Touching Ground (Defining Gravity Series Book 5) Read online

  Touching Ground

  Genevieve Mckay

  StonePony Studios

  Copyright © 2020 by Genevieve Mckay

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  More Reading and Resources

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Good, Astrid, now slow him down without losing impulsion; let him sink into those hocks and carry himself. Remember that you’re collecting his active energy, not syphoning it away. He needs to be thinking about going forward all the time.”

  I nodded slightly, concentrating too hard on Red’s outline and the supple leather driving reins running between my fingers to answer in words.

  Red’s neck arched proudly, his back curved in a lovely bascule as he brought his shoulders off the wall and moved down the long side in a three-track shoulder-in. He mouthed the bit gently, his eyes soft and his ears floppy, working without tension.

  “Nice, straighten and then ask for traverse, haunches-in.”

  I straightened Red for a few steps, letting him move forward, before stepping closer to his hip, asking him to curve his haunches inward until he was moving on four separate tracks, his shoulders still close to the rail and his haunches curled to the inside. It was a bit harder of a movement for him since he had to cross his legs to propel himself forward and sideways at the same time, so I knew not to ask him to stay in that position for very long.

  “Good, straighten him again, and then send him forward down the long side and we’ll ask him for a few half-steps down at the far end.”

  He powered happily down the ring, his short, glossy red mane bouncing as he moved and his tail flowing out behind him in a silky wave. I slowed him as we came through the corner and took a deep breath as Oona moved up beside me, her short lunge whip reaching out and brushing him lightly on his croup, the top of his haunches, and clucked softly under her breath.

  Red’s ears flicked toward her and he stepped up smartly. For a second there was more pressure on the reins than I liked and then he shifted his weight backward to do a few half-steps of what would one day in the future become a piaffe.

  Oona believed in teaching horses the foundations of all the upper-level movements right from the beginning, first in-hand and then using long-lines or driving reins from the ground. That way, by the time they were strong enough and their muscles were developed enough, they would already know what was being asked of them later under saddle. It also allowed trainers and riders to see what areas their horses were naturally strong in and which movements that they liked best. It had been an eye-opening experience.

  “Good boy, Red,” I encouraged under my breath, and his ear flicked ever so slightly toward me in acknowledgement.

  “Okay, that’s enough. Off you go before he gets stuck. And for heaven’s sake don’t run over that sheep.”

  I sent a quick side-glance over to where Portia, the world’s most disobedient sheep, was lounging halfway down the opposite side of the ring, placidly chewing her cud while she watched Red and I work. She was lying down with her forelegs crossed neatly in front of her watching our movements as if she were an instructor, too.

  “Don’t worry about getting up,” I told her as Red trotted a few feet past her nose. She let out a half-hearted baa in answer but didn’t move an inch. “And what did you do with Antonio? Did you lose him again?”

  She bleated a second time and I shook my head, hoping that Antonio hadn’t broken into the tack room again or was busy annoying someone in the aisle.

  Over the winter I had somehow become the owner of Portia and her adorably awful lamb Antonio who I’d rescued from becoming lamb chops. They slept in Red’s stall at night to keep him company and had become unofficial barn mascots. But they were a handful sometimes and were forever breaking out and showing up where they were least wanted. And Antonio was getting worse the older he got.

  “Keep your focus, Astrid,” Oona warned and I shook my head free of daydreams and concentrated on moving Red forward.

  I hadn’t liked Oona much when she’d first arrived at Home Farm to be the resident coach. She’d seemed very unfriendly in the beginning; she rarely smiled and it had been hard to read her facial expressions most of the time.

  She was also a demanding teacher and most of her students were serious competitors, not like Red and I at all.

  I’d been overwhelmed with all the chaos going on in my life at the time and hadn’t been very interested in taking lessons. I hadn’t wanted any more pressure to perform or win. I’d just wanted to hang out with my horse, hit the trails, and play around with the mounted archery course we’d built in the woods.

  But instead of ignoring me, Oona had taken me under her wing and had started teaching Red and I in-hand work and long-lining, something I’d barely even heard of before. This past winter she’d also started giving me drawing and painting lessons once a week, which was amazing because she was a world-class artist. Her work was hanging in galleries all over the world.

  “That’s enough for today,” Oona said, bringing me back to the present again. “Give him a walk and let him stretch out.”

  I brought Red down to a walk and he immediately stretched his neck out and down, snorting contentedly.

  “You worked hard, buddy,” I told him. “But probably not as hard as I did.”

  I swiped the back of my hand across my dusty, sweaty forehead and tried to catch my breath. I swore that I got more of a workout than Red did when we schooled with the long-lines. I had to be on the move the whole time in order to keep up with him and I had to stay focused every single second. It was fun but definitely not relaxing.

  “That was nice, Astrid. He’s coming along well. You must be pleased.”

  “Yes, thanks so much for teaching me all this stuff. I’m having fun.”

  “You’re welcome, now cool him out and get that bad sheep out of my ring before Linda’s lesson. You know how fussy she is.”

  “I will, and thank you.”

  I coiled up the driving reins and unclipped one side from Red’s bit, scratching his neck and telling him what a superstar he was.

  He snorted happily and rubbed his nose on my arm before sniffing gently at my pockets where he knew his reward was stashed.

  “Yes, there’s something in there for you. I didn’t forget.”

  As soon as I reached into my pocket to find a treat, Portia let out a loud, indignant baa and leapt to her feet, waddling toward us as fast as she could go. Her normally beautiful black and white coat was completely brown on one side from lying in the dirt. Even one half of her
face was covered, including her eyelashes.

  “No, you get nothing,” I told her, mock-glaring down in answer to her greedy expression. “You’re bad for escaping your paddock in the first place. I don’t know why you choose to break into the arena when you have a whole farm to explore.”

  Ignoring my tone, she tilted her head to one side and looked up at me with her huge brown eyes. She knew exactly the right moves to make to extract treats from humans.

  “Fine, just a small one, you’re supposed to be on a diet. And you do realize that you’re covered with dirt, right? Don’t you even care about your appearance?”

  She didn’t. She tore the cookie out of my hand, barely chewing before she swallowed it and looked at me expectantly.

  “No, you’re cut off. Let’s get you out of here before someone else sees you.”

  Most of the boarders actually loved the sheep and spoiled them rotten. And the majority of them thought it was hilarious when Portia and Antonio joined them in the ring for lessons. But there were a few riders, especially eccentric Linda, who were less than impressed and had complained loudly to Hilary and Oona on a couple of occasions. Linda had even threatened to take her horse and move to another barn which, in my opinion, wouldn’t have been that bad of a thing. But Hilary was still struggling financially and I knew she couldn’t afford to lose boarders.

  I had to admit that the sheep were getting out of hand. Antonio had even recently started butting people, horses, and equipment with his head. I’d caught him butting Linda’s Mercedes the other day but luckily nobody else had been around to witness it. I was pretty sure it was his way of playing but the older he got the more it hurt and he didn’t always listen when he was told to stop. I couldn’t imagine what he’d be like when he was a full grown three hundred pound ram like his father Hamlet.

  Luckily, my aunt had agreed to take him up to her ranch to permanently join her own flock of sheep this summer, otherwise, I think Hilary would have kicked all of us out.

  “Come on, Portia, let’s go,” I said, reaching down to grasp her leather collar in one hand to make sure she didn’t bolt back into the ring. “We don’t have much time before…”

  I broke off as the door rolled back with a rumble and Linda stood there frowning at me beside her towering warmblood Baloo. She wore a pinched expression on her face and she drew back in distaste to let us pass as if owning a sheep was contagious.

  “Hi, Linda,” I said politely as we hurried by, “have a good lesson.”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said in her clipped voice, looking down over her nose as Portia passed her. “I suppose I will.”

  I didn’t take it personally. Linda was like that to everyone. She hated noise and young people and disorderly sheep. There actually wasn’t much that she did like in life besides Baloo. Although she hadn’t shown that very well when she’d first arrived.

  She fussed over that horse all the time, getting him regular massages, chiropractors, and psychic readings. She fed him only the most expensive, trendy feeds and insisted that his stall had about two feet of bedding in it at all times. But she’d also ridden him with so many gadgets on his head that he could hardly breathe. She’d used sharp spurs to send him forward into her hard grip on the reins and had believed that his over-bent head carriage and hollow back was the sign of an obedient dressage horse.

  I didn’t know the name of the coach she’d ridden with before, but I really hoped that I never met the person who’d told her that riding a horse like that was okay. Baloo had arrived at our barn anxious, depressed, and afraid of his own shadow. And it was only because he was a nice horse that he hadn’t bucked Linda off or refused to have anything more to do with riding at all.

  Gradually, over the long winter, Oona had carefully restored their partnership, stripping away the gadgets one by one and teaching Linda to have the secure seat and steady hands that Baloo needed.

  I hadn’t been able to watch their lessons since Linda hated an audience but I’d watched her ride him on her own in the big outdoor ring and there had been miles of improvement.

  I walked Red slowly up and down the gravel driveway in the spring sunshine while Portia grazed nearby. There was no sign of Antonio so I had my fingers crossed that he was just peacefully off grazing somewhere on his own. I strolled along, thinking dreamily back over my lesson when my phone began to ring.

  “Hey,” I said excitedly, “I’m glad it’s you. We worked on the half-steps again today and…”

  “Astrid,” Rob interrupted, “Possum sold.”

  “Oh.” I stopped, my heart constricting painfully. Possum was one of the project horses that my boyfriend Rob had been selling for my Aunt Lillian. She’d been sent down with a load of ranch horses from the interior and had quickly become Rob’s favourite.

  We’d always known that Possum was for sale but that hadn’t stopped him from growing steadily more attached to her over the winter. Nobody had shown any interest in buying her so far so he’d had a whole season of competitions planned ahead for her.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right, I just thought you should know. The vet check was yesterday and the deal just went through this morning. They’re picking her up after lunch.”

  “Wow, that’s so soon,” I said, feeling tears prickle at the edge of my eyes. I would probably never get to see her again. I wouldn’t even get to say goodbye. “Would you like to come over for a trail ride this afternoon? If you bring Artimax I can come with you. And you should stay for dinner.”

  “Yeah, actually, that would be great. My dad has meetings tonight anyway but he already said he could drop me off.”

  “Well, then you definitely have to come.”

  “Right, see you this afternoon then.”

  He hung up abruptly without saying goodbye and I stared worriedly down at my phone. It wasn’t like easy-going Rob to sound so sad. He normally shook things off and took all life’s bumps in stride. And he’d worked with quite a few sales horses before so it wasn’t like losing them was a new thing.

  Possum had been different, though. She was smart and hard-working and had taken to cross-country like a duck to water. She was one of those horses who always tried everything the rider asked and never said no. She was fearless and fun, and we’d been surprised that nobody had been interested in her before.

  “Well, I guess someone is interested now, hey Red?” I said out loud with a sigh. I felt his chest to make sure he was cool and dry. “At least I don’t have to worry about you being sold. You’re with me forever.”

  Antonio was, by some miracle, still asleep in the paddock when I got back. I took Red’s tack off and gave him a final brushing before slipping on his halter and lead and heading out to the pasture.

  I had to dump some grain in a bucket to distract the sheep long enough for me to escape. Neither of them liked being locked up and it was becoming more and more difficult to get Red out of the paddock without them following.

  “Come on, buddy, you can spend the rest of the day out in the field with your friends,” I told him.

  I led him down the driveway to the lower pasture on the left and sent him through the gate, watching with satisfaction as he strolled out to meet his friends. We’d gotten a bunch of new boarders in the year before and Red had taken a liking to the big pinto gelding named Oreo. They spent most of their free time grazing together and it was always fun to watch them napping side by side out in the field.

  It was one of the rare days when I didn’t have a full schedule. My barn chores were done, the archery range was closed for the weekend since my coach, Earl, was away on holidays and I’d already had my lesson with Red.

  I’d done my daily prep work for my school exams that morning. They were coming up in a couple of weeks but I wasn’t panicking. I was pretty sure that I’d do well enough. I was good at school, although I didn’t love it, and I wasn’t the type to stress about getting top grades as long as I passed everything. I got As in the things I liked and As o
r Bs in the things I didn’t like, and that was good enough.

  Up until recently, my plans had always revolved around going to the Olympics for archery. That’s what my dad had expected of me, and what I’d been certain I’d wanted for myself.

  But now I wasn’t so sure.

  I hung Red’s halter and lead on the gate and walked slowly up the hill, back past the row of paddocks and attached wooden shelters where Red and a few of the boarders lived, past the indoor and the fancier barn where the rest of the horses were boarded and up toward the house.

  The road curved steadily upward and I paused when I reached the upper sheep pasture to lean on the fence and catch my breath.

  This was where the actual working sheep lived, the ones who weren’t pets but were instead meant to be eaten.

  They were Hilary’s dad’s flock and Portia had originally come from there too. He had chickens, quail, and a huge vegetable garden. His project had been to grow as much of their own food as possible and to open a sustainable restaurant this summer, but he wasn’t overly thrilled now with the idea of actually killing the animals he was raising.

  At least I kept Portia and Antonio from being chops, I thought, reaching through the fence and scratching a friendly speckled lamb who’d trotted up to be petted. Being around farm animals non-stop was enough to almost turn me into a vegetarian. Almost. Honestly, if I didn’t love food so much…

  My thoughts broke off as a small brown dog hurtled toward me, spraying gravel in all directions.

  “Hey, Caprice,’ I said happily as she landed at my feet, grinning up at me with her tongue out, a pink rubber ball clamped between her teeth.