CHAPTER 9 | Caleb
––––––––
* * * *
Sam wasn’t kidding when he said the girl—Ellie—practiced early. I’m at the stables by seven, but she’s already in the riding arena, working back and forth in the pink morning sunlight. There’s almost no noise except for the mare’s soft snorting and the rhythmic beat of her hooves against the sand footing. I stand by the gate, sipping on terrible coffee again, and watch Ellie ride Beckon toward a set of brightly colored jumps.
Arranged at different lengths and heights, the obstacles are designed to make Beckon listen to her rider and pay attention to her body. Not that Beckon really seems to need it. The mare slips over the poles like a shadow, landing on the other side in a soft spray of sand.
To the untrained eye, Ellie looks damn near motionless in
