Chapter 9: Do Not Enter – Interloper

 

The warmth of the sun shines across my face. Oh, oh. I roll over and look at Mom’s crystal clock. Seven a.m. I overslept. Dressing quickly, I rush downstairs hoping everyone isn’t mad at me for not cooking breakfast sooner.

I hurry into the kitchen and stop like I hit a tree. Mrs. Dudley is frying bacon.

“Hello, Winifred. Your father went out to the stables to feed that beast. He asked me to take over the cooking chores. It’s hard to say no to him. Such a handsome man.”

Shivers wiggle up my spine.

“He said you wouldn’t mind. Do you?”

Yes, you thieving rat. I keep my mouth shut for Dad’s sake.

She keeps talking. “It’s been so long since I cooked. I didn’t realize how much I missed it. With my experience, it might be easier for me to handle the cooking, don’t you think?”

I grit my teeth.

“Whatever,” I manage to croak. I can’t get out of the house fast enough. I run through the kitchen and out to the stable looking for Dad.

He’s in his office. Kong leaps up and slobbers on my shoes. I pet him, trying to calm down.

“Good morning, Win.”

“How could you let that woman into my kitchen?”

Dad frowns. “I don’t like the tone of your voice. You will be civil.”

“But, Dad, you didn’t even consult me!”

“Before they arrived, you complained about cooking for nine people. I thought you’d like a break.”

“She’s taking over.”

Dad says, “You can handle it. In a month it’ll all be over. Everything runs smoothly here at the ranch because we divide chores and work together. You need to sit down, talk with Mrs. Dudley and organize a schedule.”

“Do you see the way she treats me? And she drools over you.”

Dad frowns and ignores the comment. “Now, I really have to work on the finances for that stallion. I need to buy him before anyone else does. This ranch needs to expand if we want to keep it.”

Cold chills wash over me. “What are you taking about? Is the ranch in trouble?”

“Not yet. We need that stallion for breeding. It will be an enormous financial boost. Eleven months of pregnancy and training colts until they’re ready to ride, takes time. With rising costs for equipment and vet bills, we need to expand now. I’m pretty sure I have enough saved. If we don’t buy one now, we’ll barely keep ahead.”

“Why haven’t you told me this before?”

“School is your priority. Talk to Mrs. Dudley about the division of labor. I expect you to set a good example for our family.”

He goes back to his books like I’m dismissed from class. Set a good example! What about a dad who shuts out his own daughter from the important facts that affect her life?

Stomping out, I wonder if I can live a month without shattering into a million pieces. I slump into the barn. Dancer neighs. I grab a brush from the tack room and go into his stall.

“Hey, boy,” I whisper. I brush his silky, black coat. Dancer turns and pushes into me for a scratch on his head. Paso Fino horses are beautiful. All colors. Big brown eyes, long manes and tails, and wonderful personalities.

I lean my head into his neck. He nickers softly. “It’s going to be a long month, Dancer.”

He lifts his head when Scott comes down the aisle.

“Brought you some breakfast.” He holds out a banana and apple.

“Thanks. I’m starving.” I look at the food stains on his jeans. “What happened to you?”

“Daria spilled her breakfast on me. Getting even, I guess.”

Scott unfolds a napkin filled with bacon. “I snitched this when the cook wasn’t looking. She’s pretty put out you didn’t come in for breakfast.”

Dancer nudges against Scott. A good sign.

“Cool horse,” he says.

I feed the apple to Dancer and eat the rest. I ask, “Ready for your first lesson?”

“You bet.”

Scott looks like a kid at Christmas.

I get Dancer’s leather bridle. “This is a snaffle bit, used by those who ride English saddles. It goes in the mouth like so.” I put my fingers at the side of Dancer’s mouth. He opens it and I slip the bit inside. He takes it easily, pulling it to the back of his mouth.

I pull the bridle over his nose. “This strap is called the crown piece and goes over his head behind the ears. The strap in front of his ears is called the browband. The one under his chin is called the throatlatch. You hook it here at the side of his head to secure the bridle.

I grab a helmet. “See if this fits.”

Scott stares at the black, round hat with a small brim.

“That’s for sissies.”

“Everyone should wear protective gear for their head. A horse can throw you when you least expect it.”

“Do I have to?”

“If you want to ride.”

Scott straps on the hat.

“You look like half of an English rider,” I say. “You just need the clothes. Let’s go.”

“Hey, wait a minute. Where’s the saddle?” he asks.

I laugh. “You don’t get one. Learning to ride bareback is the best way to feel the horse under you. To learn balance.”

“This horse stuff is harder than it looks.”

“No kidding.”

We walk into the arena and I close the gate behind us.

Scott, close beside me, says, “I thought we could go for a ride.”

Chills. The good kind. “First things first.”

David and John stride out from the house and lean on the fence. John laughs. “How you gonna’ stay on? There isn’t a handle.”

“Go away.” Scott glares at his brother. “I need to concentrate.”

David adds, “On what? The horse or the girl?”

Scott turns pink.

“Get lost,” I order.

“We need your help on the big project, Scott,” says David, “if you have the time.”

Sweat breaks out on Scott’s forehead.

I announce, “We’ll be done in an hour.”

David and John walk over to the hay barn, laughing.

Scott is silent.

Big brothers can be a pain.

I continue with the lesson.

“Always be aware of everything around you when riding a horse. Some horses are skittish at the slightest noise. Others think there is a lion behind every tree. Dancer is not like a rental horse that is willing to walk on a known trail and follow another horse. He is twelve-hundred pounds of muscle with a mind of his own.”

Scott looks a little nervous.

“Don’t worry. Dancer is terrific. Very smart. He knows what you’re thinking, so relax and you’ll be fine. Hold onto the mane.”

I put my hands together to give him a boost up. “Put your left foot in my hands and throw your right leg over the horse. Glide on gently. Don’t come crashing down on his back.”

Scott mounts easily.

Dancer looks at me and shakes his head. I know he’s wondering what I’m doing on the ground.

“Sit up straight. It’s easier to balance. Be like a clothespin on a line. Keep your heels level with the ground or a little down. I’ll lead him around.”

“Don’t I get to hold the reins? I feel like a baby.”

“Not yet. I don’t want you yanking on them. Dancer’s mouth is very sensitive.”

I walk Dancer around the arena several times, so Scott can get used to the horse’s rhythm. He’s a natural. Relaxed, straight-backed and balanced.

“You could be a good rider.”

Scott beams. “Thanks. I never thought I’d get this dream.”

“All guys want to be cowboys.”

Scott looks down at me. “I want to be a horseman.”

“You’re not like other boys.”

“No way,” he mumbles.

What does he mean by that? I decide not to ask.

I put the reins over Dancer’s head and put one rein in each of Scott’s hands. “This is a direct rein. You are guiding Dancer by exerting pressure directly on his mouth. Always move your hands forward and backward slightly in rhythm with Dancer’s head as he moves. When you go left, a very little pull with your left hand. Right, use your right hand.”

I put my hands around his to show Scott what I mean. Touching him sends a shot of hot white fire down to my toes.

“Okay, you’re on your own,” I whisper.

“Giddiyup,” Scott says.

Dancer doesn’t move.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you about the leg cues,” I say.

“Thanks a lot.”

I laugh. “Squeeze both your legs into Dancer’s sides. Just a little, unless you want to gallop across the arena and land in the dust. Pressure on the left leg, to go left. Right leg, to go right. When you get better, you won’t need to use the reins to change direction.”

Scott squeezes lightly and Dancer walks forward.

“Awesome,” he says.

The hour lesson flies by. I wonder why teaching Scott is more fun than teaching my other students?

We groom Dancer and then go into the kitchen.

Weasel and Claire argue in the dining room.

I get us some water.

Claire says, “I already asked Winifred, Mother.”

“I don’t like the fact that you didn’t inform me before choosing your maid-of-honor.

After all, I am your mother.”

“You are making all the decisions. This is my wedding.”

Weasel answers, “But Claire, think about it. This is the most exciting day of your life. It must be perfect. I doubt if that girl has ever worn a dress and heels. What if she falls? And then there’s her hair and complexion.”

A rush of blood drains to my toes. I look at Scott, mortified. I tear out the kitchen door.

I hear Scott whisper, “Winifred, wait!”

I keep going, Mrs. Dudley’s words pounding in my head. “Her hair and complexion.” I knew I was ugly. I didn’t have to hear it from a stranger and in front of Scott.

I rush into the stable. Dancer neighs and I don’t bother to saddle or bridle him. I slip onto his back. Grab a hank of mane. We jump over the back gate and race away.

Dry air blows the tears from my face. Fresh pine fills my nose. My chest throbs like somebody slammed a rock into it.

We race for miles through the forest. Dancer reaches our favorite meadow. Stops dead. I flip into the air. My butt hits the hard ground.

“Ow!”

Dancer whinnies in fear behind me and gallops away.

“Whoa, Dancer! Come back!”