Tight Rein

“We think Belle misses Stevie,” Carole said, shooting Stevie’s brother Chad a dirty look.
And it’s all your fault
, she thought but didn’t say.

“Horses have very delicate digestive systems,” Lisa said. “Any little thing can throw them off …” She let her voice fade away and looked to Carole for support.

“It can be very serious,” Carole said.

“Very,” Lisa whispered.

“Oh, come off it,” Chad said. “Give me a break, will you?” He picked up his soccer ball and bounced it a few times. “You expect me to believe that Stevie’s horse is sick because it misses her? I’ve been around horses, too, you know, and they aren’t that smart. Plus, Belle weighs, like, a thousand pounds. She could not eat for a month and be okay.” He looked sideways at Lisa. “You guys made this up, right? Did Stevie put you up to it?”

Lisa maintained her earnest, sorrowful expression. “I wish we were joking,” she said.

L
ISA
A
TWOOD PAUSED
outside the door of Prancer’s stall. She took a deep breath and smiled. All her favorite sights, smells, and sounds were right here, at Pine Hollow Stables in the summertime. Lisa loved the warm, earthy smell of horses. She loved the feel of their sleek summer fur. She loved the low whickering noise Prancer made when she first saw Lisa.

“We’re a team now, aren’t we?” Lisa murmured, stroking the mare’s velvet-soft nose. Lisa had not been riding long, but she had learned fast. One of her greatest pleasures was riding and retraining Prancer. The beautiful
Thoroughbred had been a racehorse, and Max Regnery, the owner of Pine Hollow Stables, had bought her when an injury ended her career on the track. At first Prancer had been nervous, excitable, and difficult to ride, but she and Lisa had learned a lot together. Riding Prancer, Lisa thought as she went into the stall and slipped a halter on the mare, was the next best thing to having her own horse.

“Lisa?” Max called. He came down the aisle and stopped outside Prancer’s stall. “Lisa, sorry, but I used Prancer in the advanced adult lesson this morning, and it’s too hot outside to ask her to work hard again. Why don’t you ride Barq today?” He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’ll try to let you ride Prancer on Tuesday, okay?” Lisa and her two best friends took lessons twice a week, Tuesdays and Saturdays. They spent most of their free time at Pine Hollow, too.

“Okay, Max,” Lisa said, swallowing her disappointment. She liked to think of Prancer as her own horse, but she knew better. Max had too many students to let them ride only their favorites. She gave Prancer a quick hug, removed her halter, and went down to Barq’s stall. He was a chestnut Arabian gelding. His name meant “lightning” in Arabic, and he had a feisty personality to match his name. Lisa knew he was a good horse, and she had ridden him many times, but she had never really
gotten along with him. She wasn’t excited about riding him. She patted him briefly and began to groom him.

“Hi, Lisa! Why aren’t you riding Prancer?”

Lisa looked up and smiled. Carole Hanson, one of her two best friends, smiled back.

“I don’t have to ask, do I?” Carole said. “Max probably used her in a lesson already. It’s too hot today for her to work again.”

“That’s exactly what he said,” Lisa replied with a shake of her head. Lisa considered herself horse-crazy, but not as horse-crazy as Carole. When it came to horses, Carole seemed to know everything.

Carole crossed the aisle to the stall of her horse, a beautiful bay gelding named Starlight. He had been her Christmas present a couple of years ago. She went into his stall and began to groom him. “Don’t be too disappointed, Lisa,” she said. “It’s good for you to ride different horses sometimes. You learn more.”

“I know.” Lisa was surprised at the slight edge she heard in her own voice. “I know,” she repeated more gently. “I just really wanted to ride Prancer today. I mean, Max is letting me take her to camp. He could have saved her for me today.”

“That’s probably why he didn’t save her,” Carole answered. She curried Starlight’s coat in sweeping circles. “I don’t know how you get so dirty, Starlight, when I
brush you every day!” she told her horse. To Lisa, she continued, “No one else’ll get to ride Prancer while we’re at camp, so I bet Max is letting other people have their turn now.”

Lisa had to admit that this made sense. She settled Barq’s saddle on his back and reached under his belly for the girth. In exactly one week they would all—Lisa, Carole, and their other best friend, Stevie Lake—be at Moose Hill Riding Camp. Lisa couldn’t wait.

The three of them were such good friends and loved riding so much that they called themselves The Saddle Club. The only club rules were that they had to love horses and had to help each other out. The Saddle Club had been to Moose Hill before. This year Carole was bringing Starlight, and Stevie was bringing her mare, Belle. Lisa would have Prancer all to herself for the whole week. She couldn’t wait!

“I’m so glad Stevie’s head is okay,” Lisa said. “What would we do if she couldn’t go to camp?” Stevie had suffered a serious concussion in a jumping accident, and she hadn’t been allowed to ride for a few weeks. Those had been long weeks for the three girls. Lisa and Carole had still ridden, of course, and when Stevie had healed a bit she’d come to visit Belle, but they’d all missed the long rides they usually took together.

Carole giggled. “I’m glad her concussion’s healed,
too,” she said. “But I’m not sure I’d say her head’s okay. Stevie’s mind always seems a little odd to me.”

Lisa laughed appreciatively. She was logical, she knew, and she usually thought things through. Carole could be absentminded, except when she was thinking about horses, but Stevie—they still hadn’t figured out how Stevie’s mind worked. Stevie came up with more strange, complicated schemes than any ten other people—and most of the time they worked.

“It’s not like Stevie to be late, though,” Lisa said. She finished buckling Barq’s bridle and checked her watch. “We’ve got exactly five minutes.” Max hated it when his students were late for lessons.

“I’m here!” they heard Stevie shout from the tack room, and a moment later she came out carrying her saddle, bridle, and grooming bucket. Lisa and Carole stared. Stevie had shoulder-length blond hair, and when she rode she usually pulled it into a low ponytail. Unlike the others, who wore old breeches to their lessons, Stevie preferred to ride in worn-out jeans and a pair of battered cowboy boots.

Today, however, Stevie’s hair was plastered to her head. The end of her ponytail dripped. Her purple shirt clung to her shoulders, and her jeans were wringing wet. As Stevie came down the aisle, Lisa thought she could hear her sloshing.

“What happened?” she asked in dismay.

Stevie dumped her gear on the rack outside Belle’s stall. “I’ll kill him,” she said. She brought Belle out of the stall and tied the horse on cross-ties in the aisle. “I mean it,” she said emphatically. “I’m really going to get him this time.”

Lisa caught Carole’s eye. “Uh-oh,” she said.

“So what was it this time?” Carole asked. Neither she nor Lisa had to ask who the “him” was that Stevie was going to get. Stevie had three brothers. Michael, the youngest, was pretty quiet. Alex was Stevie’s twin and usually left her alone. Her older brother, Chad, however, loved practical jokes as much as Stevie did—and that was an awful lot.

“He got me with the old water-bucket-over-the-door routine,” Stevie sputtered. “Look at me! I’m all wet! And the rest of my clothes are in the laundry, so I couldn’t change.”

“All your other clothes are dirty?” Lisa asked in amazement. Stevie wasn’t known for her extensive wardrobe, but she certainly had more than one pair of old jeans. Lisa tied Barg safely in his stall and began brushing Belle for Stevie. Carole tied up Starlight and started picking the mud from Belle’s hooves.

“We-ell,” Stevie said as she smoothed the saddle pad across Belle’s withers, “this summer I’m supposed to be
doing my own laundry, and, you know, I kind of forgot.” Her face brightened. “But that’s okay. I threw in a humongous load a few minutes ago, just before I left. I put a bunch of Chad’s clothes in the washer, too, including his brand-new red T-shirt, and I washed it on hot.”

“But that means—” Carole said. She did her own laundry, too. Her mother had died a few years ago, and she and her father divided the household chores.

“That’s right,” Stevie said with satisfaction. “Everything he owns that was white should be pink by now.”

“Isn’t that a little extreme?” Carole asked. “I mean, I agree the bucket prank was annoying—you won’t be very comfortable riding in wet jeans—but Stevie, Chad could end up with pink underwear!”

“I certainly hope so,” Stevie said.