Montana Wild Read online

  Montana Wild

  Copyright © 2020 Kira Berger

  All rights reserved.

  www.kirabergerauthor.com

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges all song titles, film titles, film characters and novels mentioned in this book are the property of, and belong to their respective owners.

  Cover Art by PinkInk Design

  Editing by Amy Briggs

  Proofreading by Barren Acres Editing & Light Hand Proofreading

  Dedication

  “There is no better place to heal a broken heart than on the back of a horse.”

  ~Missy Lyons

  If you ever wondered whether you’re good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, I’m here to tell you:

  You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re important.

  And the people who matter see this.

  “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.” ~Dr Seuss

  Author Note

  Horses are a big part of Montana’s life, as is show jumping. Therefore, these elements are a big part of the story you’re about to read. Her horse is her companion, sometimes the only living being she feels is there for her unconditionally. It’s not any different than your dog, cat, or any other pet, except that it’s a lot bigger. I’ve been around horses for most of my life, and their therapeutic abilities are undisputed.

  I’m excited to tell this unique story of second chances, family, and the sport of equestrian jumping (or show jumping). It’s an exciting sport; sometimes you think you know exactly who’ll win only to be proven wrong at the last second.

  I’ve taken some artistic liberties in this story, otherwise this book would probably be twice as long. In reality most professional equestrians compete with more than one horse regularly. They either own the horse or the breeder loans them to the rider. It’s also very common to compete with horses that are older than ten years old since horses need to be at least nine years old to be eligible to compete at the Olympics, and six years and older to compete at FEI (International Federation of Equestrian Sports) competitions. The Olympic equestrian rules have changes drastically over the past couple of years, and might again in the future, but I think it’s one of the most fascinating sports in the summer games.

  Please note the training scenes with Lucifer are based on the horsemanship techniques of Chris Irwin, a Canadian horsemanship trainer who teaches all over the world, as well as my own and my friends’. We’ve started many horses over the years and have developed our own quirks not everyone else follows. Of course, the scenes have been condensed and shortened, or again, this book would be a lot longer than it already is. After all, this isn’t an instruction manual but a fictional love story between two incredibly stubborn characters involving horses. Characters I hope you’ll love as much as me.

  To avoid confusion, I’ve listed below some common terminology when it comes to riding, especially jumping, which are used in this book without explanation.

  Lope: Gait, variation of the canter, terminology is mostly used in western riding

  Collection (collecting): When collecting, the horse’s gait is shortened and raised, while it maintains freedom of movement. Collection can occur in walk, trot, and canter/lope

  Jumps

  Vertical: a jump that consists of poles or planks placed one directly above another with no spread, or width, to jump

  Oxer: two vertical jumps close together for the horse to jump, the higher the event level, the wider the gap between the two can be

  Combination: usually two or three separate jumps in a row, with at least one stride between each. Two jumps in a row are called double combinations, and three jumps in a row are called triple combinations

  Triple bar: is a spread fence using three elements of graduating heights. For this story, it consists of three vertical jumps increasing in height

  Wall: usually constructed to resemble a brick wall in appearance, but the ‘bricks’ are made of a lightweight material to fall easily

  Jump-off: a jump-off happens when two or more athletes are tied on penalties for first place. The athletes tied will compete on a shortened version of the course used during the competition—a maximum of six obstacles will be chosen in the Olympics, which can be increased in height or spread. The fastest athlete with the least amount of penalties is declared the winner.

  Prologue

  Ever since I was a moody teenager, I’ve had these thoughts. Some might find them odd. They’d pop into my head for a second before I’d shove them away without so much as acknowledging them. Because if people knew, they’d think I lost it.

  But frankly, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to die. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not suicidal. I don’t hurt myself in any way and have no desire to end my life. I love my life, mostly. But in the dark of night, I do wonder… the thoughts flitting through my mind, the darkness my only witness. Does your life flash in front of your eyes like people tell you? Do you see the people you loved most one last time?

  Turns out, for me, it is neither.

  I feel the car skid on the wet asphalt, the heavy rain blanketing the trees lining the side of the road in shadows. I don’t see the other car coming until it’s too late and the headlights blind me. The car jerks to the side, I can hear the sound the tires make on the road right before they leave it and skid down the ditch.

  Everything starts to move in slow motion. I can hear the screams, both my own and my mother’s, and I can see the big oak tree move closer to my window. The sound of metal bending—the screeching has chills run down my back—before I’m thrown against the window and my vision blurs.

  I’ve always hoped to relive my happiest memories one last time. The first time I sat on a horse, felt its subtle movement of muscle and sinew underneath me. The feeling of belonging rushing through my body the first time I loped through the woods surrounding my childhood home. The first time I won a ribbon at a competition, when I was short-listed to compete in the Olympics. My first kiss; the first time I thought I was in love.

  Instead, what flashes in front of my eyes are the most devastating days of my life. The day my childhood pony, Edgar, died, and how I cried for two straight days afterward. The day my world was ripped apart—my parents fighting, my mother packing up our things, us leaving. Every day I’ve spent since then wishing for my father to reach out to me, wanting to speak to me. The time I walked in on my boyfriend fucking one of my best friends.

  The devastation keeps building until I feel nothing but pain and heartache while every bad thing I ever did or happened to me flashes in front of my eyes. Instead of floating peacefully into the afterlife, it looks like fate is playing one last cruel trick on me—in more ways than one.

  Next to me, I can hear my mother’s labored breath, her groans of pain. I try to lift my head to see what’s in front of us. But the movement shoots a sea
ring pain through my shoulder and down my arm. I cry out in agony and my head drops back against the window. I have one last thought before it all goes black.

  I wish my father thought I was worth the effort.

  Chapter One

  “I’m sorry, Montana, but you won’t be able to compete for at least two months. You broke your collarbone in the crash. We were able to set the bone during surgery, but it needs at least six weeks to heal, if not more. And then there is the physical therapy to help you regain your strength.” The doctor in front of me shows no emotion while ripping the rug out from underneath of me.

  “No, no,” I moan, trying desperately to come up with a solution. “I can’t afford to be out, Doctor. I need to—”

  “You need to rest,” the doctor reiterates sternly, making it clear his only concern is my health, and not the things I need to accomplish. “You won’t be able to use your arm much for the next two months, let alone hold on to a horse. And from what I hear, you were the first athlete to be announced for the shortlist to attend the Olympics. You have nothing to worry about.” His voice is soothing, trying to reassure me.

  He’s not wrong, I was the first rider to be announced for the Olympics back in December, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m nominated with nine other equestrian jumpers, and only three, plus an alternative for the team competition, will be competing this summer. I still have to prove myself over the next couple months. I might only be twenty-four years old, and I’ve won plenty of competitions—made more money than I could ever spend—but the Olympics is every athlete’s dream. It’s not about the money when it comes to them. It’s about being the best while representing your country. It’s a matter of pride. It’s the one competition that beats every other. It’s our Super Bowl.

  “Nothing is secure in this business. If I don’t compete in at least one competition this summer and place well, I might not be going. And then there are the finals in April. There are only three spots. I need to get one of them.”

  Maybe then he’ll finally love me. It’s the one thought I don’t voice, but the real reason I’m so determined to make it to the Olympics. If I win a gold medal maybe he’ll finally call; nothing else has worked so far. It’s my last hope. If this doesn’t work, I’ll have to finally accept my father doesn’t love me, and he only has time for his new family—I’m not sure I’m ready for it yet.

  To give up.

  To accept the one person I thought loved me for me when I was a child, and not as a tool in his manipulations, changed his mind after all.

  “I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do. You need to give the bone time to heal.” The corners of his mouth tip up slightly, a resemblance of a smile.

  With a sigh, I lean back into the uncomfortable hospital bed with its rough sheets and close my eyes while he leaves my room. He’s right, there is nothing anyone can do. I’m in pain despite the medication they’re giving me. I can barely move my arm without crying out in agony. There is no way I can hold on to a horse which weighs a thousand pounds.

  What am I going to do?

  I can hear the door open and the tapping sound her heels make on the linoleum floor. Her perfume reaches me before she even makes it two steps into the room, dragging up painful memories from my childhood. One of the worst was when she locked me in my closet for a weekend because she felt the need to entertain, and the gentleman wasn’t keen on having an eleven-year-old around. For two days, my senses were assaulted by her perfume, as well as the smell of sex permeating the small space. I kept trying to distract myself by dreaming my father would storm the house and rescue me, but the grunts and moans haunt me in my sleep to this day.

  “Hello, sweetie,” she says, her voice filled with fake concern. It sets my teeth on edge, always has. I open my eyes to see her searching the room, and I know she’s looking for a doctor or a nurse. To no surprise, I notice her eyes glazed over, barely able to focus.

  Once she realizes we’re alone, she drops her fake concern and the woman I know emerges. “What the hell, Montana Ivory Oakley,” she seethes. I work hard to keep my eyes from rolling. It used to be she only had to use my full name to scare me into doing whatever it was she wanted. But I’m not twelve anymore, trying to please her, so her efforts are wasted. “I could have gotten seriously hurt because you weren’t paying attention.”

  I grow confused at her words, and not because I’m the one in a hospital bed while she doesn’t seem to have a scratch on her. “What are you talking about, Veronika? I wasn’t the one driving.”

  She quickly glances at the door before her gaze fixes back on mine. “Yes, you were. You probably just don’t remember.” Her laugh is forced, something I’ve come to recognize since I was a teenager. “You were behind the wheel. Didn’t see the car coming our way and took the turn too fast. You’re lucky the other driver is uninjured. Who knows what would have happened then?” There it is again, her laugh, grating on my eardrums. “Oh, the scandal it would have caused. Maybe worse than last time. Now it’s just you being a silly girl not paying attention.”

  Oh no, she isn’t going to do this again. “No, I remember what happened. You were driving, not me.” My voice is firm, letting her know I won’t fall for her manipulations this time, taking the fall for her irresponsibility and stupid decisions. “I told you last time I won’t cover for you anymore.”

  Her face contorts as soon as I’m done speaking. Gone is the affable woman who everyone thinks of as poised and elegant. The beleaguered, upper class lady with the rebellious daughter. When nothing could be further from the truth.

  “Listen here, you ungrateful brat, the police already think you were behind the wheel. And with your track record, who do you think they’ll believe? Me, the upstanding woman of society? Or you? The lowly daughter of a rancher who doesn’t care about her and has gotten in trouble with the law one too many times?”

  She isn’t wrong about her assessment. To the world she’s a philanthropist who had to put up with a troubled child. Granted, I’ve had my fair share of trouble when I was younger, but it has been years since I’ve broken the law. I’ve worked hard to turn my life around and change, to stop being the bitch my mother raised me to be.

  Before I can respond to the poison spewing from her mouth, she leans in, coming face-to-face with me. “Don’t try to fuck with me, Montana. You won’t win against me. Haven’t you learned this by now? Just shut your mouth about all of this, or I’ll destroy you and anything you hold dear. I’ll make sure you don’t go to the Olympics.”

  The look in her eyes is pure evil, a look I’ve gotten used to over the years. When I was younger, it made me rebel and do anything I could to be taken away from her. I prayed my father would come to my rescue. And when he didn’t, I’d do something even more outrageous to get me in trouble. Hoping at some point he’d come for me. It took me years to realize the only person I was hurting was me—my mother sure as hell didn’t care—and the only person to save me was going to be me. So, I stopped acting out, stopped hoping someone would take me away. I kept my head down and avoided my mother as much as possible. This kept her manipulations to a minimum.

  I spent most of my days at the stables after that realization. When I turned ten, shortly before my parents split, my father gave me Whisky, my beautiful red dun gelding. Letting me keep him was the only thing my mother ever did for me. I’ve been raising and training him for the last fourteen years. He was the one who helped me keep my sanity, and so I spend most of my free time with him. It was then I met Bob Barkley, my trainer, and one of two people in my life I’d trust with my life. The other one is my best friend, Dakota, who I met at my very first show jumping competition outside of Seattle. We bonded over the fact that we were named after the states we were born in.

  My mother’s voice drags me back to the present. “Are you listening to me, Montana?”

  Knowing when I’m beat, I look at the ceiling. “Yes, Veronika.” I used to wish for a different mother, for someone who’d tell me she lov
ed me whenever I’d mess up, who’d hug me when I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me with one of my best friends, Danielle. A mom who was kind and would make me cookies for no other reason than she wanted to and knew I liked them. Not someone who told me all I had going for me was my face and body. But I’ve made peace with the fact I’ll never experience any of those things, and wishing for it, no matter how many times I do, won’t magically make it happen.

  I’m not sure what else to say to her, and thankfully I’m saved from making small talk when Bob walks through the door. He resembles what I imagine a younger Sam Elliott looked like, down to his deep raspy voice which makes you think of the Wild West and cowboys sitting around a bonfire drinking bourbon. Then there’s the mustache.

  “Montana, dear, are you all right?” He doesn’t spare my mother a glance and walks to my side, grabbing my left hand, the one not in a sling. “What the hell happened?”

  I squeeze his hand before I reply, “I’m fine.” I smile, willing him to believe the lie I’m about to utter. He doesn’t know the full extent of my relationship with my mother, but he knows enough to question everything if he has an inkling I’m lying. “I don’t remember what happened. The doctor told me I was in an accident.” I shrug before I remember I broke my collarbone and hiss in pain by the slight movement.

  He studies me for a moment but decides to let whatever he was thinking go. “Well, I’m glad you’re not hurt worse.” He smiles, but it’s strained. Not something I’m used to seeing from him.

  “What is it?” I ask, dread filling me.

  “Shit, I don’t know how to tell you this.” I brace at his tone, knowing I won’t like what I’m about to hear. Out of the corner of my eye I notice my mom whispering into her phone, but I ignore her and focus on Bob. “It’s Whisky. I noticed he was lame when we brought him in from the field, so I called Dr. Bradford’s replacement—Dr. Woods. He did an exam and found some damage to the deep digital flexor tendon in his right front foot.”