part two.
The other girl spoke to her.
“So you’re her, huh?” Ruby flushed.
“I guess so,” she replied, unsure of herself, stepping towards the saddle rack that held Sullivan’s name.
“You do know about him, right?” the girl inquired, obviously enjoying herself. Ruby lifted Sullivan’s saddle and cradled it in her arms, slinging his bridle and girth over her shoulder.
“No,” Ruby sighed tiredly and turned a fake smile on the girl. “I don’t. Why don’t you tell me, Ms… what was your name?”
“I’m Alexis. You’re Ruby, if I heard correctly,” Alexis shifted her attention from the saddle she was cleaning to Ruby. “Sullivan’s not just any horse.”
“Okay,” Ruby replied, not sure how to answer that.
“He’s not,” Alexis repeated herself. Ruby got the hint. She put down Sullivan’s saddle and dropped her arms to her sides.
“Okay, Alexis, how is Sullivan not just any horse?”
“Well for one thing, he’s worth a lot. And I mean a lot. There aren’t too many of his breed here in the good ol’ US. Plus he’s hard to ride. If you ride him right—if—he’ll do anything for you. He’ll take you to the Olympics if that’s what you wanted.” Alexis paused for a moment, studying Ruby. “But only one person has ever ridden him right before.”
“Who’s that?” Ruby asked, curiousity getting the better of her.
“Chafey’s mother,” Alexis said casually. “But that was a long time ago. Hardly anyone rides Sullivan anymore. Like Ginger said, Chafey must be crazy to put you on him. Especially considering he’s worth over ten million dollars.”
Ruby’s jaw dropped. “T-ten million? Dollars?” Alexis merely nodded and went back to cleaning her saddle.
“I wouldn’t screw up on him if I were you,” she warned, opening a bottle of Lexol. Ruby’s emerald green eyes clouded over as she picked up Sullivan’s saddle. She grabbed the saddle pads that were on his rack as well, noticing for the first time that there was a standing martingale among his tack. She took that too, then went down the aisle to Sullivan’s stall.
Sullivan seemed sweet enough to her, but what Alexis said put her on edge. Why would Ms. Chafey put her—a new rider to the barn—on a ten million dollar horse? One that was difficult to ride, at that? The only answer Ruby came up with was that they were trying to scare the poor, moneyless Thompsons out of their snobby, rich stable. Determination filled Ruby’s eyes. They weren’t going to get rid of her that easily.
Ruby spotted her worn chaps and dirty helmet hanging on a hook by Sullivan’s stall. Her mother had pinned a note to them, informing Ruby that Susan would be waiting outside for her. Just as well, Ruby thought.
She settled Sullivan’s saddle and pads on a collapsable saddle rack and draped his bridle and martingale over them. She collected his halter and leadrope that were hanging from another hook and let herself into his stall, giving him another peppermint in case he decided he didn’t want to be brought out. Ruby didn’t know Sullivan whatsoever and didn’t know what he might do, and Ruby didn’t feel like fighting with a twelve hundred pound animal. Fortunately, Sullivan actually seemed more than happy to let Ruby halter him. She led him out of his stall to a pair of crossties, clipping them on his halter before unhooking the lead rope. There was a bucket of brushes on a shelf near her labeled “Sullivan”. She dug through them and extracted a rubber currycomb. His coat was shiny with not a single speck of dust or hay on it, but she decided he could use the massage the curry would give him.
She set to work, forgetting where she was, enjoying the smell of hay and horses as she worked on Sullivan. She plucked out a dandy brush and smoothed out his coat. She then chose the softest brush in the bucket, making his coat sparkle. She used the feather-soft brush on his face, giving him another peppermint. Ruby combed out his mane and tail before picking out his finely shaped hooves. Ruby stepped back and admired her work.
“I bet you’ve never looked so handsome,” Ruby grinned to Sullivan, showering him with kisses. She put back the bucket and grabbed his saddle pads. She lay the square, quilted pad on his back, making sure his hair lay flat under it and it was positioned properly. She then layered on a squishy gel pad before putting his saddle on. She attatched his girth on one side, pausing to thread one end of the standing martingale through it before fastening it on the other side. She made sure the martingale was centered and the girth was fastened securely before she zipped on her chaps. They were brown suede. Or at least, they had been. Certain parts had been rubbed down to smooth, shiny brown leather. Ruby whipped her worn crochet-back riding gloves out of her back pocket and put those on, clipping her helmet on her head.
She sighed internally for just a moment. How she hated her helmet. Whenever she wore it, she felt like her head was ten times its normal size. Shrugging, she picked up Sullivan’s bridle and threw the reins over his head before unclipping the crossties and taking off his halter. She quickly bridled him, buckling the throat latch. She picked up the free end of the standing martingale and looped it through the chin strap before buckling that up as well. She hung his halter on the hook by his door and made sure everything looked neat. She then took the reins back over Sullivan’s head and walked him out of the barn, slightly surprised at his good manners based on what she had heard.
Blinking her eyes against the late May sunlight, she spotted her mother standing by one of the rings. She walked over there to find Susan chatting it up with what seemed to be the only person around here not afraid of work.
“Ruby,” Susan greeted her daughter with a smile. “This is Rebecca.”
“Becca,” the other woman corrected with a grin. “Becca Pratt. And you’re Ruby,” she tilted her head as her eyes scanned Sullivan. “Good, he’s ready. And I’m your instructor.” Becca rubbed her hands together and headed for the gate to the ring, opening it wide so Ruby and Sullivan could enter. Ruby blinked, walking Sullivan to the center of the empty ring dotted with jumps. Becca wore a tee-shirt with bit of sawdust and horse slobber on it. Jeans stained with dirt clad her legs, and her boots were as worn as Ruby’s own. Becca’s dark brown hair was thrown up in a messy ponytail that stuck out the back of a faded red baseball cap. Ruby thought about how friendly Becca had seemed, and her mother wouldn’t voluntarily chat with someone who wasn’t friendly. Yes, Ruby decided. She liked Becca.
Becca walked over to them as soon as she shut the gate. “Just get on and walk him around a lap or two,” she instructed Ruby, then stood back. Ruby didn’t know this, but Becca kept an eagle-eye watch on her. Ruby tightened Sullivan’s girth a little bit at a time as to not upset him much. She then lowered his stirrups and adjusted their length to roughly fit her long legs. She would adjust some more if need be once she was on him. Ruby double-checked his martingale and all the straps. She also made sure his saddle pads hadn’t moved out of place. Then she tossed his reins over his head. She clutched them in her left hand, taking hold of the cantle of the saddle in her right. She easily lifted her left foot high enough to the stirrup, bouncing a little on the ground before bringing herself into the saddle. She immediately checked the girth again, tightening it another notch. Ruby then adjusted her stirrups once more—her estimate was close—and organized herself. She sat up tall with her heels down. Chin held high, she nudged Sullivan with her heels.
He wouldn’t move. She tried again. And again. Sullivan stayed in the same spot.
