Jumper by Michele Bossley Page B

problem.” Laurel put her hands on both hips and studied me. “I think you could use some fine-tuning. Sometimes making small adjustments makes a big difference. We’ll work on that next time. Cool him down, then go ahead and untack. I think Dublin’s done for the day.”
    I nodded and swung down from the saddle. I took hold of the reins and walked Dublin around the outside edge of the ring a few times before I led him to the big double doors at the far end of the arena. I paused to watch the other girls as I slid one door open. Kayla Richards was heading for the first jump on her horse, Twilight, with a gait so smooth they looked like they were cantering in slow motion.
    I swallowed and turned away. Riding was so much harder than it looked. It wasn’t fair. People thought that you just climbed up into the saddle and away you went, but there was a lot more to it than that.
    I led Dublin into the short passageway from the arena to the stable and over to his stall, which was one of the closest ones to the arena doors. I could still hear Laurel yelling faintly, but it seemed to me she sounded a lot more positive than she had with me.
    I sighed. Tethering Dublin loosely to the gatepost by his reins, I grabbed a bucket of brushes from the nearby supply room.
    â€œYou really are a stubborn old goat,” I told him. He tossed his head at the disapproval in my voice, but I didn’t care. “Why can’t you just
behave
?” I lifted the flap of the saddle, unbuckled the girth and scooted around him to unbuckle the other side, sliding the saddle from his sweaty back. I stored it in one of the stable’s lockers and hung the saddle pads up to dry.
    â€œYou’re a darn nuisance, even if you are good-looking.” I kept talking as I grabbed the currycomb and began to brush the sweat from his back in swift, firm circles. He whickered in what I thought sounded like a pleased way. “But looks aren’t everything,” I answered sternly. I took a soft brush and leaned into his flank, brushing the dust from his coat. Dublin was a bay, which means he was a deep brown all over, with darker legs. He had white socks on all his feet and a white blaze on his forehead. His mane and tail were black. Dublin nosed at the pockets of my coat as I worked my way forward, bending down to brush away the sweat where the girth had been tightened.
    â€œThere’s no carrots in there, big guy,” I told him. “You’ll just have to wait.”
    Dublin responded by blowing his nose into the folds of my jacket. “Hey!” I stepped back as he snorted again. “All right, Mr. Greedy. Just one for now.” I reached into the bag I always brought for my riding equipment and pulled out the carrots. I broke one up and let Dublin take it from my hand, stroking the side of his face as he nosed my palm. He crunched it quickly and looked immediately for more, but I had the hoof pick and I pulled up on his right front foot. He grudgingly lifted his foot so I could scrape out all the dirt and crud that accumulates during a ride. When it was clean, I let him go and grabbed his hind foot. I tugged, but Dublin refused to budge. “Oh, come
on
,” I said. Tug. Tug.
    â€œFine,” I huffed. I reached into the bag of carrots and let him have another one. He let me lift his hind foot, and I cleaned it as quickly as I could, but when I went on to the next hind leg, we went through the same performance again. Tug. Tug.
    â€œYou know, you could be sold,” I said, my hands on my hips.
    â€œBut not to you.” Kayla led Twilight through the big double doors just in time to hear my comment.
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?” I swung around. I nearly added “rich girl” to the end of that sentence, but decided against it. I didn’t want to fight with her.
    â€œNothing,” Kayla answered snidely, tying Twilight to the post at his stall. She took off her