Another Kind of Cowboy (16 page)

“No. I mean us. Are we—?”

“Are we what?”

“Is this a date?”

The disgusted expression on Cameron's face made Alex flinch.

“You sound like a girl, man,” said Cameron.

Alex knew then that whatever this was, it wasn't going any further than the park. He also knew this park wasn't enough for him—not now, not ever.

He got up and brushed himself off.

“Where are you going?”

Alex looked down and felt anger slice through him at whatever or whomever had sentenced Cameron to the dark.

“You should tell Cleo,” he said.

Something shifted in Cameron's face for a moment and then the mask slipped back into place.

“Come on,” he said. “Where are you going?”

“I mean it. You need to tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“That you're not that into her.”
Because you're not into girls.
“Either you tell her or I will.”

As Alex walked away he felt himself bracing for an attack that never came.

MARCH 10

WHEN ALEX LED
Detroit out of his stall at the Mid-Island Spring Horse Show, he felt a wash of embarrassment as people did double takes upon seeing Detroit's show sheet. Grace had told him that, as his sponsor for the show, she wanted to advertise her company name, so over the top of his winter stable blanket, Detroit wore a purple blanket made of two bedsheets Grace had sewn together. On either side she'd written “Graceful Hair Designs” in elaborate lettering. The logo was heavily accented with rhinestones. She'd thought long and hard about whether to add “Ltd.,” but in the end decided that to do so would misrepresent her skills. “There's nothing limited about me,” she'd concluded as she
admired her handiwork.

When Cleo saw the show sheet, she told Alex that it probably wouldn't be necessary for him to come out formally. “That blanket'll make the announcement for you.” Alex had been thinking about coming out a lot in the past few days. He and Chris had spent four afternoons together working on the music and Alex found himself increasingly fascinated by his friend.

Chris seemed to disappear into the task of designing the musical score for Alex's ride. He carefully watched the video of Alex riding his freestyle over and over while he played pieces of music he thought might match. He was as lost in the music as he was when he drew. Chris made music and art the way Alex rode: with complete absorption. Alex found it both comforting and inspiring.

Chris turned out to be right about the bhangra. The South Asian music was a perfect match for Detroit's elastic and athletic gaits. The music had strong rhythms and distinct beats, but it was also complex and full of surprises. It made Alex feel like dancing while twining scarves around himself. It made him feel like riding. When he tested it out, he was sure Detroit liked it, too. The big gelding light
ened up and became more animated when the music played.

As Alex tacked up Detroit, he reflected that even though he was thrilled at the freestyle he and Chris had put together, he was confused and dismayed by his growing feelings for his friend. What could have been simple admiration for Chris's talent was amplified because Chris seemed interested.

During the four days they worked together, Alex had seen Chris looking at
him
. More than once. When he was tempted to make something of it, Alex remembered Cleo's delusion that his own occasional glance in her direction meant he was in love with her. Then he thought of the scorching looks Cameron had given him. Why did romance have to be so tangled and confusing? It would be hard enough if everyone wore a sign stating their preferences. It was practically impossible for someone who had no antenna for this stuff at all.

If Alex was a more confident person, he might have tried to raise the subject directly. Chris was a thoughtful, gentle person and Alex knew he'd be kind no matter how he felt. But Alex wasn't a confident person and kind wouldn't cut it. Quite the opposite. And Alex thought he would rather die than make
Chris uncomfortable or ruin their friendship. So he said nothing and pushed away his feelings.

“Do you need any help?”

Alex looked around and saw the person he'd just been obsessing about standing behind him. Blood rushed into his cheeks.

“Where's Sofia?” he asked out of habit.

“She's with your sisters and Grace. I think Sofia wants to join their gang.”

Alex nodded. “They have that effect on people.”

“You're all ready?”

“Actually, would you mind getting my show jacket? It's in there.” Alex pointed at the small, walk-in dressing room at the front of Fergus and Ivan's horse trailer.

Chris came back carrying the coat and a plaid wool scarf. “It's kind of cold out. You might need this while you warm up.” He held up the scarf. Alex, heart pounding, shrugged out of the heavy ski parka he wore over his pressed dress shirt and let Chris help him into his coat. When he finally had it on, Alex turned to his friend and began fastening the buttons with hands that should have been frozen but instead were strangely hot. When Chris very gently reached to put the scarf around Alex's
neck, their hands met.

It was only a moment, but when it was over, Alex was suddenly eight feet tall and made of sunlight.

 

Grace told him later that the music seemed to take the small crowd by surprise. Alex didn't notice. As soon as he entered the arena everything disappeared but the horse and the music. As he rode down the centerline he felt Detroit's footfalls perfectly match the beats. They made a perfect transition to a square halt at
X
. Silence fell for a beat, two beats, three beats. Then the music began again, louder now, as Alex pushed Detroit off at a collected trot.

It seemed to Alex that he could feel the horse's back muscles ripple in time with the music as they crossed the diagonal at a medium trot. Detroit did a traverse to the right and then to the left at the trot, maintaining his rhythm. When Alex tightened his stomach, Detroit stopped in time with the crescendo. The horse backed up the four steps at the slightest prompt and then moved off again. Alex put the big gelding into a canter, again perfectly timed to the music. He lengthened and collected the horse's canter, then let him stretch his neck down to take the bit.
Alex felt as if he'd grown wings and that his horse was stepping on clouds rather than sand. The music swirled around them and Alex heard the crowd clapping in time. He put the horse into a medium trot and the clapping seemed to hold them aloft each stride for an extra moment.

When it was over and Detroit stood perfectly still and square at
X
, the music faded from the air, and several people in the crowd stood up and applauded.

 

Maybe it was just a schooling show and not an Olympic qualifier, and a second-level freestyle rather than a grand prix test, but Alex couldn't help feeling elated. He'd just spent over five minutes in the zone, that rare state of grace in riding when everything comes together. Time in the zone was elusive and generally measured in fractions of seconds, not entire minutes.

As soon as Alex and Detroit got out of the ring they were surrounded by people: coaches, sisters, friends. People he'd never spoken to before came over to congratulate him on a nice ride.

“Thanks,” he said, careful not to let his excitement look like arrogance.

Fergus and Ivan were overcome with emotion, as
though Alex were a baby bird who'd just landed safely after his first flight.

“Lovely, my dear,” said Fergus after he swung the woolen quarter sheet over Detroit's rump. “Just lovely. I admit I wasn't sure about that music, but by God it worked.”

Ivan nodded. “That was good,” he said.

“We were dancing along!” said Maggie. “Did you see us?”

Alex saw Ivan look down at his sisters, his white eyebrows knitted together.

“I've got to walk him out,” he said, kicking his legs out of his stirrups and swinging a leg over the saddle.

When he hit the ground sharp pains shot through his feet as the full weight of gravity grabbed him again.

“Where's Cleo?” he asked, realizing he hadn't seen her since she went off to ride her first test. That was at least an hour ago.

Fergus shook his head and Ivan looked away, his lips pursed.

“What?” pressed Alex. His coaches didn't answer.

Alex gave up and walked over to Chris, who held out his winter jacket.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Let me get a picture,” said Grace. Chris tried to step out of the frame but she stopped him. “I want all of you.”

Soon she'd herded Fergus, Ivan, Maggie, May, Chris, Sofia, and a couple of surprised strangers into a huddle around Detroit.

When she'd gotten her picture and the crowd had gone their separate ways, Alex turned to Grace.

“Have you seen Cleo?”

“I think there was a bit of a problem with her first ride.”

“I saw Fergus and Ivan getting mad at her,” said Maggie. “Something about drinking.”

“Drinking?” asked Alex, feeling completely lost.

“Something about her drinking and not being allowed to ride in the rest of the show.”

 

After Alex had cooled Detroit and put him in his stall he headed toward the jumper area to find Cleo. He figured the first person she'd run to was that reprobate roommate of hers.

He stood on the narrow gravel road that separated the rings from the barns as he decided whether to check the jumper ring or the jumper barn first. That's when he saw the champagne-colored Lexus.
His stomach dropped. The car was empty. Ms. Reed was here somewhere.

He quickly turned toward the jumper barn, choosing it because it was farthest from Ms. Reed's car, but before he could get very far Ms. Reed stepped out from behind a truck like she'd been waiting for him.

“Hello,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed in the cold. Alex hadn't seen her for at least two weeks. In those two weeks his father had come home to his RV every night after work and stayed home on weekends. Alex had a sick feeling about the whole thing. His throat was suddenly so dry he couldn't swallow.

“I saw your little performance,” said Ms. Reed.

Alex nodded cautiously.

“Watching you out there made me realize how much I miss riding,” she said. “Especially since I have a bit more time on my hands these days. You know, since your father and I have stopped seeing each other.”

They stared at each other for another long beat.

“Does your father know you're gay?” she asked without preamble. “No. I'm sure he doesn't. Brian doesn't see anything he doesn't want to. He doesn't see that your tramp of a mother is never coming back
or that his precious son bats for the wrong team. Although personally, I don't know how he could miss it.

“Anyway, like I said, you've inspired me to take up riding again. It's time for me to start working with my own horse again. You can bring him home next weekend,” said Ms. Reed. She stared at Alex for a long beat, then turned and walked away.

Alex stood rooted to his spot for a long minute. Then, in a fog of shock, he went off to find Cleo.

MARCH 10

I ADMIT THAT
mistakes were made.

Mistake Number 1: Getting sent to Canada for crimes against vases and other household things.

Mistake Number 2: Signing up with elderly and unpleasant dressage coaches who lack the ability to relate to the demanding social requirements of a vibrant young person such as myself.

Mistake Number 3: Riding in close proximity to the unbearably focused and hardworking Alex Ford.

Mistake Number 4: Having a few drinks with Jenny before my first class at the Mid-Island Spring Show, which was scheduled at the unreasonable hour of eight-thirty
A.M
.

Mistake Number 5: Getting eliminated from my
first class of the day. Due to being a bit under the weather, sobrietywise.

I was sitting outside Tandava's stall, still trying to sober up when Jenny walked over.

She looked quite fresh considering she'd been up all night (I know because I was with her) and considering that she's the one who gave me a couple of drinks this morning to help “settle my stomach.” Pre-ride drinking might work for jumpers, but it sure doesn't work for dressage.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I'm being punished.”

She flashed a grin at me. “Did you run over the judge or something?”

“I kind of went off course.”

“Big deal,” she said. “I get eliminated for being off course practically every time I ride. It keeps things interesting.”

“Not according to Fergus and Ivan.”

“Oh well, stage a dramatic comeback during your freestyle this afternoon. That'll get you in the good books again.”

I snorted and half the blood vessels in my head threatened to burst. “They only have one good book and it's full of Alex,” I said.

She nodded. “Yeah, he's an awesome rider. I watched his test earlier. He's got a seat to die for.”

“Well, he's all about the hard work,” I said, making it sound like a bad thing. “Practice, practice, practice. Work, work, work. Try, try, try.”

“That's inconsiderate of him,” said Jenny.

“Don't I know. Anyway, don't you have a class soon?” I asked.

She smoothed her hands along her head and down the length of her ponytail.

“I've got an exchange student grooming Rio for me. And getting her warmed up.”

I made a mental note to find an exchange student to exploit. I'd have to convince Fergus and Ivan, but that would have to wait until they calmed down and started speaking to me again.

 

A few minutes after Jenny left, Alex walked up. I could smell the focus coming off him, not to mention the clean leather, the shampooed hair, and the subtle aftershave. I couldn't see him, however, since I had my forehead resting against my knees.

“Cleo?”

“Yeah,” I replied into my kneecaps.

“What are you doing?”

That got me to look up. “What do you mean?”

His face was super stern, like a disappointed Grade Five teacher, or like my dad after the Chad episode.

“What's going on with you? I heard you rode a terrible test. And you were a mess this morning,” he said.

“Jeez, what would I do without your unconditional support?”

“You're going to ruin your breeches.”

I was sitting in a mix of sand, dirt, and sawdust in my white show breeches, with my back against the wall. Alex didn't offer to help as I shoved myself up and then slumped into the folding chair.

“Have you been drinking?” he asked.

“You mean since last night?”

“Were you drinking this morning?”

I tried to make a dismissive noise but it sounded more like a baby spitting up.

“I may have had a bit of a hair of the god this morning.”

“Hair of the dog.”

“That too.”

“What were you doing last night?”

“I went to a party in Nanaimo with Jenny. I was
hoping to see R—I mean Cameron again.”

His face got even more disapproving. What was his problem?

“Did you?” he asked.

“Did I what?”

“See Cameron.”

“No, but that doesn't mean anything. We're still seeing each other.”

Alex stared at me, his brown eyes unreadable.

“I don't think…” He stopped and exhaled deeply.

“As far as I'm concerned, you think too much,” I said. “Don't criticize me for having a love life just because you're so far in the closet you can't even find the door.”

He winced and I felt a prickle of guilt.

“Cameron's not the right guy for you. That's all I'm trying to say.”

“How do you know? Have you ever had a relationship that wasn't with a horse? Have you even had a real friend your own age? You're so obsessed with riding that there's no room for people in your life.”

He hesitated, then said, “Cleo, Cameron's gay.”

“Shut up. You wish.”

“Cleo, he is.”

“How would you know?”

“I just know.”

Jealous. He was just jealous. God, he was sounding more like my dad every minute.

“Cameron and your friend Jenny don't—”

I cut him off. “Care about me? Give me a break. You're just jealous and it's pathetic. You can't stand that I might be popular.”

“Jealous? Of a spoiled, selfish little—”

I was gone before he could finish. I heard him call after me, but I kept going until I couldn't hear anything anymore.

 

The thing is that I've heard it all before. Spoiled and selfish, all of it.

After the detective caught Chad and me together, he called my dad, who came and got me. He was by himself. My mother was in a meeting and couldn't get away.

I went and sat in the car while the investigator spoke to my father. While I waited for him it occurred to me that it was the first time my dad ever picked me up for anything. I must have smiled at the thought, because when he got into the car he told me to wipe the smile off my face.

“You're just lucky I was available to pick you up,”
he said, turning the car around jerkily.
No wonder he always uses a driver
, I thought.

“Look, Dad, I'm sorry you had to hire an investigator,” I said.

“We didn't hire anyone. The insurance company did. You've made us look like damn fools.” Should have known better than to think that my parents cared enough to hire an investigator.

“You want to tell me what the hell happened? The investigator says that you gave the guy access to our house.”

“It wasn't like that,” I said, suddenly wishing my mom or even Consuela had come to get me.

“We're going to the police station. Where the hell is the nearest one?”

He drove faster and faster. I was clinging to the door handle. I was afraid to take my eyes off the road.

“Stop it. Slow down. I don't need…I don't want to go to the police station.”

“This guy, this driver, this Chad. Did he do something to you?”

“No!”

My dad gunned the car through a red light a second before it turned green. My words finally seemed
to reach his brain and he slowed the car, wrenched the steering wheel to the side, and pulled over to the shoulder of the road.

“What?”

“He didn't do anything to me.”

“You
wanted
him to rob our house?”

“Chad and I…” I stopped.
We were playing a sexy little game
wasn't going to cut it.

“You think this guy cares about you?” my father demanded.

I didn't reply. My face burned.

“He doesn't. He doesn't give a shit about you. You're just a spoiled, selfish little—”

“I didn't mean to,” I said. “You don't have to get the police.”

“You're right,” he said. “We're not going to the cops, because you aren't worth the bad press or the hassle.”

He pulled back out onto the road and drove us home to the empty house. The next day my parents were gone when I woke up. A month later I was on my way to Stoneleigh.

Closure, O'Shea style.