Stagestruck. Shelley Peterson

the two small ones that remained in Abby’s pocket, then rubbed his head gently on her arm.

      “I think you just made a friend.”

      Abby spun around and came face to face with Hilary James.

      “I didn’t know you were here!” she sputtered. “How long have you been watching?”

      “I just came out. Why?”

      “Nothing. Nothing, I just wondered.” Abby decided to keep Dancer’s behaviour between the two of them. He’d tested her, that much was certain, and she’d passed. Abby felt a healthy respect for this smart, powerful stallion. He was unusually clever and unpredictable. She vowed to stay alert.

      “Well, Abby? Are you ready to try him out?”

      Who’s trying out who? she thought. Or is it whom?

      “Yes,” Abby said aloud. “I think I am.”

      “Good. Let’s get him tacked up and we’ll start in the jumping paddock.” Hilary casually threw a rope around Dancer’s neck and walked him into the barn. Abby followed, noting how docile he was with Hilary. He seemed quite ordinary and horselike.

      Hilary talked to Abby while she placed the saddle pad and saddle on Dancer’s back and tightened the girth. “You’re a sensitive rider, Abby. I know you’ll get along. I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise. Actually, you’re the only person I can think of who could ride him.”

      “Why?” Abby gulped, her eyes intent on the older girl.

      Hilary laughed. “I didn’t mean to put it quite like that. Once you get to know him, he’s really quite simple. He doesn’t need much urging. He reads your mind, then does it. He seems to know what I want him to do before I know myself.” Hilary smiled at Abby reassuringly.

      Abby didn’t doubt that Dancer would do anything Hilary wanted. The question was if he’d do anything at all that Abby wanted. Her stomach was in knots.

      “All set,” said Hilary, after she slipped on the bridle and fastened the buckles on the nose band and cheek strap. She led him out to the riding ring, through the gate, and over to the mounting block.

      With shaking hands, Abby put on her hard hat and tightened the safety strap around her chin. She zipped up her Tipperary crash vest and prepared herself. Breathe in, breathe out, she told herself. Calm down.

      Dancer stood placidly at the mounting block while Abby stepped up. He seemed bored, but Abby knew that sometimes a certain bored look comes before an explosion, and she had just witnessed him in action.

      Hilary stood at his head, still talking. Abby tuned in. “Today, we’ll just get you both acquainted. Just a walk and trot, and see how it goes. Okay?” Abby nodded.

      As she grabbed the saddle and started to put her foot in the stirrup, Dancer swung his rump away from her, leaving his head in Hilary’s hands. Abby stumbled off the mounting block, almost falling onto her face.

      Before Hilary could say a word, Abby had scrambled up onto Dancer’s back from the ground. She threw her leg over and settled into the saddle in a flash. Her face held a firm resolve.

      “Stirrups okay?” Hilary asked as though nothing had happened.

      Abby nodded.

      “You okay?”

      Abby thought about it. Then she smiled. “Yes, I am.”

      Abby was okay. After his second little test, Dancer felt fine. Now that she was on his back she could sense his sanity and willingness. There was no hint of the craziness and untrustworthiness that Abby had expected. Her father always told her that a good rider knows the second he gets on a horse if he should be there. If his instinct questions it, he should get off right away, before he wishes he had.

      Abby tightened her legs slightly, asking Dancer to walk.

      He responded immediately. His stride was long and steady. He walked out nicely, neck flexing of its own accord. Abby stopped him and turned to walk in the other direction. She thought about trotting, and before she’d decided if she was ready, Dancer picked up a trot.

      It was like floating on air. His action was long and low and rhythmic. Abby could ride like this forever.

      “You can stop smiling anytime,” called Hilary, happy with what she saw. “Nice, isn’t he?”

      “Nice is an understatement,” Abby answered. “He’s incredible. I didn’t have any idea how powerful he was.”

      “Try him in a canter, if you like,” Hilary said.

      Abby merely pressed Dancer lightly with her right lower leg, and he went into a canter on his left lead. He rocked gently as he cantered, smooth as a ship on the ocean. His well-muscled legs lifted and fell, lifted and fell. They circled the ring twice, then changed leads and went to the right.

      After three times around, Abby slowed him to a trot, then a walk. “He’s beyond anything I expected, Hilary. He’s magical. He’s . . . I don’t know what to say.” Abby looked at Hilary in alarm. “Why are you crying? What am I doing wrong?”

      “Absolutely nothing, Abby,” Hilary answered, wiping her nose with her sleeve and sniffing. “It’s just that he’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen anyone ride him before.”

      “Thank you so much for letting me.” Abby took her feet out of the stirrups and prepared to dismount.

      “You’re not finished, are you?”

      “You wanted me just to walk and trot today, didn’t you? To see if we got along? We cantered, too, so I thought . . .”

      “Dancer has been bored for years. He wants to do things. You know how smart he is. He’d love it if you’d ride a little longer.”

      “Sure! I’ll ride him as long as you say.”

      “Great. Let me set up a couple of rails to make him happy. And ignore me if I start to cry again.” Hilary grinned as she spoke.

      Abby and Hilary worked with Dancer for close to an hour. Hilary asked Abby to jump one jump, then two, and by the end of the hour, she’d added four more. Dancer was happy to be working again. His eyes were bright and focused. Hilary watched him carefully for signs of fatigue, but there were none.

      A small crowd had gathered. Christine and Rory came out of the house to watch. Christine had phoned Liam and Fiona to tell them how well Abby and Dancer were getting along. Too excited to keep it to themselves, the Malones had asked the Piersons to join the fun.

      Hilary’s grandmother, Joy, had arrived earlier that morning. She stood at the fence with the others, her fluffy dog Diva close at her heels. An attractive, intelligent woman with short grey hair and a flair for fashion, Joy was a loving, supportive mother and grandmother. She was thrilled by Abby’s success with Dancer, knowing how much it meant to Hilary. If Abby could exercise the feisty stallion, it would take a big weight off her granddaughter’s shoulders. Joy had come up to the country to see the Wick property; this was an added bonus.

      “Do the whole course, Abby,” requested Pete Pierson, resting both hands on his cane to support his back. He’d been having trouble with his right hip, but he held his tall frame proudly, and his look was one of determination.

      Abby looked at Hilary. Hilary nodded. “Only once, though, he’s had enough for today.”

      All the fences were the same height. They were under three feet; a good height to start with on the first day. Abby collected Dancer into a slow canter and headed him squarely into the first fence, which was an X. They landed, took one stride, two strides, three strides, and jumped the rails, as Abby looked for the third hurdle. Land, one, two, three, four, she counted, and they soared over the oxer—two, identical jumps set together to form a box. Land, one, two, Abby counted, and over. Now she turned to look at the jump set on an angle. It was higher than the rest, and Abby hadn’t thought she’d jump it, but Dancer was