Believe in Me: A Rosewood Novel (25 page)

Ned, who’d been applying fly spray to the mare with an atomizer and a rag, nodded and stepped back. “All set.”

“We’ve got Miss Molly and Domino next?” she asked.

“That’s right.” Ned checked his watch. “Though it occurs to me that with Owen here, we could double up. Why don’t
you have him bring in Miss Molly with you—she’s a real sweetheart, Owen—while I take Lena and Carmen? That’ll give us a little more breathing room for the rest of the day’s activities. Little Kate would love to extend her lesson now that she’s riding Doc on the rail.”

Before Jordan could respond, Owen spoke. “Uh, Ned, I don’t have any experience handling horses.” The last thing he’d expected was for Ned Connolly, who took the job of breeding and training these horses with the seriousness of a judge, to suggest he pitch in. Perhaps he thought that since Owen had seen the Lipizzaners in Austria, he actually knew his way around a horse.

His admission didn’t seem to bother the old man. “Heck, a greenhorn’s gotta learn sometime. Here, we’ll do a practice run. Come over here and take Hello Again’s lead and walk her out of the stall.”

Bemused, Owen took hold of the lead rope. “Are you sure about this?” he asked Jordan.

Had anyone else on the farm proposed that Owen and she pair up to work with the foals, Jordan would have suspected them of matchmaking. But Ned would never risk the safety of their horses.

“I think you’ll do fine,” she said.

Ned gave an impatient snort. “Course he will, so let’s not waste precious time gabbing.”

Owen probably had no idea what a huge compliment he’d just received. In Jordan’s nine years of marriage, Ned had never once invited Richard to help with the horses—not that her ex-husband showed any particular interest in the horses her family raised. He preferred playing the role of the “gentleman” at Rosewood Farm, enjoying the views of the horses grazing in the surrounding fields as picturesque backdrop. Besides, working in the barn would have meant loosening his grip on his cellphone, which toward the end of their marriage had become stuck to him as if Krazy Glued.

Ned had launched into lesson mode. “Okay, Owen, as you lead her out of the stall, you want to walk on her left side, just by her head, with about a foot and a half of distance between you. You probably know this already, but we always walk to the left of a horse, same with mounting and dismounting.”

“I think I did know that, but only realized it after you pointed it out,” Owen replied. “Now what? Straight out the barn?”

“Yep. You’re doing fine. Just keep this pace so that Jordan and Cosmo can stay by her flank.”

“So, out of curiosity, what’s the reason for mounting and dismounting on the left-hand side?” Owen asked as they walked down the aisle.

“It dates back to the Middle Ages, when knights would train their destriers, doesn’t it, Ned?” Jordan replied.

Now they were outside the barn, Ned had his tin of chaw out and was busy packing tobacco in between gum and lip.

“That’s right,” he said with a nod as he slipped the tin back into his vest pocket. “A knight was trained to fight with his right hand, so his sword was buckled to hang on his left side. That made mounting on the right-hand side of the horse impossible, because then the knight’s left leg would have banged into the sword as he climbed into the saddle. And mounting on the right would have entailed lifting the sword over the cantle of the saddle. And some of those swords were long. Mounting and dismounting on the left avoided all those problems. It became standard practice for English-style riding.”

“Interesting. What’s a cantle?” Owen asked.

“That’s the back of the saddle,” Ned explained. “In those days they rose up much higher than in today’s English saddles. The Western saddle is designed along those lines.”

“Good to know. I’ll take a closer look next time I’m in a museum.” Owen’s tone indicated he thought Ned was finished.

Jordan bit the inside of her lip, tamping down her mirth. Owen was about to be initiated into Ned’s one-man mission to educate the world in all things equestrian.

“Nowadays, there are some folk encouraging people to train their horses to accept both the right and left sides in terms of mounting and dismounting. They think it will help a horse be more balanced and avoid straining the left shoulder. I don’t buy it.” He spat a thick brown stream of tobacco into the dirt for emphasis. “A good horseman knows how to settle himself lightly and quickly in the saddle. No fuss, no muss. You saw how Jordan mounted Indigo, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

She had to give him high marks for quick thinking. Heaven forbid he admit he hadn’t paid close attention to how she’d mounted the dark gray mare.

“Well, that’s the way to do it. It’s not as easy as it looks. Now, consider the fact that most people are righties. If they’re trying to mount from the right side of the horse, they have to swing their
left
leg over and find the stirrup with their left foot. That’s an awful lot harder to do when it’s not the dominant leg. To my mind, all that unnecessary shifting and fumbling ends up putting more strain on a horse’s shoulder and back. For accomplished riders who devote lots of time training and perfecting their skills, this move might not be a big deal, but for the beginner or weekend rider, I don’t think it’s smart riding. Besides, there are plenty of exercises we do in the saddle to create as balanced a horse as possible.”

“Well, you’ve convinced me,” Owen said. “Left side it is, though right now, I’m just going to concentrate on getting this horse down to the pasture safely.”

Jordan felt a surge of gratitude at Owen’s easy response. Not every layman would have the patience for Ned’s encyclopedic answers.

“You’re getting the hang of it. You got any questions, ask
Miss Jordan. She knows as much about horses as anyone on this farm.”

“And if you believe that, I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you.”

Jordan might have brushed off Ned Connolly’s compliment, but it didn’t take long for Owen to see that he hadn’t been exaggerating about the depth of her knowledge. All he had to do was watch her with the foals they brought in from the pasture.

“Do you and Ned work with the foals like this—having them pick up their hooves and getting them to back up for you and all the rest—every day?” he asked as they walked yet another mare, Plain Song, and her chestnut filly, Penny Lane, up to the broodmares’ barn.

“Ned does far more of it than I do,” she answered. “These lessons represent just the beginning of what we need to teach them so that when the day comes for Travis to climb into the saddle, they’ll be conditioned to accept the presence of a human on their back, something that goes against their natural instinct.”

The half door to Plain Song’s stall was open. “Plain Song will probably want to drink when you go into the stall,” Jordan told him.

“Should I just walk her over to the water bucket?”

She nodded. “Yes. You don’t have to worry about Plain Song. She knows the ropes. Penny’s her sixth foal.”

They entered the large stall, and while the mare slurped from the black rubber bucket, Jordan pulled out a rag she’d tucked into the waistband of her breeches and began to rub the filly’s body with it. “You can unsnap the lead from Plain Song’s halter and come and stand by Penny’s head. That’s right, just hold her lightly,” she said as he took up the lead rope attached to the filly’s halter.

“So what are you doing with the rag?”

“I’m teaching Penny to stand quietly while I touch sensitive
areas, like her ears. It’s fly season now and we have to make sure we can apply the spray wherever it’s needed. We’re also getting her ready for the day when we’ll use clippers on her muzzle and ears. Penny’s a clever girl. She stood quietly for us even the first time, a couple of hours after her birth. But a lot of training is about reinforcing learned lessons and building on them.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you could teach horses this young.”

Jordan gave a quick smile as she walked around to Penny’s other side to repeat the gentle rubbing. “Ned’s a firm believer in starting early and working with the foals every day, even if it’s for really short periods of time, like these fifteen-minute sessions we’re doing now. The point is for the foals to realize that just as they have to learn appropriate social behavior and their place in the hierarchy of the herd when they’re out in the pasture, they also have to learn what we humans expect. Think of all the things a horse is asked to do. Not only to accept a rider on its back, carry him through all the gaits, stop and turn on a dime, and take huge and scary fences without hesitating, but hundreds and hundreds of other things, practically all of which go against its natural instincts.”

“And what would those other things be?”

She concentrated on rubbing Penny’s belly and along the inside of her legs before answering. “Well, a few obvious examples would be standing calmly while an electric clipper is buzzing in its ear, walking collectedly past an idling pickup truck in need of a new muffler, having someone stick a hypodermic needle into its flesh, getting steel shoes nailed into its hooves, or loading into a trailer without freaking out. This means taking an animal that weighs a ton, can run thirty miles an hour, can rear and buck, strike out with hooves, and inflict serious harm with its teeth, and get it to understand that it doesn’t need to do any of those things when it’s frightened or threatened.”

“So you start the work early on, before they weigh a ton, run like the wind, and have a full set of teeth.”

Jordan smiled. “It’s only logical.” She took the lead rope from him and backed Penny up a few steps. Handing the rope back to him, she said, “If I were to draw up a list of everything asked of a well-trained, well-behaved horse, the only other animal I can think of which has to perform as many tasks is a Seeing Eye or therapy dog.”

“But dogs are different.”

“That’s right. They’ve been domesticated and selectively bred over the centuries to work with man. We breed selectively, too, and while we hope to pass on a good temperament and excellent conformation, our real goal is to make sure that the horses we sell have plenty of good habits. Ned’s method of working with our foals allows us to establish a foundation of trust early on. The proof is in our yearlings. They’re as well-mannered and confident as any you’ll find—though you may have trouble believing I’m an objective judge.”

“Somehow I don’t see you as the boastful type.” He grinned, pleased when his comment caused a blush to steal over her high cheekbones. “So Ned taught you how to do all this?” he asked as she bent and picked up Penny’s hoof and cupped it in her hand, scraping it lightly with a metal hoof pick before lowering it.

“Yes, my sisters and me. He even taught Travis and Dad.”

“Your father as well? And was he as involved in the running of the farm?”

Jordan nodded. “Dad was a terrific rider and an exceptional horse breeder. We’ll be lucky if we can match the excellence of some of the foals he bred. But his people skills weren’t quite as strong. He didn’t have the patience to teach my sisters and me. Most likely he considered it a waste of his time, as he never intended for us to enter the business. When he was alive, Rosewood Farm was very much a male-run operation.”

Owen caught the dry note that had entered her voice. “You three women seem to be doing a pretty damn fine job.”

The smile she flashed him over her shoulder was beautiful enough to cause his heart to skip a beat.

“We’re trying. Thank God it’s something we all love doing.” She set the filly’s hoof down and straightened.

“That’s easy to see.” He would have said more but was unsure how to proceed.

She must have sensed his hesitation for she cocked her head. “What is it?” she asked.

“I’m curious about your decorating business. Where does it fit in with all of this? And don’t think I’m implying you shouldn’t be starting your own design company. I wouldn’t have hired you to decorate Hawk Hill if you didn’t have a great eye.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” she said with quiet sincerity. “As you’ve probably gathered, it’s doubtful my own father would approve of my running a business. He certainly hated it when Margot chose to become a fashion model rather than what he envisioned for her—that is, to go to college and get her ‘Mrs.’ degree.”

“Her what?”

“You know, marry and have babies. A ‘Mrs.’ degree.”

“Oh, right. A little medieval in his attitude, huh?”

“Slightly,” she said in a wry tone. “Dad was pretty conservative. He wanted Margot to find a nice rich husband, preferably a horsey one with a good Virginia pedigree whom Dad could groom to take over Rosewood Farm.”

“And Margot said ‘Thanks but no thanks’?”

A flash of humor lit her face. “Something like that. As the more tractable daughter, I did follow his wishes, though I got a degree in interior design in addition to a husband. Unfortunately my marriage was a failure, except for our three wonderful children. But since my divorce, I’ve realized I need to prove I can succeed at something that’s all mine. Thus the idea for Rosewood Designs. Now I’ll be
able to throw my energy into a project and, when it’s finished, say, ‘There,
I
did that. It’s whole and it’s beautiful.’ ” She stopped abruptly, as if suddenly aware of how much she’d revealed. With a determinedly carefree shrug, she continued, “Besides, being an interior decorator provides me with a perfect excuse to change out of my breeches, don a dress and nice shoes, and go antiquing to my heart’s content. So again, thanks for giving me my first project.”

At first Owen couldn’t immediately identify the emotion that filled him. Then he realized he was feeling protective of Jordan. He hated the fact that this ex of hers—this dick, who’d been bastard enough to cheat on her—had blown her confidence to smithereens. It made him fiercely glad that he’d followed his instincts and asked her to decorate Hawk Hill. For a woman as exceptional and bloody gorgeous as Jordan to be made to feel a failure was criminal.

“My pleasure,” he murmured.

At the rough huskiness of his voice, her gaze flew to his. In that split second, the atmosphere in the stall became charged, awareness crackling between them.