The Long Ride (5 page)

She'd almost blown it, too. Or maybe she hadn't. The man who gave her the driving test had sat stony-faced during the entire ordeal, not speaking except to issue instructions. She had no idea what she'd done wrong or right. She only knew that in the end, it had worked. Had he noticed that she didn't really look over her shoulder when she pulled out of the parking place? Had he been aware that she was a little bit over the center line when she was making a left turn? Maybe he had, or maybe he hadn't. She'd passed. That was the important thing.

And now here she was, ready for another test—this time to get a job. Who was she kidding? She barely knew how to drive. She didn't know the first thing about the restaurant business except that she was a pretty good eater. She was usually late for things, but she'd made it that day. She was wearing an old pair of jeans and a wrinkled shirt, and she hadn't combed her hair, and she probably smelled of horses because she'd stopped by Pine Hollow,
and
she'd never had a real job before.

Suddenly a man was standing in front of her on the other side of the counter. He was stocky and had a mustache. He had combed his thinning hair from one ear to the other to make stripes of hair across the top of his head.

“You here about the delivery job?” he asked.

“Me?” Stevie asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“Yeah, you.”

“Oh, right, yes,” said Stevie, offering her hand. He shook it.

“Polly said there was a boy here, too. Steve something.”

“That's me. Except I'm not a boy. I'm Stevie Lake—it's short for Stephanie, but don't tell anybody that.”

“My daughter's named Stephanie,” he said.

I've blown it
, Stevie thought.
I've made him think I'm crazy and I've insulted his daughter. He's not going to hire me. In fact, nobody will ever hire me. I can't really drive and
—

“You have a license?”

“Yes.”

“May I see it, please?”

“Oh, sure,” Stevie said, fishing it out of her purse. She handed it to him.

“Kind of rushing things, aren't you?” he said.

What had she done wrong now?

“Sorry?”

“I don't think I've ever seen a license as fresh and new as this,” he said. “It's like holding a newborn baby. Did you come straight here, or did you stop to show your friends?”

“Um, my friends,” Stevie said, pointing to Lisa, who was calmly eating her pizza, totally unaware of the fact that Stevie was making an idiot of herself just out of earshot. Then Stevie looked at the man. It took her another two seconds to realize he was teasing her.

“I would have come straight here, sir, but I thought it would impress you more if you could see how much business I would bring in for you.”

“That's just one customer,” the man said.

“Right, but she's
very
hungry.”

“Okay. Come on back to my office. You've got to fill out an application and tell me a little bit about yourself. So far, all I know is that the Commonwealth of Virginia thinks you're an adequate driver, and you've got a smart mouth on you. Anything else?”

“No sir, that's me in a nutshell,” Stevie assured him.

She followed him, wondering what she was getting herself into.

FOUR

Carole heard a knock at her office door. At least she'd been able to finish putting the papers in Fez's notebook before the next interruption. She looked up.

A very handsome guy leaned in the doorway, looking back at her. She smiled automatically in response to the smile he gave her.

“Is Callie here?” he asked.

“Forester? Uh, no,” Carole said. “She hasn't been here yet. But her horse is here. Would you like to see him?”

“No thank you,” the boy said, smiling wryly. “I hear enough about him to satisfy any curiosity I have.”

That was all the hint Carole needed. Only a nonriding brother could respond that way to his sister's horse.

“You must be Scott,” Carole said. “I'm Carole Hanson, morning stable manager for the summer.

He took her hand and shook it. “Well, I'm glad I didn't come in the afternoon or the fall. Otherwise I would have missed the opportunity to meet you.”

“Instead, you've only missed your sister. I don't know when she's going to be here. Would you like me to give her a message?”

“No, I'm waiting for her. I'm supposed to pick her up after she's checked on Fez. My father is dropping her off on his way into town, but he can't wait for her, so I've got chauffeur duty—which is an honor I accept in return for being able to use the car.”

“Oh, it's station-wagon bingo, huh?” Carole teased.

Scott laughed and took a chair across the desk from her. “Don't you know it. You must have brothers and sisters, too.”

“No, I'm an only,” Carole told him. “And there's no argument over the car in my house. My father gets it when he wants it. See, he's a retired Marine.”

“Can't be any harder to argue with than a man who makes his living as a politician.”

“I think you've got me there,” Carole said. “But when he says ‘Ten-
shun!'
… Well, enough about that.” She stood up from her desk. “I was about to go look in on Fez, so if you want to come with me, you're welcome, or you can stay here.”

Scott stood up. “Oh, sure,” he said. “I'll come along. I guess I might as well have a face to put with this superhorse after all.”

He followed Carole down the wide aisle that separated the horses' stalls. Fez's stall was on the other side of the stable. Carole took the opportunity to introduce Scott to a lot of horses as they went, including her own, Starlight, and Stevie's horse, Belle. If Scott didn't like horses—and he certainly hadn't given Carole the impression that he did—he was pretty good at feigning interest. He patted them warmly and asked good questions. He asked Carole why it was so important to his sister that her horse was an Arab.

“I mean, your horse—um, Starlight?” he said. Carole nodded. “You said he's part Thoroughbred. I thought they were the best. Why wouldn't she want a Thoroughbred, then? I mean, if there's one thing you can count on about Callie, it's that she wants the best when it comes to horses.”

“Me too,” Carole said. “But
best
is a relative term. I wanted a horse I could ride for pleasure and competition. Starlight is fine in a ring and a great jumper, but he's no match for most Arabs on an endurance ride. Thoroughbreds were developed for their speed. Where they're ‘best' is at the racetrack. Arabs were bred for desert life. They're surefooted and powerful, and they can go for long periods without water. They have stamina and a lot of heart. That's why they tend to stand out in endurance competitions. Now, quarter horses, for instance, are faster than Thoroughbreds—for short distances. They're like sprinters.”

“I think I'm getting this,” Scott said. “An Arab is like a marathon runner; you want a Thoroughbred in the four-forty, but a quarter horse in the hundred-meter dash.”

“You're a quick study,” Carole said.

“And you're a good teacher,” Scott countered.

Carole blushed. She actually blushed. And she felt more than a little dumb about it. She hoped he didn't notice. Scott was friendly and really cute. He was easy to talk to, he was interested in what she had to say—or at least very good at pretending he was—and he seemed like a good listener, too. It made her all the more pleased that Callie was going to be riding with them. If Scott was so nice, then Callie was bound to be, too. That was something to look forward to.

Ben was still working with Fez when they got to his stall. The horse seemed only marginally happier to be there than he had when he'd arrived, and Carole suspected that all of the improvement was due to Ben's presence. He was holding Fez gently but firmly by a lead line and currying his neck when they approached. Horses liked to be groomed. The coat on Fez's neck was already shiny and clean. Clearly, it didn't need one more second of attention, but Fez needed a lot more attention to calm him down. Ben understood that and was doing what was necessary.

“Scott, I'd like you to meet Ben Marlow …”

“Pleased to meet you,” Scott said, offering Ben his hand.

Ben regarded it quickly and then nodded instead. He had his hands full with Fez and wasn't about to let go. Carole thought it wouldn't have hurt for him to say as much. Scott pulled back his hand.

“I guess this must be the fabled Fez,” Scott said.

Ben nodded again.

“Um, he's been fussy since he got here,” Carole said. “Ben's trying to give him the old Pine Hollow welcome and help him settle in. I think he doesn't like traveling much.”

Scott leaned up against one of the pillars, propping his elbow over his head and leaning easily. Carole remembered how he'd taken to the chair in her office, immediately making himself at home. She was struck by the fact that Scott managed to make himself comfortable wherever he was, and as a result she was comfortable, too—as long as he didn't compliment her too much.

“Is that one of those qualities of various breeds you were talking about?” Scott asked.

“Oh, I don't think so,” Carole said. “Every horse has its own personality, regardless of breed. Some horses love to be vanned and walk up and down the ramp without any trouble. There are a couple of horses here who try to get on every van that comes into the yard. Others hate it, and every time they go anyplace, it's a struggle. Your friend Fez here falls into that category.”

Carole became aware that the two of them were talking around Ben—almost as if he weren't there. Since he was, however, she thought it would be polite to bring him into the conversation.

“Ben, why don't you tell Scott what we had to go through to get this guy off the van?”

“Oh, it wasn't too bad,” Ben said. “Just had to persuade him. He's okay now.”

That was it. That was all Ben intended to say. He could be infuriating, Carole thought. What was the matter with sharing the tale with Scott? Some people would have enjoyed hearing about the mask and the bribes. Scott was one of them, Carole was sure.

“We kind of took the carrot-and-stick approach,” Carole said. “Literally. Except we didn't dangle the carrot off a stick. I held the carrots close enough for him to be able to sniff them—which he had to do because he had a mask over his eyes.”

“You blindfolded him? You mean he's so dumb he couldn't figure out where he was going?”

Carole had never actually thought of it in those terms. “We hope so,” she said. That made Scott laugh. His laugh was so infectious that it made her laugh, too. It didn't, however, make Ben laugh. He simply kept up his work, grooming Fez.

Fez's ears perked up suddenly, and then Carole heard a car door slam. It didn't surprise her that Fez had heard it open when the humans hadn't. Horses had very keen hearing.

“Excuse me, but I bet that's Callie,” Scott said. “I'll go check and bring her back here, okay?”

“Oh, sure,” Carole said. Scott was gone instantly. That meant Callie would probably be there in a few minutes. Carole glanced around. Was the stall ready for Callie's inspection? Ben had been so busy with his grooming that he hadn't noticed that Fez had eaten some of the hay in the tick. What if Callie thought they hadn't given him enough food? And the water? There was work to be done.

Callie stepped back from her father's car. “I'll see you tonight,” she said through the open car window.

“Bye, honey,” the congressman answered. “Remember to be home on time. Your mother has promised to make everybody's favorite dinner.”

“Oh, right, that pizza place that delivers—”

“Full pepperoni, half mushroom,” he said.

“Hope they're as good as the place back home.”

“They are,” he said. “You'll see.”

Callie waved, and her father pulled out of the drive.

She paused to look around. The place didn't look like much, but then stables usually didn't win awards for architecture. There was a single large house, probably where the owner lived. Max something. Regnery—she remembered. He'd had a couple of pretty good riders come through his school. Dorothy DeSoto, who had been big about ten years earlier, had trained here. He had a good reputation. Not that he was known for endurance riding, but he was good with horses and riders. That was all that mattered to Callie. She had her own trainer. Or at least she used to have her own trainer. Back home.

It was the second time in as many minutes that the phrase had gone through her head. Home was a long way away, on the other side of the country. But her father's work was here now most of the year. Some congressmen left their families “back home.” For her father, that wouldn't do. He wanted them to be together. So Scott and Callie had finished out the school year at their high school “back home” and had come to join their parents. They'd go to school here next year. She'd finish high school in Virginia, apply to college from Virginia, call Virginia home. No, she couldn't do that. Home was back there, on the West Coast, where she came from, where she belonged.

She wasn't ever going to belong here. She wasn't ever going to like people, make friends, understand that soft Southern accent so many people had. Her friends were going to be on the other end of a long-distance call or on e-mail. She'd ride this horse. She'd earn ribbons, maybe even a few blues. But staying in a house in Virginia wasn't the same thing as living there. As far as Callie was concerned, “back home” was still home.

The screen door of the stable swung open and slammed shut.

It was Scott. She'd seen the car, so she knew he was there. Typical of him to have found his way into the barn. He'd probably already made friends with everyone. Scott was a natural-born friend to everyone. It was a skill he had clearly picked up from their father. He was funny, warm, kind, attentive, amusing, and comfortable with everyone. The worst part was that he actually meant it, too—at least when it came to everyone else. When he came to his sister, he wasn't always Mr. Smooth.