I have time for a good ride before getting ready for Colt’s party. Dream and I circle past the deserted farm at the end of our dirt road and come in the other side of town. I’m thinking I’ll make a morning ride part of every day.
When I lead my horse into the backyard, Ethan meets me at the gate. He holds up his hand to stop me.
I start to protest. Then I see why.
The Bear is mounted on Bullet. They’re standing square in the middle of the yard. Bullet’s Western saddle is the old-school kind, leather and hand carved, with covers on the wooden stirrups and a super-wide saddle horn, where cowboys would loop ropes for lassoing cows.
I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but the Bear looks like a real cowboy.
Bullet stands still as a statue. His ears point straight ahead. His front hooves line up straight, and so do the back ones.
“Pivot left,” the Bear calls.
Instantly Bullet swings both forelegs to the left. He barely shifts his hindquarters.
“Pivot right!” Before the Bear even has the words out, his horse responds. Then, with a tiny turn of the Bear’s wrist, Bullet picks up the signal and pivots in a full circle.
The Bear has Bullet move backward. The horse keeps backing fast until the Bear says, “Whoa.”
They face the back of the yard. Then they take off at a gallop, weaving around invisible barrels, before turning a perfect figure eight.
The Bear pulls up his horse inches from us. “Whoa, boy.” In one smooth motion, he dismounts. “That’s it until the old boy loses weight. You make sure your friend knows to go easy.”
I’m as silent as Ethan. Speechless. Bullet is the perfect horse for Colt. It’s what he has always dreamed of.
* * *
Colt’s home! Ethan signs.
I’m brushing my hair, trying to get it to stay out of my face. But the humidity has my stray curls dancing every which way. I’ve decided on a red shirt that’s one of my favorites. And blue jeans. I thought about shorts. But I’m hoping Colt might want to go for a ride with me after everybody leaves.
Ethan shifts from foot to foot. I don’t think he’s used to seeing me stand in front of a mirror this long. I saw Colt’s dad drive him in a minute ago. He almost missed his own party. Are you taking Bullet over there?
I give up on my hair. No. I’ll wait until everybody else goes home. Then I’ll bring Colt over here. I need to do one last thing.
Ethan follows me to Mom’s ribbon drawer in the hall closet. I take a whole roll of green, Colt’s favorite color, and a pair of scissors. Together Ethan and I tie Bullet into the lean-to so Colt won’t see him and spoil the surprise. Then we fasten a big bow around his neck.
“Sorry, boy,” I tell him, scratching right where he likes it. “You’re a real cow horse. And I’ll never make you wear a bow again. Promise.”
* * *
Cassie and Rashawn pile out of Cassie’s car as I walk up to Colt’s house. I wave, and they wave back and wait for me.
Rashawn’s carrying a big box wrapped in cute cowboy paper.
“We both went in on the present,” Cassie says. “It’s a rope thing. Like a cowboy’s lariat. Colt can learn rope tricks with it.”
“It comes with a book on doing rope tricks and everything. Do you think Colt will like it?” Rashawn asks.
“He’ll love it!” It’s all I can do not to spill my secret to them. I can see Cassie looking for my gift. But they don’t ask.
Mrs. Stevens is standing on the front porch, welcoming everyone. She looks friendlier than I’ve ever seen her. “Come on in, girls! We’ve got lemonade on the table. And all kinds of snacks.”
I nod to her as we walk by. But she’s already greeting the kids behind us.
We walk in, and the whole place is lit up like Christmas. Little lights run from one end of the hall all through the house. Streamers form a paper tent over the huge dining table. And there must be a hundred balloons floating around everywhere.
“Wow!” Cassie says.
Rashawn and I just stare until the boys behind us shove us farther into the room. “I’ve never seen so much food!” Rashawn says. I agree.
Colt’s dad walks in from the kitchen. At least a dozen backpacks dangle from his outstretched arms. And not just any backpacks. They’re leather. Real leather. “Did you girls get your party favors yet?”
Cassie pulls one off the end of Mr. Stevens’s arm. “These are party favors? For us?”
“Just a little something I picked up for Colt’s friends this weekend.” He hands one to Rashawn and one to me. Then he glances at his wife.
She glares back. I’m thinking she didn’t know about the packs and doesn’t like the idea much. But I take one anyway.
“These must have cost more than our gift,” Rashawn whispers.
We’re still looking at the backpacks when Colt’s mom rushes in with a basketful of real footballs and basketballs. “Help yourselves!” she shouts. “One for each of Colt’s guests.”
The guys grab for the footballs and basketballs. So do the girls. There are pink basketballs and striped footballs too. When they’re almost gone, Cassie takes three of the balls that are left and puts one in each of our packs.
“Unbelievable, huh?” Cassie says. “Larissa kept saying this was going to be some party. Guess she was right.”
I look around for Larissa and find her talking to Colt’s mom. Mrs. Stevens looks like she wants to escape.
Before long the guys are all outside playing football with Mr. Stevens. Some of the girls are shooting baskets. Colt is out with the guys. I haven’t even gotten a chance to wish him happy birthday yet.
I’ve gone back for a refill on the lemonade when I hear Mrs. Stevens shouting, “I told you to be here at one o’clock sharp!”
I glance into the kitchen. She’s standing at the counter, her back to me. And she’s screaming into her cell. “You’d better be here in ten minutes, or I’m not paying you a penny for the delivery. Do you hear me?”
I’m thinking the poor person on the other end of the phone could hear her without a phone. I move away from the door.
Two minutes later a sweet, smiling version of Mrs. Stevens calls outside, “Come in for gifts and cake, boys and girls!”
“We’re in the middle of a game, Moira!” Mr. Stevens hollers back.
“Come in anyway!” she shouts. “Colt? Now.”
Everybody sits around the big table. Mrs. Stevens lights the candles, and we all sing for Colt. Colt looks like he’d rather disappear under the table. Mrs. Stevens tells him to start opening the presents while she serves us cake and ice cream.
“Mine first!” Larissa shouts. She practically shoves her package into Colt’s face.
He opens it and stares into the box. “Man, Larissa, this is too much.”
“I know!” she agrees. “But isn’t it cool?” She pulls it out of the box. It’s some kind of handheld electronic game. Everybody oohs at the same time. “I have one just like it, but in pink,” Larissa says.
I’m not that into games, but most of the kids seem to know what it is. And they wish they had one too.
Colt thanks her and moves on to the pile of gifts in front of him. All the presents are great. I admit that I’m starting to feel bad that I don’t have anything for him here.
Suddenly Colt’s dad turns from the window. “Colt! Your present is about to arrive!”
“What?” Mrs. Stevens frowns.
He doesn’t answer her. He runs to Colt and almost drags him out of the chair. “Wait until you see what your old man got you!”
Colt and his dad rush outside. We all follow them.
“Wow!”
“No way!”
“Colt!”
I hear the shouts before I get outside. Then I see why. A black horse trailer pulls up in front of the house.
“Hold on a minute!” Mrs. Stevens cries. “That’s my gift!”
But as she says it, a second horse trailer pulls onto our street. It parks
behind the first one.
“He’s getting two horses?” Larissa says.
Mr. and Mrs. Stevens glare at each other. Colt stands between them.
The driver of the first truck lets down the tailgate and leads out a beautiful sorrel American saddle horse mare. The horse is gorgeous. But she won’t stand still. She dances in circles and pulls back on the lead rope so hard I’m afraid she’s going to rear up and break it.
“It’s a top-notch three-gaited American saddle horse,” Colt’s dad explains. “I had an associate in Kentucky find her for me. She has won all kinds of prizes already.”
The horse in the second truck backs out of the trailer. It’s a fantastic bay mare at least seventeen hands high.
Colt’s mother says, “Happy birthday, darling! I got you a five-gaited American saddle horse.” She says this like she’s proud of the extra two gaits.
Colt turns and faces us. His expression isn’t excited. It isn’t anything. “Thank you for coming, everybody. Thanks for all the presents, too. I hope you had a good time.”
For a second nobody leaves. Then we all get the message at the same time. Kids start moving out. Some are texting or phoning their parents to come get them early. A couple of parents are already here. Some kids live close enough to walk home. It doesn’t take long for the Stevenses’ lawn to empty.
But I haven’t budged. I keep looking at Colt, willing him to turn around and talk to me. I can’t imagine him with two horses, much less three. An image of chubby Bullet pops into my head. He’d look even fatter next to these trim mares. Still, I can’t picture Colt with either one of these horses.
Colt’s parents are yelling at each other.
“He’s keeping my horse!” Mrs. Stevens shouts. “That means your horse can go back where it came from!”
“That’s not your decision! Colt can choose for himself!” Mr. Stevens shouts back.
Colt is watching them, barely looking at his gift horses.
I move next to him. “Colt, don’t they know all you ever wanted was a quarter horse? How could they not know that? That’s all you’ve talked about ever since we were friends.”
He wheels on me. “What do you know about it? Some friend you are! You didn’t even bother to get me a gift!”
Tears spring to my eyes. I’ve never seen Colt this angry . . . and he’s angry at me. I want to tell him he’s wrong. I did get him a gift.
Only why make it worse? What made me think I could give this Colt—the Colt I don’t even know anymore—a gift he’d really like?
14
Friends
I take off running across the road. I don’t stop until I’m back to the house and in my bedroom. I throw myself onto my bed and cry and cry.
I don’t know how long I’ve been crying when I hear a thump, thump. I stop my sobs. Then I hear it again. Thump, thump.
It’s coming from my window.
I look up and see Dream’s nose pressed against my window. I go over to her and lift the window. And just like that, she sticks her head all the way in.
I hug her and press my face next to hers. She did it! She came in when I needed her most.
There’s a knock at the door.
“I’m busy!” I call.
There’s another tap. Then the door opens. Ethan and Colt are standing there.
Way to go, Dream, Ethan signs. Then he leaves me alone with Colt.
Colt steps in. “I see you got her to stick her head in after all.”
I nod.
“I’m sorry I said that about no present, Ellie. That was stupid. And mean. I was just messed up. I guess I’ve been messed up for a while.”
“Why? What’s wrong, Colt?” I ask, not letting go of Dream. “Why aren’t we friends anymore?”
He looks up like I’ve smacked him. “We are! Aren’t we?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “You’ve sure been acting like we aren’t. If we were friends, wouldn’t you have told me what was wrong?”
Colt sits in the only chair in my room. “I couldn’t.” He’s quiet for so long that I think he’s done. Then, without looking at me, he says, “My parents are splitting up. They’re getting a divorce.”
“Colt . . .” I don’t know what to say.
“That’s why I had to go with Dad to St. Louis. He’s got an apartment there already. He wanted to show me where I’ll be visiting every other weekend. He’s getting a house, and Sierra’s going to live with him. She actually likes the idea. My sister always wanted to live in a city.”
I want to ask him why he didn’t tell me. But I think he just wants to talk. So I let him.
“It feels like I’m losing my dad and my sister.” He pauses. “Sierra could change her mind still. And I guess I could change mine and go live with Dad.”
I know it’s selfish, but that makes me feel worse than anything.
“That’s why Mom and Dad have been pulling out the super-parent act,” he explains. “You saw how they were with those horses they got me. It’s been like that with everything. I’m so tired of it. I told them both I don’t even want their horses. You were right. I don’t want a fancy English show horse. And neither one of them knows me well enough to know that.”
“Colt, I can’t believe you told them you don’t want either horse. They must have cost thousands of dollars.”
“Probably. But they’re still not what I want. Those horses would never be like Dream. Can you imagine either one of them putting her head through my window?” We laugh a tiny bit. “I want a horse that will be a friend. Like Dream is to you.”
“Do you mean it?”
“Yeah.”
I kiss Dream on the head and turn to Colt. “Then maybe it’s time to show you the present I got you.”
“You don’t have to do that, Ellie. I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t really believe I wouldn’t get a gift for my best friend, did you?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t. I haven’t been acting much like a friend.”
“Follow me.” I lead Colt through the house, right past Mom, Dad, and Ethan. They’re supposed to be watching the Bear’s first car commercial on TV. But I can tell they’re all watching us and pretending not to.
At the back door I stop. “Colt, now you need to use your imagination before you see my present.”
“I ought to be able to handle that. I’ve been hanging out with you long enough.”
I walk toward the lean-to.
Colt follows me. “Where are we going?”
I don’t answer. My heart is pounding. I walk into the lean-to and lead Bullet out. “Before you say anything, remember to use your imagination. This is Bullet. He has some extra weight on him—well, you can see that. But underneath that is a terrific quarter horse. He used to belong to the Bear, and—”
“The Bear?” Colt says. “As in the baseball legend the Bear?”
“Yeah. That’s a long story. The Bear is Ethan’s friend. Anyway, Bullet can pivot and do figure eights and everything. And the best part is . . . he’ll be a friend, Colt. Like Dream is.”
Colt is staring at Bullet. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“Okay,” I say, “I know he’s fat. And I guess he’s a backyard horse. I mean, he’s not a show horse. But he was a working cow horse on a real ranch. And I’ll bet you could get him in show condition. I mean, if you wanted to keep him.” I picture the two perfect horses Colt just said no to. Could he ever say yes to this one?
“Ellie?” Colt says, still staring at Bullet.
“What?”
He walks up to Bullet. And the first thing he does is scratch the horse’s jaw, right where he likes it. Bullet stretches his neck to beg for more. “I think he’s about the finest horse I’ve ever seen.”
I could be wrong, but I think Colt may be crying.
Together we saddle Bullet. Then Colt and I ride our horses. We keep it to a walk and don’t leave my backyard. It’s not the galloping-through-the-fields day
dream I’ve imagined. But maybe it’s even better. Colt and Bullet. Dream and me.
Four best friends.
A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in time of need.
Proverbs 17:17
Horse Talk!
Bay—A reddish-brown color for a horse. A bay horse usually has a black mane and tail.
Blaze—A facial marking on a horse (usually a wide, jagged white stripe).
Canter—A horse’s slow gallop; a more controlled three-beat gait.
English—A style of horseback riding that is often considered more formal and classic than Western style. Riders generally sit on a flat saddle, post (rise from the saddle) on a trot, and hold the reins in both hands.
Farrier—Someone trained to care for a horse’s hooves. Farriers trim hooves and put shoes on horses, but many also treat leg and tendon problems.
Foreleg—One of a horse’s front legs.
Forelock—The piece of hair that falls onto a horse’s forehead.
Gait—The way a horse moves, as in a walk, a trot, a canter, or a gallop.
Gallop—A horse’s natural and fast running gait. It’s speedier than a lope or a canter.
Gelding—A male horse that has had surgery so he can’t mate and produce foals (baby horses). Geldings often make the calmest riding horses.
Habit—An outfit for horseback riding or showing, usually including some kind of tailored jacket and hat.
Halter—The basic headgear worn by a horse so the handler can lead the animal with a rope.
Hand—The unit for measuring a horse’s height from the withers (area between the shoulders) to the ground. One hand equals four inches (about the width of an average cowboy’s hand).
Hindquarters—The back end of a horse, where much of a horse’s power comes from.
Hoof pick—A hooked tool, usually made of metal, for cleaning packed dirt, stones, and gunk from the underside of a horse’s hoof.
Cowboy Colt Page 6
