed up over a few low jumps and then Linda gave Dakota a course. Half-way through the course, Linda said to Zoe, “See how she takes away the distance through the turns? I’m trying to get her to stop doing that.”

Zoe nodded—she could see exactly what Linda meant. Dakota would come out of the turn to a jump and sit back in the saddle, taking a hold on the horse, and never letting go. It always resulted in either a deep distance or a weak, long one. When Dakota had finished, Linda called to her to stand in front of them.

“What did you think of that?” Linda asked.

Dakota shrugged. “Kind of okay. I was too deep to the blue oxer and a little long to the red vertical.”

“Too deep, too long. Not just to those jumps but to all of the jumps. It’s what I’ve been telling you and I’m going to keep telling you. You need to let go out of the turns. You’re coming out of the turn and holding onto his mouth, which takes away his rhythm, and his natural ability to figure out the jumps himself, and it takes away the distance. You’re so concerned about finding the right distance that you’re actually taking the distance away.”

“I know,” Dakota said. “I just can’t trust it. It’s like I come out of the turn and I just grab.”

“So don’t grab,” Linda said. “Do the opposite. Let go. See how it works out. Trust me, it’ll be good.”

“Try lightening your seat too,” Zoe said.

She quickly looked at Linda to make sure she hadn’t overstepped her boundaries. Zoe had been hired to ride the horses, not teach lessons. Some trainers were very protective of their title as supreme being and didn’t want underlings trying to usurp their power. Usually the less the trainer knew the more protective they were.

Linda was looking at Zoe encouragingly so Zoe continued, “That’s what I find works for me. I go through the turn and then lighten my seat a little. Not like a full two-point but just being lighter in your seat bones and then naturally I kind of soften my hands and then just follow the rhythm. The horse gets his eye on the jump and then maybe I sit back down a little bit and ride what’s there.”

“Good idea,” Linda said. “Try it. Go back and do the same course.”

Zoe thought about saying, “I hope that was okay,” or “I hope you don’t mind that I said that about lightening your seat,” but she decided it was clear Linda thought it was fine. Zoe wouldn’t suddenly take-over teaching Dakota like she was some kind of co-trainer, but if she saw something every now and then she should feel okay to speak up.

Zoe could see Dakota trying really hard not to pull in the corners of the ring. The first few turns she looked tentative, and the way she got out of the saddle was obvious and mildly overdone. But the girl was doing what she was told. She was listening and trying.