No Horse Wanted (21 page)

“Hey, how are you?” I asked. “How’s
school?”

I perched on a bar stool and listened while
she shared everything that was going on in Pullman. Finally, she
paused for breath, and I said, “Jack will want to know how Vinnie’s
doing, so how is he?”

More chatter, this time about the gelding,
and how hard the dressage classes were at the barn near the
university, but they’d mastered something she called a ‘counter
canter,’ and she was really proud of her horse.

“How is your boy?” Felicia asked. “Has he
colicked again?”

“No. It’s only happened twice. Dr. Larry said
to turn him out on grass a couple hours a day because that’s a
natural laxative, and it seems to be helping.” I glanced around the
empty room and lowered my voice. “Felicia, can I talk to you?”

“I thought that’s what we were doing.” She
giggled. “Why, what’s up?”

“Bill wants to ask me out and—”

A big squeal in my ear and I held away the
phone, waiting until she stopped screaming. “Will you listen to me?
I like Harry but he seems to like another girl.”

“Then, he’s a jerk,” Felicia told me. “Bill’s
sweet. He may not be the guy that you’ll be with forever, Robin,
but you’re in high school. You need to date different guys and
learn who and what kind of person you want to be with. Bill likes
you the way you are, and believe me, that’s really special. And a
person can never have too many friends.”

“He brought Twaz apples,” I said, “and it’s
weird because Twaziem hates most guys, but he likes Bill.”

“Well, trust your horse because he trusts you
to take care of him.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Wednesday, October 2
^nd
, 5:10 p.m.

We stopped at the feed store on the way home
from my lesson and bought a tube of dewormer for Twaziem. Rocky had
advised us to only give him enough for a six hundred pound horse,
and Dr. Larry concurred when I called him for his opinion. If Twaz
had too much wormer, he could colic again, and twice was definitely
enough. Nobody wanted to spend the night walking him, and I
certainly didn’t want to clean out a blockage of dead worms.
Yuck!

He was good when I haltered him and took him
to the indoor arena. The carrots helped. Mom dialed in the correct
amount of wormer, stuck the tip of the tube in his mouth, and hit
the plunger. All done. He was pasted, and I held up his head so he
couldn’t spit like a llama. I didn’t want the meds flying
everywhere.

“What are you doing to him?” A guy asked from
the far doorway.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw the Animal
Control cop. He so needed to get a life, or was he trying for
overtime? “Deworming him. If I had known you were coming today, I’d
have the paperwork ready. I’ll go up and get his log sheet. He’s
gained eighty pounds since we got him almost three weeks ago.”

“We should see a real difference now that
we’ve wormed him,” Mom said. “I expect him to put on fifty pounds
in the next week to ten days.”

“Awesome,” I said. “Rocky says he can start
training next month.”

“Is that the owner of Shamrock Stables?”
Officer Yardley made a note in his file.

“Yes.” I rubbed the blaze on Twaziem’s face,
and he pricked up his ears as though I was his best friend. He kept
rolling his tongue like he still tasted wormer. “We won’t be riding
him until next summer, but he has a lot of ground school to do
before then.”

“Okay, then.” More notes and the cop looked
at us. “There’s really nothing more I can do until he gains more
weight, and that’s going to take time. I’ll be back to visit him in
four weeks.”

I blinked and almost felt guilty for being
rude to him. Almost, but not quite, because I hadn’t liked his
threats to take away Twaz right after we rescued him. “All right.
I’ll get copies of his feed and activity logs for you. Do you want
me to mail them to you each week? Or do you want to pick up the
ones for October when you come in November?”

Officer Yardley nodded. “That makes sense.
I’ll pick them up then. Since you’re one of Rocky’s students, I
know you’ll keep an accurate record of everything you do with
him.”

“Let me put him away, then I’ll walk up to
the house,” I said. When I led Twaziem into the hallway, I spotted
Bill finishing his stall. “Guess what? Officer Yardley is done with
Twaz for the next month.”

“All right!” Bill high-fived me. Then when
Twaziem nickered at him, Bill dug into his pocket for apples. “Hey,
buddy. You’re out on parole. Is that cool or what?”

I laughed and watched as the two guys
communed over chunks of Red Delicious. “So, what are we doing on
Friday night after the game?”

“Dinner, bowling and the midnight matinee if
that works for you,” Bill said. “It’s the same thing Jack and I
have done for the last two seasons. A word of advice. Don’t share
Vicky’s popcorn. She loads it up with so much salt that I almost
choke.”

“That’s why I always get my own,” I told
him.

It actually did sound like fun, and I
wouldn’t have to worry about being careful of what I said if I was
with Bill. I could just be me. And if he didn’t like it, too
bad.

* * * *

Thursday, October
3
^rd
, 3:10 p.m.

The meet this week was in Snohomish at a
combination park and campground. We’d raced there last year, and I
really liked the trails. I spotted Phillip and the Mount Pilchuck
team stretching. I nudged Porter. “I bet they think they’ll win
because they train here a lot.”

“In their dreams.” Olivia rocked back on one
heel, then the other. “We are so going to State this year and
they’re not.”

I laughed. “I hope you’re right.”

“I know I am. How’s your horse?”

“He’s doing really well,” I said. “We wormed
him yesterday, and he’ll start piling the weight on now. He’s
already gained almost a hundred pounds.”

“I’m glad you’re doing it slow and steady,”
Olivia said. “Then, he’ll keep the weight on.”

“Got that right.” I finished stretching and
we headed for the starting line. I smiled at Cedar. “I know you’ll
P.R. today.”

“Then, you’re ahead of me.”

“You just need faith.” I glanced at the
grandstand and waved when I saw my mom and dad. They were sitting
next to an older woman with a totally bad wig. “Hey, I’ll be right
back. That’s Mrs. Bartlett, the lady I got my horse from. I want to
tell her how wonderful he’s doing.”

I ran across the track and up the steps. “Hi,
Mrs. Bartlett.”

“Hi, Robin.” She smiled at me. “Your folks
say that Twaziem is doing very well.”

I nodded and fished out my phone to show her
his picture. “Here. Take a look. We wormed him yesterday. He’s
gained a ton of weight. You have to come visit him.”

“Really?” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I’d
love that.”

“Okay.” I looked over my shoulder to be sure
the race wasn’t starting yet. I eyed my folks. “What about after
the meet? Could she come then?”

“If that works for her, she certainly can,”
Dad said. “You’d better go, honey. We’ll figure out the
logistics.”

“All right.” I handed him my phone. “See you
after my race.”

I turned and ran back down the stairs,
pausing to grin at Jack and Bill. “You guys are only allowed to
root for Lincoln High.”

“We knew that,” Bill said. “Same rule
tomorrow night.”

“You got it.”

With all our training, we took the lead early
and we kept it. The trail was clearly marked through groves of
cedars. We raced up the hills, down them, around curves and then
along the lakeshore. It was a beautiful day for a run. The sun
shone and the breeze kept us cool. It wasn’t hot either. I could
have run for another three miles, but I saw the finish line up
ahead. I came in first with Olivia right behind me. Then, it was
Porter and Gwen, followed by Cedar.

Lincoln High won the meet. Coach Norris was
totally revved because so many of us had P.R.’d. He told us how
wonderful we were all the way back to the school. Next week, we’d
be in Everett, and he knew we’d remain undefeated. We were destined
to be division champs this year and go to the state
competitions.

Mom picked me up at the school. “Mrs.
Bartlett is with your dad. She was thrilled that you asked her to
come see Twaziem, and they went straight from the meet. I told your
dad that we could order in pizza later.”

“Sounds great.” I shut my door and buckled
up. “After we saw Caine at her house and he told us all the mean
things they’d done to Twaziem, well, I wanted her to know that he’s
okay. She tried to protect him, but she had to stand up to her
grandkids and that’s really tough.”

“Yes, it is.” Mom shifted in her seat, then
leaned across to hug me. “I may not say it often enough, but I’m
proud of you, Robin. You’re a good person.”

“Does this mean I get my car?”

She kissed my forehead. “Only if we win the
lottery, so you’d better give me a dollar so I can buy you a
ticket.”

Mrs. Bartlett was in the barn when I arrived.
She stood outside Twaziem’s stall, feeding him one carrot after
another. He nosed her for more, but when he saw me, he
whinnied.

I offered him a carrot. “He’s looking good,
isn’t he?”

“He looks amazing,” Mrs. Bartlett said. “I’m
glad your mom let you have him. When are you going to start riding
him?”

“Not until next summer,” I said. “He’s only
two, and I don’t want the trainer or anybody on him till he turns
three. Of course, Dr. Larry has to agree.”

“Dr. Larry?”

“Our veterinarian. He’s seen Twaz three
times, once for a checkup and twice when he had colic.” I rubbed
Twaz’s blaze. “He had a tough time adjusting to regular meals. It
upset his digestive system, but he’s doing better now.”

I didn’t tell her about my car or selling
Twaziem to be able to buy my Mustang. I didn’t want to upset her or
him. And it wasn’t as if he would go to just anyone. The next home
had to be at least as good as ours. He needed regular meals, a
clean stall, and lots of love. We stood and fed Twaziem treats and
talked about him. Mrs. Bartlett was smiling when she left and that
made me happy. I didn’t know how much longer she had to live, but
she didn’t have to worry about Twaz anymore, and it should make
things easier for her.

After the pizza, I followed Dad into his
study. “Hey, am I going to get my Mustang? Have you and Mom decided
whether we can do the installment plan?”

“I don’t like installments, Robbie. You end
up paying a lot more over the life of a contract than you do if you
just pay cash.” Dad opened his file cabinet and pulled out a
folder. “Take a good look at this printout. This is what you’d end
up paying for the car if we accepted Brenna’s deal. It’s really not
do-able, honey.”

* * * *

Friday, October
4
^th
, 7:15 a.m.

I was alone at my table in the Commons when
Vicky showed up. She grinned at me. “Hey, Jack and Bill said the
cross-country team kicked butt yesterday.”

“Yeah. We did okay.” I swirled the straw in
my mocha.

“And you’re sulking because...?”

“My dad figured out that I’d be paying way
too much for the Mustang, and he already told Brenna that it’s not
going to happen. He suggested she find another buyer.”

“How much is too much?”

“Almost twenty-five thousand,” I said, “and
that doesn’t include gas, repairs, insurance, licensing, or
taxes.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of money, Robin. Does it
ever occur to you that your folks might have a point? It’s not like
you have a ‘real’ job, so how could you help pay for the car?”

“I hate it when you’re right about stuff like
this, Vick.”

“I know.” She actually sounded sympathetic as
she drank her latte. “And I hate it when you tell me that my mom’s
mean because she treats me like a slave.”

I guessed that was what made us such good
friends for so long. We could be honest with each other and not
freak out or bear grudges when we shared our truths.

“But, I really want a Mustang.” I propped my
chin on my fists, feeling like a whiny little kid. “And I want to
be mad at my parents, but I can’t. They’re great people, and
they’re not trying to piss me off. They just think the car is too
expensive.”

“You’ll get one someday. I know it.”

I eyed her suspiciously. “Are you playing
me?”

“No,” Vicky said. “You always get what you
want, so I know that one day I’ll see you wheeling around in town
in a gorgeous classic Mustang. And you’d better stop to pick me
up.”

“Only if you’ve left the kids at home.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Friday, October 4
^th
, 2:20 p.m.

No cross-country practice today, so I’d go
for a run when I got home, but that meant I had time to walk to
Dad’s office. I checked out my wonderful Presidential blue Mustang
in the lot. No, it wasn’t mine, and it didn’t look like it ever
would be unless I could figure out how to get a job to pay for it.
And I was sixteen. How would I possibly make it happen?

I glanced toward the office trailer, but it
was difficult to see inside from here so I walked across the
pavement toward the door. I heard something drop in the service
area, so I went to the mechanic’s shop first and spotted Brenna
with her head under the hood of the puke green loss leader. “Hi.
What’s going on?”

“A tune-up,” Brenna said, flicking me a quick
glance. “I’ve been rebuilding the engine. Want to help me make it
run?”

I blinked. “Sure, but aren’t you mad at
me?”

“For what?” Brenna stepped back to open a
little box in her hand. “Being sixteen? Wanting something
beautiful? If I didn’t love these cars, do you think I’d have taken
over the lot when my grandfather retired?”