Headed for the Win (Nadia and Winny Book 1) Read online

  I understood what she was implying. Though I'd be the lowly stable hand, shoveling poop, among other unpleasant but necessary tasks, I didn't have to stay there forever. If I was diligent, mucking stalls would only be a temporary position.

  “A good hired hand is hard to find. In exchange,” Danika continued, “I'd like to start you off on three lessons a week. I told your mother two but I’ve been looking for a young horse enthusiast as a working student since my last one recently moved away.”

  Blushing from the compliment, I twisted the end of my braid in my fingertips. My cheeks continued to burn as I thought of bragging to my friends how lucky I was to be getting three lessons a week in exchange for ‘working’ my dream job. Was it really work if I loved every second of it?

  “Well, Nadia. It seems we have an agreement. You will start tomorrow.” It was not a question.

  Willingly, I obliged.

  “By the way, can you drive a tractor?”

  Chapter Three

  “Heels down, my girl. This is not ballet!”

  “I've never done ballet.”

  “Then stop pointing your toes like you're the prima ballerina!” Danika curtly commanded. “If I see your toes pointing again, I'm going to take the stirrups away from you.”

  Having already taken two lessons with Danika, I knew that wasn't an empty threat. The last time she pulled the stirrup leathers free from my saddle and I rode the half of the lesson, clutching with only my legs. By the time I got off, it felt like my inner thighs were permanently damaged.

  “You look like a bow-legged cowboy from one of those old west movies Grandpa watches,” Selma told me as I passed her bedroom where she was rearranging her doll collection. Rooney, the fat beagle-schnauzer mix my parents had adopted for me but instead had taken a liking to Selma, lay next to her with a yellow bow tied around his neck.

  “Thanks,” I replied sarcastically, grabbing her door frame to balance myself and give my throbbing legs a rest.

  Her face was screwed into a quizzical expression. “Why do you keep doing it if it hurts so much?” she asked.

  “It's fun. I like it.”

  “Whatever,” she turned away from me. Gingerly, I walked down the hall to soak in a hot Epsom salt bath. I never knew muscles could ache like they did.

  I managed to finish the lesson without having my stirrups commandeered. After rinsing Calypso off, I put her out in a nearby dry lot where she pawed and sniffed and promptly laid down and rolled, covering herself with mud. I laughed as she stood and shook so vigorously even her lips wiggled.

  If I ever thought riding stirrup-less was hard, driving a tractor seemed nearly impossible.

  “Tractors are a lot like stick-shifts,” Danika explained. She'd set me atop of a pristine John Deere, not a nick of paint missing. “The nice thing about tractors, is that they can only go so fast.”

  “Oh,” I weakly said, admittedly nervous about driving such a huge hunk of machinery. I knew from my first driving lesson with my parents that you don’t have to be going very fast to cause damage. I was only going a few miles per hour when I crashed into our garage and unsettled the foundation of our house. “You're sure you want me to do this?”

  “Yes. I've got a lesson to teach in fifteen minutes and emptying this will take much longer than that. I'm sure you'll—” Danika's thought was interrupted by the sound of the side door swinging open. Perched atop the tractor, I twisted around to see who was coming. As of yet, I'd only met a couple of people during my after school duties.

  I’d been introduced to Mr. Johnson, a nervous man, constantly fidgeting and stuttering over his words. He was a bit unfortunate looking with a balding head, stubby fingers and a whining voice, though Danika told me he had enough money to make him attractive to any woman. He had picked up riding a few years ago as a way to spend some of his untold wealth. Dodger, his seal-brown Oldenburg gelding, was a perfect match for him. Not only was he surefooted, but he was extremely calm and seemed not to mind Mr. Johnson blundering around on his back.

  Dr. Swenson was a harsh-looking woman in her forties who taught university psychology courses. She was thrown from her uncle's pony when a toddler and had been terrified of horses ever since. Being fascinated by her own fear, she decided to try and overcome it with weekly lessons from Danika. Again, her horse, Duchess of Yorke, was well suited to her needs. Several times, I'd heard Dr. Swenson shriek like a little girl during a lesson, positive that she was going to tumble off. Duchess, a beautifully dappled Thoroughbred and Percheron cross, would plant her heavy feet and let Dr. Swenson catch her breath. The shrieks were becoming more frequent as Danika raised the height of the jumps.

  There were plenty of other boarders and students but few noticed me, the hired help, as they prepped their horses. I knew they were in a class well above my own and they knew it too. I’d learned to keep my head down and do the work.

  A young man strolled over to the tractor who I hadn't yet seen, his hands casually tucked in his pockets. He wore a ball cap, covering most of his sandy blond hair, save the few curls that escaped around his ears. Making eye contact with me, he smiled warmly, like I was an old friend he hadn't seen in a while.

  “Who do we have here, Mrs. Price?”

  “Ah, Michael. I'm glad you could make it.” Dressed in his casual attire, I was unsure whether or not he was the one coming for the lesson. “This is Nadia. She's doing the chores around here in exchange for some lessons. You two will probably get to know each other better.”

  I felt my heart flutter. Get to know him better? Fine by me.

  “In fact, I was just about to send Nadia out to spread the manure but she's a bit unsure of herself. Would you mind accompanying her for her maiden voyage?”

  Mike chuckled at Danika. “Should we christen the tractor before she heads out?”

  “Oh, come now Mike,” Danika smiled in return, straightening her back and smoothing her already wrinkle free pinstripe blouse.

  “Teasing, Danika. Teasing.” Mike threw his hands up as if being held hostage.

  Danika climbed down from the step of the tractor and excused herself. Mike took her place and extended his hand. Pulling off my sweaty leather glove, I placed my hand in his and gave it a firm shake.

  “Nadia.”

  “Mike. Nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” I stammered, dropping my gaze to avoid looking too long into his eyes. When I looked at them, bachelor button flowers came to mind.

  “Well, shall we begin?” Mike said in a tone that playfully mocked Danika's properness.

  “Sure. You want to drive?”

  “Oh, no, no, no. You can't get away so easily. The best way to learn is to do.”

  My shoulders slumped over as I realized that there was no escaping. I pressed my foot onto the brake and clutch and turned the key. The engine roared to life and settled into a rumbling vibration.

  “Okay, now just ease the stick into first gear and slowly let your foot off the clutch. Go ahead and take your foot off the brake now.” Obediently, I followed his directions without expressing the millions of questions racing through my head. Driving a clutch wasn't making any more sense than the chemistry class I nearly flunked.

  Lifting my foot off the clutch, the tractor lurched forward. Mike adjusted his hold, having already anticipated the jump. “Am I doing it right?” I squeezed the steering wheel so tight the blood drained from my knuckles.

  “Yep, you're doing wonderfully.” My cheeks flushed again. “Just go right through the arena. We'll just go out through the east doors.”

  “'Kay.” I relaxed into my seat, realizing how slow we really were going. Surely, I'd be able to react fast enough to stop this thing before I plowed through anything.

  “You know,” Mike laughed, “the first time I drove a tractor, I rolled it into a ditch.”

  “What?” I exclaimed. “And you were okay?”

  “Yeah, it was a bit of a miracle I suppose. But that's what my dad gets for putting me on a tracto
r when I was only four.”

  “You were only four?” I looked at him, disbelieving.

  “Yep. Grew up on a farm and my dad couldn't afford to hire another set of hands, so I turned into a man at age four. Of course, it probably would have been cheaper to just hire someone than pay for it to be towed out and repaired.”

  We both laughed heartily and I could feel the tension melting away. Mike not only was a patient teacher, he made me comfortable while doing it. As we exited the massive arena, the sunlight warmed to my face and I quietly heaved a sigh of relief. I'd made it out without hitting any structures, and now all I had to watch out for were fences and trees.

  “Go ahead and stop and I'll show you how to engage the spreader.” Mike climbed off as it rolled to a stop and I followed, careful about my footing. The last thing I needed to do was face plant in front of a cute boy. Unexpectedly, Mike offered his hand to help me down. I took it, speechless at his good manners. A cute boy who was also a gentleman? What had I done to be so blessed?

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Welcome. Come 'round here. The levers are on the opposite side for some reason.” Mike pointed out the levers and explained what each one did. One spun the blade that threw the poop and the other moved the conveyor belt to get it back to the blade. He undid one and allowed me to do the other so I could see just how much effort it took to unlatch it.

  Back on the tractor, he got me up to half-speed while I drove random routes through the endless hay fields, all the way back to a grove of fruit trees at the edge of the property. By the time the spreader was empty, we'd exchanged brief histories, a few jokes and moved from acquaintances to newly born friends. He had an easygoing nature and his subtle humor made him a delight.

  Back at the arena, he opened the doors and got me lined up to drive the tractor back in. Killing the engine, Mike helped me off again.

  “Thanks. That wasn't nearly as hard as I thought it was going to be.”

  He waved his hand, dismissing my gratitude. “No problem. It was nice to meet someone around here that's got their head screwed on straight.” I cocked my head to the side and gave him a quizzical look as we strolled back into the barn. Picking up on my cue, he answered in hushed tones, “Some of the people around here don't have a realistic view on life. They aren't accustomed to working for their success, they just pay for it, usually with money someone else worked hard for and they inherited. I mean, have you seen some of the horses around here? They're not cheap.”

  I nodded, having noted myself how expensive the horses were. Magenta, a leggy Dutch warmblood poked her nose out of her stall and pricked her ears toward me, probably hoping for more grain. I ran my hand down the crooked blaze on her face and sighed. To me, a horse was a horse, unique in itself and interesting to be around. But yes, the horses at this barn were enormous, pedigreed beasts. They all had even temperaments and rarely had given me any trouble as I handled them, most likely because they were bred for it, had years of training and experience and someone had paid through the nose for all of it.

  “Well, I've got to work on Danika's mower and get it tuned up for the upcoming season. See ya around.”

  “Bye.” I stared a little too long, but he was walking the other way and didn't notice. Spinning on my toes, I did a double-check, making sure I'd not missed anything. The cement was impeccably swept and vacuumed clean, the horses’ bedding was still unsoiled and they quietly chewed on the hay I'd left for them.

  Near the end of the row, Isis' stall was empty. I kicked the few flakes of shavings back in before noticing the hoof print trail of shavings leading to the cross ties. Following it, I grabbed a broom and started to sweep. Before I finished, Isis trotted by in the arena. She and her rider were starting half passes, a dressage movement where horse and rider move gracefully forward and sideways simultaneously. It is not the most complex of movements but it is one of the most elegant, watching the horse effortlessly bend its body and crisscross its legs at any given gait. Of course, the key to success in dressage is to look like you're not doing anything, a skill Isis' rider was handling beautifully. I gawked at the pair, amazed that such a large animal and a rider could coordinate all four legs to move in such a balanced way.

  “Why don't you come sit and watch?” Danika broke my trance. I didn’t notice her leaning against the arena wall as I wandered in. “It'd be good for you to see what you can become as a rider with a bit of hard work.”

  “Okay,” I mumbled, only half listening. Without dropping my gaze to find a chair, I searched around with my hands until I found the ledge of a wooden bench built into the arena wall. Danika continued to instruct, pointing out areas that needed improvement, commanding the next movement. Eight-meter circle here. Half pass to the center line there. Collected trot now. Half halt. It was almost overwhelming listening to Danika talk. I didn't know if I'd be able to completely decipher the foreign code of riding.

  The blond gave a sharp crack of her whip on Isis' side. The black mare pinned her ears for a nanosecond before relaxing again, utterly and completely submissive.

  “Careful there. Isis is listening to you. No need to be overly harsh.”

  The girl flicked her whip again, giving an equally swift slap to her horse's side. She threw a defiant glare at Danika, who held her peace with a heavy breath through clenched teeth.

  “All right, halt at E and we'll call it a day.” Isis and her rider trotted to E at full speed and looked like they were going to fly past it. Divided between already passing and still going past, Isis planted her feet in a perfect square and held completely motionless.

  “Perfect, Gretchen. Just beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” she giggled. No doubt she knew what kind of horse she had on her hands. Isis looked like she was ready-made for the show circuit.

  “Go ahead and cool her off. I've got to get running but I'll see you Saturday morning?”

  Gretchen nodded her head yes, making her bleach blond tresses rustle. Her hair was stick-straight from the crown of her head, falling to her shoulder blades where it made perfect barrel curls that bounced with each of Isis' steps. I felt a bit self-conscious, comparing myself to her. Yet again, I was not dressed or groomed like my associates. They wore riding apparel that I was positive cost more than the truck I drove, not to mention way more chic. I usually sported jeans and t-shirts that were tattered and smeared with manure and ancient tennis shoes that squeaked every other step.

  Well, I thought to myself, I suppose I'm more a servant anyway. It didn't comfort me much.

  Isis, a huge black Hanoverian mare, marched by me. Glancing up at her rider, I squeaked, “Your horse is really lovely.”

  The blond-haired teenager peered down at me like I was no more than an obnoxious stable fly, giving me a delayed smile. Her teeth, as I suspected were straight and white, accented by a strategically placed beauty mark that would have made a supermodel jealous. Perfect. Just like the rest of her. “I know, right?” she said.

  Walking on, I felt my face flush a little. Of course she knew her horse was lovely. She didn't need to hear it from the hired help. After all, what would I know about horses?

  I informed Danika that I was going to sweep once more and get going home, since I had a huge Spanish test the next day that I needed to review for. She approved and then excused herself to walk up the lane to her house. Greg followed, trotting jovially beside her, tail pompously in the air.

  Flicking the last of the shavings into the oversized dustpan, Isis' feet clomped onto the cement and into the tack up area. Gritting my teeth, I decided to go ahead and put the broom and dust pan back rather than leave it at the other end of the barn. Problem was, it required me to walk by Isis and Gretchen to hang it up.

  “Have you met Isis before?” Gretchen sweetly asked.

  “I have.”

  “Isis is the name of an Egyptian goddess. I think it fits her quite well, doesn't it?” she said, patting Isis' muscular shoulder.

  “It's their fertility godde
ss,” I mentioned.

  “What?” Gretchen asked, as if I'd insulted her, her mother and her entire family line back to the dawn of civilization.

  “Isis. It's the Egyptian's fertility goddess,” I answered nervously. “I read about it in The DaVinci Code.”

  “Hmm,” Gretchen shrugged, “A goddess, nonetheless.” I was about to escape when Gretchen caught me. “Hey, I'm in a huge hurry. Could you do me a favor?”

  Unable to defy someone of such obviously higher social status than I, I nodded.

  “I've got to get home. Some of my friends are stopping by to watch Gossip Girls reruns and I don't want to be late. Could you untack her and put the cooler on her for twenty minutes, then brush her thoroughly? It'd be a big help.” Seeing I was about to protest, she spat out, “You do know how to do it, don't you?” Her appeal to my ego hit home and I crumpled. Of course I knew how to take off tack and cool and brush horses. Gretchen popped her hip out and rested her fist on it, examining her nail polish while awaiting my answer. I probably knew a lot more than that snotty girl would ever know about horses.

  “Of course I can,” I answered.

  “Thanks. My locker is the second from the left. Oh, and my saddle could use some oil too.”

  Flustered as I was, I didn't say another word. Gretchen flung her hair behind her shoulder and began walking towards the exit. I was a bit surprised when she didn't ask me to open the door for her so she wouldn't break a nail.

  Before I could begin venting my frustrations to Isis about her owner the second she walked out the door, Mike strolled towards me. “Goodnight Nadia. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  All of my pent up anger disappeared like a whiff of smoke in a hurricane. I was back on cloud nine.

  “Michael!” Gretchen squealed, nearly tackling him with a hug. He stumbled backwards as she pounced into his arms. “I haven't seen you in, like, forever!”

  Placing her back on the ground, he said, “I know. Things have been busy.”