The Opening Scene I Didn’t Choose for REMEMBER NOT

by BarbaraEllinFox in Writing0 Comments

Finding the best place to begin my first story, Remember Not, took multiple efforts. At one point, I was encouraged to write a more impactful opening scene, so I wrote the one below. It’s taken right out of my proposal. For the longest time, I struggled over including this scene. It felt too dark and violent. I wanted to focus on Eskador’s and Rylie’s victories rather than take the reader too deeply into the past. 

Having grown up with Bambi, Old Yeller, and The Red Pony, I have no compunction over including the cruelty or even their death with the animals in my stories, if it serves a purpose. I think Erique’s vile treatment of Eskador is apparent from later events in Remember Not.

After this short scene, I’ve included Remember Not’s true opening. I’d love to know which one you feel most serves the story. Or, which one you like best.

The following is the deleted opening scene in chapter one.

Erique Ramos’s heart pounded as he slashed the bullwhip. The devil horse, Carbonado, stood in defiant mockery as they faced off in the arena at Centro de Hipismo Ramos, Brazil. Bands of raw flesh wrapped the animal’s belly and droplets of foamy blood fell to the arena sand. The beast stomped, snaked his neck with his ears pinned back and charged.

A mounted cowboy rushed forward, his lariat hissing a circle. The loop flew and settled with a snap around the black horse’s neck. Horse and rider slid to a stop pulling the noose tight, jerking Carbonado off balance. Erique coiled the bullwhip. The horse bellowed, barring his teeth, and lunged. A second lasso sang through the air from the opposite direction and wrapped the glistening neck. The horsemen dallied their lines around saddle horns and backed their mounts. The lariats pulled taut with Carbonado imprisoned between them.

This lousy animal has fought me for the last time.

Even in restraints the beast reared, stretching to his full height, front hooves flailing the air.

“Now!”

His cowboys bolted behind the horse, crossing their ropes. The horse teetered, fighting to maintain balance until the ropes forced him backward. He crashed to the arena floor, letting a loud grunt as air burst from his lungs.

Two men on foot raced to the downed animal and bound his legs front and rear. Lungs refilling, Carbonado groaned as he struggled.

Erique’s brother Inacio, traded him a syringe and a nine-millimeter revolver for the bullwhip. Erique smiled. Hatred for Carbonado mingled with satisfaction in his belly. This horse, a monumental disappointment, never submitted to discipline no matter what tools he used. He sank one knee onto the horse’s neck, injected tranquilizer into the jugular, and waited for the fire to vacate the animal’s eyes, then stood.

“Carlos.” He signaled to his shorter half-brother. “Mount up.” Erique pointed to the horse a cowboy held by the reins. Carlos scrambled into the saddle. Erique pressed the butt end of the pistol into the half-sibling’s hand. “You have two hours of tranquilizer. Drag the bird-bait out of here. Kill him and leave his carcass for the vultures.”

Erique stepped back, spat in the horse’s face, and signaled for his men to untie the legs. Drugged, Carbonado lumbered to his feet, swaying like a drunk in a Rio de Janeiro alley.

“No one humiliates Ramos and lives.”

The next scene is the published opening from Remember Not for your comparison.

The last thing she needed was a cowboy on his horse following them through the parking lot. Eskador snorted and rose on his hind legs, black mane trailing his neck. Rylie Davis released the pressure on the horse’s lead. She focused on reaching the pen at the edge of the asphalt.

“It’s okay, buddy. Keep it together a little longer, then you can burn off this stress.” The energetic show jumper stamped his hooves to the pavement and curled his neck, ready to explode.

The cowboy tracking them had better back off soon. Why did he follow them, anyway? Most competitors were in the show ring or getting ready for competition. This should have been the perfect time to exercise Eskador before tonight’s final event.

The horse excelled at competing under the spotlight, but being crowded by a stranger stirred his abused past. Anger and nervous energy radiated through him. Sweat ran down the sides of Rylie’s face and dribbled into her collar. Her pulse raced. She murmured to the gelding towering at her side, then let out a slow breath. Stay calm. Ignore the stranger. If Eskador sensed her fear, the horse would go berserk.

No one wanted fourteen hundred pounds of angry hooves and teeth loose on the showgrounds.

Rylie glanced over her shoulder checking to see if the man followed. Yup. Still there. Watching like I’m iron and he’s a magnet. He sat tall in the saddle, gray cowboy hat perfectly straight, rein hand resting on the saddle horn. She eased Eskador around a horse trailer, then between two trucks.

The cowboy moved his horse forward.

Eskador plunged. An aggravated rumble worked from deep inside the knot of nerves and muscle, more grunts than a groan. A sound he only made under duress.

“Easy big guy. He’s just a fancy wannabe on his little cow pony. Nothing to worry about.” If only she felt as confident as her words. This guy didn’t back off, proving he enjoyed messing with a lone woman’s horse.

Eskador grunted and jerked his head, slinging globs of saliva into the air. The odor of nervous sweat rolled off his slick black coat in steamy waves. Rivulets of white foam streaked his chest.

She’d expected extra stress at the Oklahoma horse show, especially on the day of her biggest competition, but the cowboy’s pressure surpassed extra. Now the stress verged on dangerous. What made this man ride so close? She didn’t have time to explain Eskador’s distrust of men to a stranger. What if he followed her? Shoot, she hoped not. She’d had her fill of that in college. Memories of another man’s undivided attention churned her stomach like a pit filled with snakes. She sure didn’t want the cowboy’s attention. Eskador would come unglued if he didn’t back away.

Only a hundred feet left to the pen.

Her horse’s shod hooves exploded against the asphalt like the end of a fireworks display. She’d yell over her shoulder for the man to clear out, but her shouts would wind Eskador’s rubber band tighter. Choosing the least of two evils, she focused on the pen.

Relief whooshed through her as she wrapped her free hand around the gate lever and jerked. Eskador lunged through the opening and swung around long enough for her to unclip his lead. He made a giant leap then bolted around the circle.

Rylie secured them inside the pen and spoke in a soothing voice. Eskador raced, spending his angst at imaginary assailants. Waiting for the perfect moment to direct the horse’s energy, tension drained from Rylie’s body. With him safe in the corral, she didn’t care if the cowboy watched.

Sand pelted the air as the horse’s fervor lessened. Allowing him room to circuit once more, she watched for his ready signs. He turned one fine black ear toward her scooping up her whispers. When his huge eye locked on hers she stepped into his path to change his direction.

Metal clanked. Vice-like limbs girded Rylie’s middle trapping her arms. Air-born and forced backward, her scream ripped through the air. She clawed to get away. The more she jerked and flailed the tighter her attacker clamped.

One steel arm slammed the gate shut while the other tightened around her ribs. Rylie fisted and twisted until her feet gained purchase with the ground. She jerked out of his grasp, balanced, and drove a kick to the cowboy’s chest. He toppled backward, landing under his cow pony’s belly.

“Are you crazy?” She screamed through shallow breaths and a pounding heart. “Leave me alone!”

He shifted toward his pale cowboy hat as it rolled through the dirt.

“Keep away!” Tremors ran the distance of Rylie’s body. Her mind relived the stench of liquor and sour breath as real now as if it were ten years ago. Your own fault, tease. Taking what you owe me. Evil accusations seated in her brain.

The rush of strength behind her kick gave way to streams of weakness coursing through her legs. She backed toward Eskador’s pen, never taking her attention off the stunned man in the dirt. Her skin went clammy as her pulse switched to thready. She bumped the fence, relieved to grasp solid metal. Knees locked, she willed strength to her trembling self.

His horse sidestepped. The assailant remained in a squat, jaw clenched, and eyes narrowed squarely on her.

She exhaled, keeping her voice steady to calm Eskador. “It’s okay, buddy. I’m right here.” Her horse had survived a life of violence, and now this? Eskador continued circuiting the pen behind her. She slid her hand into a pocket and pulled out a mint. Keeping a careful eye on the man, she slipped her hand through the rails of the pen. Hoof beats softened to her whispers. Moist lips nuzzled her palm and lifted the morsel. Warm breath tickled her ear. She inhaled. His horsey scent centered her.

Her attacker pushed to one knee.

“Don’t. Move. Jerk.” Her voice sounded stronger than she felt. Call for help. She reached for her cell and groaned. It’s in the tack room. Her gaze tightened, and she straightened her stance. She’d knocked him down once. If he comes near me, I’ll kick him again. What made him think he could grab her like a parking garage mugger? She shuddered.

The man froze, big brown eyes staring, brown curls sticking up where he’d run his fingers through his hair. A perfect dirty boot print decorated the front of his fancy yellow shirt. A kernel of satisfaction settled in Rylie’s stomach. This time she defended herself.

He smiled.

Rylie braced. He’d disrespected her as a professional and violated her place of business. A true cowboy would never break the first rule of horse training by messing with her and Eskador. How dare he smile? Why did handsome men think they could do whatever they pleased?

He shifted again.A long time ago she’d learned her lesson about men. Well, this isn’t college, and he’s not Dan.

She positioned for her next kick. “I said. Don’t. Move.”

Which opening do you like best?

BarbaraEllinFox

Lifetime horsewoman, Barbara weaves her extensive background with horses and their people into exciting stories about happily ever after for men, women, and horses. Barbara also enjoys helping others with horses and writing.


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