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He narrowed his eyes at me. “Ah, Miss Woods. Nice of you to join us.”
I fixed him a steely stare but remained silent. I could feel the burning stares of the other guests and tried my hardest not to colour up, but the burn from my cheeks was almost as bad as the heat.
He started running through the plan for the day, beginning with an hour-long riding assessment for each of us. Brady and three of his guys would evaluate the twelve of us, split into four groups of three. I didn’t even have to hear my name roll off his tongue to know I’d be in his trio.
As the others wandered off to their respective wranglers, I rolled my eyes as he approached me, and a husband and wife.
“Dave, you can take Georgie, the bay gelding here. Sheena, you can have Barbie, the palomino at the end there.” He locked his eye contact on me with a sly smile. “Sophie, you can take Cody, the buckskin.”
I plastered a false smile on my face, ignoring the rising tension between us. “Thanks. I’ve always loved a nice dun.”
“Actually, Cody doesn’t have a dorsal stripe, so he is a buckskin. Brush up on your knowledge before trying to be smart next time.”
My mouth dropped open and my temperature soared through the roof. How embarrassing. Trying to ignore Dave and Sheena whispering to each other, I wandered over to my horse.
He was a solid bulk of muscle, pure power emanating from every fibre of his body. His creamy coloured face displayed no emotion whatsoever. Big brown eyes stared back at me, glazed over with a blatant boredom. I chewed my lip as I realised this chap was a proper workhorse. He wasn’t here to be fussed and made a pet of—he had a job to do and that was it.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. It’d been nearly eight years since I last rode. Had Brady given me this horse because he was difficult?
Whilst he was busy helping the other two, I took my time to check over the tack—to help steady my nerves and also, just to be sure. All I found was a loose girth, or cinch, to be correct out here.
“Are you not on board yet?”
I turned around, rolling my eyes at him. “I was checking my tack. Is that ok?”
“There’s no need to check it. Unless of course, you don’t trust me?”
“I was taught it as good practice. Just a habit.”
Without wasting another second, I put my foot in the stirrup and swung myself into the saddle. I had ridden Western on a few occasions before and actually quite enjoyed it. The saddles were so comfortable it was like being in an armchair.
I clicked to Cody, easing him forwards. We followed Brady and the other pair into the nearest fenced area. It was a huge space, at least twice the size of any dressage arena I’d ever ridden in. The surface was just the loose dirt of the desert we were in, but the horses seemed more than happy with it. I thought back to my old dressage horse, Bubbles. She would have freaked out at this and the thought of getting her perfect hooves dirty, let alone having no soft rubber to bounce on.
Brady called both of us women into the middle whilst he watched Dave jog around for a while. He shouted out instructions every couple of minutes, altering his legs and hands here and there.
I sat for around half an hour, watching Dave and Sheena strut their stuff. They weren’t bad in all honesty, just a little rusty.
“Right. Your turn.”
I looked down to see amusement written all over his face. He patted Cody’s neck, his dark eyes twinkling. I pursed my lips and nudged Cody forwards.
Walk, jog, lope—none of it a problem. He was like a rocking horse, so easy to sit and relax to. I was grinning from ear to ear by the time we’d had our few minutes of fame. Brady remained silent for the entire duration, his arms folded over his broad chest.
I walked Cody over to him on a loose rein, saying nothing as I halted in front of him.
He pulled his lips into a thin line. “Not bad. You’re typically English though. Relax on the reins, remember his bit has a long shank which puts pressure on his poll. When he gives, you need to loosen the contact. This isn’t dressage. You’re also rather rigid through your back, you’re sitting on the saddle rather than in it. You need to loosen your shoulders, your hips and your legs. Let him carry you rather than you trying to carry him. He is well established in self-carriage if you give him the chance to show it.”
I balked at his words, trying to ignore the stab in my chest. “Anything else?”
“Talk to him more, use your voice. Our horses are all voice trained. Use your weight through your seat to move him instead of your legs. If you’re in tune with him, you will be able to think what you want, and he’ll react to it as you picture it in your head. Don’t be a passenger or an instructor, be a partner.”
Receiving constructive criticism had never been a problem for me. To ride at Prix St George’s level dressage, it came with the territory. However, this guy was talking to me in a way which irked me. Whilst his advice made perfect sense to me, the way he said it got under my skin.
I let out a deep breath, determined to take it on board and try and improve. “Ok. Care to watch and advise?”
“Not today. It’s time to get out on the trail. At least I know you can manage him.”
He left me there, mouth agape, as he fetched his own horse from the barn. He never even looked back.
