Chapter Nine #2
I rolled my eyes and handed him another mint.
He crunched away contently, and Genny said, “It was so nice to see him with you like that.” She cocked her head to the side.
“You seem like the perfect pairing.” She added, “Leon said that you’re both training really well and he’s excited to see you in action.
He thinks you could go far at Sandings.”
I laid my hand on Huxley’s neck, then shifted my gaze to Jasper, who was silent and statue still.
“That’s nice of him,” I said, but couldn’t hold my tongue enough to also say, “Your brother disagrees, though.” Okay, apparently I was still more than pissed.
Jasper tensed, and unable to stop my tongue I added, “He gave me a grocery list of issues I had the other day. Made me wonder what I was even doing here.”
“Jasper!” Genny said and turned to look up at her brother, angry on my behalf. I should have felt guilty about my words, but I didn’t. Not one single part of me felt bad. If he could be a prick, I could be one too. And his harsh words had made me question my ability.
“What?” he said, incredulously. “All our riders need to be as prepared as possible. The Sandings Grand Prix is the big leagues, and these are Knighton horses.” He gestured to Huxley.
“The pressure on the circuit is intense. We must be as faultless as we can.” Jasper shrugged, and that movement incensed me. “No one is perfect.”
“You’re right,” I said after a few strained seconds. “No one is. And no one should act as though they are either.”
Genny’s brow furrowed, and she looked from Jasper to me and back again.
In that moment, I considered that maybe I’d gone too far.
Jasper was technically my boss and had the power to cut my sponsorship whenever he wanted.
But I just couldn’t help myself where he was concerned.
Rationality left my body, and only the need to fight back remained.
After a few strained seconds, Genny went to open her mouth to speak again, when suddenly an alarm sounded, piercing the air, and Jasper whipped his head to look behind us—in the direction they’d just come from.
Genny turned too, and I placed my hand on Huxley’s neck to calm him down when the shrill sound made his head throw back in surprise. “Ssh, boy,” I soothed, then made sure the gate to the arena was locked. He was safe inside there.
“Stay here,” Jasper said, and took off running in the direction of a nearby barn. There were raised voices and the sound of something breaking.
“Dahlia,” Genny whispered, and the color drained from her face.
“Dahlia?” I questioned, keeping my eyes fixed on the barn. Grooms and yard staff rushed to try to shut the barn gates manually that had opened automatically when the alarm sounded.
“That’s Dahlia’s barn,” Genny said. “It’s all electronically controlled.
” Genny swallowed, and my heart began slamming in my chest. “She needs extra care as she spooks so easily now. We had to install extra-strength stalls to hold her.” Genny looked to me.
“The alarm . . . It only makes that sound when the electrics have gone down or someone has opened the gates manually.”
On cue, there was a flurry of panicked, raised voices, and then a horse I recognized as Dahlia burst from the gap they’d been unable to close in the barn doors. The anxious mare was covered in sweat, and her eyes were wide as she galloped down the path.
“Dahlia!” Genny cried, and I heard the fear in her voice.
I searched the area around us. It was all gated and there was nowhere for Dahlia to go.
She reached a fenced-off area and turned, galloping like a bat out of hell.
She headed for a nearby grass paddock, and I held my breath as she stormed toward the high fence that surrounded it.
“She’s going to jump it,” Genny said, panicked, her hand reaching out to grab on to my arm.
Her fingers squeezed it so tightly I knew they’d leave a bruise.
“Hallie, she’s going to jump it!” Just as Genny feared, Dahlia, nostrils flared and eyes wide, jumped the fence, clipping her back right hoof as she did.
I winced as Genny cried out at the sound.
Jasper came barreling from the back of the barn and climbed over the fence, a halter and rope in his hand.
Even with a slight limp, Dahlia didn’t stop her hurricanelike run.
Trees lined the perimeter of the field, wired fencing the only thing stopping Dahlia from clearing that too and escaping into the woods.
I didn’t even think, my body acted of its own accord, and in seconds I was running toward the field, climbing the fence to get there too.
A few more grooms and yard staff were hot on Jasper’s tail, but I had my eyes firmly on Dahlia.
Froth landed on the ground from her mouth, and even from the other side of the field, I could hear the heaviness of her breathing.
Jesus. I knew Dahlia had been affected by the accident, but this poor mare .
. . She was absolutely terrified and didn’t resemble her former self at all.
Sadness propelled me forward toward where she was clearly hoping to jump the wire fence.
But the closer I got to the tree line, the more I realized just how high the fence was.
“She won’t clear it,” I said to myself, feeling my heart fall to my feet.
Dahlia’s limp was bad now, but if she tried to jump that fence, she could break a leg.
I looked behind me to see Genny watching from the other side of the fence.
Even from this distance, I could see tears tracking down her face.
Dahlia was her heart horse. They’d survived an awful accident together. She’d kept her alive when most other riders I knew would have destroyed her or cast her aside as a lost cause. Genny was still trying to help her. But if Dahlia tried to jump this fence . . .
“Come here, Dahlia.” I heard Jasper talking to Dahlia in a soft, gentle voice.
“Steady, girl,” he said, and I slowed my pace until I stood behind him.
Dahlia had stopped running but was pacing back and forth along the fence, like she was searching for a way through.
I scanned my eyes over her. Her fetlock was bleeding and swelling from where she’d knocked it on the fence.
She was thick with sweat, and her breathing was erratic.
Her ears were pinned back, her mouth was frothing, and her breathing was too quick.
She wasn’t going to stop, and she clearly had no intention of listening to Jasper.
“Get back,” I said to the grooms that were approaching. Jasper glanced at me but quickly refocused on Dahlia when she whinnied in a painful tone. It was only a second that Jasper looked away, but it was all Dahlia needed to circle where she stood and attempt the fence.
“No!” I called, just as Dahlia leapt into the wired fence.
I saw her front legs slip through the square gaps, my throat closing in fear.
Realizing she was stuck, Dahlia began to thrash.
In my periphery, I saw one of the grooms run back toward the barn, but I kept focused on Dahlia.
Another had wire cutters in his hand. I tried to formulate a plan.
Jasper rushed forward, dodging Dahlia’s writhing body. “Careful,” I said as he narrowly missed her back hoof hitting his ribs.
“Get back, Hallie,” he said, and when he turned to look at me, I saw everything on his face laid bare. Fear, sadness, panic . . . his sister. He knew if we didn’t do something, and quickly, Dahlia was going to irreparably hurt herself. It was written there on his face for me to see in plain sight.
Jasper tried to approach the mare again. “Dahlia, calm,” he said, but I could hear the nerves breaking in his voice. His tone was pleading, like he knew what Dahlia’s death would do to his sister and couldn’t bear to face it.
I looked back over the field, and Genny was still there, face fixed our way as her hands gripped the fence posts.
“Shit,” Jasper hissed. When I turned to him, he was holding his arm where Dahlia’s hoof must have clipped him. The groom that had run for the barn was coming back over, and my stomach dropped when I saw what he held in his hand.
A rifle.
No.
That wasn’t happening on my watch.
Moving to Jasper, I placed my hand on his shoulder. He whipped his head around. His eyes were wide, and there was so much dread and distress in his brown gaze that I wanted to cry for him.
“Step back,” I said, taking a long, deep breath.
Dahlia thrashed again, making the fence posts on either side of her groan.
I winced when I saw the wire had cut into her leg, and if she wasn’t calmed, she was going to bring the whole thing down.
She was bleeding and she was terrified, and I needed to get her out.
“Hallie . . .” Jasper went to argue with me.
“Step back, Jasper!” I said more sternly.
My heart was beating at a million miles an hour, but knowing I had to help Dahlia, I found a well of peace within me and let it wash over me.
Taking off my Stetson, I placed it on the ground and kept my body low.
Dahlia paused in her thrashing momentarily, and I used that pause to slowly approach. Her wide, dark eyes fixed on me.
They were pitch black—all dilated pupils.
“Ssh,” I said, softly. Not wanting to look away from her, I racked my brain for every lesson that Canyon had ever taught me when it came to natural horsemanship.
I’d seen this before. I’d seen horses caught up in wire on the ranch.
I thought of Canyon and how he approached them.
It went against my effort that Dahlia didn’t know me from Adam, and she was already a stressed and fearful horse, but if I didn’t try .
. . I wouldn’t even entertain the alternative.