Horse Power Read online

  Horse Power

  Nancy Loyan

  Copyright © 2019 by Nancy Loyan Schuemann

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN 978-0-9968956-6-8

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  Cover design by Steven Novak

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Where Shelby’s story began …

  Lab Test

  About the Author

  William Edward Schuemann

  Class of 1962

  Culver Military Academy

  The Culver Academies

  Culver, Indiana

  Acknowledgments

  A novel is comprised of more than just the author and her imagination. There are many people to thank for aiding with research, through their wisdom and experiences.

  First and foremost, I have to thank my husband, William E. Schuemann, for introducing me to The Culver Academies. A graduate of Culver Military Academy, Class of 1962, he regaled me with stories of his high school and summer camp years, and had me as his guest at class reunions. The first time I visited the impressive, sprawling campus in Culver, Indiana (near South Bend), I was enchanted and awed. The high school campus was larger, and more architecturally designed than most college campuses. The cadets in the Military Academy and young women in the Girls Academy amazed me with their maturity, poise and leadership. Witnessing the grandiose Sunday garrison parade on the sprawling parade field by the lake, with its marching, artillery demonstrations and horsemanship, mesmerized me. I had never witnessed such a spectacle.

  My first visit to the campus was while engaged to my husband. We attended his 25th class reunion. I stayed in a cabin with other women at the Woodcraft Camp, an experience that reminded me of summer Camp Fire Girls as a child. My second visit came at a subsequent reunion, staying at the Culver Motor Court. The biggest event was attending his 50th reunion and witnessing the emotional “Iron Gate Ceremony.” It was a week of glamorous parties, culminating in a dinner party where we entered under an arch of cadets’ drawn swords. The pass and review during the big Parade was poignant.

  The part of Culver that impressed me most was the equestrian program. The equestrian exhibitions were thrilling with the Roughriders, Equestriennes and the famous Black Horse Troupe leading the cavalry charge. Touring the Vaughn Equestrian Center, and seeing the beautiful horses truly was a highlight of my visit.

  I knew that I had to incorporate Culver into a novel.

  In reviewing my first published novel, “Lab Test,” an idea struck me. The hero’s ex-girlfriend in that novel, Shelby Shane, deserved love. She also had horses. Horses! Thus, the idea of having a Culver horseman as her love interest was born. Thanks to the incredibly helpful and knowledgeable Mark Waller, Director of Horsemanship Instruction, Vaughn Equestrian Center at Culver Academies, I had the idea for a hero and the setting. Of course, this is fiction!

  I would also like to thank Culver Academies for the inspiration, and the late great Bob Hartman for the history.

  In conducting research, I discovered that I was drawn to Culver for another reason. As a longtime instructor at The Chautauqua Institution in New York State, it struck me how similar Culver was. I could feel it in the air by Lake Maxinkuckee. This wasn’t an accident. The location of Culver was, indeed, a Chautauqua prior to being an educational facility. From 1889 to 1894, it was the “Culver Park Assembly,” with a summer Season featuring guest speakers. Thus, this is also the second of a series of novels set at a “Chautauqua.”

  It is said that everything happens for a reason. Falling in love with Chautauquas and Culver wasn’t an accident. I am honored to write about them.

  I also have other special people and places to thank. Fieldstone Farm therapeutic riding center, in Chagrin Falls, Ohio provided inspiration for Shelby’s dream of Horsepower. The services they provide, the beautiful facilities and stunning horses, have helped so many people. I’d also like to acknowledge an anonymous medical advisor for his assistance. A special thank you to Darlene Walker, Gail Stuehr and Lilianna Gersenovich for their input. Of course, Steven Novak is the master of cover art.

  1

  Shelby Shane was used to rescuing strays. After all, she had numerous dogs, cats, horses, and assorted chickens roaming her farm. On the rural highway in front of her sprawling acreage, she observed another lost soul.

  What was unusual, though, was to see a tall man clad in black leather kicking the tires of a very shiny, very expensive, and very broken-down Harley with his heavy black leather boots.

  She was pulling out of her expansive gravel drive in her trusty old pickup truck when she encountered him. He was enraged by the look of things, and she was afraid to interfere for fear of how he might react. She sat, windows rolled up, watching him kick the tires, remove his helmet and toss it to the ground. Even in the enclosed truck, she could hear him cuss.

  He turned and froze in place upon seeing her. She expected to come face-to-face with some Hell’s Angel’s type. Instead of being rugged, surly, muscular, and unkept, this man was clean-shaven, with trimmed black curly hair, and shimmering amber eyes. He had cheekbones to envy and the body encased in black leather was gym-worthy.

  “Oh, my, what have we here?” she muttered out loud in her lazy Texas drawl.

  He approached her window. Hesitating for a moment, she rolled it down a bit.

  “Lady, do you have a phone I could use to call for help? My cell is just not working out here,” he said with perfect pitch and diction, though he was visibly rattled, evidenced by the vein throbbing in the corner of his forehead.

  This guy was definitely not a hoodlum, she thought. He not only looked like a prep school grad, he sounded like one.

  Rolling her window down more, she answered, “Most cell phones don’t work way out here. We haven’t many cell towers in these parts.”

  “Great. Just my freakin’ luck.”

  “What’s with the bike?”

  “Just bought the damn thing. Thought I’d take it on ride to my friend’s cabin in the U.P., and the thing breaks down in the middle of nowhere.” He sneered in the bike’s direction.

  “Where you from?”

  “Indiana.”

  She snickered. “You’re a ways from Indiana.”

  “Yeah, and the dealership. Don’t remind me.”

  “Tell you what? I have a ramp in the back of my truck. We can push your bike up onto the bed. We can check it out and see if there’s a Harley dealer somewhere nearby,” she offered. He seemed harmless enough. Right, as harmless as a handsome hunk of male could be. She shook her head. What was she so concerned about? After all, the only relationship she had recently fell apart.

  “A
Harley dealer around here?” He scanned the winding ribbon of asphalt highway.

  “You have to understand that the term ‘around here’ means anywhere within a hundred mile radius.” She smiled.

  He smiled back with teeth that surely had endured years of braces.

  “I see. What do you suggest?”

  What the hell, she thought. “Let’s get your bike on my truck first. After, we’ll ride up to the house. It’s too cold to be standing out here.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “You haven’t many options, I’m afraid.”

  She opened the door and stepped out of the cab to face him. She thought that she was tall, but he towered over her. His eyes met hers like a panther sizing up its prey. She trembled, not from the fear of being harmed, but from the mix of leather and testosterone that this stranger emitted. Even in the autumn chill, she was getting rather warm.

  She stepped away from him and walked to the back of her truck, lowering the tailgate. Dragging out the steel ramp, the stranger moved in to help. After, he went to his bike and rolled it toward her truck. She took one of the handlebars.

  “No need,” he said. “The bike’s heavy and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m a lot stronger than I look,” she said, assisting him in rolling the bike up the ramp and on to her truck bed. She closed the tailgate.

  He stood staring at her, brows cocked as if in amazement.

  “Well, get in the truck,” she invited.

  On the ride up her drive, she asked him his name.

  “Travis. Travis Harrington,” he answered. “And yours?”

  “Shelby Shane.”

  “Pleasure meeting you, Ms. Shane.” He smiled.

  “Same here, Mr. Harrington.”

  He laughed. “Cut the formality. Call me Travis.”

  “Okay, Travis. I’m Shelby.”

  “Shelby. Interesting name.”

  “Not in Texas, where I come from. Travis sounds more Texan than Midwest.”

  He shrugged. “My family had a thing for cowboys.”

  Okay, he was as easy to talk to, as he was easy on the eyes. Her day was getting interesting. She had pulled out of her drive to go to the feed store, and instead pulled into the path of a fascinating stranger.

  “Is that pasture yours?” he asked, pointing out of the window.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s quite a collection of horse flesh you have there. Let’s see, Appaloosas, a Quarter Horse, a Friesian, and an Cobb pony.”

  “You know your horses.” The man was a contradiction. Refined, yet riding a Harley, educated, but wearing leather, and a preppie who knew horses. She pulled in to the front of her small storage barn.

  He chuckled. “I should. I run an equestrian center, instruct riding, and direct a troop.”

  She was grateful that her truck was in “Park.” Now he had completely thrown her off balance.

  “Really?” Her gaze met his and it was startling.

  “I’m the Director of Horsemanship Instruction at the Vaughn Equestrian Center at Culver Academies,” he said.

  He was a preppie. She had read about the prestigious boarding school and its famous Black Horse Troop, that had participated in most presidential inauguration parades and the like. His was the Rolls Royce of stables and educational facilities.

  “You traded horses for a Harley?” she quipped.

  “Let’s just say that I wanted to try out something with a little more horsepower.” He winked.

  “A real horse would have been more reliable, albeit slower,” she said, opening her door and sliding out of her seat and truck.

  He exited her truck, closing the door and came around to the back where he met her.

  “Hey, let’s leave it on the bed. It’s not going anywhere. How about some hot tea?”

  “Sounds like a great idea on a cold day.”

  “Follow me.”

  Just when Jonathan Travis Harrington III thought that he was having a bad day, an angel named Shelby appeared out of nowhere. He wondered why such a statuesque and beautiful woman was living in the boondocks of rural Michigan. Gazing about her property, he had to admit that the setting was idyllic, with acres of pastures with woods beyond, a pond with a wood dock, well-kept barns, and an old clapboard farmhouse with wraparound porch.

  She led him up the creaking steps of that porch, and he imagined going back to a simpler time and place. Entering the front door, he was greeted by a pack of friendly, well-behaved dogs.

  “I hope you’re not afraid of animals. I have quite a menagerie,” Shelby said in a voice like smooth, aged whiskey.

  He chuckled. “I love dogs, but after losing the last one, I just can’t handle another heartbreak.”

  He reached down and petted a mixed breed mongrel, while a powder-faced black Lab vied for attention. A German Shepherd, and a speckled English Pointer joined in greeting.

  “Enough,” Shelby said, and using hand signals, the dogs quietly obeyed and left the foyer, bounding upstairs.

  “That’s impressive,” he muttered. The woman sure had a way with animals.

  “I’m a dog trainer, among other things.”

  Standing close to her afforded him the opportunity to check her out. She had to be at least six-feet tall and was as lean and lanky as a colt. She was a natural beauty, without the need for cosmetics. Her porcelain complexion glowed, with a hint of blush at her cheeks, while dark wispy lashes framed glittering emerald eyes. A smattering of freckles over her nose added charm. Sun-streaked blonde hair draped over her shoulders, framing the face he found enchanting.

  “The kitchen’s this way,” she said, leading him through the foyer, with it’s aged oak walls and wide-plank floors that creaked as they strode over them.

  In the kitchen, a fire blazed in the small brick hearth. The same brick created an arch over the stovetop, on top of which was set an antique copper teapot. Antique copper formed a border just below the tin ceiling and wormy chestnut cabinets lined the walls. The scent of wood smoke lent a comforting air.

  “Why don’t you take a seat while I get the tea,” she said.

  He slunk into a ladder-back chair at the square kitchen table. A quaint calico print tablecloth matched the ruffled window curtains. The setting seemed more suited to a grandmother than a vibrant thirty-something woman.

  He observed the graceful way she lifted the teapot, taking it to the antique soapstone sink to fill it with water. She sashayed to the stove to heat the water. After, she opened a cabinet to remove loose tea, a stainless steel tea ball, a porcelain teapot and two mugs.

  “I hope you like plum spice tea? It’s my favorite,” she said, turning to face him.

  “I like all flavors of tea. Must be my Boston roots,” he answered, thinking about how his grandmother took pride in being a Mayflower descendant.

  “I thought you were from Indiana?”

  “My job took me to Indiana. My family is very old-school New England.”

  “I see.” She leaned back against the butcher-block counter, waiting for the water to boil. “I don’t mean to pry but how did you learn so much about horses?”

  “We’ve always had horses, and I was raised with them. I used to participate in dressage and later, steeplechase. As a cadet at Culver, I commanded the Black Horse Troop, and my life has gone full circle, now that I work at the equestrian center.”

  “My oh my, you seem as horse crazy as me.”

  “What’s your story with horses?” He was more than curious.

  “I grew up on a ranch in Texas. Not my family’s ranch, mind you. My daddy was a ranch hand. I was raised around horses, and participated in cattle drives for as long as I can remember. In my youth, I toured the rodeo circuit barrel racing. Won a few awards and purses.”

  “Is that how you ended up here in Michigan?”

  She closed her eyes and became wistful and quiet, as if momentarily caught up in a memory. She turned, opening her eyes to take the pot off of the stove and pour
ed steaming water into the porcelain teapot. She added the tea ball, and brought the teapot and mugs to the table, setting them down.

  Turning to the counter, she removed a loaf from a copper breadbox. “Do you like banana bread? I just baked some this morning,” she said, still not answering his question.

  She brought the bread, a knife, and two plates to the table and set them down. She then sat across from him, serving the bread and tea.

  “Okay,” she finally said with a sigh. “How I ended up in Michigan. I met a champion bronco rider and married him. When we decided to retire from competition, we moved here to his family’s farm. His parents passed on. He was an only child, and wanted to keep the family homestead.”

  Travis’ heart sank. Of course, the most fascinating woman he had met in a very long time would have to be married. Weren’t all of the good one’s taken? Not that it should concern him.

  “Unfortunately, Abram, my husband, died. Gone, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Too young and too soon.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he managed to say, though his hopes were raised.

  He watched her daintily pick up her mug of tea and sip, her lips becoming rosy. In turn, he picked up his mug and gulped the refreshingly hot liquid. As if he weren’t feeling hot enough. He hadn’t been this intrigued with a woman for a long time and it wasn’t fair. After all, wasn’t he engaged to be married in a year?

  “Nice tea,” he commented, really thinking about her sensuous lips.

  “Try the bread.” She smiled.

  For a moment they sat, drinking and eating in silence.