Saddlebags (3 page)

“Nothing a ride won’t cure, right?” said Stevie.

“You got it.” Kate grinned. “I’m so glad to see you guys.”

“Hey, thanks for working on your dad to invite all of us,” said Stevie.

“No problem,” answered Kate. “I just had to agree to help train a couple of our new fillies.”

The girls smiled. Kate was probably the most experienced rider of all of them, and they knew she’d love training the young horses.

“Let’s go for that ride,” said Stevie.

“Sounds good,” said Lisa, “but let’s check on our parents first. Maybe they’ll want to come.”

As they headed over to the parents’ bunkhouse, Stevie turned to Kate. “So just how long did
you
know about this surprise?”

“Longer than any of you!” Kate replied.

“Do we ever owe you one,” said Stevie. “Just you wait.”

Kate laughed. “Uh-oh, I’d better watch out. I’ve heard lots of stories about Stevie Lake’s revenge schemes—none of them pretty!”

“Hi!” called Mrs. Atwood as The Saddle Club walked up. To Lisa’s surprise, her mother’s face was glowing. “The view is great from every window, and I love this little porch.”

“How’d you like to see the view from horseback?” Lisa asked.

Mrs. Atwood nodded. “Sounds good.”

Stevie’s mother appeared from inside the cabin. “Can I come too?”

“Of course!” Stevie answered, “Everyone’s invited!”

“Let’s all meet at the corral in twenty minutes, okay?” said Kate.

“See you there,” Mrs. Atwood replied.

“I’ll tell the dads in here,” said Mrs. Lake.

“Speaking of dads, I want to go check on mine,” said Carole. “He’s up at the big house.” The girls walked over to the main house, a long, low ranch with a porch that stretched across the front.

As they walked in, Phyllis Devine, Kate’s mother, came out of the kitchen.

“Stevie! Carole! Lisa!” she said, hugging them each. “How’re my favorite dudes? I’m so glad you brought your folks. Carole, your dad is staying in the guest room right down the hall from us.”

Carole headed down the hall and met her father coming out of his room. He had changed into jeans and a Western shirt.

“Are you ready for a ride?” she asked.

“Does a coyote howl?” Colonel Hanson answered with a big smile.

“Meet us at the corral in fifteen minutes,” Carole told him. Then she and her friends headed back outside.

As the others chattered away, Lisa kept her eyes
peeled for John Brightstar. He and his father, Walter, worked at the Bar None, and during her last couple of visits to the ranch she had become good friends with John.

She drew in a deep breath when she finally spotted the tall, black-haired wrangler coming out of the barn with his father.

Walter nodded. “Hello, girls,” he said quietly.

John gave each of the three visitors a friendly hug—though it felt to Lisa as if he hugged her just a little bit longer than the others.

“You dudes look great—not like you’ve been cooped up all winter,” he teased them.

“Hey,” said Carole indignantly, “we’ve been riding a lot.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” John grinned. “Welcome back to the Bar None.”

“You know, our parents came this time,” Stevie said.

“That’s what we heard.” Walter nodded.

“They’re meeting us here in a few minutes.” Lisa looked back toward the bunkhouses. “They’re still unpacking.”

John smiled at Lisa. “While you’re waiting, come and meet my new horse.”

Lisa followed John into the barn. She was having trouble keeping a huge grin from spreading across her face.

“His name is Tex,” John said. “He’s a full-blooded quarter horse with great lines.”

They walked to a stall at the far end of the barn. And there was Tex, a beautiful chestnut gelding.

“It’s obvious he’s got great lines, John,” said Lisa. “Pleased to meet you, Tex.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” said John in a low voice.

Lisa smiled. John hadn’t changed a bit. He was still warm and silly and serious all at the same time. “So tell me everything about him,” she said, “like how old is he … what’s his specialty …”

“Well, he’s only three and a half, and he has very strong gaits and a sensitive mouth. He was quite well trained, up to a point.”

“Which is where
you
come in.”

“Exactly,” said John. “I think he’d make a super reining horse for wrangling
and
for showing.”

“Reining?” Lisa asked, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t get it. Don’t we all do that?”

John patted Tex and grinned. “Reining is like advanced
training for a Western horse. It involves sliding stops, lead changes, pivots. Stuff like that.”

“It must take lots of time,” said Lisa.

“It has to,” said John. “Rushing can really ruin a horse. If you do it right, you have a superior roping horse—and show horse too. Advanced reining with Western quarter horses is the top technical competition.”

“It must be useful on the trail and in wrangling too,” Lisa said.

John nodded. “That’s where it started, after all,” he said.

He took her hand as they headed back outside. The parents had gathered already.

Lisa led John over to her parents. “Mom, Dad, this is John Brightstar.”

“Pleased to meet you, John,” said Mr. Atwood, shaking John’s hand. “Are you one of the wranglers here?”

“Well, actually, sir, my dad’s the chief wrangler, and I help him before and after school.” John turned and introduced the Atwoods to his father.

“Good to meet you,” said Walter. “The horses are all saddled up and ready to go. Let’s go meet your mounts for the week.”

As she and John followed the grown-ups over to the
horses, Lisa wondered if her mother had noticed the two of them holding hands. Mrs. Atwood certainly hadn’t shown any reaction.

So far things are going fine, Lisa thought. I just hope I stop feeling so self-conscious around Mom.

“Now, which horse are you going to give me?” Mrs. Atwood was asking Walter. “Do you have a nice, steady one?”

“They’re all pretty steady, ma’am,” Walter answered, “but I’ve chosen one of the best for you. You’ll be riding Spot.”

Spot was a good choice, Lisa thought. He was an Appaloosa gelding that Kate had ridden before she had adopted her mare, Moonglow, from a wild herd. Spot was one of the horses the Bar None used for guests these days. That meant he had to be well trained, reliable, and willing to put up with some less-than-decent riders.

“Spot’ll be great for you, Mom,” said Lisa as they walked the horse out of the barn. “Now, remember, when you ride Western, you keep the reins much looser than you see us keeping them at Pine Hollow.”

Mrs. Atwood gave her daughter a wink. Then she took the reins in her right hand, put her right foot in the right stirrup, and swung herself into the saddle.

Lisa grimaced. “Mom, you mount the horse on the
other
side.”

She turned to her father, to start instructing him. But before she could open her mouth, he swung himself up into the saddle from the left side of his horse, Tripper. At least he looked as if he knew what he was doing.

Lisa turned and saw Stevie’s parents mounting up. Mr. Lake was riding a mare named Melody. Lisa chuckled to herself. After hearing him sing cowboy songs all day, she thought Melody seemed like the perfect mount. Mrs. Lake was on a gray named Shoofly.

“We’d better hurry up,” Stevie joked, “or our parents will leave us in the dust.”

As Stevie and Lisa headed back into the barn to collect their own horses, Carole busily adjusted her father’s stirrups. “Now, Dad, you don’t want your stirrups as short as they are in English riding, and you put your foot a little farther in.” She picked up her father’s foot and placed it just right in the big wooden stirrup.

“Hold your reins in your right hand. You can loosen up on them, that’s ri—”

“Carole, honey, I’m just fine. Now, will you go get your horse?”

Carole looked up at Colonel Hanson and sighed.
There he sat, atop Yellowbird, a big Palomino. He looked okay—except for the hat. On his head was a deluxe Western riding hat, tall and black, with silver buckles around its leather strap, and white and black feathers. The first time she’d laid eyes on it had been on the way to the airport, and she’d wanted to crawl under the backseat of the Lakes’ station wagon.

“I still don’t know about that hat, Dad,” she told him now. “All it needs is a few rhinestones, and you’d look like the dude of the century!”

Colonel Hanson laughed good-naturedly at his daughter. “You’re just jealous,” he said. “You’ve got only that old beat-up hat with nothing on it. Now, why don’t you go and get your horse and let’s get going.”

The girls got their horses and mounted up. From previous visits to the Bar None, they each had favorite mounts. Carole always rode Berry, a strawberry roan; Lisa rode a bay mare, Chocolate; and Stevie was on Stewball, a skewbald horse with a lot of personality.

They walked their horses over to a spot just outside the corral, where their parents were waiting.

Mr. Lake spoke up. “You know, you don’t need to pamper us, girls. We haven’t watched all those shows
and lessons at Pine Hollow without picking up a thing or two.”

“We’re not as run-down as you think we are,” Carole’s father added with a wink at his daughter.

Mrs. Atwood adjusted her hat. “You’re treating us like a bunch of old bags!”

“That’s right,” chimed in Stevie’s mother. “And if we’re bags, we must really be
saddlebags
!”

Everybody laughed.

“Our very own nickname,” said Mrs. Atwood. “Maybe we should start our own club!”

The parents chuckled, the kids groaned, and they all started off.

The girls and John took the parents on an easy trail ride along a few of the Bar None’s hundreds of acres. They led them out beyond the compound of buildings and into the open fields that sprawled behind the ranch. All around them, huge, snowcapped peaks jutted into the sky. The pastures were lined with grass and scrub and small trees here and there. At their edges, pine forests created a layer of dark green.

There was no other trail-riding like this in the world, Lisa thought. It was beautiful here.

They walked at first, so their parents could enjoy the
view. Then Carole looked back and assessed that everyone looked pretty comfortable, so she brought Berry to a slow trot.

Lisa watched to see what her parents would do. Sure enough, her mother brought her feet about a foot away from Spot’s sides and then let them bang against him with a smack of a kick. The horse arched his neck and started to lope. But he was a trail horse, used to following the leader, so he quickly slowed to a trot.

It’s a good thing Spot’s a follower, thought Lisa. Otherwise, with a kick like that, he’d be off to the other side of the mountain.

Mrs. Atwood had lost her stirrups by this time and was bouncing precariously in the saddle. “Whoa, whoa,” she said as she pulled hard on the reins.

“Mom,” said Lisa, circling around and coming up beside her mother, “let’s stop and regroup.”

Lisa stopped Chocolate. Spot stopped also.

“Whew,” said Mrs. Atwood as she fumbled for the stirrups with her feet. “Aren’t these stirrups a bit long?”

“They’re just right for Western riding, Mom,” answered Lisa. “Try to keep your feet pressed into them. And you don’t need to kick so hard. A little squeeze will do.”

“I see.” Mrs. Atwood found her stirrups. Without another word to her daughter, she clucked to Spot, who broke into a trot, following the others. Lisa trotted along as well, keeping a close eye on her mother.

As the group approached the hills where Parson’s Rock jutted up out of the land, Carole slowed them back down to a walk.

“That’s the rock I told you about,” Stevie said to her parents. “Remember the surprise birthday party my friends gave me on my very first visit out here? That’s where they held it.” They stopped to admire the huge rock that stood up out of the hills like a preacher’s pulpit.

Then the group wound up into the hills a little way before heading back to the Bar None. Kate led the riders back. John rode beside Lisa, who checked on her mother every few minutes.

Carole rode up beside her father, who was swaying quite a bit in the saddle. “You don’t have to sway so much, Dad,” she said.

He tilted his hat toward her until it looked like it would fall off. Carole shook her head and rode up to take the lead with Kate. Her father wasn’t about to take this trail ride seriously.

Soon they were back at the corral.

“That was great!” Stevie’s father said as he dismounted. “I’ll take trail-riding in the Rockies over golf in Virginia any day. And Melody,” he said to his horse, “you’re the best durn, rough-ridin’ pony this cowboy’s ever seen.” And with that Mr. Lake gave his horse a slap on the rump. Which she took as a signal to move forward. She started toward the barn.

“Whoa, not so fast, little lady,” said Mr. Lake, grabbing at the reins.

“Dad,” said Stevie, “you aren’t supposed to smack a horse that hard on the rump unless you want her to
go
somewhere.”

“Sorry, girl,” said Mr. Lake to his horse. This time he gently patted Melody on the neck.

“I thought that ride was a piece of cake!” said Colonel Hanson.

“I love these views,” added Mrs. Lake. “Every single place you look, the scenery’s incredible!”

At that moment the big triangle that hung on the ranch-house porch was rung loud and long.

“You think the views are great, Mom,” said Stevie, “wait till you taste the food!”