Hayburner (A Gail McCarthy Mystery) (12 page)

"Sure."

Danny walked to meet me, ears up, as I opened his corral gate. So, what interesting thing are we going to do, his bright-eyed expression asked.

I led the colt up to my round pen, Blue walking along beside us. Once we were in the pen, I turned Danny loose. The horse walked a few steps and then broke into a trot of his own accord. Blue and I stood in the center of the pen and watched him trot around us.

"He's a nice mover," Blue said quietly.

"Yeah. I thought so, too. So, tell me what you see."

Blue thought a minute, his eyes on Danny. "He's a calm, sensible colt," he said at last. "He looks easygoing to me. And he's got that long, flat stride, uses his hind leg real well. I like him. What's been done with him so far?"

"Glen said he's been handled some, not a lot. Enough to be halter broke and to be comfortable having his feet trimmed, being wormed, the usual stuff. Mostly he's just been running around a forty-acre pasture with a couple of other colts."

"And he's how old?"

"Three."

"Sounds just right to me," Blue said. "Generally speaking, colts are easier to work with if they haven't been messed with too much, and it looks like he has a naturally gentle disposition, just watching the way he behaves."

"So, what should I do?" I asked him.

Blue watched the horse. Danny came to a stop and looked in our direction. "Let him come to you and pet him," Blue said.

I held my hand out. Easily, as if he'd done it a hundred times, Danny walked up to me. I rubbed his forehead.

Blue smiled. "He'll be a piece of cake," he said. Then he looked at me. "So, what's your plan here?"

"Work him in the round pen a little. Maybe saddle him. What do you think?"

"I think," he said slowly, "that sounds fine. Tom always taught me to move along with the breaking just as fast or as slow as a colt wants to go. They're all different. If a colt didn't show any fear at all, we'd sometimes work him in the pen, and saddle him and ride him, all in the first session. Other times, when a colt would stick at some part of the process, like the saddling, and seem afraid of it, we'd do nothing but work with him a little bit every day until he wasn't afraid of the saddle anymore. We might not get on him for a month.

"I'd say the main thing is just to get him working well in the pen and paying attention to you, and then see how far he wants to go with the breaking process. He'll let you know."

"Okay," I said, rubbing Danny's face. "Keep giving me your input."

For the next half hour, I worked the colt in the pen, teaching him to trot and then lope around me in both directions, stop when I said whoa, and come to me to be petted when I held my hand up. Danny learned these things quickly, without showing any fear or resentment. He seemed to take it all as a game and be perfectly willing to play.

Blue confirmed my impression. "He's enjoying this," he said. "I think you could move on to the saddling now, if you wanted. The trick with these real smart horses who want to learn is to move right along. They get bored if you dink around doing the same thing over and over."

Walking to the gate, I fetched my saddle and a couple of pads from the spot where I'd stashed them.

"So, do I sack him out with one of these pads?"

Blue shrugged. "If it were me, I'd just put the pad on him and see how he feels about it." I flipped the saddle pad up on Danny's back; he barely twitched.

Blue smiled. "The thing is, some people want to fan these horses all over with saddle blankets and do all these sacking procedures, and maybe a given individual doesn't need that. He doesn't mind the saddle pad on his back. Now, if he would have shown any fear of it, I would have suggested you work with him a little."

"What about the saddle?" I asked.

"Let him look at it first. Let's see what he thinks. Always take your cue from the horse," he added. "That's the main thing Tom taught me."

I carried the saddle up to Danny and set it on the ground in front of him. He put his head down and sniffed the leather. Lifting his head, he snorted softly, then sniffed the saddle again. Then he bumped it with his nose.

Picking the saddle up, I held it next to his shoulder. Danny reached back and sniffed again. I swung the stirrups so they creaked, slapped the cinch up and down, shook the whole rig a little. Danny seemed profoundly unimpressed. He cocked one ear at me as if to say, What's next?

"Set it on his back," Blue said. "Be ready to lift it off if he seems afraid."

I swung the saddle gently onto Danny's back. For a second his eyes widened, then he stretched his muzzle back to sniff a stirrup, seemed to recognize it as familiar, and relaxed.

Blue grinned. "Lift it off and put it on him again," he said.

I swung the saddle on and lifted it off half a dozen times. The last time I did it, Danny cocked a hip and stood with his weight off one hind foot, in a horse's classic resting pose.

"Looks pretty relaxed to me," Blue said.

"So, what now?" I asked.

"You could quit. He's done well, learned a lot. Or you could try cinching him."

"What would you do?"

"Cinch him. Nothing you've done so far has even ruffled his feathers."

"All right."

I lowered the cinch off the right-hand side of the saddle. After rubbing Danny's belly a few times, I drew the cinch underneath him and ran the latigo through the buckle. Working quietly, I pulled the cinch until it was gently snug, not so tight that it would be uncomfortable, not so loose that the saddle could slip under the horse's belly. Then I stepped back.

Danny just looked at me.

"Ask him to move," Blue said.

I clucked to the colt. He took a step forward and his head came up as he felt the unfamiliar pressure around his heartgirth. Breaking into a trot, he moved around the pen, snorting and scooting forward when the swinging stirrups touched his sides. Blue and I watched him closely.

Danny's eyes showed mild concern. Not alarm, nothing close to panic. He kept trotting, every once in a while jumping ahead when the feel of the saddle surprised him. After a few minutes, he started to flatten out. His eye grew calmer. In another minute he began making chewing motions with his mouth and his trot slowed.

Blue pointed. "See that mouthing he's doing?"

"Uh-huh."

"That's a sign of acceptance. Actually, it's a sign of submission. When a horse makes that gesture, it means he's accepted what you're doing, or learned whatever lesson you're trying to teach him. It's the same signal baby colts give when they're relating to an adult horse. It means, 'You're dominant.' "

I held my hand up and Danny coasted to a stop in front of me. I rubbed his forehead and he sighed.

"Enough for today?" I asked Blue.

"You bet. He's learned a bunch. If he goes as well as this, I think you could ride him next session."

"Really?"

"If you want. Of course, that's up to you."

"I'm willing." I unsaddled Danny, being careful not to scare him, and led him down to his corral and put him away.

"Ready for a sandwich and a beer?" I asked Blue.

"You bet," he said.

We walked side-by-side up to my house, Roey trotting at our heels. I couldn't help but think how wonderfully companionable it all was. What would it be like to have a partner like this, someone with whom I could share my life?

I fixed Blue a sandwich and brought him a beer. When he was done, he stood up. "Unfortunately, I need to go back and check on my young plants. They're at a touchy stage right now and this heat is worrying me." He hesitated. "Would you like to come over to dinner tonight?"

My turn to hesitate, as I tried to recall if I had any other commitments.

Misunderstanding my silence, Blue said sheepishly, "I'm not the world's greatest cook."

"No, no," I said quickly. "I'd love to come. I think I'm free and clear. I'm not even on call." Inwardly my heart was singing.

"Five o'clock all right?"

"I'll be there," I told him.

He started for the door and then looked back. "Do you like paella?" he asked.

Paella? What the hell is paella, I wondered. I smiled at him. "I love it," I said.

ELEVEN

I drove in the entrance of Brewer's Rose Farm at five-fifteen, a time I'd carefully calculated. Not so late as to be rude, late enough that Blue would be waiting for me. I passed the office, the display gardens, the greenhouses. Blue lived "out back"-behind the facility. I'd been to his place once before.

Parking my truck next to his in the drive, I got out with a smile on my face. Blue's dwelling was every bit as unique as my own.

Perched on a bluff overlooking rolling agricultural fields that swept down to the Monterey Bay, Blue's little travel trailer was sheltered by a simple pole barn with a tin roof. In front was a veranda, and climbing roses had been trained up the posts and along the roof. The vines were turning golden now and they were covered with tiny glowing red rosehips, like fairy lanterns. Two wooden chairs and a table underneath the arbor faced southwest-out to sea.

A couple of short, sharp barks alerted me to the presence of Freckles, Blue's little dog. She came dashing out from under the trailer, waving her white plume of a tail, her spotted form wiggling in greeting. I rubbed her head and let her sniff my hand and she trotted happily along beside me.

As I made my way to the door, I glanced with surprise at the corrals behind Blue's trailer.

"Where are the horses?" I asked, as he opened his door.

Blue didn't say anything. Stepping back, he gestured that I should come in.

A wave of rich scent rolled over me as I walked into the trailer, Freckles at my heels. Aromatic and rich-spices and onions and olive oil and what?

"Wow," I said. "Whatever you're cooking smells wonderful."

"Paella," Blue said briefly, and went to stir the contents of the skillet. "How about a margarita?" he asked, with his back to me.

"Sure." I settled myself in the one armchair in Blue's living room. Even tinier than my own living-room area, the space had a cozy feel, like the cabin of a boat. The walls were paneled with warm, teak-colored wood and there were windows on all sides. A small couch, the chair, and a desk filled the available space.

Blue busied himself making margaritas in the kitchen. I stroked the arm of the chair I was sitting in. Like the desk, the chair was somewhat Victorian, with curving, carved wooden arms and legs. It was upholstered in a soft moss-green velvet and seemed to curl itself comfortably around me. A lamp placed just next to it and a stack of books alongside indicated its primary use.

Freckles lay down at my feet and put her nose on her paws. Giving a long sigh, she settled her body against my ankles, as if it were an accustomed routine.

I gazed around the little room and smiled.

"So, you don't have a TV?" I asked Blue.

"No." He shrugged, his back still to me. "I like to read." He waved one hand at the computer on the desk. "I can watch videos on the monitor if I want."

"Sounds good to me. I haven't lived with a TV since I've been able to own my own place."

Blue said nothing.

I hesitated, then asked again, "Are the horses gone?"

Blue kept making margaritas and didn't reply.

I considered. Should I ask again, as if I believed he hadn't heard me? He had heard me though; I was sure of it. Should I just shut up about the horses and assume he didn't want to tell me what had happened to them?

I thought about that. Then I said, "Do you not want to talk about it?"

Blue turned toward me, holding two short glasses filled with ice cubes and lemon-lime-colored drink. Handing me one of the glasses, he touched the other to it with a slight clink.

"Here's to you, Stormy," he said. And then, after a quick swallow, he met my eyes. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, it's just that I'm not sure what to say."

I waited.

"I sold Dunny to a friend," he said at last, "and leased the mare to another friend who wants to raise babies out of her. They both went to good homes."

"But, why?" I asked in surprise.

Blue looked down and took another swallow of his drink. "I have to move," he said at last, "and I didn't think I'd be able to take them."

"You have to move?"

"Yeah. We're expanding the greenhouse range." Blue gave me a quick smile. "Our growing operation is doing really well. But the only place for the new greenhouse is right here. So, I have to move."

"Where will you go?”

"I don't know yet. The Brewers have given me a big raise to compensate for losing my living space, and the trailer's mine, so I can move it somewhere else, but I've looked into it, and the only option I can afford would be a trailer park."

I winced.

"Things are pretty expensive in Santa Cruz County," Blue went on. "I had hoped I could buy a piece of land, but it seems impossible. Even finding a spot in a trailer park is looking problematic. I'll probably have to sell the trailer and just rent an apartment in Watsonville. So you can see why I had to get rid of the horses."