All the King's Horses (7 page)

Out in the aisle, Blue sniffed. I grinned. Oh yes, this would work.

The bit was a snaffle, which meant it was jointed in the middle, and thus could bend in half with ease. This way, it fit without any trouble into the coffee can. I dipped it, then pulled it out and took it back out to Blue, keeping my hand under it so it didn’t drip all over the tack room.

I offered him the molasses-covered bit, letting him sniff it first. His ears perked up, and he reached for the bit with his upper lip. By the time he had half a clue what the molasses was on, the bit was in his mouth and across his tongue where it belonged.

Chomping away, he glared at me, and I chuckled to myself.

“I know, I know,” I said, patting his shoulder. “I tricked you.”

He snorted, then chewed on the bit while I cleaned off my hand. Hopefully, he wasn’t the type who’d only fall for this trick once. Some would buy it every single time until the day they died. Others would buy it once and then clamp their jaws shut at the first whiff of molasses from then on.

But this time, it had worked, so I’d take that and run with it.

Blue kept chomping while I fastened all the straps on his bridle. Then he watched uncertainly while I picked up the coiled lines off the tack box. I laced them through the rings on top of the surcingle, one on the left and one on the right, and then clipped them to the rings on his bit. He wasn’t sure about all of this but didn’t seem too alarmed, which was a good sign.

Once he was ready, I took him to the outside arena. There, I held the lines like an extra-long set of driving reins, though I walked rather than riding in a cart. Instead of walking behind Blue, I stayed off to the side, making a smaller circle while he walked the outermost track beside the rail.

Blue nervously chomped the bit and danced a little. He shied away from the traffic cones stacked in the corner. From the mounting block in the other corner. From a butterfly. The cones. The mounting block. The place where the butterfly had been a moment ago. I just kept him walking, letting him get accustomed to his surroundings. As he calmed down, I steered him into a half figure eight, walking him across the diagonal of the arena until he reached the opposite corner and continued counterclockwise instead of clockwise. Naturally, he spooked at the butterfly’s landing place, the mounting block and the cones.

As every horse eventually did, he got bored with spooking at the same things over and over again and started looking for new things to be scared of. Once he did that—
A leaf? Really, Blue?
—I casually switched from walking him in circles to steering him in smaller circles. Serpentines. Figure eights. Halt. Walk. Halt again.

I tried to back him up, but that erupted into disaster in no time flat. At first, I thought he was going to do it: he’d tucked his head and leaned back like he was supposed to. One step backward, and he jerked his head up so hard he nearly pulled the lines from my hands before he reared all the way up.

As soon as his front feet were on the ground again, I put him into a walk, and we were back to spooking—cones, mounting block, leaf—and he snorted and blew as he chomped the bit and danced sideways. Okay, so walking and turning were fine, but backing was a problem. Good to know.

More circles. More serpentines. More walking the track around and around the arena until the place that butterfly had landed wasn’t so terrifying after all. Once he’d calmed down, I urged him on to see if he’d trot or go into a running walk. Or lose his shit. Anything was possible.

To my surprise, after a moment of dancing and hesitating and chomping at the bit, he transitioned effortlessly into a beautiful, smooth running walk. He bobbed his head in time with his smooth, even gaits, gliding around the arena like he’d never been shod within an inch of his life or mistreated in the name of being flashy in the show ring.

And I was floored. Simply floored. Yeah, I’d seen him do this at McBride’s, but that could have been a fluke. Yet here he was, doing it again. With a horse like Blue, every small victory was worth celebrating, and this was no small victory. Even if Blue wasn’t yet rideable, his gaits had come a long way since his show days. A
long
way. Watching him now, you’d never know he’d ever had a reason to associate his running walk with pain, fear and a ridiculous amount of effort just to move his feet. I could say a lot about McBride, especially for getting me to take two horses who couldn’t yet be ridden, but I had to give him credit for this. He must have put in a lot of hours to get this horse to work so well on the ground
and
without any problems in his gaits.

Just watching him was breathtaking. It mystified me that anyone would want to ruin such a smooth, beautiful gait—and such a beautiful, sweet horse—in the name of show and flash.

After a few laps around one half of the arena, I brought Blue down to a walk, steered him the other direction and tried my luck again. Sure enough, right back into that lovely running walk. Goddamn, I couldn’t wait until this horse was okay under saddle.

I slowed him to a walk again, took him around the ring a few more times to make sure he was good and cooled down. Then I brought him to a halt, praised him and led him back to the barn. First ground-driving lesson down and with only minor problems. The rearing while backing could be resolved with some work. He’d just have to learn to live with the butterflies.

But that running walk. My God. That alone could make all the headaches worth it.

As I untacked him and groomed him again, my mother came down the aisle.

“Hey, Mom,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Oh, I just saw you bringing the new boy in from outside,” she said. “Thought I’d come down and see how things went.” She approached slowly, holding out her hand. “My goodness, you
are
a pretty one, aren’t you?”

“You should see him move.”

“Is that right?”

“He’s amazing.” I patted his neck. “Can’t wait to ride him. Someday, anyway.”

“So how bad is he?” Mom asked.

“He’s a mess,” I said. “McBride’s kid’s got his arm in a cast from trying to ride him.”

“Oh Lord.” Mom sighed sharply. “Why in the world did he tell you the horse was ready, then?”

“Probably just wanted to get rid of him. He’s had him for over a year now.”

“Is he at least sound?”

“He’s definitely sound.” I absently tapped my fingers on my elbow. “And his gaits are beautiful. God, Mom, his running walk…” I clicked my tongue and shook my head. “I would kill to ride that, let me tell you.”

“Yes, well.” Mom eyed Blue. “Sounds like he might kill someone before that happens.”

“No,” I said. “It’ll just take some time. He’ll get there.”

She released an, impatient sigh. “Son—”

“Mom, I can handle him.”

“I know you can,” she said. “It’s him, the other two, and all the other horses I’m concerned about. You keep this up, you’re gonna have to bring in an assistant trainer—which you
cannot
afford—just to make sure all your paid clients are taken care of while you’re messing around with these rescues.”

“I’ll figure something out.” I patted Blue’s neck and smiled. “I can handle it.”

“Mm-hmm. How much time do you think he’ll need?”

I shrugged. “Hard to say.”

“Are there any others from that farm?” Mom asked.

I glanced at her. “Do you mean am I going to be bringing any more up from McBride’s?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” she said dryly.

Watching my fingers run through Blue’s black mane, I said, “This is it from that farm.”

“From that farm,” she said. “Are there others?”

“Don’t know yet.” I threw her another, briefer glance. “There’s some talk about taking some off one of the big rescue facilities’ hands. They’re badly overloaded, but…I don’t know yet.”

She sighed. “Dustin—”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not taking any more in as long as I still have Chip, Star and Blue.”

“Good.”

As I unclipped Blue’s cross-ties so I could put him back in his stall, my mother asked, “What about Amy?”

I eyed Mom. “What about her?”

“Maybe she could work with—”

“Uh,
no
.”

“Why not?” She shrugged. “From what she told me, she’s got some experience riding. I don’t know how much, but she knows her way around horses.”

I scowled. “Have you seen the way she looks at them, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mom, she looks right
through
them.” I shook my head and turned toward Blue again. “That’s the last thing these horses need.”

“Then maybe for your more experienced horses. The ones who just need a little bit of—”

“Absolutely not. I’m not putting someone on a horse if she’s the equestrian equivalent of a sociopath.”

Mom laughed humorlessly. “Oh, come on now. She isn’t that bad.”

I raised an eyebrow.

She sighed. “Look, I’m just saying, you need some help here. You’re liable to get in way over your head, Dad and I can’t work with them anymore, and you’ve got someone right here on the property who may be able to help. Okay, maybe she’s not assistant trainer material, but I think it’s a safe bet this isn’t her first rodeo.”

I threw my Mom a glare.

She grimaced. “Sorry. I mean, this isn’t her first…” Mom waved a hand. “Look, you know what I mean.”

“I do, and quite honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass if she’s got experience.” I glanced down the aisle, checking to make sure Amy hadn’t come back in for some reason. She hadn’t, but I lowered my voice anyway. “Even if I do bring in someone to help me, it sure as hell isn’t going to be someone who looks at a horse no differently than she does a bucket or a tractor.”

Mom watched me for a moment, probably debating whether or not to argue. Finally, she just sighed and shook her head. “It’s your decision. Just don’t burn out or bankrupt yourself.”

“I won’t.” I clipped Blue’s lead to his halter. “But I’ll pass on having Amy work with them.”

“You really don’t like her, do you?”

“I don’t know what to make of her,” I said over my shoulder on the way to Blue’s stall. “I really don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve talked to her, right?”

“Some,” Mom said. “Why?”

“Give me a second.” I put Blue back in his stall and took off his halter. As I came out and slipped the halter on its hook, I said, “She’s just…” My eyes darted down the aisle, making doubly sure Amy wasn’t within earshot. “I can’t figure her out. The way she interacts with the horses. Or
doesn’t
, I should say.”

“How so?”

“I don’t even know.” I shook my head. “I don’t get it. It’s like, she just moves them around like farm equipment, and absolutely nothing registers. She connects with them like I connect with your garden gnomes.”

Mom rested her elbow on Blue’s door. She didn’t say anything for a little while but then nodded toward him. “What would you think of him if you didn’t know what had happened to him?”

I furrowed my brow. “Blue? What do you mean?”

She didn’t look at me. “If he showed up here with all his quirks, but no one ever told you what he’d been through, what would you think?”

I shifted my gaze to the gelding. “Obviously something happened to him. Horses aren’t born scared of people.”

“No.” She gave me a knowing look. “They certainly aren’t.”

I eyed her. “What exactly are you getting at?”

Mom inclined her head, and her face took on that expression that demanded I read between every line she spoke. “I’m saying that I know you, and I know that no matter why an animal is difficult to work with or has trouble adjusting, you don’t treat it any differently than if you had his entire background like you do Blue’s.”

“Right…”

She pushed herself off the door and touched my arm. “Think about it, son.”

I swallowed. “She’s just here to work for me. Nothing more.”

“Mm-hmm. And why would she have taken a farmhand job in the middle of nowhere? Look at her. A place like this isn’t a destination for a girl like her, Dustin.” She glanced down the aisle, then looked at me again. “Girl like her comes to a place like this and stays a million miles away in her mind? I have a feeling she came here to get away from something.”

Alarm tightened my chest. “Like what?”

Mom shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe she just needed to find herself.”

I avoided her eyes as I let the words digest for a moment. I hadn’t considered that angle, and now guilt gnawed at me for thinking the worst about Amy.

“Dustin.” Mom drew my attention to the pointed look she was giving me, “That girl is not a rescue horse.”

“What?” I laughed. “Of course she isn’t. I know that.”

She raised an eyebrow.

I shifted my weight. “What?”

“Remember when you were young and you wanted to bring home that bird that broke its wing?”

“Which one?”

Mom pursed her lips. “Well, that’s kind of my point. First it was the birds. Now it’s the horses. And sometimes…”