Secret Horse (3 page)

“I was coming to that,” Carole said, her dark eyes twinkling. “The food is top quality, too. It’s not just hot dogs and hamburgers.”

“But they do
have
hot dogs and hamburgers, don’t they?” Stevie asked worriedly.

“Oh, yes. But they also have gourmet sandwiches and salads and”—Carole paused dramatically—“a separate stand for ice cream.”

“Ice cream at the Macrae? We’re going!” Stevie declared.

Leaving her friends to discuss the chances of convincing Max, Lisa went to the tack room to get Samson’s bridle and saddle—or, rather, Samson’s bridle and her saddle. Most saddles fit most horses; the important thing was that they fit the rider. On Samson, Lisa would use the saddle she normally used when she rode Prancer, another Pine Hollow horse. At most she would have to switch the girth, the beltlike piece of equipment that went around the horse’s belly to hold the saddle in place. Bridles, on the other hand, had to fit the horse’s head. They could be adjusted, but it was easier for each horse to have its own bridle. That way the fit was always right.

Lisa picked up her saddle and a clean saddle pad. Hesitating a moment, she took a bridle down from the rack and headed back to the cross-ties.

Carole and Stevie had taken a bucket break and were fussing over Samson. “Gosh, you’re a pretty boy, aren’t you?” cooed Carole.

Stevie rubbed the black horse’s neck. “Here, we’ll help you tack up,” she said.

For just a second Lisa felt herself stiffen. She felt possessive about Samson this morning. She would have preferred to tack him up herself. But almost as quickly, she
realized how silly she was being. She relaxed and handed Stevie the saddle. “Thanks,” she said. “I hope Prancer’s girth fits.”

“It will,” Carole predicted confidently. “They’re about the same height, and they have similar conformation. Samson’s shoulder slopes a bit more, which will make his gaits smoother, and Prancer is fuller through the barrel, but that’s just because …”

As Carole prattled on, Lisa looped the reins over Samson’s neck and removed his halter. She was only half listening. Sometimes Carole could sound like a know-it-all, even though Lisa knew she was just being enthusiastic.

When Samson took the bit, Lisa slid the headpiece of the bridle over his ears. She buckled the noseband and the throatlatch. She was all set to go.

“… fit of the bridle is more important anyway because—” Carole paused suddenly. She stepped forward and looked at Samson’s head. “Lisa, you’ve got the wrong bridle. That one doesn’t fit. See how the bit is hanging in his mouth? It’s much too low.”

Frowning, Lisa looked more closely. Carole was right. Lisa felt herself redden.

“I know which one it is. I’ll go get it,” Carole offered.

When she was gone, Stevie whispered excitedly to Lisa, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Um …,” Lisa said. Not knowing what Stevie was getting at, she busied herself with taking off the bridle.

“I’m thinking that we’ve got to figure out a way to get Carole to the Macrae! It would be her dream come true!”

“Yeah,” said Lisa, trying to muster enthusiasm, “I guess it would.”

M
OUNTED ON
S
AMSON
, Lisa had no trouble being enthusiastic. It was all she could do not to grin from ear to ear. Riding the gelding was a dream in itself. He had a wonderful spring in his step, even at the walk. At the trot he arched his neck and strutted along proudly. It made Lisa proud just to be sitting on his back. His canter was even better. On Prancer, a former racehorse, cantering felt fast. But on Samson it was smooth and rhythmic. Lisa could have cantered all day, it was so pleasant in the outdoor ring with the sun shining and a few old oaks to offer shade. But she didn’t want Samson to get bored just going around and around. While she decided what to do next, Lisa slowed to a walk and loosened the reins so that the gelding could stretch his neck.

At the end of the ring were two semipermanent
jumps: a set of tires and a larger brush fence. They were used for schooling. Both fences were typical of the kind of obstacles a rider might encounter in a horse show. Looking at them, Lisa’s thoughts wandered back to the Macrae. The truth was, she was just the tiniest bit jealous of Carole. Or not exactly jealous. At the end of the day, Lisa would be happy if Carole got to ride in the show. But she couldn’t help wishing
she
could ride in it, too. The way Carole talked about it made it sound like so much fun, and so exciting. “Well,” Lisa said aloud, “maybe we’ll all get to go, eh, Samson? But more likely, Veronica will go alone.”

Putting that thought out of her head, Lisa tightened the reins and asked for a trot. For twenty minutes she worked on dressage. She trotted circles and practiced transitions from walk to trot, trot to canter, and back down. Samson wasn’t perfect—no horse was, and he was still green. He got playful and Lisa had to concentrate to control him. But his willingness was a very good sign. He seemed eager to please, despite his high spirits—which, Lisa thought, was exactly what you’d expect from a horse with both excellent breeding and excellent training.

After a final transition from canter to sitting trot, Lisa found herself heading on a line toward the small tire jump. She hardly even thought twice. Jumping logically followed flat work. She shortened her reins, rose slightly
in her stirrups, and guided Samson toward the jump. When he got close to it, the black gelding pricked up his ears, stood way back, and took a huge leap. Unprepared, Lisa was thrown forward on his neck. “Whoa!” she cried, scrambling quickly back into the saddle. Then she giggled. Even though it had unseated her, the jump had been fun.

When she had steadied Samson, Lisa turned him around and headed back toward the fence from the other direction. This time she guided him more firmly. With her seat, legs, and hands, Lisa encouraged the young horse to trot down to the base of the fence. He still over-jumped by about two feet, but this time he took off from the right place. Lisa was ecstatic. “Good boy!” she exclaimed, patting him on the neck. “Very good boy!”

Lisa trotted Samson and then cantered him over the jump several times. Samson seemed to love what they were doing. Lisa found herself wishing there were a real course set up. “I wonder how much Red’s been jumping you,” she said to him.

Then, all at once, something occurred to Lisa: Maybe Red hadn’t been jumping Samson at all. Lisa drew her breath in sharply. Was that possible? She certainly hadn’t heard Red mention anything about it. Could this be Samson’s first time? Could she, Lisa Atwood, have ridden Samson over his first real fence? But he had taken
to it so naturally! Lisa thought hard. Samson’s sire had been a wonderful jumper. Sadly, Cobalt had died jumping, when his rider had put him into a fence so wrong even he couldn’t get out of it. That rider, Lisa recalled grimly, was Veronica diAngelo. But Lisa didn’t want to dwell on the past, not just now. A two-part question was forming in her mind. Could Samson have inherited his sire’s ability? If so, did anyone know?

Her head whirling with these and more questions, Lisa again shortened the reins. She wanted to try the tire jump one more time. This time she would really pay attention to Samson’s form over the fence. Granted, that would be easier to judge from the ground. But you could tell a lot from on top, too. Lisa craned her neck to focus on the two fences. The brush loomed huge, dwarfing the tires beside it. And then, out of nowhere, a rash voice inside her head whispered:
Why not try the brush? Just see how he takes it. Then you’ll really know what you’re dealing with.
Lisa’s hands began to sweat. Reason told her to wait. She should get Carole and Stevie to watch, maybe even let Carole be the one to take him over the bigger fence.… But just this once Lisa didn’t feel like listening to reason. She eyed the brush from twenty yards away. It was a formidable obstacle. It was at least two feet higher than the tires, and with the shrubbery reaching up from its wooden box it looked even higher. “I’ll just think about it,” Lisa told herself. But riding
Samson in a circle, she realized she was only lining up to get a better approach. She knew she was going to take the fence. Her confidence was up; there was no turning back.

They cantered down to the jump. Instinctively Lisa let Samson pick up speed. She sat tight in the saddle, looking between Samson’s black ears, focusing on a point beyond the brush. All at once the fence loomed ahead. There were four strides—then three, two, one—“Go!” Lisa cried, releasing the reins as she pressed her hands into the black mane. Beneath her Lisa felt Samson’s knees snap up—they were in the air! She had a split second of nausea before they landed, wondering how the ground could be so far away, and then they were on the other side, galloping along the rail of the ring.

“Whoo-hoo!” Lisa yelled, Stevie-style, standing up in her stirrups. “We did it! We did it!” She reached down to give Samson a huge pat. “We did it all by ourselves!” she whispered.

Cooling down, Lisa
really
couldn’t wipe the grin off her face. She had jumped the big brush! Only the best riders at Pine Hollow practiced over that fence—and she had jumped it! And it had been easy! She hadn’t worried for a moment that Samson would run out or refuse the fence, or that she would mess up the approach. She had simply felt excited and confident—more confident than she had ever felt before. Maybe
that was what riding a great horse was like: pure fun. She couldn’t wait to tell Stevie and Carole. Samson was a great jumper! And she had discovered it!

Lost in her reverie, Lisa happened to glance up toward the barn and see her two friends standing there, looking in her direction. A nervous pang hit her in the stomach. How much had they seen?

“Lunch break!” Stevie called.

“Fifteen minutes!” Carole yelled, cupping her hands to her mouth. “We’ll help you untack!”

“Great!” Lisa called, waving. “I’ll be up in a minute!”

Lisa jumped off and rolled up her stirrups. Loosening his girth, she checked underneath to see how sweaty Samson was. Because she had spent the past fifteen minutes walking, the horse was cool enough to go back to the barn. But Lisa decided to take another lap around the ring on foot. “Just to be safe,” she told herself, glancing toward the stable. She couldn’t wait to share her discovery with Stevie and Carole. And yet … somehow she could. Right now the brush was her and Samson’s secret. And for whatever reason, a part of her liked it that way.

“Hurry it up, Lisa!”

Lisa looked up to see Stevie and Carole again. Only now they were barreling toward the ring.

“We’re starving so we came to get you!” Carole announced breathlessly.

“Yeah, we worked up a healthy appetite on the bucket brigade,” Stevie said as the two of them ducked through the fence.

“A healthy appetite?” Lisa said. “So I guess that means you’re going to eat health food?”

“Not that healthy!” Stevie cried. “I already fed my carrot sticks to Belle. Now if only I could get her to like green salad …”

Lost in the joking, Lisa felt her anxiety vanish.

“Good ride?” Carole asked.

“Great ride,” said Lisa. “I’ll tell you all about it at lunch.”

W
ITH THE THREE
of them working, it took no time at all to untack Samson, groom him, and turn him out again. Minutes later The Saddle Club members were swapping sandwich halves at their favorite lunch spot, the knoll overlooking Pine Hollow.

After half a peanut butter sandwich, Lisa brought up the subject on her mind. “Does either of you know if Red or Max has been jumping Samson?” she inquired.

“I think Red has been taking him over obstacles on the trail,” Carole said.

“But not in the ring?” asked Lisa.

“Well, the trail is the best place to introduce a horse to jumping,” Carole replied.

Before Lisa could explain why she was interested, Carole went on. “Horses are natural jumpers. So it’s best to let them jump naturally. If they get used to hopping over fallen logs, streams, small ditches, it’s easier to move to jumping in the ring. Especially if there are natural-looking obstacles in the ring, such as—”

“The brush in the outdoor ring here?” Lisa interrupted, almost shaking with excitement.

“Well, yes,” Carole agreed, “except of course you’d start out with much, much smaller fences.”

“Of course,” said Lisa, a smile playing on her lips.

“Why?” Carole asked curiously. “Were you thinking of jumping Samson?”

“Now, there’s an idea!” Stevie put in. “He ought to be great. He is Cobalt’s son, after all.”

Carole liked the idea as well. “Maybe tomorrow we can set up some trotting poles and see how he does. Then after a week or two, we can try him over a cross rail, something small that won’t worry him, eighteen inches or so. If that works …”

Listening to Carole’s chatter, Lisa felt her smile grow. She knew what Carole was saying made sense. But she also knew that she and Samson had just jumped the biggest fence on Pine Hollow property! The secret made her happy. It was fun, too, that for once she knew more than Carole.

When Carole finished outlining the training program, Lisa couldn’t wait another minute. She had to share her discovery.