The Boy Who Loves Horses (Pegasus Equestrian Center Series) Page 10

  The worst night of my life turned into the best night of my life, he mused and smiled to himself as he picked up a jog; he was going to be late. Without fail, today he would apologize to Sierra. He felt like he could face anything today.

  *****

  The jangle of the alarm clock woke Sierra; the first time in ages that she didn’t wake up on her own. She squinted through puffy eyes and her head ached. I have a hangover and it’s not my fault. So unfair! She forced herself out of bed, dressed, and slipped out of the house for the stable.

  Of all mornings, River, who was never late, showed up a half hour late. It didn’t help Sierra’s grumpy mood that she had to start chores by herself. She had fed all the horses their hay and was filling grain buckets when River finally showed up.

  “Hi,” he greeted with a smile.

  Sierra glanced over her shoulder, a frown on her face. This was the first time he had said hi to her since their disagreement. And he was even smiling! Somehow, that made her angry, and she certainly did not feel charitable or forgiving today. She kept her back to him and continued to scoop up grain and drop it into a bucket.

  “Sierra, I’m sorry,” he blurted out.

  She simply did not care and refused to answer. He had treated her very badly for weeks, and one ‘I’m sorry’ was not going to atone for that. She continued filling buckets and tried to shut out his presence as River began stacking the filled buckets in the back of the electric cart.

  They stayed out of each other’s way until time to clean stalls. Today, as she began mucking her first stall, he stepped inside, which prevented her from being able to toss manure and wet shavings into the cart.

  “Sierra, you have every right to hate me.”

  She stopped, since she couldn’t muck, and glared at him.

  “I’m sorry. You did nothing wrong.” He stood awkwardly, his hands running up and down nervously on the handle of the pitchfork he carried. “I want us to be friends.”

  “I don’t,” Sierra answered spitefully, and surprised how good she felt saying that. “Please get out of my way.”

  He sighed and left the stall to start mucking in the one next to her.

  An aching lump of hurt and disappointment had settled in Sierra’s chest last night, and she woke with the lump still there. She foolishly had promised Luke not to say anything to her mother, even though she had never lied to her mother or kept secrets from her. It had been so hard to keep her promise when Sierra found her mother asleep on the sofa, waiting for her. She awoke, ready to hear all about her daughter’s first date, but all Sierra said was, “It was fine. I’m exhausted. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.” She had hugged her mother and rushed to her room before she had to answer any questions. The one person who could have comforted and advised her, Sierra had to avoid.

  Now Sierra felt bitterly angry that she had made such a promise to Luke. She was angry with River who had been treating her so unkindly and so unfair. At the moment, Sierra did not like boys at all. She was in no mood to forgive. Strange, how the lump in her chest was causing tears to form, and it was a struggle to hold them back. I will not cry in front of him!

  She sensed River frequently looking over at her. She tasted the bitter-sweetness of revenge as she continued to work and ignore him. How does it feel to be shunned, River? she thought to herself vindictively.

  Sierra worked harder and faster than usual, spurred on by her anger. The barn was full with twenty occupied stalls to clean, ten each. It took Sierra nine stalls before the lump won. As she stepped into her last stall she could no longer hold back the tears. She snuffled and brushed them away as the first few leaked from her eyes. Then one wrenching sob escaped and River looked up from his pitchfork.

  The next moment, River was beside her, pulling the pitchfork from her hands and taking her into his arms. He held her close and whispered, “I’m sorry,” and then, “please don’t cry,” which only caused Sierra to lose any remaining control and she sobbed helplessly against his chest. It seemed like for hours he just held her tight and let her cry.

  “Did I hurt you so badly?” he asked when the sobs subsided to sniffles.

  “It’s not just you,” Sierra said, muffled into his chest. “I had a horrible time last night.”

  “Tell me.”

  She did; even the part about Crystal befriending her because she thought Sierra and River were no longer friends. She told him about Justin spiking her drink and the promise she had made to Luke.

  “No one should ever make you promise to hide anything from your mother. You have a great mom.”

  When he said that, the last vestiges of her anger toward him finally melted. “River, I’m sorry. I do want to be friends again.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m so stupid sometimes.”

  “Yeah, you are,” she agreed. She pulled away from his chest and looked up into his face with a tentative smile. The lump in her chest at least for now, was nearly gone.

  River smiled back, his dark eyes warm and sympathetic, looking into hers. For a brief moment, it almost felt as if he wanted to kiss her, and somehow, Sierra actually wanted him to. But he dropped his arms, releasing her and they stepped apart.

  A voice singing in Spanish warned that Manuel was on his way with the breakfast basket prepared every weekend by his wife Rosa. They stowed their pitchforks, washed their hands in the tack room, and joined Manuel at the observation platform of the indoor arena where he was setting out the food.

  “Manuel,” River called out as he and Sierra walked up to the platform. He said several sentences in Spanish.

  “Que gusto,” Manuel shouted out exuberantly. “Eet ees about time.” He grabbed River and hugged him tightly and smiled over at Sierra. “Dees boy, finally find ‘ees senses, no?”

  Sierra nodded and laughed. Her mood shifted to an almost euphoric lightness. Her head had finally stopped aching. It felt so good to be friends again with River, and that Manuel cared about the two of them. These were her true friends. She resolved at that moment that she had quite enough of dating, at least for another year or so. Maybe she truly was just not mature enough.

  After breakfast, they finished up the remaining morning chores and were ready to ride. “Can you give me a lesson tomorrow instead of today?” Sierra asked, for she didn’t feel like she could handle the intense concentration needed for dressage. River readily agreed. The day was drizzly, so they put on rain slickers that spread out to cover the saddles, and rode out on the trail; Sierra on Fiel and River on a horse in training. It was the best hangover remedy and mood elevator that Sierra could imagine.

  Later that afternoon, River took Sierra to the black’s paddock. She watched in awe, impressed with how much progress River had made with the distrustful horse. As River entered the paddock, the horse stood facing him with his head arched forward and ears pricked, but Sierra could see him keeping one wary eye on her, where she remained at the paddock gate.

  “He has been walking up to me,” River told her in a quiet voice, “but I think he’s unsure with you here.”

  “Should I leave?” she asked, but not wanting to go.

  “No, I think this will be good for him. Other people need to be able to get close to him besides me.” By this time, River had walked half the distance to his horse. The black, deciding that Sierra was not an immediate threat, lowered his head, emitted a soft whicker and took a few steps toward River. As they met, River offered the horse treats off the palm of his hand, all the time murmuring to him in low tones. When the treats were eaten, River held up a halter for the black to see and smell, and then with slow motions, buckled it on. He remained with the horse awhile longer, talking to him and stroking his neck before he picked up the lead rope and led him toward the gate.

  “Turn slowly and start walking away,” River told her, keeping his voice in the same low tone. “Head to the grass and we’ll catch up with you.”

  Sierra obeyed, and soon she heard the sound of the gate opening and sensed Rive
r and the black approaching behind her. At one point, she heard them stop and the black snorted loudly. It was hard not to stop and look back, but Sierra resisted and kept walking slowly away. Within a few minutes, River came up along her right side, with the black on his right.

  “If he starts grazing with you nearby that will be good enough for today,” River said, still talking softly. He kept pace with her as they reached the patch of grass and then they all stopped. The black snorted a few more times, looking around warily and keeping an eye on Sierra. The two kids stood very still, waiting. Eventually, the black dropped his head to snatch a mouthful of grass and then bring his head back up. Before long, he dropped his head to graze uninterrupted.

  They walked along with the horse as he moved through the grass at the end of the lead rope. Sierra listened as River softly explained his work with the horse and she noted how much better the animal already looked. Although still too thin, his bones were not as prominent and most of the sores had healed. His feet looked almost normal.

  “You’re performing a miracle,” Sierra said softly, pleased that the black continued to graze, although she noted his ears flick at the sound of her voice.

  “Let’s see if you can get closer,” River said. “Stay by my side, and just mimic my hands when I start to pet him.” Again, Sierra complied, and as River kept a hum of low Spanish words, they both reached up to stroke his neck. The black didn’t even flinch. By the time River led him back to the paddock, Sierra was able to reach up to occasionally give him a pat. When they released him into the paddock, they both held out their hands with a treat resting in the palms. The black quickly took the treat from River. Sierra didn’t move, and waited patiently as the black studied her, flicking his ears, until he finally decided to reach forward and lip off the treat from her palm. He had accepted her!

  “Have you thought of a name for him?” Sierra asked as she tossed hay into the black’s feed crib and River followed with a bucket of grain and supplements.

  “Not yet.”

  “You can’t call him Demon.”

  “No, I’ve never called him that. I’m waiting to see what name might fit him.”

  “Maybe something with heart,” Sierra said, “since he has that heart-shaped star.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What about Trueheart?”

  “Hmm; where’d you get a name like that?”

  “I don’t know.” Sierra didn’t want to admit to him about her imaginary black steed that she had named Trueheart; the phantom horse that galloped alongside whenever she rode in a car.

  Manuel walked by on his way to start bringing in the horses for the night, but he stopped and joined them at the paddock rail. They stood together, watching the horse contentedly chewing up his grain.

  “We’re thinking about a name for him,” Sierra informed Manuel.

  “Peligroso,” Manuel said with a laugh, the name he called the horse ever since he had helped River bring him home.

  “He’s not so dangerous anymore,” River replied. But the Spanish word gave him an idea. “What about Corazón?”

  “What does it mean?” Sierra asked.

  “Heart.”

  “Corazón,” Manuel repeated, nodding his head.

  “Corazón,” Sierra tried out the word. “It’s perfect!”

  *****

  11 Homework

  To these animals, the ability to intuit fear in a distant herd member and act on this feeling without hesitation is a lifesaving skill. Their innate aptitude for resonating with another being's trust, joy, or confidence is a life enhancing skill. – Linda Kohanov

  *****

  River had few friends; he had always felt closer to and got along better with animals than with people. Since João had died, he really considered Sierra, Manuel, and Rosa his only friends, and maybe Dr. Patterson. He had never had friends his own age until Sierra, and then he had almost lost that friendship through his own stupidity.

  Now River could not remember when he had felt so light-hearted or happy. Sierra had forgiven him and that forgiveness had lifted such a weight from his shoulders that only by its absence did he realize how heavy it had been; how much he had missed her. How stupid he had acted; and she was right, of course. Talking about people you cared about was okay. After all, he had talked about Sierra to João, and that had led to their friendship and the fact she now owned Fiel. It was just hard for him to believe that anyone talking about him could be saying anything good. He had imagined Sierra telling Allison how he wanted to drop out of school, how stupid, and what a failure he was. A wave of guilt washed over his bright mood when he thought about how badly he had treated her.

  But she had forgiven him, and warmth spread throughout him as he thought about holding her in his arms. Sweet little Sierra, mi angelita. She had stayed around to help him and Manuel bring in the horses and feed, like she used to before he had been such a jerk. Then she had invited him over for dinner. He promised he’d come sometime soon, but not tonight. He didn’t really expect Laila to still be hanging around but just in case…

  Laila…to have a girl come to him and want him was such a strange and exhilarating feeling. She understood him. There was no sense of judgment or condemnation from her; just acceptance. She had been so tender in caring for his wounded head; and then so free and eager in giving herself to him. He didn’t understand her, but he did want to see her again.

  “Just remember, cousin,” she had said. “I’m nobody’s girlfriend.”

  “Okay,” he answered. Laila was two years older than him, but seemed many years older in her experience and wisdom. She might not be his girlfriend, but he thought they could become friends.

  Laila was not waiting for him, but his father was. River’s heart sank as he entered the yard and the dilapidated truck was still there. Worse, his father leaned against it, smoking a cigarette. “River,” he called out.

  River gave him a nod and continued on to the barn. He heard his father scuff out the cigarette with his boot toe, and then follow behind him.

  “Hey, son,” Cray came into the barn where River was filling Storm’s dish with kibble. “How’re things?”

  “Fine,” River answered, keeping his attention on resealing the bag of dog food.

  “School going okay?”

  “I guess.”

  “Tess tells me you got a horse.”

  “Yeah.”

  “He any good?”

  Just go away. River turned to face his father and shrugged.

  Cray Blackthorn looked a different person from the drunk of last night. Showered and shaved with his hair neatly combed and dressed in well-fitting clothes and polished boots, he appeared a handsome, well-to-do man. Only the bloodshot corners of his eyes hinted at his recent binge. And as often the case, he seemed to have no memory of last night’s fight.

  “I bought a load of groceries and your aunt’s cooking. Come on in and we’ll catch up.” He cocked his head toward the house and waited for River to make a move.

  With a sigh of resignation, River started toward the house, his father falling into step alongside. “What happened to the colt?” River asked.

  “He came up lame. I thought I had a good treatment plan for him, but he lost his next few races.”

  Yeah, a treatment plan of illegal drugs so you can race an unfit horse. River felt the disgust rising but kept his thoughts to himself.

  They stepped into the kitchen and were met by the welcoming smells of a stew simmering in a pot on the stove. A pan of cornbread, still warm from the oven, sat on the counter. Aunt Hazel stood at the sink, actually washing dishes; that happened about twice a year. Usually River cleaned up the kitchen when he couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “That Walt Douglas, you know, Tess’s partner; he knows a few breeders and he’s invited them to a party tonight. Tess is going to introduce me.” Cray continued his monologue as River dished up a bowl of stew, broke off a piece of cornbread, and sat down at the table. It always confused River that his
father could talk to him like this; as if he were an equal, and then the next time around, beat him.

  “So, just a few months and you turn sixteen. We’ll be partners, how about that? You quit school and come work with me at the track.”

  It was an old line, and River just nodded as the easiest way to deal with his father.

  “Oh, that’s just great. Teach him to be another crooked horse trainer,” his aunt commented without turning around from the sink.

  “Shut up, Hazel,” Cray said automatically and without force, keeping his attention on River. “What do you think?”

  “Sure, Cray,” River mumbled.

  “River, why can’t you call me Dad, huh? Would that be so hard?”

  River shrugged and focused on his food. He could never bring himself to call this man ‘Dad’. He had also refused to give up his mother’s name and take Blackthorn, even though he had received a few blows over that.

  The sound of a car’s engine pulling into the yard and the tap of a horn interrupted his father’s questions. “That’s Tess; got to go,” Cray said, jumping up from the table. He clapped River on the shoulder and left.

  “Finish cleaning up in here,” River’s aunt ordered, throwing down her dish towel and stomping out of the kitchen.

  River smirked to himself for he knew Hazel was jealous of all his father’s girlfriends. He didn’t understand that, nor did he understand how Tess kept going back to Cray. They had been in a relationship before River had been born. River had done the math and figured out that Cray must have been involved with Tess and his mother at the same time. Tess also figured that out when Cray had brought River home after his mother’s tragic death in a horse race. He knew Tess had broken up with him then, but somehow, his father had wooed her back, and they continued in a stormy on-and-off relationship.

  River’s good mood had soured in the company of his father and aunt, but once they had both left, his food went down easier and he ate a second helping. He finished washing the dishes, scrubbed pots, wiped down the counters, and swept the floor with his thoughts on Sierra, Laila, and also Corazón, and his mood improved.