Miracle Beach by Erin Celello Page B

behind her truck and trailer at the Horseshoe Bay ferry. He had been hungry to talk horses with anyone, and couldn’t believe his good fortune when he found that Macy was a fellow hunter/jumper rider, and an aspiring Grand Prix rider at that. Martine desperately needed to find a niche, and Macy had desperately needed a trainer.
    That was more than a decade ago, and in the years that followed, they had formed an unlikely team. Macy had found that she couldn’t—didn’t want to—ride for anyone but Martine. And she liked to think that he felt the same about her.
    Today, though, she wanted all to herself.
    She had sent Jack off with Sophie, assuring them both that she had no interest in showing Jack around town and couldn’t possibly cancel on Martine on such short notice. This was true. But so was not wanting to be stuck in the backseat of Sophie’s jalopy station wagon like a teenager on a road trip with her parents.
    She checked the time on her cell phone. Twelve twenty-two.
    Macy dismounted and rubbed Gounda’s wide forehead, planting a quick kiss on his velvety muzzle.
    “You were a very good boy,” she told him. And he was. He always, always was.
    She loosened his girth and slipped the reins over his head, and he plodded along behind her toward the barn. Once inside, she unfastened the girth on the right and then on the left, set it on top of the saddle, and stripped the saddle off, heaving it onto a standing rack with one hand. She swapped Gounda’s bridle for his halter, taking care not to bump his teeth with the bit as she eased it out of his mouth. Then she led him to the wash stall. She let the water from the hose run over her hand first, testing the temperature. Even though Gounda had worked up a good sweat, Macy was careful to use only lukewarm water on him so as not to startle his muscles into spasming. If he stood patiently as she ran the water over him, she knew she had gotten the temperature right. Too cold, and Gounda would tap-dance around the wash stall. But with a bit of heat to it, he would stand patiently, like now. He almost seemed to enjoy it as Macy sprayed his front feet first before moving slowly up his legs to his chest, and then letting the water cascade over his neck, back, and haunches. The salt ran off of him in white rivulets.
    Macy grabbed a squeegee and took care to get as much excess water off of Gounda as she could, not only to help him dry, but to keep his fur from trapping a blanket of water that would actually make him hotter, not cooler.
    She checked the time again: twelve thirty-seven.
    She repeated the process of hosing and scraping Gounda once more and then put a hand on his chest, almost between his front legs, to gauge his temperature. He had cooled down enough, but Macy hand-grazed him before turning him out, just to be sure. Gounda, like any horse, would binge on water after a workout and make himself sick in the process. Hand-grazing took care of that problem. He was clean, dry, and cool by the time Macy led him to his paddock. Once he was inside, Macy turned him so that he faced her before removing his halter, and clucked to him, encouraging him to run off. In true Gounda form, he simply ambled away.
    Twelve forty-six
    Inside the barn, she hung Gounda’s halter back on his stall. She unzipped her gaiters and unlaced her paddock boots, removing both in one motion. Then she peeled off each sock and slipped on a pair of flip-flops. After pulling a backpack out of her tack trunk, she was finally ready.
    She started toward the back pasture—the one with a slight rise that overlooked parts of the water, Saratoga Beach and Oyster River up-island to the left and Miracle Beach to the right, where Gounda’s mare used to frolic with her babies and the other broodmares. Used to.
    A gangly, dark brown foal with a blaze and four white socks teetered over to her, following her at a safe distance as she walked. Then something rustled in the woods beyond and the foal bucked and ran