Page 4 of Dangerous Stakes

He had long believed that one of the best ways to teach riders to be the best was to have them watch other riders who were at the top of their game. He liked the fact that Susan had purchased Tank out of a kill pen and brought him along. Rory posted a schedule of times that Susan would be competing in his tack room and invited his students to join him in the stands. He found it helpful to sit with them and watch great performances, asking them to point out what had gone right as well as wrong with the ride.

Susan was a self-made corporate raider, plying her trade for either side in leveraged buyout and hostile takeover situations. She was equally at home being interviewed by the Wall Street Journal as she was Dressage Today.

Rory told himself the tall, raven-haired, buxom beauty had to be of Irish descent. She stood out amongst most of the other women who competed due to her stature alone. Most of the more successful female competitors were shorter and more petite than the average American. Rory guessed Susan to be close to 5’10” and there was nothing petite about her lush curves. She had an hour-glass figure with large, firm breasts, a nipped in waist and voluptuous hips, which would tempt any man. There was no way her formal ring attire wasn’t custom-made for her.

Unless she was in competition, she either held her curly tresses back with a headband or pulled into a high ponytail. She favored black breeches and either peasant or poet shirts with a lot of lace. She had been dubbed the Bohemian in both business and equine circles and had an easy grace and innate sensuality that appealed to Rory.

As a rider she was in a class by herself. Strong and determined, she worked hard to be able to compete with the best of the best. A buzz was beginning to surround both her and her horse, which most people referred to as “the Mutant”. He had no great European pedigree; nor was he one of the warmbloods favored by the top echelon of dressage. Susan herself referred to him as a lovable mutt.

Dressage Today had paid to have a DNA test run on him because he was so unique. He was an interesting mix of Clydesdale, Lipizzaner, and Friesian. The latter two breeds were often seen on the dressage circuit. The Clydesdale was most associated with an American beer. Susan had joked that it didn’t surprise her, as Tank loved beer and she was often seen giving him one at the end of a successful event.

CHAPTER 3

Two Years Previously

The enormous gelding stood in the sale pen quietly awaiting his fate. His bay roan coat bore the scars and welts from his mistreatment. Susan had learned not to look at the horses destined for the slaughterhouse. It was too heartbreaking. But there was something about the gelding that caught her eye and tugged at her soul. He was not standing grouped together with the other horses but stood aloof and on his own—confined with those of his kind, but separate and somehow above them.

Susan had gone through the sale barn with her friend Patricia and helped her select several horses that might work out. They were sitting in the stands as the auction was about to get underway. Susan prevented Patricia from placing a bid on one of the horses they’d agreed on, telling Patricia to hold off until her return. Susan jumped off the end of the grandstand and jogged to the sale pen.

The big gelding hadn’t moved. It was easy to imagine him cloaked in armor with a fully-armed knight waiting to go into battle. She found one of the auction workers and had the gelding moved to a smaller pen where she could get a closer look. Susan entered the pen quietly. The gelding flicked his ears towards her but then went to the far side and stood against the rail.

“Hello, handsome,” she said, approaching him cautiously.

He turned his big head towards her. She reached out her hand with a piece of dried apple in it. That caught his attention. He put his ears forward and walked towards her. She extended her hand as he extended his muzzle to snatch the apple from her hand. The gelding put his ears forward and came closer now, looking quizzically at her hand to see if she could produce more. She did.

While some of the great masters referred to dressage as ballet with a horse, Susan never forgot what it truly was … the art of war with a horse. Each and every movement, especially the famed Airs Above the Ground, was designed to help a warrior in battle. The horse became not only a means of carrying his or her rider, but a weapon to be wielded.

“Like that, did you?” she said smiling. He came forward and gently took the next slice from her hand.

Susan stepped towards the center of the pen and motioned for the gelding to move around her. Someone had spent some time with him at some point in his past. He knew how to free lunge. She clucked and he picked up a trot. It took her breath away. It was lofty and he floated around the ring in a way that a horse his size shouldn’t be able to. The rhythm and cadence to his gait was the kind of thing a rider could only dream of.

“Good boy,” she said to him.

She clucked again and he extended the trot. He lost none of his power or grace. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Liking what she saw, she quickly made a kissing sound, and he picked up a canter, striking out on the correct lead and moving with strength and control.

“Whoa,” she said quietly.

He stopped and walked towards her, once again looking for an apple. She laughed and produced the treat. This time she put her hand up and rubbed him between the eyes.

“They won’t have you today,” she whispered. “Have a bit of faith. I’ll see you in a bit.”

* * *

Susan had come with Patricia to try and find a suitable dressage prospect for a reasonable amount of money.

Susan had ridden most of her life. Her mother had started her life-long obsession with dressage and the dream of Olympic Gold. Susan had put both aside while she focused on her education and starting her own business consulting company. She’d known from an early age that she disliked answering to anyone’s authority.

Patricia had come to riding later in life. The two had become friends over the past five years as they both boarded and trained with the same coach, Gina Foster. While Susan owned and rode her own horses, Patricia had, up until now, had to make do with their coach’s schooling mounts.

Realizing that riding and competing was a long-held dream of his beloved wife, Patricia’s husband had agreed she should have her own horse but had limited her budget to $15,000. Although not an amount to thumb one’s nose at, it was a paltry sum for a horse capable of helping Patricia realize her dreams. While Susan could look at prospects, Patricia’s level of skill dictated that she needed something trained that she could continue to learn on.

Between the three of them, they had looked at almost everything for sale with private owners or trainers and just couldn’t seem to find the right horse. Finally, in desperation Patricia begged Susan and Gina to accompany her to a local auction that was purported to have well broke, healthy horses that were just not trained in dressage. Gina had been unable to go, but Susan had relented and accompanied her friend.

Several times, Patricia made the comment that Susan should buy a new prospect and that she would buy Susan’s horse, Lucy, even though Lucy was worth far more than Patricia’s budget. Lucy was half Percheron and half Quarter Horse – she was steady, easy-going and affectionate. Susan had to admit she would be the perfect mount for Patricia. The idea of selling Lucy had been percolating at the back of her brain. As much as she loved Lucy, Susan knew Lucy simply didn’t have the talent to get her where she wanted to be … the Olympic Medal Stand.

Susan and Patricia walked through the sale barn and looked at several horses. Susan was a recognizable figure in the dressage world and sellers were more than willing to let her ride their horses. Patricia and Susan talked about several horses they thought might be good mounts for Patricia and settled on five.

Susan gave her an educated guess as to their worth and cautioned her friend not to get caught up in bidding fever. The key to doing well at an auction was to set a price for a certain horse or item and not bidding over that amount.

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