Lisa (7 page)

“That’s okay.” John stepped onto the porch and opened the front door. He glanced at me with a slight
smile. “I’ve been here long enough to know that you dudes aren’t used to hard work like carrying your own luggage.”

I could tell he was kidding, so I grinned. “Thanks,” I joked back, following him inside the cozy, welcoming bunkhouse and tossing my duffel bag onto the nearest bed. “While you’re at it, could you fluff my pillow for me, too?”

John chuckled. Then suddenly he stopped and tilted his head to one side, listening. “That sounds like Dad calling,” he said abruptly. “I’d better go. See you.”

Without another word, he disappeared through the door. I was kind of disappointed—it was too bad he’d had to go just when we were really starting to communicate. But then I shrugged and snapped open my suitcase, digging around for my riding clothes, which Mom had buried under a pile of button-down shirts and two pairs of pantyhose. I had plenty of other things to think about.

A few minutes later Kate, Carole, Stevie, and I were at the barn, getting ready to go for a ride. We had our favorite horses already picked out from our previous trips, and Kate had alerted Walter to have them ready for us.

I was really happy to see my horse, Chocolate. She’s a sweet, gentle bay mare who’s really easy and fun to ride. Carole, as usual, was riding a strawberry roan named Berry. And Stevie was paired up with Stewball,
a mischievous skewbald with a personality that almost matches Stevie’s.

As I took hold of Chocolate’s halter, John Brightstar appeared at my side. “Do you want me to bring you your saddle?” he offered.

I smiled. “Thanks. That would be great.” Western saddles are heavy and hard to handle, so I was grateful for the help—until John showed up carrying a tiny pony saddle!

Kate giggled. “Uh, John,” she said.

I had spotted the twinkle in his dark eyes. “I just thought these fancy English-rider types might prefer a little saddle to a real one,” he explained, straight-faced.

Stevie burst out laughing. She’s usually the first one to appreciate any kind of joke. I smiled, too. I could already tell John was a nice guy. “Thanks,” I told him. “I think we can handle the real thing.”

Just then John’s father, Walter, bustled into the ring. He spotted the pony saddle immediately. “John!” he barked. “What’s going on?”

Kate answered for him. “We were just joking around, Walter,” she said calmly. “John’s helping my friends saddle up.”

“It doesn’t look like he’s being much help,” Walter said sternly.

I was a little surprised by his tone. I thought he was being kind of hard on his son. We really weren’t in a big hurry, and John had only been kidding around.

I shot John a sympathetic look. He wasn’t looking
at me, though—he was staring sheepishly at his father. He didn’t say another word as he helped his dad saddle up our horses and Kate’s Appaloosa, Spot.

Once I was in the deep, comfortable Western saddle, riding out of the corral with my friends, I quickly forgot about John and Walter Brightstar. I love riding in any form, and I especially love the kind of riding we do at Pine Hollow. But riding at the Bar None is special, too. We weren’t riding through fields and hilly woods. Instead, we were riding through the desert on dusty trails, passing tall cacti and scrubby bushes, with the imposing Rockies always in view in the distance. It was so open and wild and unique—it almost felt as though we’d been dropped into an old Western movie, with cowboys and stagecoaches and all the rest of it.

I was thinking about that when I realized Kate was talking about her secret. She’d already told us that she planned to adopt a beautiful white (well, actually a very light gray) wild stallion she’d seen running free nearby. The Bureau of Land Management runs a program that allows people to do that, and their next adoption was coming up in a week. Kate was really excited, though she was a little worried that someone else would get the horse she wanted before she did. He sounded like a special horse—Kate’s eyes positively glowed every time she talked about him.

“So when can we see your stallion?” Stevie asked as we rode along the edge of a small canyon.

“The herd has been collecting by the rise across the
creek every afternoon recently,” Kate replied. “We should find them there about now.”

It took a while to get to the spot Kate meant. But finally we reached a small green valley where Two Mile Creek ran, and we found that she had been right. The herd was there.

I couldn’t take my eyes off them. It was amazing. I’d seen hundreds, maybe even thousands of horses in my life. But I’d never set eyes on one that didn’t belong to someone, didn’t live in a stable or a field, didn’t wear horseshoes and halters. These horses were different—they didn’t belong to anyone but themselves. They were completely wild, completely free, wandering wherever they pleased and eating whatever they could find. It took my breath away.

“They’re beautiful,” Stevie whispered, sounding as awed as I felt.

“Where’s the gray?” Carole asked Kate softly.

“Watch,” Kate said.

The wind shifted and carried our scent toward the herd. Some of the mares lifted their heads and sniffed. And then a pure white head rose, sniffed, and looked. The horse’s ears twitched like antennae, reaching to pick up any sound. We were silent, but the horse found us anyway. The stallion called the alert to his herd, and as if by magic, they sprang into motion, galloping off with a thunder of hoofbeats, the magnificent stallion urging them along.

Moments later, all that was left to mark their presence
was the cloud of dust they’d raised. “Oh,” I said breathlessly, still hardly believing what I’d just seen.

Stevie nodded wisely. “Just what I was going to say.”

Soon we began the long ride back to the Bar None. I pulled Chocolate up alongside Spot on the trail. “You’ve just got to have him,” I told Kate, the image of the white stallion still dancing in my mind. “He’s so beautiful …”

“Did you notice the nick in his ear?” Kate asked. “It’s very distinctive. It’s like the imperfection that makes him absolutely perfect.”

At first I wasn’t sure that made much sense. But as I thought about the horse, I saw what she meant. Part of what made the stallion so beautiful was his wildness, and the scar was a symbol of that. It always would be, even after Kate adopted and trained him.

Carole and Stevie joined in the conversation as we rode along. “Will you train him yourself?” Carole asked Kate. “Do you know how to do it?”

“Training a wild horse has got to be different from training a domestic one,” Stevie pointed out. “I mean, that stallion has never stood still for a human in his life. It’s hard to imagine that he ever will.”

“Walter said he’d help me,” Kate said. “He’s had lots of experience with wild horses.”

Her mention of Walter reminded me of what happened with the pony saddle a little earlier. I guess my friends were thinking the same thing, because Stevie
asked Kate if Walter was always that serious. “He came down pretty hard on John,” she added.

Kate nodded. “I think Walter feels he has to prove himself. See, he’s got some kind of odd reputation. There’s something mysterious about his past. Neither John nor Walter will talk about it, but it has something to do with John’s mother. She’s dead, I think. I overheard some parents talking about it at school, but as soon as they saw me, they stopped talking.”

“Too bad,” Stevie commented. Eavesdropping on other peoples’ interesting conversations is one of her favorite activities.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kate said. “It’s all just gossip. Walter is a hard worker, and John works even harder. Sometimes I feel sorry for them because they work so hard and nothing ever seems to get better. Walter is always grim and determined. John? Well, he’s nice and helpful, but he’s hard to get to know.”

“He seems lonely,” I commented, thinking of those deep, dark eyes. I guessed that his jokes were his way of trying to be friendly.

After that we changed the subject to dinner (which we were definitely ready for by then) and the party. I didn’t think much about John again until after dinner that evening. We were playing Pictionary with some of the other guests in the ranch house when I noticed my watch wasn’t on my wrist. I remembered that I had taken it off after our ride when I was giving Chocolate a bath.

While the others were arguing good-naturedly about something or other, I slipped out of the room and headed to the kitchen to grab a flashlight and a jacket. It got awfully cool out there in the desert at night.

I didn’t even need the flashlight as I walked to the barn. The sky was clear, and the moon and stars provided plenty of soft, silvery light. The barn was another story. It was pitch black, and I didn’t remember where the light switches were, so I flipped on the flashlight. It cast weird shadows all around me, making the familiar barn seem strange and almost frightening. I shivered slightly, telling myself that I was getting spooked because it was almost Halloween. The sudden stomp of a horse’s foot on the wooden floor made me jump, but when it was followed by a whinny, I relaxed. The sound was so familiar that it was comforting.

“There, there, girl,” came a human voice.

That startled me even more than the stomp. I’d thought I was alone in the barn.

“Who’s there?” the voice called softly.

“It’s me,” I called back automatically. Then, realizing that wasn’t much help, I added, “Lisa Atwood. Who are you? Where are you?”

“It’s John. I’m with the mare over here.”

I followed the sound of his voice to a big box stall at the end of the barn. When I got closer, I noticed the warm glow of a portable lantern. John was sitting on a
stool inside the stall. A mare, almost ready to foal, stood nearby.

“She seemed restless,” John explained softly when he saw me. “I don’t think she’s ready yet, but she calmed down when I came in. I figured she just wanted company.” He patted the mare on the forehead. “What are you doing out here?”

“I think I left my watch out here this afternoon,” I said.

“Gold watch, white face, black leather band?”

“Yes.”

“Haven’t seen it.”

I couldn’t help laughing. John really had a great sense of humor. He grinned, then fished my watch out of his pocket. “Thanks,” I said, slipping it on.

John stood up then and stepped out of the stall. He closed the door softly behind him so as not to disturb the mare, who seemed to be asleep. As I glanced up at him, I found myself suddenly very aware of him. Of how close he was. How tall he was. Of the way his eyes seemed to see everything.

I shivered again. Not wanting John to guess what I was really thinking, I quickly commented, “It’s a little spooky out here in the dark.”

“Don’t worry,” John teased. “I’ll fend off any bats or gremlins who try to attack you or drink your blood.”

“What a relief you’re here,” I teased back.

“I’ll also walk you back to the main house,” he offered.
I was surprised to find that it was exactly what I’d been hoping he’d say.

As we left the barn, John asked about our ride that afternoon.

“We went out and found the herd of wild horses,” I told him. “You know, the ones that are going to be put up for adoption. Kate has her heart set on the stallion. What a beauty he is—pure white, with a nick in his ear.”

“No,” John said abruptly.

I glanced at him, surprised. “Sure. It’s his right ear.”

“No,” he repeated. “She can’t.”

I was startled by the sharpness of his voice. Suddenly the gentle, caring guy I’d seen in the mare’s stall had disappeared. I could feel his tenseness—or was it anger? He halted and faced me squarely, and as I met his grim look, for a second I almost felt afraid.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“The stallion. She can’t have him. You can’t let her do it.”

“Why not?” Then I had an idea. I wondered if John wanted the stallion for himself. But when I suggested that, he just shook his head.

“I don’t want the stallion,” he said. “And Kate can’t have him, either. Don’t you see? He’s where he belongs. It’s where he’s got to stay.”

I replayed the scene from that afternoon in my mind. I remembered how the stallion had looked standing in the middle of his herd, king of all he surveyed, un-tamed,
unowned. But then I remembered what Kate had told us earlier—that it was necessary to thin out the herds once in a while so that they wouldn’t become too large for the land to support them.

“I know why they put horses up for adoption,” John said, as if reading my mind. “It’s a great program and it’s well done. The problem isn’t that, it’s the stallion with the nick in his ear. Kate can’t have him. Nobody can. Don’t let her do it.”

Without another word, he spun on his heel and disappeared into the darkness. I turned and hurried toward the house, my mind spinning. What had that been all about? And while I was at it, what was John Brightstar all about? I just couldn’t figure out what to think of him.

Later that night, Christine Lonetree—Kate’s neighbor and another out-of-town member of The Saddle Club—joined the rest of us in the bunkhouse for a Saddle Club meeting. We talked about all sorts of things, including a special dollhouse Christine’s mother had made. Mrs. Lonetree is an artist as well as a high-school history teacher, and the dollhouse sounded incredible. It was a miniature adobe home with traditional Native American furnishings and decorations. She was donating it to us to use as a prize at the Halloween Fair. We were sure it would be a big hit.

We discussed details of the party plans for a while before Stevie suggested some ghost stories. We turned off all the lights, lit a candle, and the spookfest began.

Stevie was just finishing one of her usual creepy, complicated tales when a sudden gust of wind blew through the cabin, extinguishing the candle. I screamed—I couldn’t help it. I’d been completely caught up in Stevie’s story. I screamed again when I heard footsteps stomping across the bunkhouse porch. I think Carole screamed, too, or maybe it was Kate. Anyway, a moment later the ceiling light flipped on.

“Are you okay?” John Brightstar asked, squinting at us with concern.

Stevie, Kate, and Carole started to giggle. But I felt a little embarrassed. “We’re fine,” I said quickly. “We were telling ghost stories. Stevie’s very good at it, and she managed to scare me. Then when the candle went out, well, it just startled me.”