Full Gallop

by Bonnie Bryant

  As soon as they were outside in the parking lot, Scott turned to face her, his expression serious. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Now, what’s this all about?”

  Lisa opened her mouth to apologize, to assure him that nothing was wrong—she was just feeling a little tired, overfull, and cranky. No big deal.

  Instead she heard herself telling him the truth—the whole truth, no holds barred. How annoying it was to have every date interrupted. How it made her feel to see Scott greet each interrupter like a long-lost friend, while she sat by and twiddled her thumbs and felt like the world’s biggest loser.

  Scott listened quietly, not saying a word until she had wound herself down at last. “Wow,” he said. “I had no idea.”

  “I know,” Lisa said sadly, her anger and frustration replaced with a feeling of hopelessness. A cold wind made her shiver and she wrapped her coat around herself tightly before continuing. “I know. It’s just me, being petty and insecure. Or whatever.”

  “No.” Scott shook his head. “It’s not you. I should have realized something was wrong. It’s just that I’m so used to that sort of thing—I mean, I grew up always realizing that Dad might have to take a phone call from the governor in the middle of our basketball games, and understanding that any person who felt less than welcomed and adored by any member of our family might cast the vote that would boot Dad out of office. I forgot that maybe everyone isn’t used to that sort of life, or comfortable with it.”

  Lisa nodded. While she had always known that Scott’s family life was very different from her own or that of her other friends, this was the first time she’d really heard him open up about it. It was strange to think about the way he’d grown up. Had he ever felt the way she had that evening? As if his parents cared less about him than they did about their constituents?

  “I’m not making excuses, though,” Scott added hastily. “Like I said, I should have noticed you weren’t totally happy with how things were going between us.” He reached out and took both her hands in his own. “I just hope you’ll give me a chance to do better.”

  Gazing into his worried blue eyes, Lisa couldn’t help nodding. “Of course,” she said, wondering if she was making a mistake.

  Scott smiled and squeezed her hands. “Great,” he said. “Just remember—I can be pretty dense sometimes, as you already know. That means you need to tell me when you’re feeling bad about stuff like this instead of waiting for me to guess. Kick my butt about it if I don’t get it the first time. Agreed?”

  “Well … okay.” Lisa tentatively returned his smile.

  Scott dropped one of her hands and gently touched her cheek with his fingertips. “Look, Lisa,” he said softly. “I can’t promise to move away with you to a deserted island. You know that, right?”

  Lisa nodded, shifting her feet on the hard asphalt parking lot. “I know.”

  “But I can promise you this.” Scott traced the line of her jaw. “I’ll do my very best to let you know, whenever possible, that you’re number one with me. Because that’s the truth.”

  Lisa sighed and leaned into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. She felt better than she had earlier, but thinking about her future with Scott still left her uneasy. What was really going to change? Scott could tell her she was number one at times like this—one of their rare moments alone. But was that really going to be enough to carry her through the other times?

  She just didn’t know the answer to that. Tilting her head back as Scott bent down to kiss her, she did her best not to think about it anymore.

  FOUR

  By the time Carole had used the phone to track Stevie down at the restaurant, quickly explained the situation, and hurried back out of the office, the newcomers had made it as far as the stable entryway. Thanks to Ben’s magic touch, Kelsey’s horse had calmed down a little and seemed content to stare around with wide eyes and active ears rather than continue his nervous prancing. Mrs. Varick was nowhere in sight, though the small crowd of intermediate riders had followed Kelsey and her gelding inside.

  “See that?” Carole said, doing her best to sound pleasant and businesslike. “Looks like old Flame likes it here already.”

  Kelsey scowled at her. “His name’s Flamethrower, not just plain old Flame,” she corrected. “And he’s not old. He’s only seven.”

  Apparently noticing that her horse was behaving better, Kelsey grabbed his lead line out of Ben’s hand. Ben relinquished it without a word, stepping back and glancing over at Carole.

  “That’s all her stuff, too,” Ben said blandly, nodding toward a large, fancy monogrammed tack trunk and a pile of other assorted boxes and bags just inside the door.

  The intermediates were still watching curiously. Now one of them, a sixth grader named Sarah Anne Porter, spoke up. “I like the name Flamethrower,” she said, smiling tentatively at Kelsey. “And he’s really pretty. How long have you had him? Do you show?”

  “I’ve had him almost a year,” Kelsey replied, looking the other girl up and down, from her sloppy ponytail to her well-worn, mud-encrusted paddock boots. “And yes, of course we show. Don’t you?”

  Carole bit her lip, irked by Kelsey’s obnoxious tone. Glancing at Ben, she saw that he was watching her steadily. He winked, and she smiled.

  “I show sometimes,” Sarah Anne said eagerly. “Max had a schooling show here over the summer, and he says we’ll have another one in a month or two.”

  Kelsey tossed her head. “Oh, schooling shows,” she said haughtily. “Well, I guess that’s okay if you haven’t been riding long, or if your horse is really green. But we don’t usually bother with anything that small.”

  Sarah Anne didn’t seem to have an answer to that. Exchanging glances with her friends, she took a step back.

  Meanwhile Flame had overcome his anxiousness about his new home enough to notice the dozen bales of hay stacked against one wall of the entryway. Stretching his delicate head in that direction, he snuffled at it eagerly. Kelsey seemed completely unaware that the lead rope was slipping through her hands as she continued bragging about her showring success.

  “Kelsey,” Carole said sharply, taking a step forward. “Watch it!”

  But she was too late. Flame yanked so hard at the hay that one bale toppled off its stack, bumping him in the chest as it fell. The horse jumped back, snorting in alarm. Taken by surprise, Kelsey let out a shriek and dropped the lead rope, leaping away as if the horse had suddenly turned into a monster.

  “Kelsey!” Carole exclaimed, horrible visions dancing through her head. Flame racing pell-mell through the stable, maybe hurting himself. Maybe getting out of the building. Maybe even running down the drive into the road, at the mercy of any passing car …

  She shook her head, banishing the image of another night, a rainy one last summer when a horse Callie had leased, an Arabian endurance horse named Fez, had met an untimely end that same way. That won’t happen again, she thought firmly, even as she watched Ben step forward and calmly take hold of Flame’s dangling lead rope.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Kelsey cried, staring at her horse with dismay. “Maybe you guys should, like, longe him or something. He’s so hyper.”

  “It’s only natural that he’s a little anxious,” Carole said, trying to stay calm. It wasn’t easy—she’d only known Kelsey for a few minutes now, and she already wanted to throttle her. “He’s in a whole new place and he needs time to get used to it.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the intermediate riders exchanging glances again. Ignoring that, she hurried over and replaced the hay bale. At the same time Ben was leading Flame toward the stable aisle.

  “Where are you taking him?” Kelsey demanded.

  Ben didn’t stop walking. “To his stall,” he said calmly.

  “Oh. I’ll lead him now,” Kelsey said, hurrying past the horse and grabbing the lead rope once again. “Where’s his stall?”

  “This way,” Ben replied.

  Carol
e blew out a sigh, wondering how he stayed so calm. Feeling frazzled, she hurried after them as they turned into the aisle.

  Flame’s new stall was at the far end. As they passed the other stalls, horses poked their heads out curiously. Carole winced each time Kelsey let the lead rope slip so that Flame could touch noses with one of the other horses.

  Thank goodness everyone in this row is pretty friendly, she thought, watching as her own horse, Starlight, stretched out his neck to whuffle curiously at the newcomer. I can’t imagine how Jinx would react if Flame stuck his nose into his stall, or Firefly or Calypso. Let alone Geronimo.

  Fortunately, though, the horses they passed were content to make friends. “Here we are,” Carole announced with relief as they neared the end of the aisle. She gestured at the corner stall. “Home sweet home.”

  Just as they reached the open stall door, one of the stable cats darted out of it. Flame snorted and took a step back, obviously startled. Within seconds the cat had disappeared around the corner, and the horse stood staring after it, his ears pricked curiously.

  “Come on, Flamethrower,” Kelsey said irritably, yanking on the lead rope. “Stop being a brat!”

  “He’s not being a brat,” Ben said firmly, taking the rope from her. “He’s being a horse. And pulling on his face like that isn’t helping anything.”

  Carole hid a smile as Kelsey glared at Ben. Ben ignored her, focusing instead on the horse. Clucking to the tall gelding, he led him into the deeply bedded stall.

  Meanwhile Kelsey glanced into the stall across the way and wrinkled her nose. “Eww. Does that icky horse always live there?”

  Carole followed her gaze in surprise, taking in the kind-eyed sorrel gelding looking out at them. Rusty? Icky? Scanning his coat for any especially repulsive manure stains Kelsey might be seeing, Carole shook her head. The horse looked fine.

  “That’s Rusty,” she told Kelsey uncertainly. “He’s one of our best lesson horses.”

  Kelsey sniffed and turned away as if the sight of the old horse offended her. “Well, I hope you only use him in lessons for the blind. He’s so ugly he could stop traffic.”

  Carole could hardly believe her ears. Rusty might be a little on the homely side—his bewhiskered head was large and coarse, and his back was rather swayed—but he had a gentle and patient disposition that made him a terrific school horse. Besides that, Kelsey’s choice of words had conjured up that terrible image once again, the memory of Fez slipping and sliding his way across the rain-slick road as the car hurtled toward him. …

  Why do I keep thinking about the accident today? Carole wondered, a little irritated with herself. It happened more than six months ago. Don’t I have enough things to worry about right here in the present—such as dealing with little miss Queen of the World here—without dwelling on stuff that happened way in the past? It’s not like it does any good. It’s not like any of us can ever take back what happened to poor Fez. She shifted her thoughts back to the girl in front of her, trying to figure out how to explain to Kelsey that a horse’s looks weren’t important to anyone with more depth than a puddle.

  Before she could come up with a more tactful way of putting it, Kelsey skipped over to the stall beside Flame’s. “Oh! This is more like it,” she exclaimed with satisfaction, reaching up to stroke the nose of the tall bay gelding inside. “Is this one a Thoroughbred?”

  “As a matter of fact, he is,” Carole said. “His name’s Topside, and he used to belong to Dorothy DeSoto—you know, from the silver-medal Olympic team a few years back?”

  “Oh!” Kelsey actually looked impressed. “Of course I know who she is. Does she ride here?” She glanced around as if expecting Dorothy to pop out of a neighboring stall.

  Carole hid a smile. “No. But she and Max go way back,” she explained. “That’s why she sent Topside here when she retired from showing.”

  “Oh.” Kelsey sounded slightly disappointed. She lingered in front of Topside’s stall for a moment, watching as the tall gelding munched on a mouthful of hay and gazed back at her sleepily.

  Finally Carole cleared her throat. “Um, so Flame—er, Flamethrower—seems to be settling in,” she said. “Should we go put the rest of your stuff away?”

  “Whatever.” Kelsey stepped back to her horse’s stall and peered inside. “Hey,” she said with a frown. “What’s the deal? Is that straw?”

  “No, it’s hay,” Carole said, automatically glancing in at the horse to make sure he wasn’t eating his bedding. Instead he had a big mouthful of the fresh greenish hay that she’d piled in one corner earlier that day.

  Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Not that. That,” she snapped, pointing at the floor. “My old barn used shavings for bedding.”

  “Oh.” Carole shrugged. “Well, here we use straw. Don’t worry, the horses all like it just fine.”

  Kelsey crossed her arms over her chest and glared from Carole to Ben and then back again. “I don’t care what the other horses like. My horse is used to shavings. And I won’t leave here tonight until he’s got some.”

  Ben shrugged. “There’s an ax in the toolshed,” he said, so straight-faced that for a moment Carole thought he was being serious. “Better get yourself a-chopping.”

  Kelsey scowled at him. “Very funny,” she snapped. “Well, I’ll just have to take it up with the owner in the morning.” Spinning on her heel, she stalked down the aisle.

  Leaving Ben to finish settling Flame into his new stall, Carole hurried after the girl, catching up to her back in the entryway. “Hey, Kelsey,” she said, trying to manage a friendly tone. The girl might be a brat, but her mentioning Max reminded Carole that this was a business. And businesses tried to keep customers happy, even if they were acting like jerks. “Want me to give you a quick tour?”

  “All right,” Kelsey agreed, though her expression was still rather sour. She glanced around the entryway. The door to the indoor ring was open, and she walked over and glanced inside. “Is this your only indoor? It’s kind of small. Flame has a really long canter stride, so we need space.”

  “Yes, that’s the indoor ring,” Carole replied, ignoring the rest of the girl’s comments. “The student locker room is over there—we’ll check that out in a minute; we can put your stuff away in there—but first, right over here is one of our favorite spots.” She gestured at the battered horseshoe tacked to the wall just inside the doors.

  Kelsey blinked at it. “Huh? Looks like some rusty old horseshoe to me.”

  “It’s the good-luck horseshoe.” Carole smiled, thinking back to her first time at Pine Hollow, when Max had given her the same tour, beginning in that very spot. “The legend goes that the reason nobody has ever been seriously hurt here at Pine Hollow is because everyone always remembers to touch it for luck before they ride out. It’s a tradition.”

  Kelsey let out an inelegant snort. “That’s pretty weak,” she declared. “A good-luck horseshoe? Get real. If nobody’s been hurt, it’s probably because all the horses here are so old they can barely trot, let alone buck someone off.”

  Carole gritted her teeth. Why had she thought Kelsey might enjoy hearing about the horsehoe? It was one of the most popular of Pine Hollow’s many traditions. None of the other younger riders treated it like some lame joke. Then again, none of the other younger riders treated the stable hands like their personal servants or jerked at their horses for spooking, either. Max had taught them better than that.

  And he’ll teach Kelsey, too, she reminded herself, taking a couple of slow, deep breaths to maintain her cool. Just give it time. If she sticks around this place long enough, she just might turn human.

  Giving up on trying to connect with the younger girl, she briskly led her past the tack room, rest rooms, and office. Then she brought her back out into the entryway and on into the student locker room. There they found the lingering group of intermediate riders—Sarah Anne Porter, May Grover, and Juliet Phillips—changing into their street clothes and gathering their things. Deciding it was t
ime for someone else to entertain Kelsey for a while, Carole quickly introduced them.

  “Kelsey here will probably be in your lessons from now on,” Carole told the girls cheerfully.

  “Lessons?” Kelsey wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I’ll be taking any lessons.”

  That’s what you think, Carole thought. She knew that Max frowned on any rider who thought she was too good to need lessons. Even after years of riding, Carole and her friends still took a lesson whenever they had time, even if their busy schedules didn’t allow them to squeeze in more than one a month or so. But all the younger and greener riders, boarders or otherwise, were expected to show up for lessons at least once a week if they wanted to stay in Max’s good graces. Noticing the Pine Hollow girls exchanging glances, Carole guessed they were thinking the same thing.

  “Anyway,” she said quickly, not wanting to witness that debate at the moment, “these guys are here late because they went on a long trail ride this afternoon.”

  “I was riding Barq,” said Sarah Anne, still seeming a little in awe of Kelsey. “He’s one of my favorite horses here. He’s an Arabian.”

  “An Arabian?” Kelsey’s nose wrinkled slightly. “I’m not a fan of Arabians. They can’t jump.”

  Sarah Anne frowned and Carole rolled her eyes, tempted to step in and explain that Barq could jump just fine. But she held herself back. It wasn’t worth it—Kelsey probably wouldn’t pay any attention to her anyway, and the Pine Hollow girls should have more sense than to listen to the newcomer’s obnoxious, snobby comments in the first place.

  Max has taught them not to judge a horse by its breed or its color or any of the rest of it, Carole thought. And maybe if Kelsey sticks around here long enough, she’ll get the hint, too. Then she can stop bragging about the fancy ribbon-winning Thoroughbred that she can’t even handle and start learning some real horsemanship.