Chapter Five

Cain Delacroix was typically an attentive, and focused man - absorbed in his work, there was little that could distract him. But it did not escape his notice that the slight, blonde woman usually watching from beneath the eaves was conspiciously absent when he arrived to work the Guardian. And later, to school Bourbon.

And the next day.

And so, when the third day rolled around, the gripping soreness in his shoulder only just beginning to wane, and Elena's absence weighing heavily on his mind that his mandated lesson with Jackson Elliot found the dressage trainer in a particularly foul mood.

Even for Cain.

Even when trying to focus he found himself drifting, staring into the shadows beneath the arches, pensive, looking for the person he knew wouldn't appear. And so, for the fifteenth time, he missed Jackson's hands dropping. Ever so slightly...not enough to truly matter. But certainly enough to absolutely piss him off.

Cain exploded.

"For GOD'S SAKE ELLIOT, if you CANNOT keep your hands at the right level, I am going to STAPLE THEM where they belong!"

----

Today's lesson had been surprisingly peaceful for the most part, but it made Cain's sudden drill sargeant orders startle him all the more with their abruptness. It was unnerving even Jackson, who was for the most part used to Cain Delacroix's attitude, and making Don lose his cadence for a few steps as Jackson lost concentration.

"Jesus fucking CHRIST, Cain, what crawled up YOUR ass and died this morning?" He obeyed the crabby dressage instructor in spite of his griping, scowling as he lifted his hands half an inch and felt Don come up just a hair in response. It didn't seem like much, but it was enough to make a difference in a test.

----

The response was a sound that highly resembled a "None of your goddamn business", but being buried under an irritable snarl it was difficult to tell, his gray eyes flicking to the archways again absently as he folds his arms across his chest.

It's amazing how you don't realize you slip into a habit until it's been disrupted.

"See. Impulsion. Don has good enough balance to carry you at the piaffe, but without it, you're going to look like a little fish in a mighty big pond if you've got your eyes on the Olympics. Don't get lazy. It's not his job to lug your ass around like some bumpkin kid on a pony ride."

----

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Jackson rolled his eyes and guided Don down to a collected walk to let him catch his breath after some intense trot work. Somehow Jackson resisted the overwhelming urge to point out that Cain never got to the Olympics himself, if only because he seemed like he might actually murder him today if he pushed the wrong buttons. "Got somewhere to be?"

Jackson was not a very observant person and his time in the ring was normally devoted entirely to Don, but he'd been training with Cain for almost a year now and he had a very distinct teaching style that did not include getting distracted. He would be less concerned if the man was chasing him around the ring hollering and dragging his bad leg after him.

----

The dressage trainer's jaw sets slightly, gray eyes moving back to the horse and rider pair taking a bit of a breather.

No. He didn't have anywhere to be. His shoulder was sore enough to radiate down his back and what that didn't take care of, his knee was sure enough to gripe about later. And because of his stupid pride, he'd chased Elena off - who's presence, although he was loathe to admit had become something of a familiar feature in his life. Maybe even something he had begun to look forward to.

"Nothing. Took a spill. Sore. Tired of standing." The indistinct grumblings were about as close to an apology as Jackson would ever hear.

----

Jackson tried very hard not to snort derisively, but he could hear it coming out of his mouth before he could stop it. He cleared his throat and put on his best poker face. "We can call it a day if you're getting tired, old man. Or do you want me to go see if Rene can bring you down a chair?"

A quick glance at his watch confirmed that they he hadn't been riding for more than twenty minutes, and their lessons were usually an hour long. It was likely Cain was full of it, but Jackson really couldn't care less as long as he got his lesson out of it. He was just hoping the man's ridiculous pride would get the better of him.

----

Cain bristled at the remark, his posture turning into an aggressive lean. Bait taken. "You haven't seen tired yet, Elliot. Collected canter. If you can manage it without getting sloppy." His voice lowers slightly, tone dripping with skepticism. "Give me two good 20 meter circles of that without getting lazy with your damn hands. Impulsion! I want him really up and down."

----

And so, that was how Jackson Elliot earned himself 40 minutes of transitions work, the veritable simon-says of the equestrian world. Figure eight, one tempi to x, two tempi away, collected trot, then EXTEND, EXTEND. Watch your hands, watch your-- GOD DAMN IT JACKSON, THE HANDS, down to a walk, don't you dare lose that impulsion! Keep his hind end under...ENGAGE, ENGAGE, ENGAGE-- there, finally, thank god. You're not a toddler afterall... YOU CALL THAT A PIAFFE?!

----

Loud against the silence, the worn leather of her english saddle creaked with each step that Matchbox made. The arena was empty, peaceful as it usually was in the late afternoon, but Elena Culver found herself anything but tranquil. She took a second to adjust her gloves, to adjust her reins, to do anything to keep her mind occupied in the quiet. Hopelessly, though, her mind set adrift with the breeze coming through the archways.

Elena! You need to just…let it go.

But she couldn't. The look in Cain's eyes had haunted her thoughts every day since, that burning look of near hatred etched in her memory. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach at the recollection; Elena held her breath, brooding. Matchbox shifted his weight impatiently beneath her, ears flicking back in her direction.

"Alright, alright." With the click of her tongue, Matchbox leaped into a brisk trot. The duo had been at this for half an hour already, but Elena could feel that something just wasn't right. Match felt too uneasy beneath her, hesitant in his approach.

The vertical was straight ahead, Elena breathed, counting.

3, 2, 1…

Match's ears jerked back, foretelling what was about to happen, but Elena was too slow to react. The black gelding's shoulders veered left, Elena's went straight. She clutched with every muscle in her body to stay on, legs hugging the saddle, arms embracing the gelding's neck, hands glued to her reins. Matchbox paused in reaction to her imbalance, saving Elena from eating sand.

----

Elena: *Sits up from her near-fall, pushing her helmet back off her forehead and her bangs out of her face*

Cain: *he can't help but pause, shoving his jingling keys into his pocket before taking the slight detour along the arena path. It wasn't really out of his way to the parking lot...*

Elena: *Breathes, trying to slow her panicked heart. Sure, she'd fallen off many times in her life, but each new time was equally as nerve wracking as the last. She extended a hand to reassure Matchbox, who was anxiously shifting his feet beneath her.*

Cain: *Honestly, what was he doing? She'd made it pretty clear that she didn't want to be around him, but still he found himself picking his way gingerly across the path of the arena to duck beneath the archway near the entrance. He was just concerned, alright? It was completely normal to want to make sure someone was ok after nearly falling off a horse...*

Elena: *Turning Matchbox, she gave him a little kick, hoping to unkink both their nerves with a calm walk*

Elena: *Feeling a bit more relaxed after trotting a few loops, Elena felt the need to right the wrongs and try again. Cueing Matchbox into a canter, they made their way towards the vertical again. 3, 2, refuse. "Shit, Match, what are you doing?" Elena caught the refusal early, maintaining enough balance to throw her arms down in frustration*

Cain: *he frowns slightly from where he leans against one of the column wall, the pair's frustration palpable. The gelding, whom he normally saw as relaxed and pliant was jigging, ducking out from under the jump and agitated... hrm... he could have sworn he saw...*

Elena: *Sitting back in the saddle, Elena throws her head into her hands, reins dangling loosely. Matchbox is chomping down on his bit, bored and pretending not to care. Elena bitterly rubs her temples,  thinking about too many things at once.*

Cain: *he steps out from beneath the arches, being sure to make enough noise in doing so that he doesn't appear suddenly, startling the gelding* Elena... *he takes a step or two inside the arena, his limp only making him see more hesitant* Could you... try that, one more time?

Elena: *Jumping out her skin, she recognizes the trainer's voice immediately. She continues to hold her face in her hands, almost to the point of uneasiness. She's afraid to look at him, to see those gray eyes beaming at her with vexation. But alas, she slowly peeled her face from her hands, meeting Cain's gaze halfway. "Sure."*

Cain: *he slides his hands into his pockets, stepping towards the inside of the arena, gray eyes simply following her. He seems...almost hesitant*

Elena: *Attempts to make Matchbox jump for what feels like the twentieth time in a row. He refuses even earlier this time, veering right and this time, trotting to a halt, throwing his head down irritably. Elena is obviously exasperated. Embarrassed, she looks away from Cain's direction, hiding the tears that want to form in her eyes.*

Cain: *furrowing his brow thoughtfully, he approaches the pair quietly. Honestly, he could never stand to see a woman cry - and he was already feeling shitty enough about the other night that her frustration was making him uneasy* Your hands. You're dropping them too low.

Elena: "Oh?" she whimpers, a crack in her voice from the lump in her throat. Fighting it, she stares thoughtfully into her open hands.*

Cain: Oh sweet jesus, come on, don't cry...*there's a sound, very similar to a sigh from the trainer as he closes the distance to stand beside Matchbox. Gray eyes glance up at her, almost uneasily* ...may I?

Elena: *Cain's uneasiness catches her attention. Looking down at him, she nodded.*

Cain: *absently he reaches up to grab her hands, as he speaks* When you hands are too low, he can't get his head up high enough to gauge the distance or-- *his bare hands wrap around her much smaller ones, suprised at the warmth through her gloves - his gray eyes flicking up to hers as an electric frission of awareness races through his frame.* or he can't complete the jump without you catching him in the mouth. Hold your hands here....then here as you go over the jump *quickly moving his gaze back to her hands, he slides her hands into the correct positions, hyper aware of the feeling of her hands beneath his*

Elena: *Takes in a quick breath when Cain's hands reach for hers. She listens to him intently as he speaks, catching a glimmer of those silvery eyes looking at her. She directs her attention to his face, blushing as a shiver of warmth runs down her body, right through to her toes. Their eyes meet. The connection is so quick, Elena almost wonders if she made it up entirely. She recovers, following his eyes down to hands guiding hers from point a to point b.*

Cain: get a grip, Delacroix *he clears his throat as he slowly frees her hands, his own drifting back down to his sides - absentmindedly he rubs the fingers of his hand across their respective palm* He's ducked out a few times now, he's going to try it again. You might have to give him a lot of leg - but don't give him an exit. Keep your hands where I told you.

Elena: *A coolness came across her gloved hands as the gentle weight of Cain's was removed. For a moment, Elena found herself wanting them back, yearning for the warmth that lingered on her skin. Without a second thought, Elena glanced down at the trainer before her. The haunting memory of his cold eyes returned as she watched his face, and with it, Elena felt just the way she had a few nights before. She couldn't look at him. "I will, thank you." The words were forced, unwanted. She wished to have just left, to have given him the same cold shoulder as he gave her, but it wasn't Elena.*

Cain: *he quietly...reluctantly steps away - moving back a few steps out of the way of the black gelding, only the subtle purse of his lips giving away his urge to speak, to apologize, to reach back up for her hands, this time removing the gloves--* *he shakes his head slightly to jar the image from his mind*

Elena: *Wonders if the trainer is watching her as she fights the compelling idea of fleeing the arena. Her skin burns from of the fire of frustration. Closing her eyes, Elena lowers her head, feeling Matchbox move beneath her as they slowly distance themselves from Cain. Brown eyes flick open, muscles grip against the leather of the worn english tack; Elena cues Match into a canter.*

Elena: *The pressure of ensuring she does what she's told weighs heavily on her shoulders as the blonde makes her way back towards the vertical. A wave of heat rushes over her, heart picking up in pace to match the rhythm of the anxious horse, as those eyes…those steel gray eyes…watch her from a distance, waiting to see if she passes or fails. Elena holds her breath. 3, 2, 1. Keeping her head straight, the poles were a faint sight beneath them as Matchbox soared over the three foot eleven. It was like water, fluid and easy going. With a thud, Match's feet hit the dirt of the arena. It was over. They had done it. Elena couldn't help herself; a smile grew between her cheeks.*

Cain: *hands in his pockets, standing back from the center of the arena, he watched her intently, unaware that as she approached the jump that his low voice was calming coaching, giving her the cues she needed:* Stay calm, stay calm, keep your eyes forward. Head up... more leg now, he's going right again- more leg more leg, good! Hands up, hands up, hands up--release!

Cain: *watching her complete the jump, he nods -- a subtle sign of approval before quietly slipping his hands from his pockets, limping his way off towards the arena exit*

Elena: *The young blonde grinned ear to ear, reaching down to pat the neck of the black gelding. She could feel the heat of his coat through her gloves, steam rising from the sweat on his neck and shoulders. Her expression softened as her thoughts turned back to Cain. Brown eyes searched for gray ones, Elena caught a gentle nod of approval. Her lips parted to speak, but she thought better of it, instead watching the trainer limp across the sand towards the arena exit.*

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Friday, September 14, 2012 @ 10:34 AM
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Chapter Four

The jingle of metal hardware, the soothing smell of leather and saddlesoap barely registered in the back of his mind as he wrapped his arms around the worn, faded leather of the jumping saddle. Slipping the familiar piece of tack over the crook of his arm as he carried it over to the bay mare, the gesture is rehearsed, a habit committed to memory a hundred thousand times until his body moves of it's own accord - the smooth, thoughtless motions only marred by the reluctance of his leg to complete the easy swing he was accustomed to.

Cain's lips momentarily set in vexation as the realization set in, that no matter how many time he's done this, or how many times may come that it will never, ever be the same, the easy slow languid grace of--

He shook his head, as if the simple gesture will fling the thoughts away as well. That's why he practiced in the night. The barn quiet, horses sleepy - empty. Perhaps it was easier to simply pretend that nothing had changed, to commune with old ghosts in the comfortable silence.

His gloved hands slide the saddle into place on the mares back, atop the fitted pad, slipping back into the old routine.

-----------------------------------------

Six o' fucking clock.

Flushed, cheeks many shades of crimson as a result of severe agitation, Elena released her sleeve back down from her wrist. Her watch was only proving what she didn't want to believe: Ethan had forgotten to pick her up.

ring, ring, ring, ring, ring...

He wasn't answering his phone, naturally, so there she sat under the glow of one of the last few lights on around the barn, eyeing the empty Rosenthal parking lot, glaring at the emptiness. Focusing on the darkness before her, she pondered why she'd chosen not to get a ride home from Veronica when she offered, insisting that Ethan would be a no show. Elena tended to give him the benefit of the doubt, and as a result, she usually suffered.

One would think you'd have learned your lesson by now.

In the distance, through a void of blackness, an arena light flickered on. It was a mere glow amidst the night and at first, Elena had thought she was imagining things.

-----------------------------------------

Both slate and brown eyes blinked as the subtle half light of the path transitioned into the brightly illuminated arena - hooves thudding softly on footing accompanied by a much more subtle crunch of riding boots.

Earlier on, the mare's ears would have swiveled back to the barn, calling in frustration for the sleepy warmth of a stall - but as the weeks had gone by, and habits formed she'd relaxed. Head lowered and with a slightly sleepy yawn she blatantly ignores the shiftings of tack, last minute double checks of keepers and girths, everything set in it's proper place. Finally satisfied, he absently pats her neck before stepping up onto the siderail of the arena, easing his scarred leg over her back.

-----------------------------------------

Elena shifted her weight from one leg to the other, crossing her arms, eyebrows furrowing as her eyes squinted to see through the night's darkness. Two figures stood just out of sight, the lazy wave of a tail catching her eye. Curiousity piqued, Elena broke from her static position --

After a moment's hesitation, Elena decided against her common sense and stepped out into the blackness.

-----------------------------------------

You never really forgot how to ride, the easy swing of hips unconsciously rising and falling with hoofbeats, no matter how rusty and far away the skill might seem.

Shaking off years of disuse, he quickly slipped into the easy rhythm, the slow collected trot raising delicate puffs of dust with every foot fall. The gentle pounce of the gait sent uncomfortable licks of pain through his knee, but gritting his teeth made it at least bearable - and after a few minutes, the dull aching burn settled to the back of his mind.

-----------------------------------------

As Elena moved in closer, the arena was all she could see, for it's lights held her vision captive against the blackness in her peripherals. The two figures were on the opposite end but would be making their way back this side soon enough…

Chestnut..three white socks..broad blaze...

Valentine? Elena only knew that the owner didn't come around much and typically paid off the trainers for putting in extra hours with her. Maybe it was Ryan working her this late..

Deciding that's who it must be, Elena picked up her pace into a jog, approaching the arena rather quickly. As the horse and rider made their way in her direction, though, Elena's heart sank. It definitely wasn't Ryan, she could tell by the chair.

Not wanting to disturb them, she moved into place behind one of the large brick columns. They had past her side of the arena again, so she'd have to wait for them to come back around before she could scan over the mysterious stranger's face.

Whilst waiting, Elena remained hidden, not wanting to disturb them. She took notice of the jumps set up in the arena, but shrugged them off.

Cain easily reins the mare around, urging her gently up into an easy collected canter. His movements as a rider are understated. Graceful. Not demanding, but quietly requesting... unobtrusive and graceful, it's quite the contradiction given his personality and the awkward forced movements caused by his limp when on the ground. After a few easy circles, his gray eyes flick up and over to the jump standards. He'd been coming to practice at night almost every evening after the last few months. The dressage had been painful at first but become bearable...perhaps...?

So Ana Rosenthal had decided he was a washed up has-been?

Cain quietly kissed to the mare, the high pitched noise sending her effortlessly towards the standards.

Elena watched on from the shadows of the archways, moving around to the side of the arena for a closer view of the pair. The way they moved was enviable, at least, for her, as an amateur. The arches would block her view momentarily and so, with each progressing step meant a new view of the rider and his horse. She could tell they were moving towards the standards, and with one last arch, she stopped, mouth agape, unsure of what was about to happen next.

White socked feet pound rhythmically towards the jump, three strides, two strides, one stride - her red body coiling , springing forward and -- red ears flash to the side as her large brown eyes catch the unexpected figure of the blonde, quietly watching. Violently spooking to the side as her front feet hit the ground, she torques to the side --

Elena watched on, eyes narrowing, naturally assuming that any confident rider would be able to recover. But in an instant, the rider was off balance, struggling to maintain his composure. He passed the threshold for regaining control and there was no going back...

Cain barks out a hoarse curse of pain as the force of twist plants all of his weight on the right side, and it's like a grenade goes off, the burn exploding in his leg. Elena was right, any experienced rider would have sat the juke, but the lance of pain prevented him from posting his weight. The mare continued her stride to the right, the dressage trainer's frame continuing on as he loses the stirrup, slamming into the ground shoulder first, the thud knocking the air from his lungs in one, brutal gasp.

A noise escaped from Elena's open mouth. She hadn't even realized it was agape in the first place, but there it was, hanging in the silence, paired with agitated groans from the injured man on the ground. The young horse had trotted off towards the gate of the arena, trotting back and forth, while Elena managed to hop the fence. She jogged over to the man, who was attempting to get up. A wave of terror washed over her entire body. Elena stopped abruptly, watching the rider, unable to use his leg to lift himself.

It could only be one person.

Cold, steel-gray eyes found her as a pride-injured expression grilled her in her tracks. She held her breath. Should she say something? What could she say? She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Elena...what the hell was she still doing here? How long had she been watching? -- the truth was, he shouldn't have been surprised. She'd taken to watching him train during the day. And how long did he really think he could keep his practice sessions a secret? It was just easier without pairs of eyes watching, waiting for the moment when he would prove Ana right and end up in the fucking dirt - maybe it's the pain, maybe it's the wounded pride...and maybe it's his winning personality but his voice comes out in a defensive snarl, biting out the words "What the fuck are you doing here".

Good lord...his shoulder feels like someone took a bat to it, the recent blow still ringing through the battered joint. He's bruised but as he wiggles the fingers, nothing feel broken.

"Uhh," she began, "Well..I..I was..Ethan forgot to come pick me up and the arena lights came on and I just wanted to know who was here.."

"Can..Can I help you?"

Help him. He looked like he needed help. The one thing he'd been fighting against, trying to avoid, the crippled has-been accepting the training job at Rosenthal because lets face it... what other job offers had come knocking down his door? He braces his weight on his good leg, hauling himself to his feet with a wince, gray eyes glittering "So you come and sneak around the arena in the middle of the night -- NO. Thank you. You've done quite enough"

Extremely uncomfortable, Elena watched Cain try to poise himself. Wanting to just crawl into a hole, to disappear, she continued, "I wasn't sneaking! I was just waiting on Ethan, and then I saw you..I didn't..I didn't know it was you."

"FOR FUCKS SAKE," he pauses to ruffle a hand across his hair, shaking dirt onto his shoulders "Who the fuck else would it have been, Elena?"

Each word was unbearable, like lashings against her conscience. She really hadn't known, it could've been anyone. She lowered her gaze, feeling foolish, and even worse, feeling scolded, "It could've been anybody," she whimpered.

"God fucking DAMN IT" he mutters, turning his back somewhat to her as he goes to fetch the mare and check her for damage, his leg shrieking in protest only makes his gait even more unnatural.

"Could I at least get the horse for you?" She called after him, voice hoarse from a developing lump in her throat.

"Elena, just fucking GO. HOME" The last thing he wanted, needed, was her giving him pity after watching him tumble into the dirt like a...like a... Maybe Ana was right. He was washed up. A has-been. He couldn't jump any longer. For fuck's sake he could barely ride, his bruise pride sharpening his tone, words coming out in a snarl.

He just wanted to lick his wounds in peace.

For a second, she attempted to follow him, to just..ensure that he was really alright, but, she thought the better of it. With a swift half-turn, she called to him, "I'm sorry, Cain," she muttered, turning to leave, tears in her eyes. She fought, fought to control her emotions, fought the urge to run, fought the anger bubbling from inside her. She wouldn't turn around; She just kept walking... Cain stops in his tracks, the sound of tears choking her voice draining the fight from his body, shoulders sagging. Exasperatedly, he rakes a hand through his hair - he hadn't meant to be such an asshole, to snap at her, and chew her out for simply being curious. And now he'd made her cry.

"Elena... I.." he slowly turned, but she had already gone.

"Fuck."

And suddenly, without the rage and damaged pride, his knee hurt more than ever - limping gingerly after the mare to make sure she wasn't injured.

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Elena had nearly forgotten..that she had been forgotten in the first place. Wiping away her tears, she glanced towards the arena reluctantly. Cain was making his way from the arena with Valentine. Elena lowered her head and leaned against the archway, once again under the dull illumination of the only light on at the barn. Pulling out her cell phone, all contempt for Ethan's lack of dependability seemed a minuscule concern now. She dialed his number...

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Thursday, September 13, 2012 @ 10:42 PM
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Chapter Two

hum, hum, hum..

Fans spun rhythmically above Elena as she paused from mucking to wipe her brow. Every noise seemed clamorous against the stale heat of this Georgia summer afternoon. Inattentively, Elena fixated on the tip of the pitchfork in her hand, peeling at the wood with her gloved fingers. Her mind had been wondering since she began her chores in the compelling heat nearly two hours ago, reveling in daydreams of all the things she'd rather be doing than cleaning.

Before Elena could succumb to another imaginative episode of riding Matchbox under Cain's guidance, she quickly scooped the last bit of filth into her wheelbarrow. The metal of the stall latch grated as she forced it open, breaking the rhythm of the humming fans above. Elena emerged, following the heavy wheelbarrow, pitchfork dangling awkwardly under her arm. She always had a knack for doing things the hard way, but knew she'd be too lazy to make two trips.

"Need a hand?"

Elena gave up on the instrument and let it fall to the ground. She wasn't sure what made her jump more, the surprise voice or the crack of the tool hitting the hard floor. It was difficult to mistake Ryan's Australian accent, but Elena was easily startled.

"Oh, you know, I think I've got it. Thanks." Elena blushed, leaning over to pick up her fallen pitchfork.

"Good on'ya then.." Ryan moved in closer toward Elena, making himself comfortable in her space by leaning against the wall just a few feet away from her. "How many ya got left?"

Tucking some strays of blonde hair behind her ear, Elena made every attempt to return Ryan's gaze. He was so charismatic; he could easily knock the breath out of most girls around the barn, Elena included. Friendly brown eyes watched her as she replied,

"This was my last stall to clean. I had to pick up an extra few today since Veronica refuses to help out around here."

While she meant that to be lighthearted, it was the truth. The girl wouldn't sacrifice a fingernail for such things.

"Ah, yeah. 'Miss Figjam.'"

"Miss who?"

"The sheila who thinks herself better than the rest of us." He accompanied his reply with an adorable wink.

Elena couldn't help but laugh. Maybe it was the heat, but something struck her funny chords about the name "fig-jam."

"Well, that's all fine and dandy Ryan, but I don't see your blonde mop lifting a finger to help our little Elena here yourself. Unless that is you're intending to use that unruly hair to sweep the floors once she's done", a low amiable voice drawls from within the corridor - that familiar southern accent lilting the words.

Rene Moreau had been employed by Rosenthal since he'd been old enough to work - and to be honest, since before then, just off the books. Originally as a favor to his father, who was Rosenthal's first farrier and a soft-spoken horseman with an almost unintelligibly thick Creole accent, they'd hired the boy. The pay was menial but the privilege of being around the horses was more than enough reward, and Rene had grown up on the farm. At first as a simple stable-hand, then as an assistant for the facility staff, Rene had finally accepted an open position as a groom when Edgar Beaumont had finally retired at the ripe old age of 72.

Taking after his father in more ways than one, despite Rene's outlandishly tall frame, the horses seemed to gravitate to him...even the most intolerant seemed to put up with Rene's endless fussing come show season and always were turned out looking their best.

Nevertheless his words were friendly, ribbing - before dropping a notch and become more sincere.

"No, really man. Next lesson's here."

Ryan quickly broke from his relaxed composure and stood straight when Rene's last words registered.

"We'll settle this next time, Rene. I'll teach you to leave my hair out of things," Ryan replied jokingly. "Elena, I'll catch you after this next lesson!"

Elena quickly realized that she was now alone with Rene. He was much taller than she, brown eyes beaming down at her. He had such a kind face, no doubt a feature inherited by his father, but there was something mysterious about him. Elena had been riding at Rosenthal for a couple of years now, but her longest conversation with Rene was merely a "Hello" or "How are you?"

Seconds passed between them. Elena refused to let the silence become totally awkward.

"I really didn't need help, you know. I just..tend to make things more difficult on myself."

Rene's dark brown eyes swiveled to the side to follow Ryan's retreating back, an easy smile touching his lips, "Ah, I know that. You seem to hold your own around here just fine. Ryan was just due to be taken down a peg. Otherwise he gets unbearable". The Louisiana native's lips purse slightly, amused.

Elena laughed in reply. It was true...Ryan had a tendency to be a little intense.

He's not the only one with an intense personality around here, though.

"Rene, are you friends with Cain?"

The groom arched his eyebrows slightly as the conversation veered onto a different track, "Cain...Delacroix? Dressage trainer?". His voice remains somewhat neutral, however, he can't help the slightly incredulous tone that edges into it.

Elena blushed, feeling foolish for even asking. She didn't know what possessed her to ask about Cain, nor did she even think about what possible conversations would stem from such a random inquiry. Elena's thoughts ricocheted in her head. Picking one, she continued nonchalantly, "Yes, I was wondering, do you know why he doesn't give public lessons?"

Rene sighed, his long frame easing against the wall, "Cain's a tough nut to crack - he really doesn't talk about himself to much of anyone. And I've known him about as long as anyone has." His dark eyes slide towards the hall for a moment, towards the arena, as if thinking. "The way I see it, Cain's sure not the sort of person that doesn't do a thing he doesn't want to - for whatever reason he's gotten it in his head that people just aren't worth the time. For a time there, Ana was pretty keen on having him give some private lessons, coach the dressage team. Figured it would be good for him I suppose..."

Elena shifted her weight uncomfortably, cheeks burning as her mind ached with frustration over her reasons for asking about Cain in the first place. Everybody knows why he didn't give public lessons...everybody knows that he's unapproachable and a grump. "I wonder how he landed here in the first place. I watch him sometimes, in the morning, hoping to learn something. He really has a gift with the horses he works with. They respond to him so easily, like they speak the same language."

Those dark eyes flick back to the small woman in front of him. "Like I said... He doesn't do a lot of talking about himself, but from what I've gathered, he and Ana go back. Family ties or something. When he retired, she offered him the job as a dressage trainer. Funny, seeing as how he's always been such a mess with people, but..."

He tilts his head slightly, searching Elena's face thoughtfully, "Well I just guess she sees the same thing you do".

He chuckles, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "But, I'm keeping you from your work...and I'm sure those manes aren't braiding themselves. Although some days I wish they could..." Pulling his hands from his pockets, he leans away from the wall.

"Oh, right. Sure thing," Elena spat out. With a half turn, she extends a hand, grabbing the damned pitchfork next to her. It shatters the silence between them as Elena tosses it into the wheelbarrow. Reaching down to grab both handles, she turns her head to Rene and, with a genuine smile, wishes him a good rest of the evening. She could feel his gaze upon her back as she quickly made her way around the corner.

"Elena?" a low voice follows her around the corner, "Just something to keep in mind - the horses, they're usually pretty good judges of character."

At the back of the stable, and out of sight of anyone, Elena paused, hoping to regroup her thoughts and regain her composure.

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Tuesday, August 28, 2012 @ 3:29 PM
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Chapter One

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Ughhh! God, I'm late. I'm so late.

Practically leaping from inside her car, Elena felt the gravel part under her boots as she spun to quickly close and lock the driver door of her car. The damn thing was getting old now and the 'lock' button no longer worked on her key fob.

Sprinting toward the tack room, Elena passed a few recognizable faces in the pasture nearby. Bryony, the eight year old Selle Francais, jerked her head up as Elena ran by, strands of mane flying over one of her eyes. Beyond her, sunbathing and ignoring the world, was her pasture-mate, Adele, the modestly fat German Riding Pony.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee, mixed with the oh-so-familiar aroma of horses and leather, reminded Elena of how at home she felt when she was at Rosenthal. She had been riding here for six years now, and it was definitely the best parts of her week, a nice break from Ethan drama and work.

But...it wasn't until about two years ago when a very enigmatic and bitter trainer arrived at Rosenthal with his beautiful friesian mare, The Guardian (or as Elena likes to call her when she sneaks her treats, "Nova"), that Elena made it her goal to show up exactly at 11:30 in order to catch him working with her. It was hard to deny he had a way with horses, but his connection with Nova was unmistakable. Elena dreamed of the day he would offer to train her and Matchbox...

As she approached the arena, quietly and sure as not to disturb Cain and Nova, Elena was surprised to see Veronica here so early, standing impatiently with her horse just inside the arena. Normally she wasn't here until noon, and it was amusing to see Veronica in such a state of annoyance, with her eyebrows furrowed together as she glared in the direction of the Cain, or as she liked to call him, "His Highness."

"Hey you, I don't even have to ask why you're making that face, but I'm surprised to see you out and about before noon."

Veronica rolled her eyes passionately. "Oh you know, I thought I'd actually try and join you daywalkers for a change" she drawled as he flipped an errant strand of hair over her shoulder.

"Besides. Contract work this evening - someone's scheduled model quit and if I can fill this contract. MOOCHAS CASHOLA...and unless I got it out of the way, Indy wasn't going to get worked today. And SOMEONE gets an attitude if we don't stick to the schedule." Despite her bitter tone, the young woman affectionately caressed the muzzle of the young stallion peering over her shoulder - her voice assuming the adoring coo of a woman smitten.

Indy was about four years old, and as Veronica claimed "the love of her life." Veronica had many loves. Shopping. Designer boots. Particularly if one couldn't pronounce their brand names... but Indy was particularly special.

"Unfortunately, if Mr --", she glanced around to make sure Ana Rosenthal hadn't planned a suprise visit for 'inspiration' as she called it...more like stopping by the make sure her facility was running the way she wanted - and the woman loathed cursing - "Jackass doesn't abbreviate his session, it's not going to happen".

Elena found it difficult to make eye contact with Veronica. She was so pretty, so feisty, and obnoxiously materialistic. They ran on different wavelengths, that was obvious to most, but something about their paradox relationship drew them together in ways that even they didn't bother to try and understand.

Indy's coat glistened in the Georgia sun, his dapples shining through on his lean neck, eyes focused on Nova in the ring, ears perked in her direction, flickering as the friesian moved about in circles. Elena extended her hand to touch his compellingly beautiful coat. It was warm under her fingers, silky smooth as her fingers traced his muscles. It was hard to believe that Indy ever got an attitude, but Veronica knew him better than anybody.

"Well I'm here until probably five, so I could give Indy a workout..but I think Cain should be about finished with Nova. He's as punctual as he is precise i his training queues.." Elena trailed off as she rested her arms on the half-wall, hiding her upper body in the shadow of one of the arena's archways. She watched Nova, graceful and elegant as ever with the longest mane she'd seen on a horse at this barn.

For a moment, she could almost feel the horse's movements, making a mental connection between her experiences with Matchbox and what it would be like to ride Nova…

Elena's thoughts were interrupted abruptly when in her peripheral vision, Cain's face was obviously turned in her direction, eyes upon her like an owl's on a field mouse.

Oh God, he's not looking at me. He's not.

Bravely and uncontrollably, Elena's gaze quickly moved over to Cain's face, taking in his vague expression. Their eyes met, only for an instant, before the beat-red girl forced her eyes toward Veronica, who was turning Indy so she could mount and enter the arena as Cain made his exit.

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Quietly, he raised an arm - a small gesture, but the one the Friesian was waiting for. Easy. Stop. Rest. Her feathered feet spring lightly to a halt, delicate ears pricking in his direction.

Half an hour. No more, no less. 6 days on, one day off. Like clockwork. It wasn't true for every horse, clearly, but the mare thrived on routine. Miss a day and she was hell. More raw talent than you could shake a stick at though - she made his job look easy.

Atleast that was just his opinion - Ana Rosenthal seemed more than still seemed more than pleased in her effusively flowery letters. Cain thought it was the novelist in her talking, rather than the realist but kept his mouth shut.

After all, there weren't many jobs available for a crippled eventer. his thoughts turned to a bitter snarl as he turned, the ever present limp hindering what should have been an effortless movement - his eyes catch hazel ones, bright and clear, watching him intently before darting away. Of course he'd noticed the woman. Despite...or perhaps in spite of his carefully crafted air of indifference, he had made a point of carefully cataloging what was going on around him.

Quiet. She was always quiet, drifting in to do nothing more than watch, sometimes an almost dreamy look on her face. It was random at first, he'd catch her peeking around the arena entrance - and he'd snarled at her, that he wasn't here to run a peep show and get the hell out. But in a couple of day time she'd drifted by again. And he'd let it go.

She'd been present more and more often over the last few months.... until these days it was more surprisingly to him to glance over and not find her small frame leaning against a wall or the doorway. And she was almost always kind enough to find some excuse to flit away just before the end of his session - leaving him to carefully, measuredly pick his way across the arena without an audience to gawk at the faltering step that should have been a languid stroll. He barely even gave it a thought these days, his progress across the arena absolutely radiating a vague hostility.

But Elena would have caught the purely appreciative look he gave Veronica's stallion - his bitterness reserved only for the human's present and in Elena's case, measured indifference.

"And Veronica. I'd like to remind you that that horrifically grating rendition of a voice you have carries. Shut the hell up." His lean frame eases past the pair, guiding the mare down the aisle.

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Elena subconsciously raised a hand to her mouth, as if it had been punched by Cain's crass remark. It wasn't at all surprising for him, but, Elena still felt a sting of displeasure prick her gut. His eyes had glared upon Veronica's face with something just sort of hatred - or maybe it was hatred, but Elena tended to think optimistically.

He hadn't even bothered to look at her, either. But, in a way, Elena was glad to have been in the shadows of that encounter.

Veronica spun around so fast that poor Indy had to jerk himself out of her way. She stared at me, her expression unmistakably lacquered with embarrassment and anger. Elena prepared herself for an earful of cursing, but instead, Veronica simply turned back around and flipped Cain off, not caring who saw. Without a word, she hopped on Indy and trotted into the arena.

Elena watched as Veronica tried to find inner peace. Indy was antsy beneath her, feeding off her negative energy. Leaning against the archway, Elena watched them together, working out their frustration, transitioning from laborious to languid as they both relaxed in the quiet of the arena.

With a sigh of relief, Elena turned and headed towards the stable. One of the things Elena loves most about this stable is that it has a fully equipped kitchen in the feed room. Grabbing a bucket, she scooped in some of Ana's family-recipe-made granola. It was time to go see Matchbox.

The black gelding nickered delightedly as Elena approached him, shaking the bucket of granola. Without hesitation, Matchbox dove his head into the bucket, his mane falling about it, eyes half closed in pure satisfaction of the sweet crunchiness of his favorite snack.

Whispering to him about her morning, Matchbox's ears flickered with awareness, as if he could understand what she was saying. The subdued munching of granola filled the silence after Elena paused, recollecting her feelings from earlier. She couldn't stop thinking about Cain's remark. It was literally, maybe, the third time she'd ever heard him address a person, and it just wasn't entirely what she had expected. He seemed so...indignant towards everything and everyone.

With a shrug, Elena set down the empty bucket and made her way towards the storage room to grab a pitchfork and the wheelbarrow.

Time to get these chores out of the way!

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Thursday, July 19, 2012 @ 6:53 PM
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