Chapter 9
Ellie
“Stand still, Gordy.” Sanya gives the gray gelding a gentle elbow to the shoulder as she wrestles with the girth on his saddle. “So, not only did you interrupt a threesome last night, but you also got an eyeful of some all-American beef? Sounds like something out of a low budget porno.” She laughs in disbelief.
I throw one of Gordy’s boots at her, an exasperated giggle escaping me, “Jesus Christ, San.” I palm my face as her laughter grows, “It was so mortifying, Lottie and Pippa were practically sitting in his lap when I opened the door.”
I lift Remi’s bridle over his head, using the spare mounting block to give me a boost in height. “Once they left, I just kept prattling on, I could barely look at him... but when I did.” I blow out a breath, Remi pressing his big head into my arm as I loop the reigns over his neck. “I’ve never seen anything like it, the guy looks like he was chiseled by a sculptor—a really good sculptor. Clothes don’t do him justice.” I shake my head as I step down off the mounting block.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way he looked at me, the way he asked me to stay last night. Yes, his body was incredibly distracting, but I think he was being truthful—vulnerable, even—when he said he could use a friend in this new place.
I found myself wanting to knock on his door after the meeting, or to run into him in the hallway—just to let him know that I, too, could use another friend on the estate.
The stables are quiet this morning, light streams in through the high windows and the space is filled with snorts and grunts as some of the horses enjoy their breakfast. The meeting last night consisted of Coach giving each of us our training schedules for the next two months as he reminded us of exactly why we’re all here. The Olympics are the goal for all of us, and since selections for the team will be finalized this year, we all need to be on top of our game. The expectant smile and subtle nod he gave me as he finished his motivational speech made me want to retreat into myself and disappear.
This path has been paved for me since I was twelve years old. I’ve loved horses since I could walk, and having an Olympian as a mother afforded me a childhood surrounded by all things equine. It wasn’t until my mother became gravely injured that my own enjoyment of horses turned into hours of grueling training.
It was a freak accident, one she still doesn’t like to speak of—one that I don’t like to speak of.
I’d just turned twelve when she broke her back in three places, needing several years of physical therapy to be able to walk again. She’s never gotten on horseback again and has had barely had any dealings with the animals outside of my training.
She’s made it clear, since the week she recovered enough to speak to me—I’m to be her legacy. She’ll pour every ounce of her own talent, her own expertise into training me. I’m to compete, to win, to become a decorated dressage rider, under the tutelage of my mother and other trainers she trusts.
An honor, one that I strive every day to be worthy of. To be able to work towards such a dream.
My dream.
I shake my head, realizing that a man—no matter how chiseled and charming he is—certainly does not fit into those plans. I’ve had to learn this firsthand, my relationship with Peter had been... awful, to say the least.
And he is neither chiseled nor charming.
I don’t have time to invest in another person, I’ve poured so much into dressage that I don’t really know how to pour myself into anything else—what if there isn’t anything left to pour?
“El?” Sanya asks from where she sits atop Gordy. “Where did you go?”
I shake my head, kicking the mounting block over to Remi’s side. “Nowhere nice.” I force a laugh.
“Well,” She smiles, as if my thoughts are tattooed on my forehead, “We’ve both got to get moving, Gordy and I are jumping 1.7 meters today.” She ruffles his mane affectionately, “And I’m sure your mum is in the arena waiting for you. ”
I sigh, slinging my leg over Remi. “I’d bet my life on it.”
? ? ? ? ?
For three and a half hours Remi and I are put through our paces by both my coach and my mother. The sun is high in the sky by the time we get a break and I’m feeling more than a little irritated. Remi is still dragging his feet on his pirouettes, and while my patience is dwindling, my mother’s patience left the arena about an hour ago.
“Fucking unbelievable.” She curses, throwing her hands up in the air as she paces a few steps. “You’re not guiding him properly, Eleanor. That horse walks all over you!” Her eyes are wide, and she looks like she might start pulling her hair from her scalp. I want to open my mouth and tell her that it’s the first day of training camp, that we have months to perfect the routine before trials, but Coach cuts in and saves me from digging my own grave.
“We’ll figure it out,” Coach consoles her, he always plays more of a secondary role whenever she’s present. “We’ve got plenty of time, Edith.” He rarely speaks directly to me when she’s here. “We can always take out the pirouettes if it comes to—”
“Nonsense.” She snaps, one hand making its way to rest on her lower back as she scowls in my direction. “I choreographed this routine for a reason. It’s a gold medal routine.” She points a finger downwards with every word, each of them laced with anger. She turns towards the ménage gate, shaking her head as she storms away, “All the money in the world can’t buy talent, you can’t fix mediocrity, Richard.” She’s loud enough that the grooms in the stables across the yard probably heard her. And it shouldn’t, but her words cut me a little—nothing too deep, too lasting, but it’ll take a few days to scab over and heal. She’s good at that, little cutting remarks that motivate me to prove her wrong, to try my best to finally make her proud.
To make matters worse, the outdoor arena has been divided into two sections—split down the middle by a makeshift barrier of barrels. And on the other side of that ramshackle fence, a now fully clothed Colton is teaching Lord Chamberlain’s twins how to barrel race—or rather, walk their small ponies around the barrels in a figure-eight formation. Mother was already in a bad mood when she stepped foot into the outdoor arena this morning and saw that we had been confined to one side of the obscenely large space.
I only ever use half of the arena anyway, with it being twice the size of a standard dressage ring, but she’d apparently found it to be a personal affront. After Coach had explained to her that Lord Chamberlain’s sons were finally taking an interest in horses and that it might do Remi some good to be in a slightly more stimulating environment, she calmed herself enough to allow my training to begin.
I’ll admit, it confused me a little to see Colton and the boys on the other side of the arena, since I know there are at least three others on the property that aren’t being used this morning.
Colton has been laughing and chatting away with the twins for a while now. They were in here before I entered, and now the ponies have sped up to a slow trot as they make their way around the barrels.
I cringe as I come to the realization that they all likely heard what my mother said—that Colton heard what she said.
Coach approaches Remi, looking up at me with his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s just those blasted pirouettes—the rest of the routine looks great, Eleanor. We’ve just got to get him to pick his feet up a little. See you back here at nine AM tomorrow, I’ve got to get over to the show jumping arena.” He gives me a nod which I return, gritting my teeth as tears threaten to well in my eyes.
Coach always tries to downplay a bad practice, or a series of cutting remarks from my mother—like a cheap soothing balm applied to a fresh burn. He gives me a tight-lipped smile, patting Remi’s sweaty neck before making his way towards the exit.
I catch movement in the corner of my eye before I hear hooves approaching. I force the tears back into their ducts as Colton and his mare sidle up beside us, Edmund and George wave at me as they ride past on their way back to the stables .
“Well,” he says as I turn to look at him. He’s wearing a white t-shirt today, a pair of blue jeans on his long legs. He tips his cowboy hat to me as he continues, “I have never in my life seen a horse... well, dance like that.” He laughs, the sound coursing through me, sending a small shiver down my spine. “Did you train him to do that?”
I blink at the question, at the deep blue of his eyes that I never really got to appreciate yesterday. I was too busy inspecting Remi for injuries when we first met, and last night I was distracted by... other things. But upon closer inspection, he might have the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen. Occasionally when you look into someone’s eyes, you can see malice and deceit, other times you might find sadness or longing. But Colton’s eyes are full of warmth and care, the kind of eyes that would be easy to trust, easy to love.
“No,” I manage to say as I tear my own eyes from his, “I-I didn’t train him myself. He was trained as a young horse and then we purchased him.” I pause, forcing a smile, “Not nearly as impressive as you thought.”
“I just saw you get a horse to dance to a Coldplay song for three hours, color me impressed.” He chuckles again and I chance another look at him. He’s still looking directly at me, eyes locked onto my face as if they haven’t drifted away for a second.
“So, we’ve established that he likes to dance, but does he do other things?” He tilts his head in question, “Like, trail riding? ”
“ Trail riding ?” I ask, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard that term before.
“You know, just going for a ride.” He shrugs with a smile, a dimple emerges on the right side of his mouth. “Would you like to go for a ride?” He asks slowly, cautiously, his eyebrows raising a little in question.
Dangerous territory I tell myself as he continues to smile at me. There’s far too much on the line this summer for me to become distracted with trail riding , why do Americans have such silly names for things?
Though, the riding itself is less of a problem, the man offering the ride... Dangerous.
Don’t shit where you eat, I tell myself sternly.
Besides, I’ve already disgraced my mother enough for one day, what would she have to say about me gallivanting off for a ride when my pirouettes are looking worse than they ever have before. And as soon as I think about my recent failures, as soon as I let myself dwell on her words from just a few moments ago, my blood begins to boil.
I clench my jaw before opening my mouth to respond. “No,” I say sharply, “I would not care to go on a ride with you. And,” I say as I turn Remi towards the exit, “I’d prefer if you found a different time of day to play cowboy with the boys. Some of us have Olympic trials to prepare for.” I hate the taste of the words as they leave my mouth, hate the way they remind me of something my mother would say in one of her spiteful moods. But I’m already through the arena gates and making my way up the hill towards the stables, convincing myself that he’s an unneeded—unwanted distraction.
It would be best if he just kept his distance, no matter how kind his eyes are.