At Top Speed (Quartz Creek Ranch) Page 9

  Madison nodded, and did not suggest otherwise. “Every horse is different,” she said. “You have to learn your way around each one individually. Just like with humans.”

  Ella had never thought about it like that. She glanced down at Eight’s long, elegant, spotted neck, and ran a hand along it. Figure Eight dipped her head and leaned into Ella’s arm.

  If the two of them were ever going to race, Ella thought, she would have to figure out what made Eight tick.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Madison introduced them to the “gymkhana” events that week—which, to Ella’s great pleasure, included barrel racing. They were events designed around obstacles like barrels and poles to help them develop handling. “And it’s always fun to race,” said Madison.

  Everyone was excited to try them out after the rodeo. Madison asked Jordan to demonstrate each event at a trotting speed—pole-bending, where Jordan weaved Loco through a row of poles and back again. Then keyhole, where Jordan ran Loco inside a small square of poles, performed a loop, and sprinted home. And last but not least, they performed the cloverleaf barrel pattern—flawlessly.

  Ella was so excited to try the barrels that by their turn, Figure Eight was dancing in place, sensing her impatience. Ella wanted to run the pattern, to take those sharp turns at a hard gallop like the racers at the rodeo. But she knew she hadn’t reached that level with Eight yet, and without that connection to each other, Eight might just gallop off, out of control.

  Ella couldn’t afford to mess up again and have Eight taken away.

  They were supposed to walk each pattern, but by the time they reached the barrels, Eight started off at a slow trot. Madison didn’t object as they headed for the first barrel, but Ella was nervous after her last lesson.

  Nevertheless, Eight seemed to be in a good mood out here. Her ears perked forward, toward the first barrel. Keeping that close contact with her through the reins, Ella focused on relaxing. She sank into the saddle and kept her eyes on the spot just to the left of the barrel—where she wanted Eight to go.

  As the barrel came up on their right, Eight’s neck bent underneath her, around the barrel. Still moving at a slow trot, they cleared it and headed to the second one.

  Ella’s gaze stayed twenty-five feet ahead of Eight. She was thinking about going around the obstacle when Eight anticipated her. They cruised around the barrel, so close to the side Ella could have reached out and tapped it with her foot. She cheered inside her head.

  Then, the last one. Another left turn. The other two had gone so well, she worried this was when Eight would decide to act up. As if in response, Eight tossed her head and sped up her trot, tossing Ella into the air.

  “Relax!” Madison called. “You’re tensing up!”

  Ella let out a long breath and focused again on where she wanted to go: around the barrel. She barely had to tug on the rein for Figure Eight to wrap around it.

  And then, they were clear.

  Eight, her neck low, sped up her trot. She was just as eager as Ella to finish out with a bang. Deciding Eight had done a good enough job to warrant it, Ella let her go at a fast trot back to the end of the line, where the other horses were waiting their turns.

  “Wow!” said Ash, flicking his blond bowl-cut out of his face. “You two looked sweet out there.”

  Drew’s head bobbed up and down. “Totally sweet.”

  Madison rushed out into the arena. “See how Eight’s neck dropped like that?” She grinned at Ella. “That was her relaxing. When you’re calm, she’s calm. She feels safe with you. That’s what I like to see.”

  Ella tingled from neck to ankle. They’d done the barrels! Even if it was just at a trot.

  But even better, Eight had trusted Ella. In that moment they’d moved as one unit, with one mind. Ella had thought, and looked, and Eight had followed.

  Ella just hoped they could do it again tomorrow.

  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

  But after that, they left the gymkhana events behind and returned to horsemanship. Ella’s stomach dropped.

  She’d wanted to gallop those barrels, and now she’d lost her chance. She wanted to scream, Let me keep practicing them! But Ella wanted to appear subdued, to show the old lady she had mastered those irritating virtues.

  Anyway, when did she have time to practice? Ma Etty would never let her out of daily lessons with Fletch and Madison. Maybe she could use her free time. Ella would prefer riding anyway to Frisbee or bean bag toss or whatever else.

  As soon as she had the idea, though, she knew she couldn’t ask Figure Eight to work hard two times a day.

  So Ella did something she never thought she’d do. As they were taking food scraps out to the compost after lunch, Ella asked Madison if she could be paired up with Lacey again.

  “Really?” Madison upended her container of peels and eggshells over the fence. “But you and Eight are doing so well together. I don’t understand.”

  “If I’m going to work Eight separately on the barrels, I can’t be riding her all morning, too.”

  Madison frowned. “Work her separately on barrels?”

  “Sure. I want to practice with her every day, for at least two hours. I’ll spend half of it on the barrels and half of it on just horsemanship.”

  “Where will you find time for that?” Madison asked. “You still have to do your chores every day.”

  It was Ella’s turn to look confused. “Free time, duh.”

  “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to ride two hours a day on Lacey with Fletch and me, and then another two on your own time, with Eight?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Ella shrugged. “I’d rather do that with my free time than play soccer. I’ll do my chores, then go work with Eight.”

  “Who’s supervising you?” Madison asked.

  Ella hadn’t considered that. She’d thought Mr. Bridle’s recommendation would be enough. “No one,” Ella said tentatively.

  Madison bit her lip. “That won’t work. And I can’t be out there watching you myself because I have things I have to do around the ranch.” She glanced at Fletch, who was at the table handing out chores. “Neither can Fletch. He’s up to his ears in work helping Paul get ready for new yearlings to arrive next week.” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps Mr. Bridle could help you. He has a little bit of barrel know-how. But you’d have to ask him—he’s crunched for time, too.”

  The little lesson plan Ella had built in her head burned to the ground.

  “But Madison . . . !” she said, as they headed back to the house. “Eight and I are doing so well together. We’ll be fine alone.”

  This had always worked on her dad. All Ella had to say was, I know I can do it. I’ll make it happen, Dad. And if she spoke in that confident tone of voice, he would smile at her and say, Okay, Ell. Do it. Make it happen. He liked her best when she acted like him.

  Madison shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  “But—”

  “Sorry,” Madison said. “Not alone.”

  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

  Ella wanted to break something.

  She couldn’t believe it—Madison turning her down like that. Ella tromped into the house with her boots still on. Ma Etty, who was sitting at the dining room table, raised her eyebrows.

  “Ella, leave those boots in the mudroom.”

  Ella glanced down at her feet and practically snarled when she saw what she’d forgotten. She tore the boots off her feet and stalked back out again, dumping them in the mudroom. There she ran into Jordan, who was sliding hers off, too. Literally ran into her.

  Their skulls knocked together and they both shouted, “Ow!” as they stumbled backward. Ella rubbed her head. Without thinking about it, Ella said, “Watch where you’re going!”

  Dang it. She always seemed to slip up around Jordan.

  “Sorry,” was all Jordan said, and she made sure to right both of their pairs of boots by the door. “I’m so
rry, I wasn’t looking.”

  Ella wanted to roar something at her. Stop apologizing! Have a backbone! But getting mad at Jordan wouldn’t accomplish anything. It might even set her back—though Ella wasn’t sure how much farther back it was possible to go.

  “It was my fault,” Ella said. “I’m the one tromping around like a bull in a china shop.”

  Jordan glanced at her. “What’s wrong?”

  The question, and the eye contact, took Ella by surprise.

  “Uh . . . I’m mad, I guess.”

  “About what?”

  “Madison won’t let me practice barrels during free time.”

  “Hmm.” Jordan closed the door behind her and they walked together back toward the kitchen. “That’s silly. You should get to do whatever you want with your free time. Though that is a lot of work in one day for Figure Eight.”

  “I know! So I told Madison I’d ride Lacey for lessons, and only work Eight in the afternoons.”

  Jordan’s eyebrows knit together. “She shouldn’t have a problem, then.”

  “She said nobody has time, except maybe Mr. Bridle.” Then a thought occurred to Ella. “I think she doesn’t trust me in the arena alone.”

  As soon as she said it, Ella realized it was true.

  Jordan had an expression on her face like maybe she agreed with Madison on this assessment. If it had been anyone else, Ella would have socked them.

  But Jordan was probably right. Ella hadn’t exactly proven herself to be the most in-control around horses.

  Then you should ask Jordan for help with the barrel racing part, Ma Etty had said.

  Maybe that’s what Ella needed: Jordan. The trainers trusted her. If Ella could get Jordan on her side, could get her to teach her the barrels, they would let her practice alone.

  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

  During free time, Ma Etty decided to take them on a trip to see the new frogs that were starting to appear down at the creek. On the way home for dinner, Jordan fell to the back of the group as she usually did—and Ella followed her.

  Ella didn’t speak first, and Jordan didn’t start a conversation, either. Ella wanted to demand that Jordan become her teacher. But she knew where that would get her.

  Instead, Ella waited. Then, after a while she said, “How’s it going with Loco Roco?”

  Jordan gave her a surprised look.

  “He’s a good horse,” she said. “Smart, eager. Funny, too.”

  “Funny?”

  “Yeah. He likes to nibble on my pockets when I turn my back to him, or play with his lead rope while we’re tacking up. He has a good sense of humor.”

  Ella had never considered that a horse could have a sense of humor. But if anyone would know something like that, it would be the girl who spent her mornings quietly sitting with her horse in the barn.

  “That’s so cool,” said Ella. She wished she had that kind of relationship with Figure Eight. It would probably make the riding part a lot easier. “Hey, I want to ask you something.”

  “Like what?” Jordan asked, giving her a sideways look. Ella barreled on, sensing that she needed to assure Jordan she didn’t have a nefarious purpose, as Kim would say.

  “I just want to learn how to run the barrels properly,” Ella told Jordan. “And you know how, right?”

  “Well, sure,” said Jordan. “But so do you.”

  “Not as well as you. You won a championship.”

  “It was a—”

  Ella held up one hand. “I know you’re going to say it was a fluke,” she said. “But I’ve seen how you ride Loco Roco, and you’re obviously better at this than I am, by a long shot.” It wrenched Ella’s gut to say it out loud, but there was no more obvious truth.

  “I couldn’t teach anyone,” said Jordan, and Ella saw her clamming up again.

  “Yes, you can!” Ella said it forcefully, with complete confidence, hoping her faith would be contagious—that Jordan would sop up some of it and keep it for herself.

  “I don’t know,” said Jordan, hesitant. “I’ve never taught anyone anything. I could mess you up.”

  “No, you couldn’t.”

  Jordan shrugged. “Who knows what I’m capable of?”

  Frustrated, Ella wanted to try harder to convince Jordan that what Ella had said was the truth—Jordan couldn’t mess anyone up. But she’d seen what that had done last time, so Ella went quiet as well. She just kept pace with Jordan, as if agreeing to the silence.

  Jordan’s anxiety seemed to fade as they approached the house. As they started heading inside, Jordan stopped on the stairs. Even though she didn’t look at Ella, Ella knew she was talking to her when she said, “I’ll maybe think about it, okay?”

  Ella nodded and said patiently, “Okay.”

  “It still doesn’t guarantee we’ll get permission to practice alone,” said Jordan.

  “I know,” said Ella. “That’s okay. I just want to try.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next day, Ella and Jordan were assigned to deep-clean the kitchen with Mr. Bridle.

  “Hey,” Jordan said to Ella as they entered the kitchen, equipped with matching rubber gloves. “I’ve been thinking about your . . . practice issue. Maybe you can talk to Mr. Bridle about it, like Madison said.”

  “Talk to me about what?” Mr. Bridle said, getting up from the floor. He had a bucket of dirty, soapy water in one hand and a huge sponge in the other. The knees of his jeans were soaked through.

  “Ella wants to spend her free time practicing barrels,” said Jordan. “But Madison told her no.”

  “As well she should. You all haven’t been riding long enough to be left unsupervised, and we older folks have things we have to do in the afternoons. That’s why we give you free time. It means ‘off time’ for us.” He winked at them, then realized Ella wasn’t in the best mood about getting turned down, and cleared his throat. “Well . . . what if you supervised her, Jordan?”

  Jordan’s face drained of all color.

  “What?” she squeaked.

  “What?” said Ella. But Jordan was the same age as Ella! What business did she have supervising another kid? Teacher, sure. Overseer? No way.

  “Sure.” Mr. Bridle squeezed out his sponge into the dirty bucket and dug two more out of the cupboard under the sink. He handed one to each of them. “Why not? Jordan’s been riding for years. I’ve seen you out in the arena, little lady. You have what it takes to handle the situation if anything goes wrong.”

  “N-n-no, I don’t,” said Jordan, backing away from them both like they’d come down with a highly contagious disease.

  “Sure, you do,” said Mr. Bridle gently. Jordan was about to object again, so Mr. Bridle said, “How about this, Jordan? I’ll let you out of your chores for the week if you can supervise Ella during her extra horse work.”

  Jordan frowned. “But I like doing my chores. Gathering the eggs and milking the goats, at least.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Hmm. I didn’t anticipate that.”

  This was Ella’s chance. Her only chance. “Please, Jordan? Pretty, pretty please? I’ll make your bed every morning.”

  “Every single morning?” said Jordan hopefully. Ella nodded. “I don’t know . . .”

  “And I’ll take your plate to the sink after every meal.”

  “Whoa,” said Mr. Bridle. “The stakes get higher.”

  “Every meal?” asked Jordan.

  “Every single meal,” said Ella.

  Jordan swallowed, looked between Mr. Bridle and Ella, and gave a slow, reluctant nod. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it. But I still want to do my chores. The others will get mad if they see I get to play around while they’re all working.”

  Mr. Bridle stared at her, then laughed. “Okay. Sure. If you want, you can still do your chores.”

  Ella just shook her head. Jordan was still beyond her understanding. But Ella offered a big smile and said, “Thanks, man.”

  “All right, enough talking. More scrubbing.” Mr.
Bridle let out a sigh that didn’t sound all too thrilled about getting stuck with this job, either. He pushed the bucket of water toward them. “Ella, you’re on that end of the kitchen. Jordan, you’re taking the pantry. We get through this early and I’ll sneak us each a piece of pie from the fridge.”

  “Pie!” said Ella and Jordan together.

  As they got to work, a thrill ran down Ella’s spine. She was going to learn the barrels!

  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

  The moment they were in the arena the next afternoon, Figure Eight wanted to go, go, go—just like Ella did. Then she thought of the way her dad drove, always needing to get there right now! The way he blew through intersections, too impatient to stop, terrified her.

  So Ella decided she was going to take it the way Mr. Bridle had forced her to with Lacey: slow and steady, to make sure she did it right this time.

  Eight refused to walk along the rail as they warmed up, playing the same game—drifting toward the middle, cutting corners. Then, after the first two laps, she wouldn’t stay at a walk and kept breaking into a trot. When Ella corrected her, Eight threw her ears back irritably, and sometimes simply ignored her.

  What was Ella doing wrong? Each time Eight misbehaved, Ella jerked the reins back toward the rail and kicked harder, and harder, with her inside leg. But it seemed the harder she kicked, the less Eight listened.

  Jordan didn’t speak as Eight and Ella worked. At first, Ella liked it; this wasn’t Madison, shouting instructions at her constantly from the center of the ring. But when Ella couldn’t get Eight to listen, correction after correction, she grew irritated. She wanted Jordan to say something, to give her some kind of advice.

  “What am I doing wrong?” Ella finally asked, yanking Eight to a stop near the railing where Jordan was standing.

  “Um.” Jordan scratched her head. “You’re correcting only when she’s totally out of sync—and you’re pulling on her really hard. She’s probably as frustrated as you are. Wouldn’t it be annoying if you were screamed at for doing something wrong, but only long after you had started doing it? Wouldn’t you wish someone had told you sooner, more gently?”