To Dance with Horses

By Fairfax F. Arnold

Kimberly Winslow, a self-made and successful advertising entrepreneur, changes her life mid-stream and buys a guest ranch. Suddenly, she is confronted with her own shortfalls.

How can you control 1000 pounds of horseflesh?
By not controlling.
How can you reach across a generation to a troubled teenager?
By not reaching.
How can you accept what is in front of you?
By letting go.

Kim's teenage niece, Emily, has a harrowing experience and her natural joy is threatened.

The ranch cook, Rosie, offers pearls of wisdom, and the wrangler, Sam, weaves horse sense through the lives of those around him. When Kim and Emily learn to dance with horses, their human relationships are deepened.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Dec 20, 2005
• ISBN: 9781412247306

Fairfax F. Arnold

Born in Texas, Fairfax Arnold is a graduate of Goddard College, and an honors graduate and distinguished student of Texas A&M where she received a Masters degree in the Equine Sciences Program. Fairfax has learned from horses through horseshoeing, carriage driving, wrangling, endurance riding, hunting, cutting, reining, jumping, roping and trail riding in New York, France, Texas, Vermont, California and North Carolina. Fairfax currently raises Quarter horses in Garrard County, Kentucky. Email Fairfax at [e-mail].

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Copyright 2002 Fairfax F. Arnold. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Printed in Victoria, Canada

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

Arnold, Fairfax F. (Fairfax Ferguson)

To dance with horses / Fairfax F. Arnold.

ISBN: 978-1-4122-4730-6 (ebook)

ISBN 1-55369-468-6

I. Title.

PS3601.R56T6 2002 813’.6 C2 002-902 9 76-7

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This book was published on-demand in cooperation with Trafford Publishing.

On-demand publishing is a unique process and service of making a book available for retail sale to the public taking advantage of on-demand manufacturing and Internet marketing. On-demand publishing includes promotions, retail sales, manufacturing, order fulfilment, accounting and collecting royalties on behalf of the author.

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Trafford Catalogue #02-0281 www.trafford.com/robots/02-0281.html

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter I

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

For my mother

June Davis Arnold

1926- 1982

For my father

Gilbert Harrington Arnold

1927- 1996

Acknowledgements

I began this story more than a decade ago. Three states and numerous drafts later, it is finally in print. I would like to thank my many readers throughout the country who read and commented on the various drafts. Kate, in California, Patricia, John and Martha in Tennessee, Tim and Deena in North Carolina, Margaret in New York, Maxine and Nada in Kentucky, Hilary in Florida and especially, Roberta, whose unswerving support spurred me to the finish line.

To Dance

with Horses

a novel

by

Fairfax Arnold

Chapter I

The string moved at a fast trot. The beat of their hooves blended to a rolling rumble while the horses streamed down the old logging trail. The steam rose in wisps from their backs and swirled in eddies, floating in a cloud above them. A late winter sun, slate gray, filtered through the thin clouds, and snow sat old in the gullies.

Kim opened her nostrils and brought in a rush of the cold mountain air, freezing her nose hairs, shocking her lungs. Kim’s features were sharp. She had deep-set, luminous brown eyes with broad arching eyebrows and a long, straight nose. Her lean, tall frame was bulky with layers of dark wool. Beneath the flat brim of her tan hat, a glossy black braid trailed down her back. Kim leaned forward and stroked the neck of her horse. Her muscular blood-bay mare, Dinah, moved fluidly behind the herd. Kim looked ahead across the backs of the horses; their shaggy long hair hung in clumps from their fat and rounded rumps like ancient, woolly mountain ponies. Driving the 35-head string from the winter pasture, Kimberly Winslow rode drag and as the last rider, all her horses and wranglers were before her.

The horses traveled four abreast up the north face of the ridge. Their heads dipped when they hit the frozen ruts and stumbled. The pace slowed; the horses trailed to single file. Kim felt the heat from her own body cool, the dampness clammy along her back.

Sam Grady, her head wrangler, held back, tucked between two pines. A chocolate brown slicker wrapped his body and fell along either side of his mare. Bits of tawny hair poked sideways caught between the collar and the brim of his black hat. His mare tossed her head dainty gray head impatiently while her eyes followed the horses moving past her.

A far cry from Los Angeles, Sam said.

I don’t miss it at all. Kim kept her eyes on the herd in front. How are the boys working out?

Not bad. We’ll know more when we get down to some real work. A few say they can tack a shoe on a horse. We’ll get ‘em all in the next few days.

I want the farrier to do them. I can’t afford any crippled horses.

I’ve been shoeing horses for some 35 years, Sam said slowly. He swiveled his head and stared at Kim’s profile. I haven’t crippled one yet.

If we decide not to shoe them all, Kim said, refusing to meet his gaze, ‘You and the boys can do some trimming."

Sam looked down at his mare. He spread his hands apart while he jiggled the bit slowly in her mouth. He teased and softened her jaw. She dropped her head and slowed her walk. He watched the corner of her eye, her flicking ears and the smooth crest of her neck.

I’m taking them down through the wash ‘stead of going over the top. Sam said, his voice low and even but the words rung high in Kim’s ears.

The snow drifts will be too deep. They won’t make it through, she said.

They can handle it. Sam loosened his reins, and his mare lengthened her stride.

‘You can’t just do whatever you want. This is my ranch," Kim called to Sam’s retreating back.

Sam turned his mare. The slicker whirled in an arc around his leg. ‘You hired me to take care of your horses, didn’t you?" His fingers played around the reins.

Of course. Kim said tersely.

Well that’s what I’m doing. Sam eased his mare around and leaned forward. The gray mare gathered and lifted. She galloped lightly and quickly along the side of the herd. Sam’s coat flapped on either side like the wings of a ponderous bird.

Kim’s hands trembled, and she tightened her hold on the reins. She stared over the herd then shook her head and took a deep breath, her nostrils prickling from the heavy scent of the cedar scattered among the pines. The air was damp and cold on the north side, still and dark under the trees, but overhead the wind was gentle and she heard the soft shirr of the pines when the breeze rustled the needles. These mountains are what I came for. This quiet beauty of northern California. There was one ridgeline to cover before they hit the wash. Kim settled into the rhythmic rock of her mare while she followed the steady beat of the herd.

Frantic shouting from the wranglers broke the quiet. Kim jerked her head up. She saw Eddie, his bulky frame standing tall in the saddle. He slapped his horse and took off. Damn it! Images of gashed horses flew before her eyes. The trees thinned and revealed the wash, deep with snow. The horses balked at the wide expanse of white. The herd bunched chest to rump, their heads high, and eyes searching. Wranglers on both sides whooped and hollered and slapped their legs. The drifts were deep but one by one the horses lunged forward, their nostrils wide and pink when they sucked for air. The wranglers pushed them on. Then just a dozen horses were left, hesitant to follow. Spurring her horse and shouting, Kim drove the last of the herd into the snow. Kim’s knees trembled, and her legs were weak while she fought to stay balanced on Dinah, but the front of the string had crossed to the other side. Heads hanging, they stood trembling. Sam’s mare was blowing, yet he urged the horses onward. He waved his hand slowly at the herd, and his persistence kept the tired horses moving. Gradually, the herd emerged from the snow, the shouting lessened, and the front of the string disappeared around the bend. Dinah’s legs wobbled when they reached solid ground. Still, they moved on.

The terrain opened when they neared the ranch, and Kim was thankful that Sam had chosen to rest in a clearing. Most of the horses were content to stand still. The wranglers dismounted and let their own horses mingle along the edge. Kim slid from the saddle and tied her reins to the saddle horn. She looked at the horses nearest her; thick sweat matted their hair. It had been an ordeal, but the horses seemed all right. Kim glanced over at Sam and frowned. Now, what’s he doing?

Sam stood among the steaming backs and brought his hand up in a slow arc. His fingertips reached the forehead of a blaze-faced sorrel, tracing tiny circles in the wet hair. Long ago these horses had tuned out, having seen too many riders, too many times. Sam was drawn to their eyes. He moved his fingers slowly and softly. Finally, he saw it; a slight roll forward of the dark, limpid eye. He dropped his hand and backed away. Sam turned and moved through the horses toward Kim.

Kim glanced up while Sam sat on the ground next to her, his legs long and relaxed, laid out in front of him.

Everyone made it through okay, Sam said, tucking away his gloves.

Yes, it seems that way, Kim said, turning her eyes back to the herd.

I sent a boy up over the ridge. There was a lot of thick ice. We’d a had a lot of cut knees if we’d gone that-away. Sam shifted his weight and leaned back.

Why didn’t you tell me that? Kim pulled her knees into her chest and locked her arms around them.

Sam looked at Kim’s back, her shoulders hunched up under her hat. If you’d just relax and trust me you’d have more fun, he said.

Fun? This is not Playday at the Races.

I wouldn’t never risk hurtin’ a horse, Kim. Got too much respect for ‘em.

Why didn’t you tell me about the ice?

‘You weren’t ready to hear it."

I have ears. Kim exhaled, her eyebrows drawn together.

Got a horsetrader comin’ tomorrow with some stock. Said he’d be here midday. You gonna be around?

‘Yeah, sure, that sounds fine." Kim watched the horses forage, spreading out while they looked for bits of dry grass to pull from the earth. Sam reached over when he got up and slapped Kim lightly on the shoulder.

Home stretch, he said and skirted around the herd. The wranglers were mounted, seeing the signs also. There was Danny, red haired and freckle faced, and next to him rode Jimbo, sinewy with delicate features. Trevor was the youngest at nineteen with sideburns still downy against his fair skin. Kim lifted her body from the damp earth. Her legs felt like wooden pegs when she strode to her mare. Her saddle was cold and slick against her stiff legs. Dinah was ready for work and they skirted the edge of the string, bumping and bunching the horses closer, bit by bit. Kim inspected the string. There was Dollar in the middle, surely a throwback to Don Quixote’s mount-more angles than curves and a head bigger than his shoulders. And Bull, a gray draft horse perfect for extra large fathers who rode once a year. Sam was right. They were tough. She moved Dinah in behind the string.

By the end of another hour, they were at the edge of the ranch. A large valley floor opened before them. The high ridges were blanketed with evergreens and encircled the meadow with a necklace of aqua green. Scattered redbuds bloomed like purple clouds tucked beneath the trees.

The main lodge rose at the center. Inside the massive frame, a large open room allowed guests to spend time reading or visiting, except on the first night of their stay it served for a reception party. A second story held Kim’s office and nine guestrooms. Most people preferred the cabins, which were scattered through the grounds and woods. The chuck house, serving three meals every day, stood close to the lodge and to its far side was a gambrel roofed barn where kids could play indoor games but mainly was the site of the Saturday night barn dance. Directly across from the lodge were