Chance Meeting (8 page)
“
H
ey, Ty, want to grab a bite at the concession stand after warmup?” Lizzie called out as she trotted up on her gelding, Rushmore, a big bay hunter her parents had bought her in the spring. Unlike Ty, Lizzie had chosen to continue competing in the Hunter division, and she and Rushmore had been doing extremely well.
For a moment the two girls trotted side by side, both garbed in matching beige breeches and navy blue riding jackets. As the gray and dark bay horses trotted, the girls rose up and down, posting in unison.
“Sure,” Ty replied, nodding. “Can you wait about fifteen minutes? Meghan wants me to take Charisma over a couple of fences before I finish.” Meghan Grimshaw was the trainer at the riding club to which both girls belonged. She was the closest thing to a mother figure Ty had. A no-nonsense kind of woman, Meghan had centered her life around the horses she trained and the riders she taught. Extremely perceptive with humans as well as horses, Meghan possessed an uncanny knack for understanding what made people tick, what motivated them. With Ty, she opted for brutal honesty, never offering empty praise, knowing Ty would see right through it. Ty thrived under her tutelage.
“Cool,” breathed Lizzie.
Cool
was her new favorite word. She used it about a hundred times a day.
“Maybe I’ll hang around to watch. Meghan told me to wait until just before my afternoon class to jump Rushmore. Hey, don’t forget, it’s my treat,” Lizzie reminded as she kneed Rushmore forward into an extended trot, slipping ahead of Ty and her mare so that they were once more trotting single file on the rail. A long-standing ritual, Lizzie and Ty took turns picking up the tab for the vast quantities of snacks they consumed at the shows.
Meghan Grimshaw stood by the wooden wings of the jump, her eyes fixed on Ty circling the ring at a canter, urging her mare’s pace forward as they rounded the curve and headed toward the fence. Impatiently, Meghan dragged the long strands of fine blond hair that had come loose from her ponytail and were whipping across her face.
Blasted wind,
she muttered to herself as Ty guided Charisma straight to the center of the jump, a large double-oxer with a mass of dusty plastic flowers spreading out from the first rail. Between the horses’ hoofprints dislodging clumps of the sandy soil and the strong gusts of wind that were blowing this way and that, it was a good thing the practice fences had artificial flowers and not live ones. Real flowers wouldn’t have survived two minutes. Ty was almost at the fence now, about five strides away, her seat still close to the saddle, driving her mare forward with her legs. Her hands were raised slightly, keeping Charisma’s hindquarters rounded and underneath her, so that the mare’s powerful muscles would be in optimal position to propel them over the fence. They cleared it easily, Ty folding herself over her mare’s glossy dappled coat with graceful ease. The angles they created were just right, a direct line from Ty’s elbow to the snaffle bit attached to Charisma’s bridle, Ty’s torso following the subtly curved arch of the horse’s back and neck. Legs folded, knees in tight, horse and rider a pleasure to behold.
“Okay,” Meghan called out. “Come at it this time from the opposite lead. I want to see you looking to your left as you clear the oxer, as if you’re going to make a sharp turn to the next fence, say right over here, where I’m standing.” Meghan walked away from the oxer, counting off the distance in terms of a horse’s stride. Satisfied, she came to a halt and looked up at Ty. “Right here, okay? I’d like to see you pick up the tempo a bit, too. Canter right on through, then take Charisma over the in-and-out,” she instructed, inclining her head toward the two fences on the other side of the ring. Ty nodded, gathered her reins, and approached the schooling fence one more time.
“Nice job, Ty. That was a super round.” There was a broad smile of approval on Meghan’s tanned face as Ty trotted up to her on Charisma. All of Meghan’s riders reported directly to her after a flat or a jumping class to analyze any mistakes while they were fresh in everyone’s mind. Ty swung her leg over the saddle and dismounted lightly. One of the girls who worked as a groom for the club and who was responsible for Charisma was waiting to take the reins from Ty. She would rub down the mare’s sweat-streaked body with a cloth, place a light cooler over her body, and walk her until it was time for Ty to ride again. In her hand was a bottle of cold water which she held out to Ty.
“Thanks, Caitlin.” Ty smiled, exchanging her mare’s reins for the water bottle. After giving Charisma a final pat on her sleek neck, she stood beside Meghan, waiting to hear her instructor’s comments. Out in the show ring, another rider was already halfway through the jump course. Meghan and Ty watched, standing by the ring’s wooden railing as the rider negotiated the triple combination.
“So, how’d it feel?”
“Pretty good. I was maybe a little too hesitant over the water jump, since that was a problem at the last show. But she did fine today.”
“Yeah, it didn’t cause her any worries. But I noticed she took a good long look at the wall over by the far rail.”
“Yes.” Ty nodded in agreement. “I’m not sure why. But I remember there were some little fir trees planted at the base of the fence, whipping around in the wind. Maybe that startled her. But I gave her some extra leg, and she responded.” Ty paused for a moment, taking a slow sip of the cold water. Only two fences remained, and so far the rider had gone clean. Up to now, Ty had been the only one with no faults, but as her number had been called early in a class of twenty-three riders, she was anticipating a jump-off. Yes, that rider went clear, too.
Ty turned to Meghan. “So what do you think I should do differently in the jump-off?” The abbreviated course for the jump-off had already been posted. Both Meghan and Ty had it memorized.
“After watching your first round, the only thing I can tell you is that you’re going to have to dig a little bit deeper. If you feel Charisma’s responding well out there, see if you can eliminate a stride as you head from the chicken coop toward the brush jump. That corner to the triple combination might be cut just a little, too, as you head back toward the vertical. If you can keep her balanced and controlled, you’ll shave some time. But remember to pay attention to her rhythm. Don’t blow it by having Charisma charge the fences off-stride. You’ll end up all wobbly, like a badly thrown frisbee.” She gave Ty’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Other than that, Ty, just stay relaxed and focused, and Charisma will do fine for you.”
Ty nodded, eyes directed on the ring, trying to envision a ride taking the jumps as Meghan suggested. She thought she could do it, but the corner from the chicken coop might be tricky. At the thought of chicken, Ty’s stomach growled. “You want something to eat, Meghan? Sam, Lizzie, and I are making another run to the concession stand. I’m going to grab a quick bite before the next round.”
“Nothing to eat, but get me a can of Dew, okay?” she replied, digging out a crumpled dollar bill from the front pocket of her blue jeans. Meghan had witnessed Ty and Lizzie’s eating routine at shows too many times to be surprised that the girls were off to the concession stand for the third time in as many hours. They ate nonstop and indiscriminately. Amazingly, all the extra calories never had any effect on those two; they were just too active. Meghan envied their ability to burn calories at such a high rate, but at age thirty-five, she knew better than to think she could get away with it. “And tell Lizzie to hop on Rushmore again. By the time she’s through warming up, you should have finished your round, and I can watch her school him over some fences.”
“Sure. I hope my class will be finished before hers starts. I miss watching her ride now that we’re competing in different events.”
Meghan smiled at the wistful tone in Ty’s voice. The girls were so close, they might as well have been twins separated at birth. It hadn’t taken long for Meghan to figure out that the girls’ horses had to be placed in adjacent stalls back at her barn. Otherwise, Ty and Lizzie would have driven everyone nuts, scurrying up and down the aisle, wasting time that could be spent grooming and riding.
“Maybe the jump-off for your class won’t be very big, and you can catch her in the hunter ring.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.” Ty folded Meghan’s dollar bill in half. “Back in a bit,” she promised with a cheerful smile. Meghan saw Ty’s gaze travel over the crowded show grounds, locating her bodyguard with astonishing ease. Sam Brody had been standing off to the side, near a large group of spectators. With all the milling about of horses, riders, and grooms, it would have taken Meghan a good five minutes before she was able to spot him. But not Ty. It was as if she were equipped with some kind of sensor that told her where Sam was waiting, inconspicuous to everyone but her. What an unnerving existence this girl lived. When you were around Ty, she was nothing if not low-key about herself. Yet there were moments, sudden and illuminating, such as now, when you witnessed her ability to spot her personal bodyguard in a crowd, that it struck home how constant a burden such incredible wealth must be.
Meghan had known Sam Brody for years now, ever since Ty had joined Meghan’s private riding club. In Meghan’s opinion, Sam was one of the chief reasons Ty had turned out as remarkably unaffected and unpretentious as she was. His presence in her life had helped her avoid the pitfalls Meghan had observed in so many rich kids. She hadn’t turned into a spoiled brat or a rebel, intent on getting the world’s (or, in Ty’s case, her father’s) attention by acting up, either with drugs or with wild behavior. She was a good, decent kid caught in a bizarre world of someone else’s making.
It was another twenty-five minutes before Ty was back in the saddle, ready to test her skill in the jump-off. The whole concept of the jump-off was still novel to her, for it was markedly different from the way classes were won in the Hunter and Equitation divisions. In hunter classes, horses were judged in terms of their performance, manners, style of jumping, and conformation. In equitation, judges looked for the excellence of the rider’s technique, the skill and harmony horse and rider displayed over the flat and over fences.
But the Jumper division didn’t rely on the judges’ subjective opinions; rather, the challenge lay in completing the jump course itself. In the case of the jump-off, the need for a clear round
and
a faster time than one’s fellow competitors increased the challenge that much more. Intermittent gusts of wind were blowing bits of litter across the show grounds. Leaves on the trees rustled loudly enough to make idle chatter impossible. Which suited Ty fine. She needed a moment to take a deep breath and steady her nerves. Her back ruler-straight as she sat astride Charisma, Ty waited for the show official to give her the sign to proceed into the ring. Her eyes were glued to the jump course in front of her, going over the order of the fences, picturing in her mind what she wanted to do at each point along the course, how her body would bend and shift with Charisma’s larger one, helping her horse as much as she could. She lifted a gloved hand to finger her silver medallion hidden underneath the cotton rat-catcher she wore. The official’s voice reached her.
“Number 317,” the voice called, loud enough to be heard over the group of riders waiting by the in-gate. Seeing Ty’s raised hand, the man nodded. “You’re up.”
“Go get ‘em, Ty,” Sam encouraged, a smile lighting his tawny eyes as she gathered her reins and headed toward the in-gate. Ty smiled briefly, but didn’t say anything, her mind focused exclusively on the task ahead of her.
Charisma trotted through the gate, moving into a graceful, fluid canter as Ty increased the pressure of her leg and softened her hands. She guided her horse down toward the far end of the ring, cantering in a circle large enough for her mare to pass by the first few jumps one more time, reminding her of the job ahead of them. And giving them both a little more time before they triggered the sensors that started the clock.
Out in the open expanse of the show ring, the wind was blowing even stronger. Ty could hear it, the gusts whistling in her ear as she moved Charisma into a strong, forward canter, approaching the first of the eight fences.
Charisma responded beautifully. Up and over, twisting, turning, checking, then thundering forward, they attacked the course with confidence, clearing the first five fences without the slightest hitch. Ty felt their pace was fine: strong and fast but not recklessly out of control. Charisma was galloping, powerful and alert, moving as if she had plenty of energy left for the last three fences: the double-oxer, down to the wall on the far side of the ring, then over to the vertical planks, where they would finish with a fast gallop past the sensors.
They were moving together like clockwork. Ty could taste the sweetness of victory.
Yes!
she cheered inwardly as Charisma launched them up and over the four-foot double-oxer. In midflight, Ty was already shifting her body to the left, her head cocked in the same direction, anticipating the sharp turn they’d need to make as they headed over to the other side of the ring where the wall jump towered. As Charisma’s forelegs landed, Ty’s seat was simultaneously dropping lightly into the saddle, driving her mare around and on, galloping off in the direction of the gray wall, tall and solid, its base decorated with dark green fir trees, their pointed tops dancing in the strong wind. Remembering her mare’s uncertainty from the previous round, Ty dug her heels in, squeezing hard, her crop at the ready in case Charisma needed additional encouragement. Ty was counting off the strides in her head as the distance between them and the jump narrowed. Six, five, four, three, two . . . In the precious few seconds needed to reach the wall, it happened. In the periphery of her vision, Ty suddenly saw a huge white shape, simultaneously round and pointy, cartwheeling wildly. It was coming directly toward them, far too close for Charisma not to react in utter terror at the unexpected sight. Far too swiftly for Ty to stop her forward momentum as her horse frantically sat back on her haunches, as if slamming on the brakes, sending Ty catapulting, the vertical face of the wall blocking her trajectory. Then Ty knew only black.
