Riding on Air by Maggie Gilbert Page A

wouldn’t take much to get him going. He’s usually by far the more easy-going of the two of them, but he doesn’t handle hangovers too well. Makes you wonder why he does it to himself.
    â€œI really do need someone to brush my hair for me,” I said. “Don’t tell Dad,” I added, more for Gary’s benefit. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, more that my problems were a bit beneath his notice most of the time. He’d been making noises about getting a place of his own for ages. He just hadn’t been able to find a place with affordable rent where he could have his dogs and horses.
    I didn’t want him to go. Despite the way he teased me and the way he and Brendan sometimes sniped at each other, making everyone else uncomfortable, he could also be counted on (after a suitable amount of grumbling) to provide lifts into town or home from swimming to save me the tedium of the school bus and he was an unbelievable source of wisdom on horses. He might not know dressage—he couldn’t pick a half-pass from a half-halt—but he’d helped me improve Jinx in more ways than I could count.
    â€œI’ll do your hair, Melissa,” Brendan offered. He put one of my mugs with the oversized handle down on the table in front of me and collected Gary’s and his own cups.
    â€œYou make a fresh pot of coffee,” Gary said. “I’ll do Melissa’s hair. I suppose you want it braided?”
    â€œYes please,” I said. “My brush and bands are in the bathroom.”
    Gary pushed his chair back and started out of the kitchen. He paused in the doorway to the hall and looked back at me.
    â€œIf you tell anyone I braid your hair, you do know I’ll have to kill you, right?”
    I grinned. “Sure.”
    His secret was safe with me. If I was careful, one of Gary’s tight braids would last me for days and it would keep my hair out of the way when I worked Jinx in the round yard. Dad had said I wasn’t to ride and that Jinx would like a holiday. He hadn’t actually said I wasn’t allowed to work Jinx at all, had he?

Chapter 6
    â€œAnd trot on,” I said to Jinx, who obediently moved from walk into trot, circling the perimeter of the round yard with his back nicely lifted and his neck arched as he reached delicately for the bit, legs moving in rhythmic pairs.
    â€œGood boy, and walk—and trot!” Jinx had slowed down at the walk command, only to bounce back into an energetic trot. This sort of rapid transition work was really good for getting a horse to shift his weight back onto his hindquarters and lighten his front end, an essential skill for good dressage.
    â€œAnd whoa.” Jinx gathered his back legs beneath himself and stopped smartly.
    â€œGood boy!” I tucked the lightweight whip I carried carefully under my arm and walked out to meet Jinx where he stood waiting beside the rails. He knew better than to come in, although it had taken some persistence to get that through to him in the early days. As soon as he stopped he used to turn anxiously to face me and then I wouldn’t be able to get him to go forward again. I was glad now that I’d listened to my instructors and insisted on him doing it correctly. Not only did it make him more obedient and responsive, now that my hands were too dodgy to hold a lunge rope I had to rely even more on Jinx’s training rather than being able to influence him through direct contact from the lunge rope.
    â€œYou’re such a good boy,” I told him as I tugged gently on the rein closest to me to turn him around so he faced the opposite direction. I checked to make sure the cotton rope and leather chambon he wore to encourage him to stretch his back and neck was sitting correctly and then stepped back, giving a gentle flick of the whip as I told him to walk on again.
    Jinx moved off calmly, his thick glossy black tail swinging like a swirl of dark silk