Horse Whispers (3 page)

“Hey!” they all said.

“Hi, John,” Lisa added quietly.

John and Lisa didn’t give each other big hugs or anything like that. Both of them were very private people who didn’t like to make a display of their friendship. But John gave Lisa a special look that made her spine tingle.

“I came to show you guys where the new horses are corralled. I figured you’d want to say hi to them,” said John. He turned and fell into step beside Lisa.

“We were just talking about colors of horses, John,” Kate said. “We all seem to have a favorite.”

John nodded. “Most horsepeople do. Of course, we all know bright chestnut is the best,” he said, pretending to be serious. His own horse, Tex, was a chestnut.

“Naturally,” Lisa said, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Hey!” said John. He elbowed her playfully in response. “You know, in the old days they used to think that a horse’s color had an effect on his personality.”

Stevie raised her eyebrows. “But it does!” she exclaimed, indignant.

“You really believe that, Stevie?” Lisa asked. “You really believe the way a horse acts is related to his color?”

“Of course!” said Stevie. “You can’t tell me that Stewball would be Stewball if he hadn’t been born with a splashy pinto coat.”

That was a tough point to deny. Stewball was one of the ranch horses. He was kooky and sometimes seemed half crazy. But he was also an expert cattle horse, the best on the Bar None at roping and herding. The main reason he was so good at his job was that he was totally stubborn, with a mind of his own. Not surprisingly, he and Stevie had hit it off from day one. Now she always rode him when The Saddle Club visited.

“It
is
hard to imagine Stewball any other color,” Lisa admitted. “I mean, I just can’t see him as a bay or a chestnut.”

“See?” Stevie said. “Color’s got everything to do with it.”

John looked doubtful. “What do you think of all this nonsense, Carole?” he asked.

“Yeah, Carole,” Kate urged. A lot of times the group deferred to Carole on matters of horsemanship. She was not only an excellent rider, she had also read everything
available on the subject of horses. And she had a real horsewoman’s common sense and intuition.

At the sound of her name, Carole snapped to attention. “I’m sorry, Kate, what did you say?” she asked.

The girls and John turned as a group to look at her. Her voice sounded odd—choked up.

“Um, I was just wondering what you thought about, you know, whether a horse’s color means anything,” Kate said gently.

“Oh. Yes,” Carole said slowly. “I think maybe it does. I know that’s not very scientific, but …” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the ground. Abruptly she looked up again. “I hope one of the horses is black—Cobalt black.”

“I like black, too,” John responded. “It’s such a majestic color. I think every kid dreams of having a Black Beauty of his own.…” He chattered away, unaware that Lisa’s and Stevie’s minds were racing.

Before either of them could say anything, the group had neared the holding pen where the new horses were corralled.

“Look at that chestnut!” Kate cried. “He’s cute, huh?”

“Oh, there’s the gray!” Lisa pointed. “I call dibs! And look at the markings on that bay.
Four
white stockings!”

“Gosh, that Appaloosa is fat! What do you think they’ve been feeding him?” Stevie asked.

Reaching the fence, the five of them pulled themselves up onto the lower rail. With the extra height they could
lean over the fence and get a better look at the newcomers.

“The Appy’s a mare,” said Kate. “And I think my dad said she’s been sitting around for a couple of years not doing a thing.”

“We’ll have to get her back into training, then,” Stevie said. “Diet and exercise, huh, baby?” She leaned farther over the fence and extended a hand, trying to coax the mare closer. “Here, girl, come say hi.”

In response the mare swished her tail lazily. Except for that and flicking an ear, she didn’t move. Stevie laughed. “So much for my powers of persuasion! One word from me and she stays right where she is. I wish I had some treats—a carrot or something. Carole, you try,” she urged. Often Carole could get a horse to come to her when the others failed.

“Sure, Stevie.” Carole clucked through her teeth. “Here, pretty girl, come on. We want to say hi, girl. That’s right, mosey on over. We want to be your—” Mid-sentence, Carole stopped. She stared straight ahead, all thoughts of the Appaloosa forgotten. Her throat felt dry. She closed her eyes and reopened them. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was as if her dreams had materialized before her. At the other side of the corral, not twenty feet away, was a tall black mare. She was standing slightly apart from the rest of the herd. Her nose was raised to the wind. She was coal black, as black as night.… Carole felt her heart racing: She was
Cobalt
black. She looked exactly like the stallion, only smaller. She had his large eyes, his sloping shoulder and compact body. They could have been brother and sister, the resemblance was so strong. She had everything but his markings. Carole felt so shaky she had to step down to the ground. She leaned weakly against the fence.

Lisa and Stevie had seen it all. Ignoring Kate’s and John’s inquiring looks, they stepped off the fence. “Are you okay, Carole?” Lisa murmured.

“I’m—I’m fine,” Carole said. Her voice came out in a whisper. “It’s just that mare. She looks exactly like …”

Carole didn’t finish the sentence, but it didn’t matter: Lisa and Stevie understood. Later they would have to fill in Kate and John about Cobalt, but for now they wanted to comfort their friend. There was no question Cobalt was the horse that Carole had never gotten over—and probably never would.

A beautiful black stallion, Cobalt had performed best when Carole rode him, even though he belonged to someone else. His owner was the ultra-spoiled Veronica diAngelo. Veronica badly mishandled the horse. One day she made one mistake too many. She set Cobalt at a fence all wrong. It was impossible for him to jump clean. The beloved stallion had fallen and broken his leg. There was no choice but to put him down. What made it worse was that Cobalt’s death had followed the death of Carole’s mother. It had shaken Carole to the core, so much so that she had quit riding for a while. All that was a long time
ago. Now Carole owned—and loved—Starlight. But in the back of her mind, an image of the black stallion still lingered. And the mare in front of her was a living, breathing version of that image.

Drawing a shaky breath, Carole climbed up on the fence again. “She looks a lot like a horse I once knew,” she said, trying to make her voice sound normal. “It—It freaked me out for a minute.”

The black mare swiveled her ears back and forth. She paced along the fence and then stopped. She appeared to be listening for some specific sound. “It’s okay,” Carole murmured, willing the horse to understand. The mare turned uncertainly toward the group on the fence. “You’ll be fine,” Carole said.

The mare took a nervous step forward.

“All right, you guys, feeding time!” called a stable boy. The mare shied violently. She trotted to the other end of the corral, snorting loudly. Carole bit her lip in frustration.

The boy slipped through the fence rails. He had a bucket of grain and was shaking it loudly. All the horses except for the black mare turned their heads and started to amble toward him. The mare stayed where she was, tense and ready to bolt.

“We’re going to put them in the standing stalls for the afternoon,” Kate explained. “They’ll live in the big pasture and come and go as they want. But since they’re going to be guest mounts, they have to get used to
spending part of the day inside. Wanna help bring them in?”

“You bet,” said Lisa. Together they walked around to the gate. The stable boy had started to clip lead shanks to the horses’ halters.

“We always leave the halters on for the first few days,” Kate continued. “That way if a new horse panics, gets loose, or gets into a bad situation, there’s something to grab.”

Taking a look down the corral, Carole offered, “Maybe I should try to get the mare in, the black mare, I mean. She looks like she might be a little shy.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Kate replied. “She doesn’t look too happy about coming inside, does she?” They all turned to look at the mare. She was sniffing the air and pacing. “Why don’t you give it a shot? The less hassle these horses give us, the happier Dad will be about his investment.”

“Did somebody say Dad?” boomed a deep, friendly voice. The girls spun around. Frank Devine was emerging from the nearby stable. He came up and gave each of them a bear hug. “You keeping these girls in line?” he asked John.

“Yes, sir,” said John, his dark eyes twinkling.

“Good, because I wouldn’t want these dudes to get into trouble,” Frank warned.

The girls laughed. On their first trip out to the ranch, they had learned the word
dudes
. It was a word that cowboys and ranchers used to refer to novices, Easterners usually,
who didn’t know the first thing about Western riding and ranch work. The girls
had
been dudes at one time, but now they were seasoned enough to know that Frank was only kidding.

“Maybe this afternoon I’ll teach ’em how to saddle up and mount,” John joked.

“Would you, John?” Stevie asked breathlessly. “That would be just swell!”

Everyone laughed again except for Frank. His attention had wandered to the corral. “Why is that mare still standing there? I want all the horses in—and pronto. I missed my wife’s breakfast and I
don’t
intend to miss her lunch!”

“She doesn’t seem to want to come in, Dad,” Kate explained. “Carole just volunteered to go and get her.”

“Thanks, Carole, but if she’s going to be trouble, why don’t you leave her to one of the wranglers? You girls can take these four in”—Frank gestured to the horses assembled at the gate—“and Mick, here, will follow with the black. Okay?”

Carole nodded. Frank was not only Kate’s father and the boss of the ranch, he was also their host at the Bar None. To argue with him would be rude. But instead of going and taking another horse’s lead, she let Stevie, Kate, Lisa, and John get ahead. They each took a horse from the stable boy, Mick, and moved off in a group, talking animatedly about the new arrivals. Carole hung back to watch. The minutes ticked away as first Mick, then Frank
had a go at catching the mare. Mick tried coaxing her with grain. Frank tried speaking to her while he crept closer. Nothing they did seemed to make a difference. The mare would wait until they were a few yards away; then she would spin and dash to another part of the paddock, forcing them to start all over.

“If I were mounted with a rope on me, I’d lasso her and that would be that,” said Mick in frustration.

“Ah, well, don’t sweat it. It’s not your fault. She’s probably shaken up after the van ride,” Frank said. “We’ll leave her be for another few hours and try again this afternoon.”

“Could I try?” Carole said. She was worried that Frank would be mad at her for lagging behind. To her relief, the older man smiled.

“I like your persistence, Carole. Sure, why not? Mick, give her the lead shank.”

Looking surprised, the stable boy handed over the white cotton line. Carole took it and paused, chewing on her lip. She knew she wouldn’t be able to catch the mare if the men stayed. Somehow she sensed they would scare the horse off. But she couldn’t exactly ask them to leave. That would sound cocky beyond belief!

Wondering what to do, Carole missed what Frank said next. “Sorry?” she said. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I said, good luck, but don’t waste a lot of time if you can’t get her. Go in and have fun with Kate and the girls. Come on, Mick, we’ve gotta go see about that water pipe.”

“Right, boss.”

“See you at lunch, Carole. Noon, straight up. Don’t be late,” Frank added.

“I won’t be,” Carole said absently. She took a deep breath and walked toward the mare.

E
VER SO SLOWLY
, Carole let her breath out. She concentrated on the mare, trying to communicate a sense of calm. The mare tossed her head up and down. She snorted. But she stood her ground. Approaching at a snail’s pace, Carole was beside the horse a few minutes later. She looked the mare deep in the eyes. She breathed in and out. “Easy does it,” she murmured. “I’m not going to hurt you. I knew a horse like you once—so much like you that you could have been twins. What do you think of that, hmmm?” Carole stretched out her hand and stroked the black coat. All the while, she spoke in a low, soothing voice so that the mare would trust her.

“You need some serious grooming, don’t you, girl?
Pretty soon we’re going to get you inside and curry you and brush you till you shine like a black pearl. That’s right—nobody’s going to hurt you at the Bar None. Everyone’s your friend here. I am and Kate is and Kate’s father …”

As Carole went on talking and rubbing the mare’s neck, a thought suddenly occurred to her. She had been assuming that the previous owners were to blame for the horse’s being people-shy. She’d been guessing that they had been rough with her, or worse. But something about that theory didn’t fit. The mare didn’t seem abused so much as plain afraid of being caught. She wasn’t exhibiting any of the signs of an animal that has
learned
to mistrust people: She wasn’t laying her ears back or baring her teeth. She seemed to mistrust people instinctively. Carole made a mental note of the fact. She didn’t see how it would help, but it was always good to know as much as possible about a horse that you wanted to train. Sometimes knowing one little thing—like the fact that a horse was petrified of water, say—could save years of exasperation.