Horse Fever (5 page)

“I’ll think about it, Mom,” Stevie amended.

“Good,” said the attorney. “Now pass over that bowl for me to lick.”

“A
LL RIGHT
,”
SAID
Pat Naughton, “then I’ll see you Monday at ten.” She snapped her cellular phone closed and flopped down onto a bench next to Carole. “Gosh, you’d think these people didn’t
want
to sell their horses, the way they fuss about setting up appointments.”

“Maybe they’re afraid the horses won’t look right in a certain light,” Carole joked. She had cleaned and oiled her tack but was lingering to talk with Pat. Pat seemed to
like having her there. Every time the woman made an appointment to look at a horse, she would ask Carole if she thought the horse was worth seeing.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Pat said. “I’ve been looking so long that
nothing
surprises me.”

“Have you seen anything good?” Carole asked.

Pat nodded. “There’s a mare in Pleasantville I like a lot, but she’s a little old—fifteen. I’d be worried about her slowing down in a few years. You know,” she added, tapping one of the ads she had marked, “I don’t know about this gelding. I gave him a star, but he almost sounds too quiet. The owner kept emphasizing what a great
beginner
horse he’d make.”

“Hmmm,” Carole mused. “That could mean safe and reliable. On the other hand, it could mean that he has trouble getting out of a trot. You just never know till you see them, do you?”

“Nope,” agreed Pat. She ran a manicured hand through her blond hair. Carole noticed that she wore a large diamond ring and an expensive-looking watch. Some people—most people—Carole would have criticized for wearing jewelry in the barn. But Pat was so nice and friendly that Carole found herself admiring the woman’s style. It was kind of horsey chic. And her enthusiasm was catching.

“I keep trying to explain that to my husband. He says, ‘Why don’t you just pick one!’ He grew up in the city, so he can’t help it.” Pat laughed. “He knows as much about horses as I do about the stock market.
Nada!
”

“My dad was the same way,” Carole said, giggling at the memory. “Don’t worry—he’ll get better once you actually own a horse.”

“I hope so,” said Pat. “I just wish I had someone to consult, to take with me on these horse-shopping excursions. If Max were around … But he’s too busy, anyway.” She glanced at her watch. “Well, I’d better make this last call and then get going. My baby-sitter’s probably run away by now.”

“Um … Pat?” Carole said quickly. “I’d go with you to look at horses. I mean,” she added, feeling shy, “if you think it would help.”

“Help? Are you kidding? It would be great!” Pat said. “Are you sure you have the time?”

“Sure,” said Carole. “I’m on vacation.”

“Well, fabulous! I’ve got appointments all Monday morning.”

“All morning? That’s fine. That’s perfect,” said Carole, thinking fast. She could go with Pat in the morning, then ride Starlight in the afternoon.

“Gosh, this is wonderful. I’ll feel so much better with
you there. Okay: last call.” Pat whipped out her cellular phone again and dialed a number. “Yes, I’m calling about King’s Ransom.…”

Carole felt herself stiffen.

“Uh-huh.… How about Monday afternoon? About three? Great.… No, I’m not a beginner, but until last year I hadn’t ridden seriously since I was fifteen.… Yes, yes, I love dressage.” Pat rolled her eyes as she answered several more questions. Carole listened attentively, wondering what could be taking so long.

“That’s a new one!” Pat exclaimed when the call had ended. “The owner was interviewing
me
.”

“Really?” said Carole.

“Yes—to see if I’d be a worthy purchaser for her amazing horse! I’ll bet it’s just another selling technique.” Shaking her head, Pat stood up. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a key chain. “Say, do you need a ride somewhere? I’ve got my car outside.”

Carole accepted happily. She followed Pat out to the driveway. It was strange: She couldn’t decide whether or not she was glad they were going to see King. (In her head she had already nicknamed King’s Ransom.) Part of her wished he would stay an advertisement in
Horseman’s Weekly
, but part of her was excited at the chance to see a horse like that up close.
Maybe he’ll be too expensive or Pat won’t like him
, she thought.
And then
 … But there was
no ending to that thought. And as she climbed into Pat’s sports car, Carole had to admit that despite what she had said, her new friend probably had the money to buy any horse she liked.

“I just realized something,” Pat remarked, backing out of the parking space. “I made the last appointment for three in the afternoon. Is that going to be too long a day for you?”

“Oh, no,” Carole said hastily. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Pat said. “Because if you want, I could drop you off after the morning round and then go see this King’s Ransom myself.”

“No, really,” Carole insisted, “I’ll come along.” Mentally she rescheduled the afternoon. If she got back at five, she could still take a quick ride. Then again, she thought, it wasn’t as if there were a
law
about riding every day.…

S
TEVIE GROANED
,
THREW
back the covers, and got out of bed: Monday, 9:00
A.M
. No more pretending she didn’t hear that alarm ringing. Today she was turning over a new leaf. She had spent Sunday lying in bed. Today she was going to get to Pine Hollow early and get it over with. Groom, ride, groom, and be back home by noon. Then she could spend the afternoon doing what she wanted to do: baking, watching TV, lying on the sofa half-asleep—in other words, enjoying vacation.

As she dressed she looked absently at a framed picture of her, Lisa, and Carole on their horses. It had been taken a long time ago. Stevie could tell the picture was old, not just because it had been on her wall forever, but because
of the horse each girl was riding. Lisa was on Pepper, a flea-bitten speckled gray that had taught her everything she knew before he’d had to be put down. Carole was on another of Max’s school horses, Barq, the chestnut Arabian, her sometime mount in the days before Starlight. And Stevie was riding Topside, a bay Thoroughbred she had ridden and taken to lots of shows at the time. Mrs. Reg had taken the picture to use up some film and had made a copy for each of the girls. Normally Stevie smiled at the sight of the picture. But today she felt as if it were watching her somehow. “I just hope you guys don’t force me to hang out all afternoon,” she muttered to her friends in the photograph. “I’ve got a vacation to enjoy!”

It wasn’t until Stevie was across the room and halfway into her jeans that she did a complete double take. She glanced behind her at the picture, afraid that Carole or Lisa had overheard her thoughts. She wanted to go to Pine Hollow to “get it over with”? She wanted to spend the afternoon “enjoying” vacation? Since when had riding become a dreaded task? Since when had it ceased being her absolute favorite thing in the whole wide world? Stevie hardly knew what to think. Better not to think at all, she decided. Better to go ride and see if she felt different when she got there. Of course she would feel different! One look at Belle and—and—and she would realize how badly Belle’s mane needed pulling, Stevie
thought glumly. With a sigh, she slipped a sweater over her long-sleeved T-shirt. She looked out the window. It was gray out. Again. Just like her mood. Sometimes she wished her family lived in New England instead of Virginia, or out West like the Devines—or anywhere that got a real winter. “What’s the point of winter if you don’t get huge snowstorms?” she grumbled, pulling her hair back with an elastic. Unfortunately, snow made her think of Max. Max was in Vermont. Max would be back from Vermont in two weeks, expecting progress, gray days or not.

“Or Florida! Or California! Why can’t we live in California?” Stevie muttered, pushing open the kitchen door.

Chad and Michael, seated at the kitchen table, wrinkled their noses. “Ugh: horse,” Michael said, sniffing loudly.

“It wouldn’t be that bad if she washed her clothes more than twice a year,” Chad said.

Stevie shot him a withering glance. “I wouldn’t want to go near your gym bag, either,” she retorted.

“Mine?” Chad cried. “Mine’s nothing compared to Alex’s!”

“Yeah, Stevie,” said Michael, grinning. “You’ve got competition in the body odor department now.”

Before Stevie could decide whether that was a compliment or an insult, her “competition” strode through the
door, clad in spandex running tights. “Loading up on carbohydrates again?” said Alex, giving the breakfast table a disapproving glance.

“What, you don’t eat toast and cereal anymore?” Chad asked.

Alex seemed to recoil at the notion. “Not before twelve! My Power-Fitness shake gives me all the protein I need for my morning run,” he bragged.

“Great,” said Stevie, scowling at her twin. “Then why don’t you take that run?”

“Yeah, like
now
,” added Chad. “And leave the rest of us to eat breakfast in peace!”

“Amen!” said Michael.

Stevie felt her scowl fading. Three against one was typical in the Lake household, but she was usually the one, not one of the three! Evidently Alex’s fitness regime was getting to Chad and Michael, too.

Alex ignored the comments. He put a hand on his hip and stretched out his right side. “Sure nobody wants to join me?” he asked. “Just a quick three? Down to the dirt road and back? Chad? Michael? No takers?”

“What about me?” Stevie demanded. “How do you know I don’t want to go running with you?”

Alex gave her a condescending smile. “One, I can see—I mean
smell
—that you’re ready to go riding. And two, I’m sorry, Stevie, but I’m going running, not jogging
and breaking to a walk every five minutes. I’ve got a training schedule to keep to.”

Chad nodded solicitously. “He’s got a point, Stevie. With all that baking you’ve been doing, you’ve put on a pound or two. You might have trouble on the hills.”

Stevie glared at her older brother. How dare he change sides on her! “You’re not exactly ready for the marathon, Chad!” she snapped.

Chad shrugged. “Who said I was?”

“Yeah, who said he was?” Michael echoed.

“Copycat!” Stevie spun around to face Alex, her face aflame. “Are you saying I couldn’t keep up with you?”

“ ’Fraid so,” said Alex, stretching out his other side.

“No, I mean, are you
saying
I couldn’t keep up with you?” Stevie demanded.

“
Oh
,” said Alex with understanding. “You mean am I
daring
you to
try
to keep up with me?”

“That’s right,” Stevie said through gritted teeth.

Alex beamed. “Well, yes. I guess I am.”

Stevie felt herself blanch, but just for an instant. “All right,” she said, her voice perfectly calm. “Then I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

“I’m leaving in two minutes!” Alex called as Stevie ran up the stairs. She went to the laundry pile and dug out a pair of sweats. In two minutes she was back downstairs, waiting at the front door.

“Aren’t you going to stretch out?” Alex asked, aghast.

“Stretching is for wimps,” she said disdainfully.

“We-ell, all right. Any time you’re ready, then,” Alex said.

“After you,” said Stevie, opening the door.

Outside, Alex paused to look at her. “You’re really going to run the whole way without stopping?” he asked. “Three miles?”

“Oh, is it only three miles? Such a shame.” Stevie shook her head ruefully. “And I was hoping for a real workout. I guess I’ll have to get that later—when I go riding.”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Riding! All you do is sit there! The horse does all the work!”

Stevie stretched out her hands to throttle her brother, but it was too late. He had already sprinted down the driveway. Swearing revenge, Stevie started after him. She had run down the driveway hundreds, thousands of times. But somehow it had never seemed so long.

L
ISA WAS WHISTLING
at her work. She’d had a productive day off, she’d gotten a good night’s sleep, she’d read a few chapters of
To Kill a Mockingbird
that morning—already—and she
loved
her new haircut. Rising halfway from her desk, she turned her head this way and that in the mirror. Her shiny, light brown locks swung from side to side, just
above her shoulders. Vacation was great. It was so nice to catch up on all the things she needed to do. Even writing the thank-you notes wasn’t so bad.

Dear Mrs. Chambers
, Lisa wrote.
Thank you for the needlepoint kit
. She paused, chewing on the end of her pen. The problem with thank-you notes was that after you said thank you there was nothing else to say.
I love the horsey theme. It’s so “me.”
Ugh. Now she was really stuck. And she still had three quarters of the page to fill. There was only one solution, one that Stevie had suggested as her method of dealing with lame adult gifts: lie outright. Lisa smiled.
I love needlepoint. I find it a relaxing pastime, and I can’t wait to start this particular pattern
. Feeling very Stevie-ish, Lisa signed the card with a flourish, sealed and addressed the envelope, and sat back in her chair.