Saddlebags

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Well, we made it to the airport by the skin of our teeth,” Stevie reported.

  “I guess that means Chad won’t be coming to the Bar None.”

  “Nope,” Stevie answered. “And Alex and Michael will be at Boy Scout Camp. What a relief.” She hesitated. “Sorry to call so late, but I just had to talk to you and Lisa.”

  “What’s up?” asked Carole. She could hear the note of tension in Stevie’s voice.

  “To tell you the truth,” Stevie went on, “I’ve been thinking about what it’ll feel like to have our parents come to the Bar None. I mean, it’s always been The Saddle Club. The three of us, and Kate and Christine. I guess I don’t really want my parents in on everything.”

  Carole tried to reassure her. “Just because your parents are coming with us doesn’t mean they have to know everything about what we do. They’ll probably leave us alone sometimes and go off by themselves.”

  Stevie yawned. “Yeah. You’re probably right. I still think it’ll be fun to bring them along, but it might feel a little strange, that’s all. I just hung up with Lisa. She’s nervous about her mom and dad too.”

  “You two need to stop worrying so much,” Carole said. “By the time we’re packed and ready to go, I’m sure you’ll be too excited to care who comes with us—even if it’s your brothers.”

  Stevie laughed in spite of her worries. “Don’t even suggest that!”

  CAROLE THOUGHT THE following weekend would never arrive. All week long the trip to the Bar None was all she could think about. She couldn’t wait to see Kate and Christine, plus she was excited about showing the Bar None to her father—even if he might embarrass her a little. Finally the day arrived.

  On Sunday morning, as they were taking their suitcases out to the Lakes’ car, Carole told her father about the strange dream she’d had the night before.

  “You were riding this Appaloosa bareback,” she said, “and you were galloping along, roping a runaway steer!”

  “Sounds plausible,” the colonel answered, his brown eyes twinkling.

  “Get serious, Dad,” Carole answered, “that’s something even I couldn’t do!”

  She called hello to the Lakes and lifted her suitcase into the back of the station wagon. Her father had laughed about her dream, but Carole couldn’t help wondering if he’d actually try some daredevil riding stunts like steer roping. She hoped not. Sometimes he liked to joke around and show off, but he didn’t have nearly enough riding experience to tackle anything much beyond a trail ride.

  When her friends pulled up in the Lakes’ station wagon, Lisa was waiting impatiently on her front steps. She grabbed her duffel bag and ran down to stow it in the car.

  “Mom’s running a little late,” she called, rolling her eyes. “She and Dad are having trouble closing the suitcase. I think she packed fourteen different outfits.” She climbed into the back next to her friends. “Last night I had a dream about Mom making a disgusted face at Dad while Phyllis showed them their bunkhouse. Then she called the curtains quaint right to Phyllis’s face!”

  “You think that’s bad,” Carole said grimly. “I dreamt my father was acting like a rodeo daredevil!”

  The girls exchanged uneasy glances.

  “Maybe we can ignore them,” Stevie began. “Maybe once we’re out West they won’t even—”

  “ ‘Oh, give me a home, where the buffalo roam, and the deer—’ ”

  Her father’s cheerful voice crooning “Home on the Range” interrupted Stevie’s short-lived burst of optimism.

  “Aaaaaaaagh!” cried Stevie.

  Mr. Lake stopped singing. “What’s wrong, honey? Don’t you like my voice?”

  “You just reminded me of a dream I had last night!” Stevie cried. “Actually, it was more like a nightmare!”

  “Were we in it?” Stevie’s mother asked. “Singing cowboy songs?”

  “You were both singing ‘The Streets of Laredo,’ as a matter of fact!” was Stevie’s reply. Everyone burst out laughing.

  “Well, pardners, westward ho!” Mr. Lake called out. Then, while the three girls huddled in the back, hands over their ears, the rest of the parents joined in the song.

  LISA SAT IN her favorite rocking chair on the porch of the girls’ bunkhouse at the Bar None and looked out at the sky. It always surprised her how huge it was. She knew it was the same sky she saw in Willow Creek, but here it seemed to go on forever.

  She sighed. Eight days ago she had no idea she’d be out here. Now here she was, with her best friends—and her parents! For a moment she stopped worrying about her mother or anticipating seeing John Brightstar. She simply enjoyed being back in this wonderful place. Lisa rocked in the chair and smiled.

  A few minutes later Stevie and Carole joined her on the porch.

  “I can’t believe we’re here!” exclaimed Stevie.

  “Me neither,” answered Carole, “and I can’t wait to go for a ride!”

  At that moment Kate rounded the corner to the bunkhouse. “How about right now?”

  “Kate!” All three girls bounded off the porch to hug their friend. She looked the same as last time they’d seen her except maybe taller, her deep auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  “Sorry I couldn’t meet you at the airport. I had this dumb dentist appointment—”

  “That’s okay,” said Lisa.

  “How are you?” Carole asked.

  “Great, just a little numb,” answered Kate, rubbing her jaw.

  “Nothing a ride won’t cure, right?” said Stevie.

  “You got it.” Kate grinned. “I’m so glad to see you guys.”

  “Hey, thanks for working on your dad to invite all of us,” said Stevie.

  “No problem,” answered Kate. “I just had to agree to help train a couple of our new fillies.”

  The girls smiled. Kate was probably the most experienced rider of all of them, and they knew she’d love training the young horses.

  “Let’s go for that ride,” said Stevie.

  “Sounds good,” said Lisa, “but let’s check on our parents first. Maybe they’ll want to come.”

  As they headed over to the parents’ bunkhouse, Stevie turned to Kate. “So just how long did you know about this surprise?”

  “Longer than any of you!” Kate replied.

  “Do we ever owe you one,” said Stevie. “Just you wait.”

  Kate laughed. “Uh-oh, I’d better watch out. I’ve heard lots of stories about Stevie Lake’s revenge schemes—none of them pretty!”

  “Hi!” called Mrs. Atwood as The Saddle Club walked up. To Lisa’s surprise, her mother’s face was glowing. “The view is great from every window, and I love this little porch.”

  “How’d you like to see the view from horseback?” Lisa asked.

  Mrs. Atwood nodded. “Sounds good.”

  Stevie’s mother appeared from inside the cabin. “Can I come too?”

  “Of course!” Stevie answered, “Everyone’s invited!”

  “Let’s all meet at the corral in twenty minutes, okay?” said Kate.

  “See you there,” Mrs. Atwood replied.

  “I’ll tell the dads in here,” said Mrs. Lake.

  “Speaking of dads, I want to go check on mine,” said Carole. “He’s up at the big house.” The girls walked over to the main house, a long, low ranch with a porch that stretched across the front.

  As they walked in, Phyllis Devine, Kate’s mother, came out of the kitchen.

  “Stevie! Carole! Lisa!” she said, hugging them each. “How’re my favorite dudes? I’m so glad you brought your folks. Carole, your dad is staying in the guest room right down the hall from us.”

  Carole headed down the hall and met her father coming out of his room. He had changed into jeans and a Western shirt.

  “Are you ready for a ride?” she asked.

  “Does a coyote howl?” Colonel Hanson answered with a big smile.

  “Meet us at the corral in fifteen minutes,” Carole told him. Then she and her
friends headed back outside.

  As the others chattered away, Lisa kept her eyes peeled for John Brightstar. He and his father, Walter, worked at the Bar None, and during her last couple of visits to the ranch she had become good friends with John.

  She drew in a deep breath when she finally spotted the tall, black-haired wrangler coming out of the barn with his father.

  Walter nodded. “Hello, girls,” he said quietly.

  John gave each of the three visitors a friendly hug—though it felt to Lisa as if he hugged her just a little bit longer than the others.

  “You dudes look great—not like you’ve been cooped up all winter,” he teased them.

  “Hey,” said Carole indignantly, “we’ve been riding a lot.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” John grinned. “Welcome back to the Bar None.”

  “You know, our parents came this time,” Stevie said.

  “That’s what we heard.” Walter nodded.

  “They’re meeting us here in a few minutes.” Lisa looked back toward the bunkhouses. “They’re still unpacking.”

  John smiled at Lisa. “While you’re waiting, come and meet my new horse.”

  Lisa followed John into the barn. She was having trouble keeping a huge grin from spreading across her face.

  “His name is Tex,” John said. “He’s a full-blooded quarter horse with great lines.”

  They walked to a stall at the far end of the barn. And there was Tex, a beautiful chestnut gelding.

  “It’s obvious he’s got great lines, John,” said Lisa. “Pleased to meet you, Tex.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure,” said John in a low voice.

  Lisa smiled. John hadn’t changed a bit. He was still warm and silly and serious all at the same time. “So tell me everything about him,” she said, “like how old is he … what’s his specialty …”

  “Well, he’s only three and a half, and he has very strong gaits and a sensitive mouth. He was quite well trained, up to a point.”

  “Which is where you come in.”

  “Exactly,” said John. “I think he’d make a super reining horse for wrangling and for showing.”

  “Reining?” Lisa asked, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t get it. Don’t we all do that?”

  John patted Tex and grinned. “Reining is like advanced training for a Western horse. It involves sliding stops, lead changes, pivots. Stuff like that.”

  “It must take lots of time,” said Lisa.

  “It has to,” said John. “Rushing can really ruin a horse. If you do it right, you have a superior roping horse—and show horse too. Advanced reining with Western quarter horses is the top technical competition.”

  “It must be useful on the trail and in wrangling too,” Lisa said.

  John nodded. “That’s where it started, after all,” he said.

  He took her hand as they headed back outside. The parents had gathered already.

  Lisa led John over to her parents. “Mom, Dad, this is John Brightstar.”

  “Pleased to meet you, John,” said Mr. Atwood, shaking John’s hand. “Are you one of the wranglers here?”

  “Well, actually, sir, my dad’s the chief wrangler, and I help him before and after school.” John turned and introduced the Atwoods to his father.

  “Good to meet you,” said Walter. “The horses are all saddled up and ready to go. Let’s go meet your mounts for the week.”

  As she and John followed the grown-ups over to the horses, Lisa wondered if her mother had noticed the two of them holding hands. Mrs. Atwood certainly hadn’t shown any reaction.

  So far things are going fine, Lisa thought. I just hope I stop feeling so self-conscious around Mom.

  “Now, which horse are you going to give me?” Mrs. Atwood was asking Walter. “Do you have a nice, steady one?”

  “They’re all pretty steady, ma’am,” Walter answered, “but I’ve chosen one of the best for you. You’ll be riding Spot.”

  Spot was a good choice, Lisa thought. He was an Appaloosa gelding that Kate had ridden before she had adopted her mare, Moonglow, from a wild herd. Spot was one of the horses the Bar None used for guests these days. That meant he had to be well trained, reliable, and willing to put up with some less-than-decent riders.

  “Spot’ll be great for you, Mom,” said Lisa as they walked the horse out of the barn. “Now, remember, when you ride Western, you keep the reins much looser than you see us keeping them at Pine Hollow.”

  Mrs. Atwood gave her daughter a wink. Then she took the reins in her right hand, put her right foot in the right stirrup, and swung herself into the saddle.

  Lisa grimaced. “Mom, you mount the horse on the other side.”

  She turned to her father, to start instructing him. But before she could open her mouth, he swung himself up into the saddle from the left side of his horse, Tripper. At least he looked as if he knew what he was doing.

  Lisa turned and saw Stevie’s parents mounting up. Mr. Lake was riding a mare named Melody. Lisa chuckled to herself. After hearing him sing cowboy songs all day, she thought Melody seemed like the perfect mount. Mrs. Lake was on a gray named Shoofly.

  “We’d better hurry up,” Stevie joked, “or our parents will leave us in the dust.”

  As Stevie and Lisa headed back into the barn to collect their own horses, Carole busily adjusted her father’s stirrups. “Now, Dad, you don’t want your stirrups as short as they are in English riding, and you put your foot a little farther in.” She picked up her father’s foot and placed it just right in the big wooden stirrup.

  “Hold your reins in your right hand. You can loosen up on them, that’s ri—”

  “Carole, honey, I’m just fine. Now, will you go get your horse?”

  Carole looked up at Colonel Hanson and sighed. There he sat, atop Yellowbird, a big Palomino. He looked okay—except for the hat. On his head was a deluxe Western riding hat, tall and black, with silver buckles around its leather strap, and white and black feathers. The first time she’d laid eyes on it had been on the way to the airport, and she’d wanted to crawl under the backseat of the Lakes’ station wagon.

  “I still don’t know about that hat, Dad,” she told him now. “All it needs is a few rhinestones, and you’d look like the dude of the century!”

  Colonel Hanson laughed good-naturedly at his daughter. “You’re just jealous,” he said. “You’ve got only that old beat-up hat with nothing on it. Now, why don’t you go and get your horse and let’s get going.”

  The girls got their horses and mounted up. From previous visits to the Bar None, they each had favorite mounts. Carole always rode Berry, a strawberry roan; Lisa rode a bay mare, Chocolate; and Stevie was on Stewball, a skewbald horse with a lot of personality.

  They walked their horses over to a spot just outside the corral, where their parents were waiting.

  Mr. Lake spoke up. “You know, you don’t need to pamper us, girls. We haven’t watched all those shows and lessons at Pine Hollow without picking up a thing or two.”

  “We’re not as run-down as you think we are,” Carole’s father added with a wink at his daughter.

  Mrs. Atwood adjusted her hat. “You’re treating us like a bunch of old bags!”

  “That’s right,” chimed in Stevie’s mother. “And if we’re bags, we must really be saddlebags!”

  Everybody laughed.

  “Our very own nickname,” said Mrs. Atwood. “Maybe we should start our own club!”

  The parents chuckled, the kids groaned, and they all started off.

  The girls and John took the parents on an easy trail ride along a few of the Bar None’s hundreds of acres. They led them out beyond the compound of buildings and into the open fields that sprawled behind the ranch. All around them, huge, snowcapped peaks jutted into the sky. The pastures were lined with grass and scrub and small trees here and there. At their edges, pine forests created a layer of dark green.

  There was no other trail-riding like this in the world, Lisa thou
ght. It was beautiful here.

  They walked at first, so their parents could enjoy the view. Then Carole looked back and assessed that everyone looked pretty comfortable, so she brought Berry to a slow trot.

  Lisa watched to see what her parents would do. Sure enough, her mother brought her feet about a foot away from Spot’s sides and then let them bang against him with a smack of a kick. The horse arched his neck and started to lope. But he was a trail horse, used to following the leader, so he quickly slowed to a trot.

  It’s a good thing Spot’s a follower, thought Lisa. Otherwise, with a kick like that, he’d be off to the other side of the mountain.

  Mrs. Atwood had lost her stirrups by this time and was bouncing precariously in the saddle. “Whoa, whoa,” she said as she pulled hard on the reins.

  “Mom,” said Lisa, circling around and coming up beside her mother, “let’s stop and regroup.”

  Lisa stopped Chocolate. Spot stopped also.

  “Whew,” said Mrs. Atwood as she fumbled for the stirrups with her feet. “Aren’t these stirrups a bit long?”

  “They’re just right for Western riding, Mom,” answered Lisa. “Try to keep your feet pressed into them. And you don’t need to kick so hard. A little squeeze will do.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Atwood found her stirrups. Without another word to her daughter, she clucked to Spot, who broke into a trot, following the others. Lisa trotted along as well, keeping a close eye on her mother.

  As the group approached the hills where Parson’s Rock jutted up out of the land, Carole slowed them back down to a walk.

  “That’s the rock I told you about,” Stevie said to her parents. “Remember the surprise birthday party my friends gave me on my very first visit out here? That’s where they held it.” They stopped to admire the huge rock that stood up out of the hills like a preacher’s pulpit.

  Then the group wound up into the hills a little way before heading back to the Bar None. Kate led the riders back. John rode beside Lisa, who checked on her mother every few minutes.

  Carole rode up beside her father, who was swaying quite a bit in the saddle. “You don’t have to sway so much, Dad,” she said.