Crown Prince Read Free Page B

walk-canter-walk transitions. His horse, Rhodes Scholar, was mostly Thoroughbred except for a Cleveland Bay grandfather, which accounted for his large frame and generous bone. A rich blood bay, his only marking was a white stocking on his left hind leg. Tim sat tall in the saddle, a good-looking guy on a striking horse. When Rhodes took a few trotting steps before cantering, Tim brought him back to walk and asked again. After a few tries, Rhodes seemed better in tune with what Tim wanted, and finally went directly into canter.
    As Sarah prepared to mount Gray Fox, Rita Snyder trotted briskly by on her elegant Dutch Warmblood, Chancellor. She was spotlessly neat, wearing full seat breeches, a polo shirt mono-grammed with her Pyramid Farm logo, and highly polished custom boots. “You’re late!” Rita called out as she passed, without slowing to hear a response.
    Chancellor was a splendid horse, standing well over sixteen hands with a gleaming jet-black coat. His head was large, like the rest of him, as were his long somewhat heavy ears. A white ring in his left eye contrasted sharply with his dark coat, and an irregular star on his forehead trailed down to a snip on his muzzle. For a big horse, he was light on his feet, and with each stride he pushed off with elegance and power, his luxurious black tail swinging from side to side. Although Chancellor could be irritable at times, Rita never complained. Instead she took every opportunity to brag about her horse.
    Gray Fox raised his head to look at the spectators on the bleachers near the door. In winter the heated observation room was usually the preferred place to watch lessons, but it put viewers behind a plexiglass window. This time of year they liked the bleachers, where they could get a closer look and hear Jack’s comments. After halting Gray Fox in the middle of the arena, Sarah quickly tightened the girth and adjusted the length of the stirrups before easily mounting the medium-sized gelding. Unlike some of the taller horses at Brookmeade, mounting Gray Fox didn’t require a mounting block, but his stocky frame enabled him to carry riders of all sizes. Sarah took up the reins, switched her crop to her right hand, and turned the gray gelding to join the others.
    Just then, Jack O’Brien, wearing a tweed cap and buff riding breeches with his black boots, strode into the arena. A cleanshaven man in his forties with legs somewhat bowed from years in the saddle, Jack’s square jaw and snapping dark eyes set him apart even before he spoke. His black hair was liberally sprinkled with gray, and he admitted being a little long in the tooth. His competition days were over, and now he was content to teach riders and train young horses. Occasionally a problem horse was brought to Brookmeade for retraining, and Jack was also in demand to instruct at clinics organized by other stables. But he seldom took time to travel. “I’ll not be doing justice to the horses and riders at Brookmeade Farm if I’m running all around the countryside helping other folks,” he’d once said.
    Most of Jack’s students had heard the story of how he and Kathleen came to Brookmeade Farm. Chandler DeWitt was determined to have a high-caliber director head up his riding program, and he found the man he was looking for in Ireland. DeWitt had heard about a talented Irish horseman who was looking for a position, and he made a special trip to meet Jack and Kathleen O’Brien. DeWitt proposed they move to the States to take over the Brookmeade Farm riding and training program.
    At one time, Jack was a member of the Irish eventing team, riding his horse, Donegal Lad. Lad had been somewhat high-strung, so dressage was not his strong suit, but he compensated by being an incredibly athletic and bold jumper. In his prime he had never been known to stop at a cross-country obstacle, and in stadium jumping he tucked his knees high into his chest to clear huge fences.