#1 Blazing Courage (3 page)

I don't know what to say, so I shake my head and sink into the office chair. My safety zone is dissolving before my eyes.

“Settle down,” Jack tells me. “Peggy's dad is on the Top Tier board of directors so I had to ask. But anyone could have done this, including Peggy. When has she ever taken responsibility for her mistakes?”

Never is the only word that comes to mind, but I stay quiet. It's my head on the chopping block, not hers.

“I'll get my things,” I whisper, wondering what will happen to Poco now that I can't earn her keep. I fight back the tears in my eyes.

“Did I not tell you to settle down?” Jack says. “You're not fired. You're my right arm volunteer around here. Besides, who'd train that mustang with you gone?” He gives me a proper hug. “You're not going anywhere, and neither am I. Worst case scenario, we replace the saddle.”

Who has $3000 sitting around collecting dust? It might as well be $3 million. But I make the only offer I can. “I've got $156 left,” I say, “and Poco may never need a saddle. It's yours.”

“Not going to happen,” Jack interrupts. “We'll find another way. Maybe Lex has insurance and Poco takes a saddle just fine.” Jack's mind is made up, so there is no point in arguing. But it's not his fault any more than it's mine.

“Now,” Jack says. “Get that wet horse of yours. It's too muddy to work with her outside. Might as well introduce her to her indoor accommodations.”

Jack reads the surprise on my face. We both know I can't afford a stall. “Consider it an employee perk,” he says, waving his arm like a magician. That's when I see it—Poco's name engraved on a Top Tier stall—right next door to Jinx's. That explains the bargain. I wonder how often Jinx will bite Poco, but get serious. A free stall next to Godzilla beats the sting of a snowy pasture. I can't wait to bring her in from the rain.

Poco is a sight, standing soaked in the paddock. Covered in mud, she hasn't been standing for long. She doesn't resists when I slip on her halter and we walk to the barn with ease. But she pauses when we get to the open stable doors. She is worried, until she sees Jack.

“Well, look what the cat drug in,” Jack says, walking toward Poco. “Ready for civilization?” He scratches her under her chin, and her fear eases. “May I?” he says, reaching for her lead. I don't resist either.

Speaking softly, almost hypnotically, Jack leads her toward the stall. Every stall in the barn has a private, outdoor paddock. Luxury barn, luxury perks. The door from her stall to her paddock is closed, but the floor inside is lined with fresh straw. The water bucket is filled; there is hay in her feeder, and sweet grain is waiting in a big, metal bucket. “Check out your new digs,” he says. Poco follows him in without a trace of hesitation.

It's quiet in the barn. No one else is around, so when Jinx kicks the wall of his stall, I jump like a jackrabbit. Jack laughs. “He smells the sweet grain—oats, corn, and molasses,” Jack says. Jinx smells Poco, too, and whinnies. Poco's eyes widen, and she answers. It's as close as she's been to another horse since the auction. I want to warn her, Jinx is not her friend. But time will be her teacher.

“Pick up the bucket,” Jack tells me. “Give her a taste.” One bite and Poco forgets there is anything in the world but food. She's never had anything so delicious. “Home sweet home,” Jack says, and from the way she's eating, it's clear Poco agrees.

We decide to give her a little time alone while staying close by to keep an eye on her. Some horses panic in small spaces, and Poco's a wild card.

“Let's take a closer look at Peggy's saddle,” Jack says. I am hoping it's just a little damp, but the pricy Stubben Jack carries on his arm is still dripping wet.

“Can we save it?” I ask. Poco calls to Jinx, and, this time, he responds. I wonder what they're saying.

“Some people cure their leather in the bathtub,” he says. “I can't see Lex being satisfied with that. He'll want something new, but we'll salvage it just the same. If we can stop mold from setting in, someone will want it.”

Makes me wish I rode English like Peggy. She looks so sophisticated in her khaki jodhpurs and black show jacket. Even her tall, black boots and helmet look expensive. And, of course, they are.

“Would a hot blow dryer help dry the saddle?” I ask.

“Only if you want the leather to crack,” he says. I wonder if there is anything Jack doesn't know about horses and riding. “We'll towel if off as best we can, then air dry it with a fan for a couple of weeks. With a little luck, some patience, and a lot of leather conditioner, it's possible.”

We go through half a dozen towels, then place the damp saddle on a barrel shaped rack to help it hold its shape. We move the rack into the stable office at the back of the barn. “Climate controlled,” Jack says smiling, “better for the leather. We'll start conditioning it with leather treatment tomorrow.”

“Manley!” A deep, angry voice thunders through the barn, and though we've never met, I know it has to be Lex Stockton. Jinx lays his ears back and tries to bite the big man's arm as he walks by. I brace for what he is about to say, but nothing could have prepared me. When he bursts through the office door, Peggy is with him.

“That's her,” Peggy whimpers. Her face is swollen, and I can tell she's been crying. “She left the saddle outside. I wouldn't….” Peggy winces as her father's hand closes around the flesh of her arm. She's wearing what looks like a nightgown. Mud covers her sneakers, and she shivers under a paper-thin Imperial Enterprises windbreaker.

“Who owns the saddle?” Stockton says through gritted teeth, staring at Jack, not Peggy. He is winded from the short walk through the stable. His face is ruby red.

“We do,” she whispers.

“That's right,” he continues. “Who should have put the saddle away?”

“She promised,” Peggy says. Her father's fingers sink deeper into her arm, and she cries out. They remind me of a falcon's claws.

“Who SHOULD have put it away?” he repeats.

“I should have,” Peggy surrenders.

“And?” her father releases her arm with a shove. I wonder how bruised she is underneath.

“I am a disappointment,” she says. Tears streak her cheeks.

“And?” he repeats, still staring in Jack's eyes.

“I'll earn every penny to replace it.”

“See that she does,” Stockton tells Jack, “or Jinx and the rest of my equine investments are history.”

Stockton storms out of the office and down the middle of the stable so quickly, Peggy has to run to keep up. It all happens so fast, neither Jack nor I have a chance to utter a peep.

“Like I said,” Jack finally breaks the silence, “she doesn't have it easy.”

This time I agree.

CHAPTER FIVE

Beginner's Luck

A note from Peggy is tacked to Poco's stall the next morning.

“You got me in trouble,” it says, “but I WILL get you back.”

My stomach is in knots. It's not guilt. We both know I didn't leave her saddle out. But after seeing her dad Hulk out, I feel sick. Mom says my dad was just as bad, but I never knew him. If Mom hadn't left, if Jeff hadn't stepped up, I might be in Peggy's shoes.

“Remind me to give Mom and Jeff a hug,” I say to Poco as I open the stall door to refill her water trough. She hangs her head over the door to nuzzle Jinx. I'm amazed he doesn't sink his teeth into her. They say the scars he's left are legendary.

“I'll remind you,” Jack says in a high-pitched falsetto.

“Very funny,” I say. “But you sound nothing like her.”

“How do you know,” he says in the same voice, “have you ever heard her talk?”

I shake my head. Old guys are weird.

“Peggy writing you love letters?” he says, ripping the note from the stall. “Tell me you didn't let this get to you.”

“I didn't,” I say. “But what's with her dad? I kind of feel sorry for her.”

“Divorce and money,” Jack says. “Some rich people go Robin Hood, some go Prince John.”

“Am I supposed to understand that?” I say.

“You don't read?” he asks. “No classics?” I stare. “Okay, some people get rich and share what they have, right? Others think they never have enough and get mad. Lex is the angry type.”

“Must be exhausting,” I say. Jack nods.

“Gather your horse,” he says. “It's time to try a saddle.”

Poco now wears a halter like a pro, so I slip it on her, brush down her coat and walk her to the wooden exercise ring outside the barn—cool, calm, and collected. I close the gate behind us and head toward Jack at the center. An old saddle and saddle pad are leaning against his leg, and a bridle is in his hand. Jinx watches from his outdoor paddock.

“Hold the lead,” Jack says, “but give her a little room.” He's taking charge, and I'm glad. I'm too short to be as gentle as I should be. When I saddle a horse, it's like a twenty-five pound surprise. With Jack, it's a dance.

He checks the padded horse blanket for hitch hikers—sticks, stones, or burrs that might cause Poco pain beneath the weight of a rider. Then he presents it to her like a gift, and, after a few sniffs, she accepts. Jack lays it softly on the top of her back. “Good girl,” he whispers. She listens to his reassuring tone.

Jack lifts the saddle and hooks the right stirrup over the saddle horn. He drapes the cinches over the seat of the saddle, too. Poco sees him in her peripheral vision and sidesteps to gain a little distance, but Jack reads the motion and matches it. “No worries,” he whispers, and lowers the saddle for her inspection. Once she calms to it, he continues. He lifts the saddle and gently places it on the center of her back over the pad.

Poco flinches and muscle ripple beneath her skin. But she doesn't run. She reads trust in Jack's eyes and trusts him in return, even as he tightens both cinches around her belly. “Bridle,” he says like a doctor doing surgery, and I deliver it with my free hand. The ringed, silver snaffle bit glistens in the sun.

I've heard a snaffle is gentler on a horse's mouth than other, stiffer bits, and Jack confirms it. “This won't hurt her too much,” he says as he dangles it in front of her, “if you don't pull too hard.” His eyes lock on mine. “Do NOT pull hard.”

I nod as he smiles, wraps his right arm around Poco's head, and guides the bridle toward her face. Cheek to cheek, they stand staring at me when Jack starts to sing, softly. So softly I can only hear something about dancing and night.

“Orleans,” he whispers, naming the oldies band he's humming as he slides the bit into Poco's mouth and fastens the bridle strap around her jaw. “God love the 70s.”

He turns to face Poco, stroking her nose as he sings on. His singing is still so soft that I can't hear any words, and then his singing slips back into humming.

“Music soothes the savage beast,” he whispers and continues to hum. He slips his left boot in the left stirrup of Poco's saddle. His body rises gracefully until all his weight is on one side of the saddle. Then slowly, even tenderly, he drapes his body across the seat, like a two hundred pound sack of singing beans.

“She isn't fighting it,” I say. “And she's playing with the snaffle against her tongue.” I am amazed. I see no fear.

“Atta girl,” Jack says, sliding off of Poco's back. He scratches under her jaw and she drinks in his approval. I should be pleased, but I'm not. I'm jealous.

“Can I try?” I ask, and Jack nods.

“Take it slow,” he says. “It's about trust.”

He's right, but I don't hear a word. All I can hear is the sound of my heart pounding—the sound of my insecure thoughts.
I have to make her love me
, I am thinking. But my approach is dead wrong.

Poco hears my boots rushing toward her. Her ears go back—a warning I ignore. I lift my left foot into the left stirrup, as Jack did, but I do not pause to prepare her. I throw my right leg over the saddle and shove my foot into the stirrup. I am not smart as I kick my wild Mustang in the side.

My shy little Buckskin, so new to the world of people, panics. A reckless creature is in her saddle, an unyielding bit is in her mouth, and a thick, wooden fence has her captured. I pull back on the reins, begging her to stop. But “stop” isn't a word she's learned yet, and with every tug the bit cuts into the back of her tender mouth and hurts her more. Instinct tells her to escape the pain, so she does. Three out of four wooden rails snap like twigs when Poco hits them at a gallop, and I am suddenly airborne.

Poco runs for the safety of the barn, to Jinx in his outdoor paddock for reassurance, as I sit in mud outside the ring. The Thoroughbred cries out as if he's defending her. I should be ashamed he's a better ally than I am, but I'm not. I'm too mad.

“Stupid horse,” I say, brushing mud from the scrapes on my elbows.

“Stupid horse?” Jack asks. I am not the only one who is angry. “What in the holy heavens were you doing, Annie? Did you leave your brain under your pillow?”

He blows past me without offering a hand up. He gives Jinx a pat over the metal bars of the pen then gathers Poco's reins and tries to calm her. As the big horse nuzzles her, he checks Poco's legs and chest for cuts and swelling, then leads her back to the outside of the ring.

“Get up,” he says. I stand slowly. I've never seen him like this before, but I know better than to speak. I stare at the mud on my boots.

“Get on,” Jack says.

“Are you crazy?” I say. “She nearly killed me.”

“YOU nearly killed HER,” Jack snaps, “jumping on her back like she was an old nag for babies and grandmas. Digging your heels into her side. Driving her through the fence. You think she hurt you? You're lucky she's not lame, slamming against those boards.”