Page 10 of Wild Horses

Next morning Christy fronted up to the stables with a spring in her step.

It had been decided at the staff dinner that she wouldn’t start formal teaching duties until the following week.

Meanwhile she’d undergo a crash course in horsemanship and equine therapy.

Christy had thoroughly enjoyed last night up at the main house.

Firstly, Maggie wasn’t there. Christy would need to apologise to the woman more fully when she next saw her, but she was happy to put that difficult conversation off for a little while.

Secondly, Tyler was there. When he said he’d be staying on for a few weeks to support Leo, Tom generously invited him to stay at the camp until he found himself local accommodation.

‘Only for a few days,’ Clare had said. ‘Leo won’t want his dad hanging around day and night.’

Christy went to bed early, intrigued to know Tyler would be sleeping just a few doors away. She’d woken in a very good mood and was looking forward to an early ride.

She had thought kindly Clare would take the lesson, imagining that Maggie wouldn’t be up to it. She was wrong. As she approached the stables, Maggie’s sharp voice sliced through her comfort zone.

‘Don’t dawdle. We’ve a lot to get through.’ Maggie frowned at her from a wheelchair on the stable verandah.

Christy could hardly blame her for that frown. She asked Maggie about her leg and tried to apologise again for causing her injury, but the woman waved her words away.

‘Yeah, yeah – I know. You’re sorry, and so you should be. Have you organised a service for that shitheap of yours before you cause another accident?’

‘It’s booked in with Jim Murray for Thursday.’

‘Good. Now let’s get on with it.’

Christy’s horse, the gentle roan named Tango, patiently endured her clumsy attempts to put his tack on while Maggie barked instructions from the sidelines. ‘No, not like that!’ and ‘You’re girthing him up from the wrong side,’ and ‘That bridle is inside out.’

Christy meekly endured Maggie’s scorn, wearing a shaky smile to mask her nervousness, painfully conscious that she was to blame for Maggie’s broken ankle.

Finally, it was time to mount up. She hadn’t been on a horse since she was twelve, and her childhood riding lessons felt like they belonged to another lifetime.

Yet as she placed her left foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over Tango’s back, she felt a welcome flicker of familiarity.

It was quickly overshadowed by her acute awareness of Maggie’s critical gaze.

Christy urged Tango forwards into the arena.

Maggie attempted to follow, aiming her motorised wheelchair at the centre of the school, but she got bogged in the soft sandy surface.

With a curse she switched direction and positioned herself by the fence.

But her bellowed instructions still rang loud and clear.

‘Keep your back straight. Heels down. Grip with your knees. Loosen those reins. What are you trying to do – strangle the poor horse?’

Christy tried to absorb the barrage of commands while maintaining her balance on Tango, who shifted uneasily beneath her in response to her uneven weight distribution.

Christy’s awkward circling seemed in stark contrast to the fluidity she remembered from her youth.

Tango moved hesitantly, his jerky action mirroring her lack of confidence.

Each time Christy attempted to correct a mistake, another seemed to surface, like a never-ending game of whack-a-mole.

Maggie’s sighs and shouted criticisms didn’t help.

‘Sit deeper in the saddle. Don’t let him dictate the pace,’ Maggie yelled after Christy lost her rhythm with Tango’s trot, causing a clumsy series of bounces that left her red-faced and breathless. ‘Elbows in, Christy. You’re not flagging a taxi.’

Despite the rocky start, glimmers of progress shone through – brief moments when muscle memory kicked in and she found herself moving in unison with her mount. Then her focus would waver, and the spell would break under Maggie’s scathing scrutiny.

‘You’re not quite as hopeless as I thought you’d be,’ Maggie conceded as the lesson drew to a close.

It was far from a compliment, but coming from Maggie, it was the closest thing to praise Christy could expect.

Dismounting, her legs trembled, not just from the physical exertion but from the emotional toll of the lesson.

As she led Tango back to his stable, Christy realised the lesson had been about more than riding a horse.

It had been about developing resilience.

It had been about learning to face her fears and the scrutiny of someone who was wanting her to fail.

In the quiet of the stables, with Tango’s warm breath against her hand, Christy felt a stir of determination.

Maggie’s hostility, the mistakes, the fleeting moments of harmony – all were steps along a path she was determined to follow.

The day held a lot of firsts for Christy. The first ride after fourteen years. The first time picking out a horse’s hooves. And the first time fleeing from a tiger snake, which led to her first time shooting a rifle.

Christy had been fetching a lucerne bale from the hay shed in the dam paddock.

Luckily, Tom heard the scream when she half-stepped on the two-metre reptile.

It struck with lightning speed, the bite glancing off her leather boot.

Tom raced up to find her stumbling away from the haystack, anxiously scanning the ground.

‘It was a snake,’ she managed. Her attacker was so well camouflaged in the long grass that she’d lost sight of it.

‘Stay still.’ Tom aimed his rifle and fired at the ground a few metres away. Christy screamed again as a puff of dust rose up. ‘I’m not trying to kill it,’ he explained. ‘I just want to scare it away from the hay shed.’

They spotted the snake, now speeding in the opposite direction.

‘It struck at my foot,’ Christy whispered in a small voice. ‘But I didn’t feel anything.’

Tom lifted her in strong arms and sat her down on a hay bale. ‘Show me.’

She held out her right boot.

‘Have a look at that.’ Tom pointed to where a trickle of fluid ran down the ankle-high leather. ‘You’re one lucky duck. If that bugger had struck a few centimetres higher, well ...’

Christy’s pounding pulse began to settle. ‘Why do you have a rifle?’

‘Our neighbour runs a few sheep here. Cross-grazing helps lower the worm burden on our paddocks. Sadly, an old ewe was down and needed to be humanely destroyed.’ He held the rifle out so Christy could get a better look. ‘And I use it to shoot ferals like foxes, cats and rabbits.’

Christy stared at it. For some reason the gun fascinated her.

Tom grinned. ‘Come on, I’ll show you how to shoot it.’

Tom finished setting up a line of tin cans on the fence in a back paddock.

The rifle felt alien in Christy’s hands, its weight cold and hard and dangerous.

Tom stood beside her, his voice calm and steady as he guided her stance.

‘Feet shoulder-width apart,’ he instructed.

‘Good. Now, breathe in ... and out ... Focus, aim ... and gently squeeze the trigger.’

A resounding crack split the air and the kickback jolted her shoulder with unexpected force. Christy winced and wildly missed her mark.

‘Slightly bend your knees.’ Tom gently adjusted her position. ‘It helps with balance and stability.’

‘Like this?’

‘Perfect. Now, lean forwards a little and put the rifle butt firmly against your shoulder. Make it snug, but don’t press too hard. That way you’ll be prepared for the kickback.’

Christy positioned the rifle and flexed her knees.

‘Good. Now, rest your cheek on the stock. When you’re ready, take a breath and fire.’

With a final nod, Christy peered down the barrel and aimed at a soup can. The shot rang out and echoed across the paddocks. She blinked in surprise as the can went flying.

Tom clapped her on the shoulder. ‘You hit it! How does it feel?’

‘Amazing!’ said Christy, grinning from ear to ear. ‘I didn’t expect it to feel so ... empowering.’ There was an undeniable thrill to mastering something so outside her comfort zone.

‘Knowing how to shoot a rifle is a very useful skill for living out here,’ Tom said. ‘I belong to a clay target shooting club in town. The sport teaches you a lot about focus and patience. We meet every second Sunday. Why not come along next time and get in some more practice?’

That afternoon Clare invited Christy to watch her first equine therapy session with Leo.

‘I wouldn’t normally pair a new student with a new horse, especially such a temperamental horse as Lofty.

But those two already have an unusually strong connection.

I’d like to see where it goes.’ Clare turned to Samson, the black shepherd dog, who was her shadow. ‘You stay here with Christy, boy.’

Christy and Samson watched from the fence as Leo approached Lofty. The horse stood like a statue in the middle of the yard, eyes wary, muscles tensed under his sleek bay coat. Flared nostrils and an occasional foot stomp betrayed his nervousness.

‘Easy does it, Leo,’ said Clare, who was standing near the gate. ‘Talk to him.’

Leo murmured sweet nothings and extended an open palm towards Lofty. The horse snorted and took a tentative step forwards before retreating again.

‘Don’t rush this, Leo. Let him come to you in his own time.’

Christy studied Leo as he wooed the tall thoroughbred.

The boy seemed different somehow. He’d been surly and closed off yesterday when she’d met him, arms crossed tight against his chest as if trying to disappear into himself.

He’d slouched, avoided eye contact and hardly spoke.

And when he did speak, his words were laced with sarcasm and hostility.