Horse Spy (27 page)

“ ‘Don’t like’ may be a little strong. Let me just say that I haven’t had much fun riding him. So far we’ve spent all our time together trying to decide who’s in charge. He’s winning.”

“You’ll find a way. You always do,” Emily said.

Carole carried that thought to Fez’s stall.

Fez was as feisty as ever when Carole passed him on the way to the tack room. Even tacking up this horse was a chore.

“Morning, Ben,” she said. Ben was sitting in a corner of the tack room adjusting the leathers on the saddles that the youngest riders would use that morning.

“Morning, Carole,” he said. “You working with Starlight?”

“Not yet. Fez comes first,” she said. “Can you give me a hand with his tack?”

“Sure,” Ben said. He set aside the leathers he’d been working on and helped Carole carry Fez’s saddle to his stall. They both knew it wasn’t carrying the saddle that Carole needed help with. It was putting the saddle on the irritable horse.

Carole approached Fez cautiously and clipped a lead rope on him for Ben to hold while she put on the saddle. Fez never stopped moving while Carole dodged his prancing.

“This darn horse,” she hissed. “He’s as bad as his owner!”

“She’s not so bad,” Ben said quietly. “Better than her brother.”

That surprised Carole a little.

“What’s the matter with her brother?”

“Talks a lot,” said Ben.

Carole laughed to herself. Ben wasn’t much of a talker. No wonder he resented Scott, who talked as easily as some people breathed. Carole buckled the girth on the saddle and tightened it. Fez didn’t play games by holding his breath while she tightened the girth. That was the first really nice thing she could say about the horse.

Ben held Fez’s head steady with the lead rope while Carole coaxed him into his bridle, and then he was ready for his ride—with little more than twice the effort any other horse in the stable required for tacking up.

Carole led him out to the indoor ring. She thought it might be wise to work inside where there would be fewer distractions than outside. Also, the younger riders would be using the outdoor schooling ring, and if there was a chance
Fez might run away, Carole didn’t want it to happen where anyone could be hurt.

Max was there, sitting on a bench, jotting out his lesson plan.

“What’re you up to?” he asked. “I thought you’d be riding Starlight now.”

“Well, I sort of told Callie I’d give this guy a workout,” Carole said. Fez backed off and tugged at the reins, nearly pulling them out of Carole’s hands. She gripped more tightly.

“He’s a handful. He’ll do well learning a few things from you,” said Max.

Carole was flattered that Max thought she could teach this fellow anything, but not at all confident he was right.

“Make sure you touch the good-luck horseshoe before you climb aboard,” he said.

Maybe he wasn’t so sure Carole could do anything with him. Sighing, she took Fez over to the mounting block, climbed into the saddle, walked him past the horseshoe—which she tagged quickly—and returned to the ring.

Carole began by walking Fez in circles, clockwise and then counterclockwise, to warm him up a bit. He did all right at that, so she asked him to trot. He cantered. She slowed him down to a walk again and began the process over. It was the same thing they’d gone through two days before. She wasn’t any more successful, and it wasn’t any more fun.

Carole wished Max weren’t sitting there. She knew how busy he was, and she hated to disturb him, especially when she was riding so badly. His eyes were mostly on his paperwork, but Carole knew he wasn’t missing anything. All his riders were amazed by how many mistakes he could see in a
whole classful of riders all at once. The record was eight simultaneous errors, though there were those who suspected that his stream of corrections—“Heels down, hands steady, eyes ahead, legs straight, seat back, shoulders up, chin in—oh, and tuck in your shirttails!”—was more automatic than actual. They were all common errors among new riders, even the shirttails.

The third time Fez bolted to a canter when asked for a trot, Max stopped pretending to work on his lesson plan. He set his papers down and turned his full attention to Carole’s struggle with Fez.

Carole tried to ignore Max and to convince the horse to listen to her.

Finally Max interrupted her efforts. “Carole, you’re going about this all wrong,” he said.

She drew to a halt. “I know, Max. I should keep my hands steady, but he keeps yanking at them. It’s almost impossible.”

“No, I don’t mean that. It’s not your form, it’s your approach. You’re letting him be the boss. From the moment you walked in here with him, it was apparent who was in charge—and it wasn’t you.”

Carole felt herself flush with anger. She knew better than to express it, though. What she was angry about was simply the truth.

“So?” she said, containing her irritation.

“So, think about it. This is a strong, fiery horse. It’s in his nature to challenge authority. If the authority doesn’t challenge him back, he’s going to assume he’s in charge, and, clearly, that’s what’s happened. You’ve lost control, and you’re never going to get it back.”

“Never?” Carole asked weakly.

“Not now, not this way,” said Max. “You’re being too nice to him.”

“I can’t hurt a horse, Max!” Carole protested.

“I’m not suggesting that you do,” he said. “But I do suggest that you put him away now.”

“He needs the exercise,” Carole said. “And I don’t want to give up on him. I’m better than that.”

“Yes, you are,” said Max. “So here’s what you’re going to do. You are going to start all over again, from the very beginning. You have to be in charge, and he has to know it. I don’t know why it is that you thought this particular horse wanted a velvet-glove treatment, but you were wrong. He needs a strong hand, a firm voice, a powerful leader. You’ve been elected. Go do the job.” Max sat back down on the bench, crossed his arms in front of him, and waited to see what Carole would do.

Carole had a world of choices in front of her. She could try striking the horse, but she never thought that was the right way. She could try yelling at him. She rejected that because he hadn’t shown any indication that he was deaf, so there would be no point. She could yank back at his reins and abuse him in the same way he was trying to get the jump on her, but she didn’t like it when he did it to her, so she doubted he’d like it if she returned the favor. Or she could, as Max suggested, start all over again.

She dismounted and led Fez back to his stall. She removed his tack, gave him a quick brushing, some fresh water, and a bite of hay. Then she left him alone.

Ten minutes later she reappeared at his stall, carrying his saddle and his bridle. As she approached the stall, instead of looking fearful—the way she felt—she glared directly into Fez’s eyes. He backed up. She wasn’t actually threatening him in any way that humans understood. She was merely challenging him in a way horses understood. Fez stood still and glared back.

Without showing any hesitation, Carole clipped a lead rope on him, cross-tied him, and put his saddle back on. She talked to him because it was almost impossible for her not to talk to a horse while she worked on him, but it was in a matter-of-fact tone, not a soothing tone or a fearful one. Her theory was that if she was able to fool him into thinking she wasn’t afraid of him and didn’t expect him to misbehave, he might not intimidate her and act up.

He stood quite still while she tacked him up. When she took hold of his reins and led him back to the ring, she looked straight ahead. Looking back at him would have appeared questioning. She wasn’t in a mood to question anything. She was being positive. He was, for the first time, being relatively obedient. He was still no Starlight or Belle. He wasn’t in the least bit docile, but he was obedient. That was all Carole needed from him.

They reached the ring. Carole signaled him to stand still while she mounted, and he did. He tried to take one step while she swung her right leg over his back, and she tugged firmly on the reins. He stopped fiddling.

She walked him over to the good-luck horseshoe, touched it, and began walking him in circles around the ring. He did
what he was told. He shook his head a bit, but he stopped that when she tugged, not yanked, firmly on the reins. She signaled him to trot. He trotted.

He was like a different horse. He had all his power and fire, but he was much more obedient than he had been earlier, at least as well behaved as he had been when Callie rode him.

Max, in his usual reserved manner, just said, “Nice work, Carole.”

Half an hour later, still pleased by her success with Fez, she returned the horse to his stall, untacked him, and gave him a quick grooming.

As she worked on him, she wondered at the transformation. It wasn’t that this horse hadn’t been trained. He had. But she had been allowing him to get away with bad behavior, allowing him to ignore his training. That made it her responsibility to remind him what was okay and what wasn’t. She’d done it. She now had a horse that, while not as enjoyable for her to ride as Starlight, was a horse she could manage. Now maybe she wouldn’t hate herself so much for the foolish promise she’d made to Callie.

Carole shrugged. If she could transform Fez’s personality, maybe she could do the same with Callie. No, that wasn’t right. She had to take some responsibility for Fez’s problems. She’d let him get away with murder because she’d been treating him like eggshells. She hadn’t done that with Callie. Or had she?

She’d definitely gotten off on the wrong foot with Callie, just as she’d gotten off on the wrong hoof with her horse. Maybe she should do something to change that.

Well, if Callie was big enough to make an effort to square
her mistake with Emily, Carole thought she should be big enough to square her own mistake with Callie.

In the meantime, she thought she owed Fez a little more reward than she’d given him so far. She decided to turn him out in the paddock. He’d been cooped up in the van and then in his stall long enough. He could use a chance to run free for the afternoon. She got Max’s permission to let him stay out until she returned from the airport. Carole walked Fez through the gate, took the lead rope from his halter, and gave him a gentle slap on his flanks to tell him it was okay to run free. He didn’t have to be told twice.

Carole glanced at her watch. It was noon. Lisa’s plane took off at four. The hard work Carole had done with Fez had used all of her riding time. Now she had to get home, shower, and change her clothes for the trip to the airport.

Her heart ached. Lisa’s departure was going to change everything. Just four hours to go.

F
OUR
HOURS
later, everything in the world had changed.

Stevie listened dully to the rhythmic
slap
,
slap
,
slap
of the windshield wipers for a few seconds before she realized what the sound was, where she was, and how she’d gotten there.

“Carole?” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. What about you?”

“Me too. Callie? Are you okay?” Stevie asked.

There was no answer.

“Callie?” Carole echoed.

The only response was the girl’s shallow breathing.

“What happened?” Carole asked, trying to remember the last few minutes. It was all a blur.

“We hit something—a horse, I think. We spun, rolled, and landed. I think we’re at the bottom of the hill by Janson’s farm across from Pine Hollow.”

Carole looked in the backseat. Callie lay still, her eyes closed.

“Callie? Callie? Wake up!” There was no answer. “She’s breathing, but she’s unconscious,” Carole said.

“Can you move all right?” Stevie asked Carole.

“I think so,” Carole said. She did a quick inventory. She could feel a throbbing in her wrist, which must have hit the dashboard when they rolled over. She was aware, too, of a dull ache in her arm. She wiggled her toes and her fingers. Everything worked. “Yeah, I’m okay,” Carole said. “What about you?”

“I’ve got an awful ache in my belly where the steering wheel hit me, but everything moves. I’m hurt, but okay.”

“Well, we can get out, but we’d better not move Callie. We’ve got to go for help.”

Stevie peered through the windshield, which was still being methodically cleaned by the wipers. She could see lights at the top of the hill.

“No, I think help has come for us,” she said.

Carole and Stevie opened their doors. Carole stood up. Rain pelted down on her. In spite of her aches, it made her feel incredibly, wonderfully alive.

She and Stevie looked at the top of the hill, where more flashing lights were gathering. Several people were looking down at them. The girls waved.

“Are you okay?”

“We are, but there’s another girl in the car and she’s unconscious!” Stevie called back.

“Don’t move her!” an emergency medical technician yelled.

Stevie and Carole waited for help to arrive. It didn’t take long. Within minutes several EMTs skittered down the hill, carrying a stretcher and medical bags. As soon as they were sure Stevie and Carole could walk, one of them helped the two girls up the hill, while the others turned their attention to Callie.