Stealing the Prize Read online

  It was going to be so great working with Eric. He was smart with horses. If anyone could make this work, he could.

  Or maybe not …

  “Wait a minute,” Taylor said as a worrisome thought suddenly hit her. “You’re not the best person to try to ride Prince Albert.”

  Eric looked puzzled — and a little hurt. “Why not?”

  “You’re a guy.”

  “Yeah … so?”

  “Remember how Prince Albert acted the first time he saw you?” Taylor reminded him. Prince Albert had bucked and neighed, causing Eric to jump back, so startled he nearly fell to the ground. “He doesn’t like guys.”

  “I remember — but he’s used to me by now, don’t you think?” Eric replied. “I’m standing right here, and he’s not freaking out. Maybe he’s over the whole guy thing. He’s been here a while now.”

  Taylor hoped he was right, but she wasn’t so sure. Prince Albert never seemed to forget anything.

  “He’s calmer now, it’s true,” Taylor admitted. “But after this morning with Casey and Daphne … I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “He’ll be okay,” Eric assured her as he patted Prince Albert’s flank.

  Prince Albert whinnied, and Taylor didn’t like the sound of it. She thought she heard something nervous and high-strung in his tone.

  Taylor heard a car pull in and knew it must be Daphne’s next riding lesson. “I’d better go,” she said despite the fact that she didn’t want to leave Eric. “Daphne wants me to help with her lesson.”

  “Okay,” Eric agreed. “Would it be all right if I called you later tonight?”

  Taylor’s heart seemed to skip a beat.

  “Sure,” she said.

  It was the first good news she’d had all day.

  When Taylor got home early that evening, her mother, Jennifer Henry, was still dressed in the white shirt and black pants she always wore to her job at the Pheasant Valley Diner. Taylor’s parents had divorced back in the spring. Jennifer had started her own catering business, and it was beginning to do well, but not so well that Jennifer could quit her job at the diner.

  “You’re just in time,” Jennifer told Taylor. “Claire is here to help me with a birthday party I’m catering tomorrow. But we could really use your help. I have about a zillion cupcakes to frost before I can go to sleep tonight.”

  Taylor rolled her eyes and slumped. Icing cupcakes was not what she was in the mood to do after the long day she’d had. But she would be happy to see Claire Black, her mother’s best friend since childhood. Claire was an animal rehabilitator, which meant she rescued injured animals of all kinds. Ever since she was small, Taylor had gone with Claire on her rescue missions. It was on one of these rescues that Claire and Taylor had come upon Prince Albert and Pixie locked and abandoned in a barn.

  “Hey, Taylor,” Claire said when Taylor followed her mother into the kitchen. Claire sat at the kitchen table with a half-iced cupcake in her hand, finishing the other side. Bunny, Claire’s brindle-coated pit bull, came out from under the table to greet Taylor by licking her hand.

  “Hi, Claire. Hey, Bunny.” Taylor rubbed Bunny’s head as she spoke.

  “How are things down at Wildwood?” Claire asked.

  “Wildwood is fine, it’s Prince Albert who’s driving me crazy,” Taylor said as she sat at the table and picked up an unfrosted cupcake.

  Jennifer plucked it from Taylor’s fingers. “Go wash your hands. I’m nuking you some meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and peas I brought from the diner.”

  “Why is sweet Prince Albert making you nuts?” Claire inquired as Taylor moved to the sink to wash up.

  “He was so difficult this morning,” Taylor said, and went on to tell her mother and Claire about the frustrating struggle to get her horse to cooperate.

  Claire shook her head sympathetically. “Poor guy.”

  “Poor guy?!” Taylor exploded, returning to her seat at the table. “What about poor me? I’m the one who has to get him to behave. Mrs. LeFleur needs him to work for his room and board.”

  Jennifer put Taylor’s dinner down in front of her. “That’s how I feel when I ask you to help out around here. After you help me with this I want you to clean your room. It’s a mess.”

  “Oh, Mom, I’m so tired,” Taylor complained.

  “So am I,” Jennifer countered.

  “Don’t bicker, you two. We’ll get these cupcakes iced and call it a night,” Claire suggested.

  “You’re right,” Jennifer agreed.

  Taylor ate her meal and then, after washing her hands and putting her dish in the dishwasher, got an icing spreader and began topping the small cakes with frosty white icing. She had finished fifteen cupcakes when her cell phone rang.

  For a second, Taylor thought it might be Eric. But from the ring tone, she knew it was Travis. She’d made Travis’s special ring tone the theme song from the Batman movies because Travis was a devoted comic book lover.

  Wiping her sticky fingers on a dish towel, she plucked the phone from the pocket of her jeans. “Hi. How are you feeling?” Travis had been home all week with a stomach bug.

  “Still horrible,” Travis mumbled. “Really, really horrible.”

  As Travis spoke, Taylor could picture his round face, topped by a blond buzz cut, looking pale and unhappy. “We miss you down at the barn.” Travis wasn’t a rider, but he liked to come down so he and Taylor could continue to spend as much time together as they always had. Mrs. LeFleur was always happy to see him since he was talented at fixing all sorts of things.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” Taylor said to her mom and Claire, rising from the table.

  “One minute,” Jennifer said.

  “Okay.” Taylor wandered into the living room and spread out on the couch. Travis filled her in on his illness and how awful he felt. But then a beep broke through their conversation and her caller ID read ERIC MASON.

  “I’m getting another call,” Taylor said. “Can I call you back?”

  “It’s that Eric guy, isn’t it?” Travis said with an edge of annoyance. Even though she and Travis had always been buddies, Travis seemed jealous of Eric.

  “Why do you think it’s Eric?” Taylor asked.

  “If it was anyone else you’d keep talking to me,” Travis judged correctly.

  Taylor was eager to take Eric’s call before she lost it. “Yeah, well, I’ll call you back. Bye.”

  “Bye,” Travis grumbled.

  Taylor quickly clicked into Eric’s call. “Hello? Hello, Eric?”

  But Eric was already gone. Taylor was just about to call him back when Jennifer shouted from the kitchen. “Taylor, I heard you say bye. What are you doing now?”

  “I just have to call somebody now,” Taylor replied. “Please. It’s very important.”

  “What’s so important?”

  Taylor had to think about that. It seemed very, very important to her, but her mother wouldn’t see it that way. “It will just be a short call,” she said, trying a new approach.

  “No way!” Jennifer shouted. “No more phone tonight.”

  “Mom,” Taylor wailed. “Please. Two minutes.”

  “No! Come in and help!”

  “The cupcakes are calling,” Claire sang out in a jollier tone.

  Her shoulders drooping, Taylor got off the couch and slouched back to the kitchen. First, Prince Albert acted so badly. Now her mother wasn’t cooperating, and she’d missed Eric’s call. Taylor would be glad when this day was over. It had been completely rotten, and it didn’t seem to be getting any better.

  * * *

  On Wednesday afternoon, Taylor chewed on her thumb nervously as she walked across a field, up to the large white barn at Ross River Ranch. Today she would have her first lesson at the fancy stables, and she was feeling a little intimidated already. She had dressed in her nicest pair of breeches (which had only a few stains on them), her worn but functional tall boots (which had once belonged to Daphne), and her Pheasant Valley softb
all sweatshirt (which was her only clean one. She’d been too busy these days to do much laundry).

  Taylor reached the barn’s large sliding door, which was open just enough to walk through. The aisle was wide, with soft lights and fans hanging from the ceiling. Taylor was amazed every time she entered the barn at its immaculate cleanliness and polished appearance. Most barns had a sort of dusty smell of hay mixed with the sweat of horses, but this barn had little scent at all. All the stalls displayed shiny gold nameplates and a bar from which hung horse blankets embroidered with each owner’s initials.

  From the other end of the aisle, she heard the telltale clip-clop of hooves on the smooth cement as a familiar white gelding walked in. It was Monty, the Missouri Fox Trotting Horse that had once belonged to Mercedes. Taylor took out her cell phone to text her friend: THINK I’M RIDING MONTY. COME VISIT!

  Before Mercedes’ family moved to Pheasant Valley, they had been hit with money troubles and sold all their horses to a man who owned another barn in Connecticut. That man had given Monty to his niece, who lived near Pheasant Valley. Mercedes later learned that the niece had sold Monty, along with a few other horses, to Ross River Ranch. She was happy to hear that Monty was nearby, but Mercedes couldn’t just visit the exclusive ranch without a reason.

  A neatly dressed man in a white polo shirt embroidered with the Ross River logo and polished paddock boots held on to Monty’s lead line. He looked to be in his forties, but he was only a little taller than Taylor.

  “Taylor Henry?” he asked. He had a slight Spanish accent and a friendly, weathered face.

  Taylor nodded slowly, surprised that he knew her name. “Yeah. Um, hi,” she replied.

  “I’m Enrique, the head groom here. I was told you’d be coming. Pleased to meet you.” He extended a rough, leathery hand to shake. His firm grip was slightly crushing, and Taylor noticed that he smelled of soap and hay. He smiled at her once more, clipped Monty to the cross ties, and walked into a room down the aisle, on the left.

  A moment later Enrique returned, holding a light brown saddle with a fuzzy girth attached, a black saddle pad that displayed the Ross River insignia in white, and a bridle slung across his shoulder.

  Taylor held out her hands, ready to begin tacking up Monty. But Enrique only stopped, gave her a quizzical look, and then stepped to her left. He tossed the saddle pad onto Monty’s back.

  Taylor dropped her outstretched hands and turned to watch. Enrique glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and chuckled.

  “New here, hmm?” he asked with a grin.

  Taylor blushed, embarrassed to be so obvious. “Could you tell? Really, it’s okay, you don’t have to tack him up. I’ve got it, thank you,” she babbled. She knew that fancy barns often had grooms who got the horses ready for their riders, but she had never expected to be on the receiving end of this luxury.

  “Can’t let you. It’s my job,” Enrique said, tightening the girth. Monty’s ears swiveled as he turned to give a little nip in protest to the girth’s increased pressure. Enrique bopped him lightly on the nose with his free hand, and Monty snapped straight and stared forward, looking like a pouting child.

  Grabbing the bridle, Enrique fit it on Monty’s head, wiggling the bit into his mouth. Monty tongued at the bit, seeming to ponder the new item. Enrique pulled Monty’s forelock out from under the brow band and handed the reins to Taylor.

  “Here you go. Mr. Hobbes will meet you outside in the main ring. You can go warm up in the meantime,” Enrique said with a nod toward the large ring she had competed in not too long ago. He patted Monty on the rump as he left, with a wave to Taylor over his shoulder.

  Taylor stood there, holding the reins, still a little nervous about her approaching lesson and meeting Keith Hobbes. She turned to Monty, who looked back at her expectantly, as if to say Well? Are we going to stand here all day? Taylor took a deep breath and headed out toward the ring.

  It was a clear day, great for riding. Not too hot, not too cold. Taylor brought Monty into the center of the ring and adjusted the stirrups. She noticed the logo on the saddle. She recognized it from the horse catalogs she loved to peruse, just for the fun of it: Hermès. This is the most expensive saddle I’ve ever sat on, she realized, and a small shiver of excitement ran through her. What a different world this was!

  She checked the girth before mounting and then lifted one leg into the stirrup closest to her, hoisting her body up while swinging her right leg over. She squared herself, making sure that she was properly balanced before clucking Monty into a walk.

  As they made their way around the ring, Taylor tried to relax her abdomen and feel her hips sway back and forth with the rhythm of Monty’s gate. When Mercedes had been teaching her English-style riding, she’d told Taylor that it was important to stay relaxed and supple; a tense rider couldn’t accomplish anything.

  Taylor let the rhythm of Monty’s steady movement lull her into a daydream. She imagined herself riding in an Olympic stadium jumping competition, dressed in tan Tailored Sportsman breeches and a white high-collared shirt, her navy hunt coat fitting her form. She lifted her chin as she imagined the words Now entering the ring, Taylor Henry riding Montana Wind Dancer booming forth from the stadium’s speakers, the imagined announcer’s British accent echoing around the arena.

  With her imagination still going strong, she made a kissing sound that moved Monty into a trot. She was rising up and down as Mercedes had taught her, following the rhythm of Monty’s legs, imagining the spectators for the Olympic event admiring her poise and confidence.

  “Diagonals!” shouted a voice, and Taylor was so startled she slid to the left, and kept sliding….

  Taylor quickly recovered her seat and looked over to where the voice had come from. A short and skinny man in a dark blue baseball cap that read USEF stood at the entrance to the ring. White tufts of hair were visible from under his cap, and his thick, gray eyebrows were raised as he watched Taylor ride. He wore a simple black T-shirt, customary tan breeches, and polished black tall boots.

  This must be the famous Keith Hobbes — a retired United States Equestrian Federation judge, an A circuit competitor, and a former Olympic dressage team trainer. Taylor had looked him up online when she’d won the Ross River lessons, and she was more than a little nervous to meet such a distinguished rider.

  And of course he’d have to notice her diagonals first! This part of English riding gave Taylor more trouble than anything else. It was so difficult to tell which of the horse’s front legs was swinging forward without looking! She brought Monty down to a walk and moved toward Keith, suddenly much tenser than she was before. “Hi, my name is Taylor,” she said when she was close to him. “Are you my instructor?”

  “Keith Hobbes,” he responded, touching the brim of his cap in greeting. “Now, go pick up the correct diagonal. Do a warm-up lap.”

  Taylor obeyed, guiding Monty over to the rail. She glanced down to Monty’s outside leg, rising up out of the saddle as it came forward.

  Wow, he doesn’t waste any time, Taylor thought as she tried to keep the up-down rhythm.

  “Close your hip angle,” Keith called out. Taylor was glad that he didn’t seem as annoyed and hurried as Mercedes often did. “You’re a Western rider, aren’t you?” he observed.

  “Does it still show?” she asked, chagrined. Taylor wanted to believe that she was moving back and forth between the two styles with grace. She had first learned Western style at Westheimer’s Ranch when she was around eight, but now that she wanted to jump, she had to learn English. There was no jumping in Western riding.

  “Yep. It shows a little,” he replied. Taylor bent forward at her hip, trying to mask her Western riding background as best she could. Since Western riders generally learned to “sit on their back pockets,” she had to relearn and practice being more perched in the saddle.

  “We’re going to work on your form a bit today. Okay?” Keith’s voice rang through the ring, calm and instructional. “Now, I want you
to bring your lower leg back and push more weight into your heels,” he said.

  Taylor tried to do both, all the while keeping the posting trot.

  “Good. Much better!” Keith praised her.

  Taylor smiled at his encouraging words. Mercedes almost never gave her any positive reinforcement. Mercedes wasn’t mean, and Taylor was grateful for the instruction she was giving her, but the girl had a bossy, critical streak that could be hard to take. It was just nice to hear a compliment for a change.

  “I want to see more bend in your arm. Now, ask for a canter,” Keith instructed as Taylor sat down and nudged Monty into the quicker, three-beat gate. “Check your lead! Is it correct?”

  She broke Monty back into the trot. “I guess not? Uh … sorry … but what’s a lead?” Taylor asked, feeling uninformed and embarrassed. He probably expected his rider would know these things already. Had she disappointed him on their very first lesson?

  Keith strode toward Taylor, who awaited a verbal smack much like Mercedes would have given her, making her feel dumber than she already did.

  “A correct lead is when your horse’s inside leg stretches out more than his outside. You’ll feel your inside hip drop more than your outside, and that’s how you’ll know,” he explained calmly without a hint of annoyance. “Also, while you’re still learning, you can glance down and check. It’s really only in the show ring that you don’t want a judge to see you do that.” He smiled and turned back to his spot in the center of the ring. “Believe me, I’d know.”

  They continued with their lesson, moving on into two-point, over ground poles, and then practicing with small cross rails. Taylor began to relax, now knowing that Keith wouldn’t make fun of her or be disappointed by her inexperience. He praised her when she did something right and corrected her with simple instructions and tips when she did something wrong. Taylor was just bringing Monty over a low vertical when she noticed Mercedes leaning on the rail, watching them.

  “Keep practicing,” Keith said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”