Touching Ground (Defining Gravity Series Book 5) Read online

  “Oh you want me to throw this, do you?”

  She spit the saliva-covered ball out and leapt backward in preparation, staring up at me expectantly and then back at the ball again and then back to me, her eyes wide with excitement.

  I picked the slimy thing up gingerly between two fingers and then threw it as far as I could in the direction of the house, laughing as the little poodle sprang away as fast as she could, yapping her high-pitched excited bark the whole time she ran.

  Maybe I’ll actually sit down and read a book, I thought, suddenly wondering what I’d even do with a whole afternoon to myself. I usually kept myself as busy as possible, either with farm work, studying or archery. Too much time alone with my own thoughts was dangerous.

  I’ll read that book on horse psychology, I told myself firmly, that will keep my occupied.

  But already my thoughts were drifting to the thing I tried to avoid the most. My crazy, unstable parents and their sickly new baby. My little sister.

  She’d been born two months before her scheduled due date and my step mom, Marion, had not had an easy delivery.

  Underweight and underdeveloped, my sister had spent the first few months of her short life hooked up to tubes and monitors in an ICU ward up in Alaska where they lived.

  She hadn’t been expected to make it. My parents hadn’t even given her a proper name yet because every moment had seemed like it would be her last. Which I thought was awful because she still deserved a name no matter how short a time she stayed on earth.

  Anyway, I’d spent the last few months torn between gnawing guilt and agonizing worry. Even though I’d cut my parents out of my life almost completely, I still cared about them and I certainly didn’t want anything bad to happen to an innocent baby.

  Logically I knew that none of this had been my fault but the guilt had a way of getting its claws into me anyway. I’d made no secret that I thought that it was a bad idea for them to have another child in the first place. They had been terrible parents to me and I hated to think of another child having to go through all that. And even though it was completely irrational, a part of me couldn’t help thinking that it was my lack of love that had reached out and caused the baby to get sick in the first place. Like maybe if she’d felt wanted she’d be strong enough to live.

  Anyway, she didn’t die. Despite everything stacked against her, she was now two months old and her prognosis had been upgraded from grim to cautiously optimistic.

  Marion had even sent me a photo of her in her little ventilated crib. Honestly she looked like a wrinkled little alien but my heart had still thrummed with gratitude that she was still, at least temporarily, alive.

  Still, it was better for my nerves if I just avoided thinking about any of them at all.

  I sat down resolutely on my bed with my horse psychology book spread out in front of me and Caprice curled up in my lap. I’d grabbed a pad of paper and a pen so I could take notes, just like I was studying for a test.

  When I concentrated hard enough the world outside my room just seemed to disappear.

  Chapter 2

  Rob didn’t arrive with the horses until late that afternoon.

  We rode through the woods in the direction of the beach, our bows slung over our shoulders and our feet dangling free from the stirrups.

  This spring had been another hot one and my favourite time of day was that turning-point moment when the heat leaked out of the air and was replaced by the fresher, cooler ocean breezes.

  Rob had greeted me with a tight hug and a kiss like usual but we’d been surrounded by boarders and riders the whole time we were unloading and tacking up the horses so we’d hardly had a second alone to talk. Rob was popular with everyone and people seemed to gravitate toward him wherever he went, asking him questions about horses or just stopping to chat. He was just the type of guy you wanted to be around.

  Once our ride started, he’d had to focus all his attention on his big baby horse, Ferdi, who could still be silly sometimes when he felt like it even though he was a fully grown seven-year-old. Far too old for those shenanigans, in my opinion.

  It took him a few minutes to settle down and then he went peaceably enough on a loose rein. Ferdi had been on these trails hundreds of times and probably could have done the entire ride by himself if given the chance.

  Artimax was a perfect gentleman, of course. He was my favourite horse, next to Red, and even though he’d started out with a few quirks when Rob had bought him, he was now a seasoned horse who just wanted to have fun and enjoy life with as little trouble as possible.

  It wasn’t until halfway through our ride, when we’d paused at the grass rise that overlooked the ocean, that I finally felt like it was the right time to mention Possum.

  Both horses stood like statues, their eyes fixed on the water below. They lifted their noses and inhaled deeply, ears twitching. Even though every horse in the barn saw the ocean regularly they all seemed perpetually fascinated by the waves and every time we rode this way they would spend a few minutes snorting and puffing in excitement.

  “I really am sorry about Possum, Rob,” I said finally. “I hope it’s a great home for her.”

  He was silent for a long time, staring down at Ferdi’s arched neck rather than the vast sea stretching out in front of us. It had been a pointless statement anyway. Because as if Rob would ever sell a horse to a substandard home.

  “Yeah,” he said finally, sighing. “They’re really nice. This couple bought her for their twelve-year-old boy. He’s a good, quiet rider moving up from a pony he evented on locally for the last two years. They’re retiring the pony at their house too, not selling him, so you can tell they love their horses. He has a solid dressage foundation so I think Possum will do really well there.” He reached down and stroked Ferdi’s neck absently. “It still sucks, though.”

  “It does,” I agreed. “I felt that way about Ellie’s new owners when they bought her, too. It was just so hard to think of her somewhere strange where I couldn’t protect her.”

  He nodded and then reached out and squeezed my hand tightly for a moment before letting go.

  “Come on,” he said finally, “let’s go shoot something.”

  He swung Ferdi around, up the path away from the beach, and then moved him into an easy canter. I let Artimax follow, leaving his reins on his neck.

  I stretched my arms upward over my head and then out to the side, practicing swivelling from side to side, and looking backward over my shoulder without upsetting my balance. It was important that a mounted archer be able to trust their horse in all situations, letting them find their own way across the ground while the rider focused on the targets. It had to be a genuine partnership between horse and rider or it just wouldn’t work.

  Trusting just any horse wasn’t something that came easily to me, though. Only with Red and Artimax could I let myself go like this, and that trust had been built up by working together for years.

  Ahead of me, Rob had reached the first of our targets that we’d peppered throughout the wooded trail.

  His back and shoulder muscles bunched beneath his t-shirt as he drew back his bowstring in an effortless move, his brow creased, his deeply tanned arm muscles rippling. His arrow twanged through the air and buried itself in the target with a thud.

  “Easy, Artimax,” I said, sitting up to slow him down a little as I set my sights on the bullseye.

  I anchored my knuckles on my cheekbone for just as long as it took me to inhale and loose the arrow with a twang. I barely had time to watch it hit home before we were moving on to the next one.

  This one was set higher in the trees, an upward shot on a bit of an angle and I anchored myself firmly in the saddle, leaning into my left stirrup for a second so I could hold firm. Hiss. Thwack. The arrow sank deep into the lower half of the target. Not a bullseye but not a miss, either.

  Rob launched his arrow into the double-sided one ahead of us, but I had a different strategy.

  Wait for it, I
told myself, as the target grew closer and closer. I let it pass by and then, at the last second, I stood in my stirrups, swivelled around backward and blasted an arrow right into the bullseye.

  Ha, I congratulated myself, reaching down to pat Artimax’s neck enthusiastically. It was my favourite shot. It took balance, flexibility, and a leap of faith that your horse wasn’t going to do something stupid right at that moment when you were most vulnerable.

  A year ago I wouldn’t have been nearly so comfortable taking that shot.

  Up ahead, I saw Rob draw Ferdi down to a trot as they headed uphill to the new section of the trail. The terrain wasn’t as soft and sandy here so we had to keep an eye on our footing a little. Over the winter and spring, our archery course had steadily expanded. Instead of being cramped into one little area, it now followed a winding trail through the woods and we’d added quite a few targets. Hilary and her family hadn’t been using this section of woods anyway so they hadn’t cared that we’d created a trail. And Hilary’s boyfriend Darius was into horse archery a bit so as soon as he got excited about helping she was all for it.

  I shot a couple more easy targets but I could tell Artimax was getting tired.

  “All done for today, boy?” I asked him, drawing him down to a walk. “That’s okay, it’s a long track and you’re still working off your winter weight. You need to ease into it.”

  Rob was waiting for us up ahead in a little clearing. The fading light filtered down through the trees and speckled across his face and Ferdi’s deep red coat, transforming them for a second into something wild and a little otherworldly. As if they’d sprung from the woods or out of one of Oona’s paintings.

  She was currently working on a “Horses in Myth” series and right then Rob could have been a young Mongolian warrior or an ancient tree spirit come to life.

  A small smile played across his lips as I approached and he held out one hand to catch my attention.

  “Look,” he whispered, pointing quietly to a space above our heads.

  I tilted my head back and almost jerked to the side. There above us, perched on the lower branches of a giant cedar, sat a family of very large, intimidating-looking owls. They stared down in absolute silence, taking us in with wide yellow eyes, their heads tilted, unblinking.

  A shiver rippled over my skin and I moved Artimax quickly past them so they weren’t directly over my head.

  “Great horned owls,” Rob said in the same quiet voice, “a whole family of them. They’re beautiful.”

  They were beautiful. But there were also incredibly unnerving.

  “I don’t think they want us here,” I said, feeling another shiver zig-zag down my spine. “We should go.” I directed Artimax firmly down the trail, not looking back until Rob and Ferdi caught up with us.

  “I can’t believe you’re afraid of owls,” Rob laughed. “I would have never guessed it.”

  “Not afraid.” I paused. “Maybe just a little creeped out. It felt like we were intruding on their family gathering or something.”

  “Weirdo,” Rob said affectionately, making me laugh. “Owls aren’t scary. In my culture, they’re a symbol for wisdom, and for change. Sometimes big changes.”

  “Well, I definitely don’t like big changes. I’ve had enough of those to last me a lifetime. And how are you calling me weird? You’re way stranger than me.” I stuck my tongue out at him.

  “That is debatable. Hey, I forgot to tell you that your aunt Lillian wants you to call her. I talked to her this morning when the family made the offer on Possum. She sounded excited about something but she wouldn’t tell me what. She said she wanted to tell you first.”

  “Well, that sounds interesting. I hope nothing’s wrong. I hope nothing happened to Folly … or to Quarry or ...”

  My mind instantly began listing off all the awful things that might have happened to the people or horses that I’d left behind at the ranch.

  “Of course it’s nothing bad. I said she was excited not in the middle of a disaster.”

  “Well, I worry …”

  “Yes, about everything, I know. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll find out when you call her. She’s happy that Possum sold. She wants to send me more horses.”

  “Well, I’m not surprised about that. How many?”

  “I told her that I can’t take more than two at a time. I’m sure she’d send me more if she could, though. It sounds like she has a lot of extra stock.”

  “Yeah.” I frowned. That was one thing Aunt Lillian and I didn’t see eye to eye on. She bred really fantastic horses, but she had so many new colts a year that the market couldn’t keep up with them and she always had a surplus.

  The super fancy ones often sold right away for big money as soon as they were weaned. Her top horses went to homes all over the world. But they couldn’t all be top horses; the rest of them, the less fancy ones or the late bloomers, had to wait until the right home came along and sometimes that could take years. I felt that if she put a hold on the breeding for a few years then she might be able to catch up. But the foals were her favourite part of ranching and I didn’t think anything would convince her to give it up.

  “Hey,” I said, suddenly remembering my own looming errand. “Did she ask you to go to the ranch and pick some out? I need to get Portia’s lamb up there somehow soon; he’s starting to be a lot of trouble. Hilary’s going to kill me if he stays around much longer.”

  “Well, yeah, Lillian mentioned something about that. It sounds like she really wants you to visit.”

  “I’d love to go up there again. I miss it a lot. I haven’t seen Folly or Quarry in over a year except for the pictures and videos that Liza sends me. Little Figaro is going to be half grown by the time I see him again.”

  Quarry had been the horse I’d loved most before I’d gotten Red. He’d belonged to my old coach Claudia and now he belonged to my friend and instructor, Liza. Folly had once, very briefly, been my horse but she had been way too much for me to handle. I’d made everyone happy when I’d gifted her to Liza. And Figaro had been an orphaned colt that Folly had taken under her wing when his own mother had died.

  “A road trip would be fun,” Rob said and I felt a surge of excitement, wondering if we’d be allowed to make the trip by ourselves.

  “Would your dad let you drive the truck and trailer?”

  “Um, no, I doubt it. I mean he trusts me and all, but I haven’t had my licence very long. He would probably insist on coming along to supervise.”

  I laughed and ducked low in the saddle as Artimax navigated his way around a young tree that had partly fallen across our path.

  “I wouldn’t mind that, your dad is the best.” Rob’s dad was the kindest, most supportive parent that I knew. And he’d extended that kindness and concern to include me too when I’d run away from my parents.

  He drove Rob to all sorts of lessons and horse shows and paid for almost everything although Rob helped him out by working in his office sometimes. It helped, of course, that Rob was pretty much a perfect son, too. He worked hard with the horses, got top grades, and helped work at his dad’s construction and contracting company. He also stuck with eventing because his dad loved watching him compete, even though his real love was dressage.

  “You’re just sucking up because he buys you dessert all the time.”

  “Hey, that’s not true. Okay, well maybe it’s partly true. He does keep me stocked with a steady supply of fry bread.”

  One of their family friends was a chef who owned a food truck that focused on indigenous cuisine. They served all sorts of delicious food but what I was addicted to was the lightest, fluffiest, most delicious fry bread I’d ever tasted in my life. Sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar or filled with raspberry or chocolate, it was completely addicting and I could eat it all day long if left to my own devices.

  “But, one way or another, a road trip would be fun. It would be good to get away and do something different.”

  “And maybe I could check on the archery
team and see how they’re doing. I haven’t heard a lot of news from them lately.”

  When I’d lived at my aunt’s, I’d helped to resurrect the local school archery team. We’d even built a range in an old abandoned dairy barn on the ranch property that now other people in the community used, too. They’d become quite competitive since I’d left and I was dying to see them in action.

  Even though it was almost dusk, lessons were in full swing when we got back to the barn and the parking lot was crowded with cars. Two random children dressed in karate uniforms were playing tag on the grassy area in front of the barn, laughing and squealing at the top of their lungs.

  Rabbit, my friend Pender’s big thoroughbred, had come out into his paddock to investigate, hanging his big head over the fence and reaching out to nibble at them as they raced by. The little girl’s flying pig-tails looked in immediate danger of being eaten.

  The kids probably belonged to one of the riding students because clearly they knew nothing about how to act around horses. They veered suddenly off the grass and came straight toward us.

  “No running around the horses,” I called as the pig-tailed girl, who wasn’t paying attention to where she was going at all, almost ran smack into Artimax’s chest.

  Her shriek was high-pitched enough to shatter glass. She skidded to a stop, looking way up at Artimax’s nose with a shocked expression before backing hurriedly away a few steps. Her younger brother stopped a few feet away, his fists going up in a miniature karate stance as if he were about to launch himself at someone for scaring his sister.

  “That horse almost ran me over,” the girl said, her fear turning quickly into outrage. “He’s dangerous.”

  She crossed her arms and sent me a deadly glare.

  Wow, these two are feisty, I thought. Maybe karate wasn’t quite the sport they needed. Maybe some yoga or meditation would do them good.

  “Actually, you’re lucky he’s such a good horse. Another horse could have trampled you or spun around and kicked you with both hind legs when you surprised him like that. Do you know how much force a horse can exert when he kicks?”