Emma and the Cutting Horse

Published by

Fire and Ice

A Young Adult Imprint of Melange
Books, LLC

White Bear Lake, MN 55110

www.fireandiceya.com

Emma And The Cutting Horse,
Copyright 2014 Martha Deeringer

ISBN: 978-1-61235-927-4

Names, characters, and incidents
depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of
this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States of
America.

Cover Design by Stephanie
Flint

For Lindsay and Hannah, who love
good horses as much as I do.

EMMA AND
THE CUTTING HORSE

by Martha Deeringer

When Emma Dean’s parents buy a plain sorrel
mare with slightly crooked knees at a prestigious horse sale, Emma
isn’t sure whether to be elated or disappointed. Cranky and
irascible, the mare refuses to warm up to people or other horses.
After she dumps Emma in the dirt on her first ride, Emma’s dad
loads the mare in a trailer and takes her to a trainer to protect
his daughter from the bumps, bruises and broken bones that can
result from riding a cantankerous 2 year-old.

At first the mare seems like an outlaw, but
beneath her plain red coat and independent attitude, the trainer
slowly uncovers a surprising streak of hidden talent and an
unexpected natural balance and athletic ability. When a well-known
cutting horse trainer approaches Emma’s parents about training the
mare for the NCHA Futurity, the family must make a difficult
decision. Should they stretch their already strained budget to pay
for training and futurity nomination fees? Could such a hardheaded
little mare become a champion cutting horse?

Table of
Contents

"Emma and the Cutting Horse"

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Bibliography

About the Author

Previews

Chapter
One

It was a bitterly cold day for a dispersal
sale, especially for central Texas, but Emma’s excitement level had
reached fever pitch, enough to keep her warm in Antarctica. She had
never been to a horse sale like this one before. The owner of the
ranch that was selling the horses was a well-known attorney who
worked in Washington D.C. and had appeared often in news broadcasts
earlier in the 1970s. The horses would be beautiful, well-bred and
very expensive. Emma knew her parents weren’t in the same financial
league as most of the bidders, but they had decided to come and
look anyway. It had taken a week of pleading for Emma to persuade
them to let her come along.

In the parking lot, Emma saw long lines of
gleaming Ford and Chevy pick-ups that looked fresh off the
show-room floor pulling horse trailers with built-in dressing
rooms. She felt a little self-conscious about her father’s cattle
trailer and dusty farm truck. The sale was going to be held at a
sports arena, and although it wasn’t going to start for half an
hour, a large crowd had already gathered. The frigid wind whipped
under the collar of her down jacket as they made their way across
the gravel parking lot to the front door. Some of the horses were
being ridden in a fenced arena outside the main building in spite
of the cold. Their coats gleamed, their manes and tails were
perfectly trimmed, and every hair was combed into place.

Emma couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t
loved horses. One of her earliest memories was of sitting in the
saddle in front of her father as he checked cattle in the pasture.
As she got older, she rode beside him on one of a series of young,
gentle horses trained by her father. Many of them eventually were
sold to other homes, a hard aspect of the ranching business that
Emma had struggled to accept at first. For her, there was nothing
like the feeling of sitting on a horse and controlling its thousand
pound body with a light touch on the reins. Riding a horse was the
only time Emma felt powerful and in control. Adults controlled much
of her life; but on horseback
she
made the decisions.

Inside, the sports arena was arranged as if
for a fashion show. The horses would be led or ridden up and down a
runway in front of the bidders. Emma’s mom led the way to some
empty seats, while her father went to look at the horses in the
stalls at the back of the building. The front rows were already
filled with men in felt cowboy hats and alligator boots. In spite
of their western attire, they looked more like businessmen than
cowboys. Some had brought their wives and a few kids were scattered
throughout the crowd. Emma’s mother opened the sale catalog and
began looking at the first horses listed in it.

Emma glanced at the front of her own catalog.
The stallion pictured on the cover was an AQHA Supreme Champion,
the highest ranking an American Quarter Horse can achieve. He was
the sire of most of the young horses in the sale and had won points
at halter, in racing and performance. A bright sorrel with a bit of
white in his face, the stallion had reached legendary status among
quarter horse breeders. The auctioneer checked the microphone and
explained the terms of payment, and Emma could see the horses
lining up in the hallway leading into the ring with their handlers.
Silver-studded halters sparkled in the fluorescent light.

These beautiful, pampered horses were an
impossible dream for Emma. Her own quarter horse, Ditto, was shaggy
coated and lovable, but he was not a show horse and would never fit
in with these sleek, perfectly conditioned animals. Emma began to
feel a little depressed. She knew her parents were just looking,
but somehow a desperate longing formed in her chest, anyway. If her
parents bought one of these beautiful horses she could win at horse
shows. She was a good rider. With a few trophies on the shelf in
her bedroom and some win pictures in the newspaper the kids at
school would have a reason to notice her.

Spotlights came on and the first horse
skittered onto the runway. He was a yearling colt with a white
blaze on his face and a sorrel coat that gleamed like the finish on
a new car. He snorted nervously and pricked his ears at the crowd,
trying to see what lay beyond the bright lights. The auctioneer
started the bidding at one thousand dollars, but within seconds it
was up to twenty-five hundred and then thirty-five hundred. Emma
couldn’t tell who was bidding on the colt; the ring men, who faced
the audience and kept a sharp eye out for bidders during the sale,
just pointed into the crowd and shouted, “YES” each time the bid
increased. The meaningless babble of the auctioneer continued for
two or three minutes before he called out, “Going once...going
twice... SOLD, for forty-two hundred dollars.”

“Who bought him?” Emma whispered to her
mom.

“That gentleman in the gray hat sitting in
the second row. They sold him in a hurry, didn’t they? I guess if
they’re going to sell all these horses in one day, they don’t have
time to fool around.”

Emma’s father squeezed into his seat as the
second horse, another yearling, came in. The auctioneer read the
names of his sire and dam and started him off at one thousand
dollars, also. The beautifully groomed yearlings and two-year-olds
followed one another in rapid succession. Bidding from the first
few rows of seats was brisk and the prices high.

Two hours later, the older, trained horses
began to sell. Many of them carried riders onto the runway. There
wasn’t much room for fancy footwork, so after walking them up and
down and doing some fast turns, the rider dismounted and took the
saddle off to let the bidders get a better look at the horse’s
conformation. Emma got up and stretched, then wandered out to the
lobby to get a soda. She got back just as the auctioneer cried,
“SOLD—for ten thousand dollars!” The horse on the runway was a
graceful palomino mare that had already earned points in western
pleasure classes at horse shows. Her golden coat shimmered in the
light like a pirate’s treasure. It made Emma’s heart ache to look
at her. She would give almost anything for a horse like that. Even
a skinny fourteen-year-old with no outstanding features would get
noticed on her broad, golden back. Emma’s father leaned over and
ruffled her dark, curly hair.

“Don’t look so downhearted,” he said.
“Remember, you wanted to come, and you knew your dad wasn’t an oil
tycoon.”

“I know,” Emma sighed, “but it’s hard not to
dream. Maybe there IS some oil under one of our old cow
pastures.”

“I wouldn’t bet the farm on it,” her mom
remarked.

Another hour passed, and Emma’s stomach
grumbled. They were still only halfway through the catalog.

“Let’s get some of that barbeque I smelled on
the way in,” her mom suggested.

“Are we going to stay for the rest of the
auction?” Emma asked as they ate at one of the tables in the
lobby.

“Probably,” her dad answered. “There’s a
yearling colt close to the end of the sale that I want to look at.
The catalog says he’s not in show condition, but he’s got good
breeding, and he’s a red roan, which is a very unusual color.”

“Won’t he be too expensive?” Emma asked.

“He might be, but his coat isn’t in good
shape, and he hasn’t been started under saddle yet. You never can
tell, the tycoons might have spent all their money before he comes
in.”

“I doubt that,” her mom said. “I’ll bet
there’s more money lining the pockets in here than we can even
imagine.”

By the middle of the afternoon, the trained
horses had been sold, and some older broodmares were being
auctioned off. A few of the oldest ones sold for under a thousand
dollars. Emma’s dad sat up straighter in his chair.

“The red roan colt is next,” he whispered,
pushing his John Deere cap up a bit on his forehead.

Emma noticed that the people in the first few
rows of seats had thinned out a bit. When the red roan colt came
in, he quivered all over.

“Now there’s one that hasn’t been standing in
a stall with a blanket on all his life,” Emma’s dad said.

The colt was rough-coated like Ditto, a sign
that he had been out in the winter weather. His head and legs were
dark red sorrel, but his body was shaded with white hairs making it
appear several shades lighter. He reminded Emma of the lipstick her
cousin Sarah wore, dark red around the outside of her lips with a
lighter shade applied in the middle. The colt jumped when the
auctioneer spoke into the microphone, starting him at five hundred
dollars. Emma’s dad raised his hand just above shoulder level.

“Yes!” shouted the ring man.

“Do I hear seven-fifty?” the auctioneer
chattered. “Seven-fifty? Seven-fifty?”

“Yes!” cried the ring man near the other end
of the runway.

The auctioneer looked at Emma’s dad. “One
thousand dollars?” he asked. “Do I hear one thousand...?”

Emma’s dad nodded.

“Yes,” cried the ring man.

Emma discovered that she was on the edge of
her seat and had a death grip on the empty chair in front of her.
The bidding climbed in slow motion. Her dad nodded at fifteen
hundred, but shook his head when the bid climbed to two thousand.
Emma realized that she had stopped breathing. Seconds later, the
colt was sold for twenty-two hundred dollars.

“Who bought him? It wasn’t Dad, was it?”

“No,” her mom answered. “He went too high. I
thought he acted pretty nervous and high strung, too. Didn’t you
think so?”