Emma and the Cutting Horse

By Martha Deeringer

When Emma Dean’s parents buy a plain sorrel mare with slightly crooked knees at a prestigious horse sale, Emma isn’t sure whether to be elated or disappointed. Cranky and irascible, the mare refuses to warm up to people or other horses. After she dumps Emma in the dirt on her first ride, Emma’s dad loads the mare in a trailer and takes her to a trainer to protect his daughter from the bumps, bruises and broken bones that can result from riding a cantankerous 2 year-old.
At first the mare seems like an outlaw, but beneath her plain red coat and independent attitude, the trainer slowly uncovers a surprising streak of hidden talent and an unexpected natural balance and athletic ability. When a well-known cutting horse trainer approaches Emma’s parents about training the mare for the NCHA Futurity, the family must make a difficult decision. Should they stretch their already strained budget to pay for training and futurity nomination fees? Could such a hardheaded little mare become a champion cutting horse?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fire & Ice
• Release date: Jun 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781612359274

Martha Deeringer

Martha Deeringer writes for children and adults from the back porch of her home on a central Texas cattle ranch where she lives with her husband, two grown children and an assortment of grandchildren. Her history articles and personal essays have graced the pages of many regional and national magazines. Martha loves kids, horses, dogs, books, gardening and chocolate chip pizza. Occasionally she has embarrassed her grandchildren by writing magazine articles about them.

Book preview

Emma And The Cutting Horse

by Martha Deeringer

Published by

Fire and Ice

A Young Adult Imprint of Melange Books, LLC

White Bear Lake, MN 55110

www.fireandiceya.com

Emma And The Cutting Horse, Copyright 2014 Martha Deeringer

ISBN: 978-1-61235-927-4

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States of America.

Cover Design by Stephanie Flint

For Lindsay and Hannah, who love good horses as much as I do.

EMMA AND THE CUTTING HORSE

by Martha Deeringer

When Emma Dean’s parents buy a plain sorrel mare with slightly crooked knees at a prestigious horse sale, Emma isn’t sure whether to be elated or disappointed. Cranky and irascible, the mare refuses to warm up to people or other horses. After she dumps Emma in the dirt on her first ride, Emma’s dad loads the mare in a trailer and takes her to a trainer to protect his daughter from the bumps, bruises and broken bones that can result from riding a cantankerous 2 year-old.

At first the mare seems like an outlaw, but beneath her plain red coat and independent attitude, the trainer slowly uncovers a surprising streak of hidden talent and an unexpected natural balance and athletic ability. When a well-known cutting horse trainer approaches Emma’s parents about training the mare for the NCHA Futurity, the family must make a difficult decision. Should they stretch their already strained budget to pay for training and futurity nomination fees? Could such a hardheaded little mare become a champion cutting horse?

Table of Contents

Emma and the Cutting Horse

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Bibliography

About the Author

Previews

Chapter One

It was a bitterly cold day for a dispersal sale, especially for central Texas, but Emma’s excitement level had reached fever pitch, enough to keep her warm in Antarctica. She had never been to a horse sale like this one before. The owner of the ranch that was selling the horses was a well-known attorney who worked in Washington D.C. and had appeared often in news broadcasts earlier in the 1970s. The horses would be beautiful, well-bred and very expensive. Emma knew her parents weren’t in the same financial league as most of the bidders, but they had decided to come and look anyway. It had taken a week of pleading for Emma to persuade them to let her come along.

In the parking lot, Emma saw long lines of gleaming Ford and Chevy pick-ups that looked fresh off the show-room floor pulling horse trailers with built-in dressing rooms. She felt a little self-conscious about her father’s cattle trailer and dusty farm truck. The sale was going to be held at a sports arena, and although it wasn’t going to start for half an hour, a large crowd had already gathered. The frigid wind whipped under the collar of her down jacket as they made their way across the gravel parking lot to the front door. Some of the horses were being ridden in a fenced arena outside the main building in spite of the cold. Their coats gleamed, their manes and tails were perfectly trimmed, and every hair was combed into place.

Emma couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t loved horses. One of her earliest memories was of sitting in the saddle in front of her father as he checked cattle in the pasture. As she got older, she rode beside him on one of a series of young, gentle horses trained by her father. Many of them eventually were sold to other homes, a hard aspect of the ranching business that Emma had struggled to accept at first. For her, there was nothing like the feeling of sitting on a horse and controlling its thousand pound body with a light touch on the reins. Riding a horse was the only time Emma felt powerful and in control. Adults controlled much of her life; but on horseback she made the decisions.

Inside, the sports arena was arranged as if for a fashion show. The horses would be led or ridden up and down a runway in front of the bidders. Emma’s mom led the way to some empty seats, while her father went to look at the horses in the stalls at the back of the building. The front rows were already filled with men in felt cowboy hats and alligator boots. In spite of their western attire, they looked more like businessmen than cowboys. Some had brought their wives and a few kids were scattered throughout the crowd. Emma’s mother opened the sale catalog and began looking at the first horses listed in it.

Emma glanced at the front of her own catalog. The stallion pictured on the cover was an AQHA Supreme Champion, the highest ranking an American Quarter Horse can achieve. He was the sire of most of the young horses in the sale and had won points at halter, in racing and performance. A bright sorrel with a bit of white in his face, the stallion had reached legendary status among quarter horse breeders. The auctioneer checked the microphone and explained the terms of payment, and Emma could see the horses lining up in the hallway leading into the ring with their handlers. Silver-studded halters sparkled in the fluorescent light.

These beautiful, pampered horses were an impossible dream for Emma. Her own quarter horse, Ditto, was shaggy coated and lovable, but he was not a show horse and would never fit in with these sleek, perfectly conditioned animals. Emma began to feel a little depressed. She knew her parents were just looking, but somehow a desperate longing formed in her chest, anyway. If her parents bought one of these beautiful horses she could win at horse shows. She was a good rider. With a few trophies on the shelf in her bedroom and some win pictures in the newspaper the kids at school would have a reason to notice her.

Spotlights came on and the first horse skittered onto the runway. He was a yearling colt with a white blaze on his face and a sorrel coat that gleamed like the finish on a new car. He snorted nervously and pricked his ears at the crowd, trying to see what lay beyond the bright lights. The auctioneer started the bidding at one thousand dollars, but within seconds it was up to twenty-five hundred and then thirty-five hundred. Emma couldn’t tell who was bidding on the colt; the ring men, who faced the audience and kept a sharp eye out for bidders during the sale, just pointed into the crowd and shouted, YES each time the bid increased. The meaningless babble of the auctioneer continued for two or three minutes before he called out, Going once...going twice... SOLD, for forty-two hundred dollars.

Who bought him? Emma whispered to her mom.

That gentleman in the gray hat sitting in the second row. They sold him in a hurry, didn’t they? I guess if they’re going to sell all these horses in one day, they don’t have time to fool around.

Emma’s father squeezed into his seat as the second horse, another yearling, came in. The auctioneer read the names of his sire and dam and started him off at one thousand dollars, also. The beautifully groomed yearlings and two-year-olds followed one another in rapid succession. Bidding from the first few rows of seats was brisk and the prices high.

Two hours later, the older, trained horses began to sell. Many of them carried riders onto the runway. There wasn’t much room for fancy footwork, so after walking them up and down and doing some fast turns, the rider dismounted and took the saddle off to let the bidders get a better look at the horse’s conformation. Emma got up and stretched, then wandered out to the lobby to get a soda. She got back just as the auctioneer cried, SOLD—for ten thousand dollars! The horse on the runway was a graceful palomino mare that had already earned points in western pleasure classes at horse shows. Her golden coat shimmered in the light like a pirate’s treasure. It made Emma’s heart ache to look at her. She would give almost anything for a horse like that. Even a skinny fourteen-year-old with no outstanding features would get noticed on her broad, golden back. Emma’s father leaned over and ruffled her dark, curly hair.

Don’t look so downhearted, he said. Remember, you wanted to come, and you knew your dad wasn’t an oil tycoon.

I know, Emma sighed, but it’s hard not to dream. Maybe there IS some oil under one of our old cow pastures.

I wouldn’t bet the farm on it, her mom remarked.

Another hour passed, and Emma’s stomach grumbled. They were still only halfway through the catalog.

Let’s get some of that barbeque I smelled on the way in, her mom suggested.

Are we going to stay for the rest of the auction? Emma asked as they ate at one of the tables in the lobby.

Probably, her dad answered. There’s a yearling colt close to the end of the sale that I want to look at. The catalog says he’s not in show condition, but he’s got good breeding, and he’s a red roan, which is a very unusual color.

Won’t he be too expensive? Emma asked.

He might be, but his coat isn’t in good shape, and he hasn’t been started under saddle yet. You never can tell, the tycoons might have spent all their money before he comes in.

I doubt that, her mom said. I’ll bet there’s more money lining the pockets in here than we can even imagine.

By the middle of the afternoon, the trained horses had been sold, and some older broodmares were being auctioned off. A few of the oldest ones sold for under a thousand dollars. Emma’s dad sat up straighter in his chair.

The red roan colt is next, he whispered, pushing his John Deere cap up a bit on his forehead.

Emma noticed that the people in the first few rows of seats had thinned out a bit. When the red roan colt came in, he quivered all over.

Now there’s one that hasn’t been standing in a stall with a blanket on all his life, Emma’s dad said.

The colt was rough-coated like Ditto, a sign that he had been out in the winter weather. His head and legs were dark red sorrel, but his body was shaded with white hairs making it appear several shades lighter. He reminded Emma of the lipstick her cousin Sarah wore, dark red around the outside of her lips with a lighter shade applied in the middle. The colt jumped when the auctioneer spoke into the microphone, starting him at five hundred dollars. Emma’s dad raised his hand just above shoulder level.

Yes! shouted the ring man.

Do I hear seven-fifty? the auctioneer chattered. Seven-fifty? Seven-fifty?

Yes! cried the ring man near the other end of the runway.

The auctioneer looked at Emma’s dad. One thousand dollars? he asked. Do I hear one thousand...?

Emma’s dad nodded.

Yes, cried the ring man.

Emma discovered that she was on the edge of her seat and had a death grip on the empty chair in front of her. The bidding climbed in slow motion. Her dad nodded at fifteen hundred, but shook his head when the bid climbed to two thousand. Emma realized that she had stopped breathing. Seconds later,