Nothing But Horses (20 page)

When I got home a little after eight-thirty,
Charlie and Queenie met me at the back yard gate. I scooped up my
puppy and snuggled with him for a moment. I leaned down and petted
Queenie. Then the three of us headed for the back door. I kept a
wary eye out for doggie landmines and reminded myself that I needed
to poop scoop the back yard the next day.

Dave and Mom sat at the kitchen table with
Autumn helping her with homework. I put down my dog and found
treats for him and Queenie. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” Mom said. “Oscar’s parents
called and he’s joining the club. He’ll be here on Sunday for the
first meeting. They wanted to know the name and I told them we
hadn’t decided yet.”

“I thought it would be good if everybody
voted on it.” I shrugged. “Then, nobody can complain later.”

“Or if they do, you don’t have to listen,”
Dave pointed out. “Do you have homework too, Sierra?”

“Always at this school. Why?”

“Oh, I thought you might be up for a little
one-on-one out in the carport if you weren’t too tired after your
practice and meeting.”

I eyed him, wondering how he knew about the
at-risk teen thing and saw a blush creep into Mom’s face. So, she’d
ratted me out again. What else was new? “Hey, I can always read
History after I totally defeat you.”

“Bring it on, little girl.” He laughed.
“Bring it on!”

“No problem.” I put away my backpack and
grabbed the pink basketball out of the closet. We strolled out to
the carport and he hit the light switch. Once we could see what we
were doing, I began dribbling. He tried to block me, but I went
around him and shot from what would have been the back of the free
throw line if there was an actual key painted on the concrete. I
threw the ball at him. He caught it, twisted around and scored.

Oh yeah, this was what the game was all
about. We didn’t play nice. We fouled each other, got free throws,
and continued to steal the ball whenever possible. A half hour
later, I collapsed on the floor. “Time out.”

“Me too.” He sat down beside me. He reached
in his shirt pocket, pulled out a tiny jewelry box. “I wanted to
show you this.”

“What is it?” Dread swirled through me. “Oh,
Dave. Don’t do it.”

“I have to.” He popped the catch. Light
flashed off an emerald ring. “She’s enchanted me from the first
moment I saw her.”

“She’ll break your heart. You barely know
her.”

“I know everything I need to know about your
mom, Sierra. She hasn’t held back anything. She’s made mistakes in
her life, but so have I. Nobody’s perfect, honey.” He reached over
and smoothed my hair. “Will you give us your blessing?”

“Only if you promise to wait until next fall
for the wedding,” I said, thinking fast.

“Why?”

“Because it takes time to put on a big
ceremony,” I said, still fudging. I barely managed to meet his
gaze. I couldn’t say that I wanted an escape clause for him. If Mom
got through the rodeo season and didn’t do a swap-ortunity for one
of her bronc riders, I’d know she really loved Dave. I’d believe
she was ready to be an adult. Right now, I didn’t know what game
she was playing.

“That’s fair.” Dave closed the box and put it
back in his pocket. “I’ve been visiting Shamrock Stable for a long
time, but your mom and I only started dating a few months ago. If
we get married next September, my youngest son will be home from
Afghanistan.”

“There you go. That’s the perfect reason.” I
jumped up and grabbed the basketball. “Come on. My turn to beat
you.”

“You can try.” He was on his feet, blocking
me. “When the boys are home on leave, they’ll take on both of
us.”

“And we’ll whip them into shape,” I said.

Chapter
Eighteen

Shamrock Stable, Washington

Tuesday, January
14
^th
, 10:15 pm

I looked up from my history book when Mom
walked into my room. I didn’t see the ring on her finger and tried
to ignore the relief that swept through me. “What’s going on?”

“You tell me.” Mom sat on the edge of my
double bed. “I haven’t seen you since this morning when you blew in
from the barn, ran for the shower and hit the road for school. How
was your practice?”

“Other than the fact that my new coach is
trying to turn me into
Basketball Barbie
, it’s fine.” I
carefully turned in my chair so I could focus on her. Charlie was
asleep under my desk and I didn’t want to disturb the puppy in his
cave. “The at-risk meeting was good tonight. Ingrid got us going on
stereotypes. She gave us an assignment this week instead of asking
for our goals.”

“Really? What is it?”

“The girls are supposed to act like guys and
the boys are going to try being sensitive and sweet. Then we list
the labels we’re called, who uses them and bring the names back to
group.” I laughed. “It’s going to be fun. We only do it for a
couple hours, because Tom wimped out when Ingrid suggested we do it
for the whole week.”

“How does that help you learn to deal with
others?” Confusion filled Mom’s face and she tilted her head to one
side. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s all about prejudices.” I glanced back
at my book, then looked at her again. Perched on my bed, in blue
jeans and a green Shamrock Stable sweatshirt, red hair foaming down
her back, Mom reminded me of a fairy from one of the cartoons that
my little sister loved. “My coach has preconceived notions about
what girls can and can’t do. That’s on him, not me. All I need to
do is my best.”

“That ties into the 4-H motto of
making
the best, better
, something we’ll need to teach in our new
club,” Mom said. “I’m glad this school is working out for you.”

“It’s good,” I said. “Anything else? I should
get back to the first battles of the Civil War.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Mom hesitated, then
added. “Dave wants to go out on Friday night. Will you be here to
take care of Autumn?”

“No worries,” I said. “You can count on
me.”

“I always do. Don’t stay up too late. We have
to hit the barns early.”

“I’ll be there.” I didn’t wait for her to
leave before I started in on the Cornell notes again.

* * * *

Marysville, Washington

Wednesday, January
15
^th
, 8:05 am

We’d finished our entry task, a long
descriptive write about our favorite Christmas present. We had to
tell what the gift looked like, sounded like, smelled like, tasted
like, felt like if we touched it and the emotions it created in us.
I wrote all about Charlie who was definitely the best puppy in the
world. He was learning how to be a stock dog. He thought helping me
water and feed the horses in the morning was meant to be doggie
time.

Once we finished our writes, we’d moved onto
our grammar packet and diagrammed three pages of sentences. After
that, the next item on the list was to read our non-fiction book so
it would inspire us to write a brilliant memoir. Since Mrs. Weaver
didn’t know I’d read,
The Man Who Listens to Horses
at least
a dozen times, I’d chosen it again. I could always learn something
new from Monty Roberts, my favorite horse whisperer.

I glanced up when Vicky stopped next to me.
She leaned down and whispered that it was my turn to conference
with the teacher. I nodded, grabbed my comp book and went up to the
front corner of the room and Mrs. Weaver’s desk. She waved to the
other chair and I sat down. Obviously, this was going to take a
while.

“Have you had a chance to study the syllabus
so you know what the requirements are for this class, Sierra?”

“No.” Heat swept into my face and I knew my
cheeks must be as red as my hair. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot
about it.”

She sat and stared at me, a gray-haired troll
in her gray suit. “Are you a real kid?”

“Sure. What else would I be?”

“Because I’m not hearing any excuses. You’re
not telling me that you just got here last week, that the classes
are harder than any you’ve ever done before, and that you have
basketball practice almost every day.”

“I don’t think excuses are very effective or
efficient,” I said. “Then, we have to do this stupid dance where
you lecture me about taking responsibility. I’d lie, deny and waste
time that I don’t have. Let’s just skip all those steps and cut to
the chase. What do I need to know to pass your class and keep my
four-point?”

“Definitely not a real kid.” Mrs. Weaver
leaned forward and picked up a piece of paper. “I think I like you.
Vicky said I would, but Robin told me that you were tough. I
thought that meant you’d challenge my authority.”

“Why would I? It’d waste time I don’t have.
You have a job to do here. You need to teach me English. I have a
job in this room. I need to learn it.”

“Can I clone you?”

Before I answered, she gathered up more
papers and handed them over. I glanced down at the top sheet. It
read “
Requirements for your Sophomore Project
.” “What’s
this?”

“To sum it up, you need to put together a
research project about your future job. What do you plan to do with
your life?”

“Run Shamrock Stable. It’s been in my family
forever and I’m the next generation.”

“Is that what you’ve always wanted to do,
Sierra? When you were a little girl, did you decide I’m going to
grow up and be an entrepreneur?”

“Not really. I was going to be an actress.” I
laughed. “I loved Julie Andrews. She was my hero. She could sing,
dance, star in roles that ran the gamut from an innocent governess
to a racy cross-dresser. Not very realistic, is it? So, what do I
do? Get my mom to sign off on the hours that I spend teaching what
Robin calls, Pee-Pee Camp and shoveling horsy stuff?”

“No.” Mrs. Weaver smiled at me. “You talk to
Mr. Haller and find out how to get involved in the community
theater he runs with the drama teacher at Centennial Mid-High.”

“What?” I gaped at her, feeling like my jaw
was about to hit the floor. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m going to spend
my life mucking stalls, training horses, teaching obnoxious brats
who think I should groom and saddle for them while they stand and
watch. Not to mention dealing with their arrogant parents who pitch
fits when I won’t let their brats be bitten or kicked by animals
that outweigh them by hundreds of pounds.”

“If it was your dream job, I could see it.
Vicky loves each and every minute she’s in the barn. However,
you’re not her. This project is about you finding your passion,
Sierra. Life is too short to be miserable for the hours, days,
weeks, years you spend on this planet.”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “You bet. I can just hear
my mom now. She’ll go off and tell me how many actresses never make
it. The barn is a sure thing. Are you going to tell me that
teaching snarky teens is what you love to do?”

“Yes, I am. It’s why I get up in the morning.
Like the song says, “Some people get their kicks stomping on a
dream.” I have the responsibility of encouraging youngsters to go
after theirs. I change the world, one kid at a time. This is my
passion, Sierra. It doesn’t sound like you share it so you will be
a fabulous actress. You already are.”

“Me? How do you figure that?”

“You’ve already signed up for what you
thought would be the role of your lifetime. I’m sure it will
surprise your entire family when you opt for personal happiness
instead. They’ve programmed you for a “life of quiet desperation”
from the time you started elementary school. Since I’ve changed
your whole life assignment, I’ll contact your mom and let her
know.”

“What are you going to tell her?”

“That nobody should give up their dreams
especially not a girl like you.” Mrs. Weaver glanced past me to the
clock over the door. “I’ve got time for one more conference. Send
up Steve.”

I did on the long trip back to my desk. It
felt like I was on the giant roller-coaster up at the fairgrounds.
My head spun and my stomach bounced up and down. I didn’t know what
to think. Acting? Community Theater? Mom would lose it. She hadn’t
asked about all my different classes here and I hadn’t told her
that I spent two periods a day singing and a third onstage in
drama. Okay, so she wanted me in the teen choir at church, but that
was part of the plan to turn me into Saint Sierra who was totally
patient and tolerant.

Robin caught up with me in the hall. “You had
a major conference with Weaver. What was that about?”

“My sophomore project. I thought I could
skate through it by just doing barn stuff, but it has to be what
she calls, my passion.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you had one. You’re
always working at Shamrock.”

“Yeah, my life is nothing but horses. Only
now, I’m supposed to sign up for Community Theater with Mr. Haller.
My mom is going to freak.”

“Well, if she totally screams at Mrs. Weaver,
it won’t work. She’s the reason I go with Dr. Larry and help with
emergency large-animal calls on Sunday. My parents thought I was
going to be a princess forever. They didn’t have a clue that I
dreamed about being a veterinarian.”

Before I could answer, Dani hustled up to me,
grabbed my arm. “Come on, Sierra. Move it, or we’ll be late.”

I nodded and we hurried down the hall. It
didn’t surprise me that Robin wanted to work with animals. She’d
been saving kittens, puppies, cats, dogs, birds and even snakes as
long as I’d known her. When her folks decided she ought to have a
horse for her sixteenth birthday, I wasn’t shocked that she brought
home Twaziem, a starved, abused two-year-old Morab. Was there any
other choice? Not for her.

Mr. Haller hung up the phone as we raced in
the door. He smiled at us. “Breathe, ladies. Mrs. Weaver told me
that she kept you late and didn’t want me to mark you tardy.
Sierra, I hear you’re interested in helping with our spring
production.”