#1 Blazing Courage (2 page)

“Don't let her bait you this time,” Jack says.

I nod. “It's my new horse.”

“Looks a bit small to be a horse,” Peggy says. “She could be a cute little lead pony for Jinx, I guess. What do you say, Jinx, would you like a pet?”

We all know the answer to that question. Jinx bullies all of the other horses. He's pastured alone when he grazes. No one will even rent the stall next to his.

“Speaking of lead,” Jack interrupts, “lead her to the empty paddock, the strong, metal one.”

I'm a little nervous. What if she tries to run? But Jack thinks it's okay, so I trust him. “Should I take the halter off, once I get her in there?” I ask.

Peggy rolls her eyes. “Dumb and dumber,” she says.

Jack ignores her. “Yup,” he answers me. “Her lessons begin tomorrow morning—and so do yours. But tonight, she gets to relax.”

“
That
should be fun,” Peggy says as she tethers Jinx to the rail and walks to her chauffeured Imperial Enterprises Town Car. “Annie, give him a good rubdown when you're done playing
Little Pony
. A star like Jinx deserves the best.”

I don't answer, but she knows I'll get it done. I've worked for Jack and boarders like Peggy since we moved here about a year ago. Well, I'm only fourteen, so technically I volunteer in exchange for riding lessons. But boarders slip me cash to get out of chores they'd rather not do.

It's the only way a girl like me can afford to horse around, especially at a place like this. Top Tier Stable is the Neiman Marcus of Colorado equestrian clubs, and I can barely afford K-Mart. But today I feel rich. She's not corporate-owned like Jinx, but this horse is all mine.

“Who drives that car anyway?” I ask.

“Don't you have better things to do than wonder about Peggy's chauffeur?”

He has a point, but everything about her puzzles me. She has it all: beauty, money, a world champion horse. Why does she have it out for me? Most days, I'd obsess on that. But Jack is right. Today is not “most days.”

I walk my Buckskin to the paddock and open the gate. She eats an apple slice after we walk through. I close the gate behind us and slip her halter off, but she's so beat, she barely reacts. My heart hurts a little. I squeeze through the top and middle rungs of the fence and stand on the bottom rail. She eats the last apple, snorts in my empty hand, and walks away.

“See you tomorrow,” I say, as Jack tosses a leaf of alfalfa hay into the paddock and fills her trough with fresh water. She drinks deeply. It's been a long day, and I know she wants to rest. But a crisp, autumn breeze blows across the foothills.

The little horse turns into the wind and smells something familiar. Like magic, the scent leaves her renewed. In a burst of energy, she gallops across the empty paddock, bucking like crazy. Halfway down she spins around to face me and a loud defiant whinny explodes from her lungs. We are electrified—the both of us.

“I own a horse,” I say softly, “a wild little Buckskin Mustang.” Then I start to worry. What if she's afraid while I'm gone?

“I'm never far,” Jack says pointing to the house up the hill. “Her pen is closer to my place than the barn. If she needs me, I'm a heartbeat away.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, “for everything.”

I've never been happier, but a tug-of-war is about to begin.

CHAPTER THREE

Girl Versus Horse

My alarm rings at 7:00 a.m. I slip on my jeans, a t-shirt, and my old cowboy boots. I'm craving bacon, but I choke down a bowl of Raisin Bran—Mom likes things healthy these days. I grab an apple and string cheese for lunch, but I would eat paper if it would get me to the stable faster.

“Feed Abbey before you leave,” Mom says. She's working on her latest book. She could feed the dog later, but insists I'm still responsible for my “first horse”—a Great Dane. So I empty the kibble bag into the bowl and top off her water.

“I'll walk you when I get home,” I say as I hug her spotted neck. Then I'm off. I don't catch the school bus; I catch a ride to the barn. I've been homeschooled since we moved to Colorado, and I used to hate it. Try making real friends when the only kids you know are online. But all that has changed.

The fact that my schedule is flexible now is ideal. I work at the stable in the morning, walk Abbey before dinner, and do my schoolwork after dark. Perfect, since I have a new horse to school.

I am thinking of names by the time my stepdad, Jeff, drops me off at the Top Tier office. Jack likes Little Bit. “You can call her Bitty, for short,” he says. But I think that sounds old-fashioned.

“We could call her Blaze for the mark on her face,” I say.

“You'd have to call her Baldy,” Jack says. I shoot him a dirty look, but he just laughs.

“What about Poco?” Jeff says. “It's Spanish for little.”

Jeff knows nothing about horses. He's a reporter for the
Denver Post,
and his favorite animal is a snake. But he loves my mom and me. And he feels a little guilty for making us move, so he helps me whenever he can, however he can. A reporter's schedule is flexible, too.

I did a report on wild horses. They're not really wild. Early humans hunted horses into extinction in North America long ago. But Spanish conquistadors brought hearty little mustangs back to the Americas in the 1500s. When they escaped, they formed the herds that still roam our wilderness today. So Poco feels right.

“Good job, Jeff,” I say. He pats himself on the back and says he'll pick me up at 4:00 p.m. Then he heads off to interview a hero or a criminal, whatever he's investigating today. “Don't forget to buy dog food!” I yell, but I have no idea if he hears.

“I like it,” Jack says. “Poco. Good name. Now get a halter on the beast and meet me at the hitching rail outside the barn. I'll gather the things we need.”

We walk through the barn, and I notice four plastic owls on the rafters. “What are those,” I ask, “and why are they up there?”

“Just trying to class the place up,” Jack says. “Maybe scare away a few mice.”

“Class?” I say. “I like the barn cats better.” Jack shrugs and keeps walking, so I head for the paddock outside. I feel butterflies in my stomach when I see Poco lying in the dust, just soaking up the morning sun. An autumn breeze scatters her mane, but her coat isn't too dirty. With a good brushing, I might be able to make it shine. I can't wait to try.

She sees me and gets to her feet. “Hello Poco,” I call softly. I pull a carrot from my pocket. “Want a treat?” I ask, but her eyes are locked on the red halter in my other hand. “Come on,” I say. “You're not afraid of this, are you? A tough little horse like you?”

Poco snorts and scrapes her front hoof on the ground, then she slowly walks toward me. She's still looking at the halter, but she smells the sweet scent of carrot. It distracts her, so I let her take it from my hand. As she crunches the orange goodness, she begins to sniff the halter, but I pretend not to notice.

“Easy,” Jack says from outside the paddock. “Give her all the time she needs to give you permission.”

Deep breaths move in and out of Poco's lungs. She flares her nostrils, exploring the odd thing they'd slipped on her head the day before. Once she's had time to smell it, I move it up toward her head, and rub it gently against her neck.

“See?” I say. “It doesn't hurt.” She seems calm, so I guide her nose through the crown piece and toward the strap that will rest across her nose. Her ears go back, but she's not moving. “Good,” I whisper. “Now your ears.”

One ear slips behind the crown piece easily, and I think I'm home free. I glance back, smiling at Jack. His eyes open wide, just before I go horizontal. Poco jerks back to dodge the halter, then leaps forward, knocking me to the ground like a rag doll.

“You okay?” Jack says, laughing. “Guess she gave you the slip. Tough little cookie, that one.”

“So am I,” I answer. She wins three more rounds, but by the fourth, the wrestling has ended. Poco is wearing the halter, and our challenge has begun. I want to brush the mud from her coat, so we walk her up to the barn where the supplies are stored. I move to tie her to the rail, but Jack shakes his head.

“Tie her up, and she might panic,” he says. “I'll hold the lead while you make her shine.” I pick up a grooming brush and try to run the firm bristles down Poco's neck, but she sidesteps my touch. I am confused.

“It's new to her,” Jack says. “She doesn't know what it is. Let her smell it.”

It feels ridiculous, but I hold the brush in front of her nose. She takes a deep sniff and mouths it with her lips. “You can't eat it,” I say, but she's already drawn the same conclusion. She shakes her head and calmly looks away. Stroke by stroke, I brush the coat of a horse that has never before been brushed. Imagine that.

With each grooming tool, we follow the same steps. Show, smell, clean. Show, smell, clean. An hour later, her transformation has begun. Her mane is trimmed and the prairie mud is all gone from nose to tail. I feel victorious, and say, “I
am
the Horse Whisperer.”

“Yeah sure,” Jack says. “Let's see you whisper with a horse blanket.”

I take the thick pad of cloth and walk toward Poco. But I move too quickly, and she jumps back. Jack reels in the slack of the lead rope and whispers, “Steady girl, easy.” His confidence calms her so he tells me, “Start again.”

This time, I let her see the blanket. I let her explore it with her nose and her mouth. “It's okay,” I whisper, “no teeth, no danger, just fabric.” To my relief, Poco lets me slide it up and over her back. She's worried, but holding. I'm ready to try the saddle, but Jack eases me back too.

“It's late,” he says, “and we should end on a high note, so let's call it a day.”

I agree, and I know we've done pretty well, but it seems so slow. I'm a little frustrated. As we walk her to the paddock, I ask, “Is there a quicker way?”

“Do you want to do it fast,” he says, “or do you want to do it right?”

“Can't we do both?” I say.

“Not if you want Poco to trust you,” he says, petting her neck firmly. Poco leans into his touch, and I feel a little jealous. “She doesn't understand any of this,” he says. “She's been taken from her home, she's been poked and prodded, and worse, she's lost her freedom. How would you feel?”

I don't have to wonder. My heart broke into a hundred pieces when we moved to Colorado. I lost my home, my friends, even my confidence. I know exactly how she feels.

One day she's galloping across the prairie with her friends, the next a flying monster is chasing her. It forces her to run for miles. When she can no longer run, when she's so tired she can hardly walk, it lands and a swarm of people spill out. They yell, they swing ropes, they force her onto a truck with fifty other horses. The life she loved is gone.

I weave my fingers through Poco's mane.

“Train her gentle,” Jack whispers, “and she'll be your friend for life. Do it fast and you'll break her spirit and her heart. It's your choice.”

“No choice at all,” I say. We'll take it slow. And someday, the fear in Poco's eyes will be replaced with hope. From now on, we're in this together. From now on, we're a team.

I carefully put the tack away and walk Poco to the paddock. Jack walks with us.

“Think we're forming a bond?” I ask.

“Let's hope so,” he says, “because tomorrow, you ride.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Rain, Rain Go Away

That night I dream of Poco and me, galloping bareback through the wilderness, two creatures totally in sync. There is no need for a saddle or a bridle. Poco reads my mind. I squeeze gently with my right leg, she moves to the left. I squeeze with my left she moves to the right. I say whoa, and she slides to a stop.

It is bliss until we hear the thunder. Hundreds of horses suddenly surround us. They gallop at full speed in a panic. Poco's instincts tell her to run, too. But she can feel my fear, and she's torn. Serve her friend or her nature? It is not an easy choice.

As we dodge and swerve to escape the last of the runners, a stallion appears—a towering Dun the color of flame. I wonder why he's at the rear of his herd instead of at the lead as I watch him gallop toward us. Each stride is defiant. There is anger in his eyes.

Poco cries out as he slides to a stop. Dust clouds our vision, but Poco stands her ground. The stallion rears and then nips Poco on her haunches. He commands her to follow the herd, but she refuses. Enraged, the Dun lays his ears back and lowers his head.

My cry wakes me, just before the stallion strikes, and I'm glad it was only a dream. But my heart is still pounding. I can't sleep, and it's way too early to go to the stable. So I start rereading
Black Beauty
for the twentieth time. I fall asleep just before my alarm rings. It's going to be a long day.

It's pouring when Jeff drops me off at the stable. I braid my hair and slip on a sweatshirt to ward off the cold. I walk to the office in the back of the barn and see Jack talking on the phone. He looks as cloudy as the sky when he hangs up.

“Did you leave Peggy Stockton's saddle out last night?” he asks. I can feel the heat of my face turning red.

“I did not,” I say, more forcefully than I mean to. It's like I've been punched in the stomach.

“Her $3000 show saddle was drenched on the hitching post when I got here,” Jack says. “I just talked to her dad, Lex. Peggy says you promised to put it away.”

“What is her problem?” I say. “She has it out for me. She always has.”

“Cut her some slack,” Jack says. “She doesn't have it easy.”

“Her father is richer than God, and she gets everything she wants,” I say. “How does she NOT have it easy?”

“You don't know the whole story,” Jack says. “You'll just have to trust me on that.”