Horse Spy

by Bonnie Bryant

  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 man aged 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.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded.

  “I was waiting for Dad,” Callie said. “I couldn’t leave without him.”

  “Well, I may leave here without you,” he said. “I’ve got an appointment with the coach of the debate team in exactly fifteen minutes, and I have to get you to the dentist first. You’ve got to get in there, check out your horse, who looks just fine if you want my opinion, and then we’ve got to get out of here in five minutes so I can take you to your appointment.”

  “Five minutes? Scott, I can’t do that! This is the first time I’ve seen the horse in months. I can’t just wave to him. You don’t know the first thing about—”

  “What I know is that I don’t have a lot of time. Make it snappy.”

  “I’ll do my best.” She sighed. Scott wasn’t improving her mood.

  “Inside, turn right down the aisle. He’s in the last stall on the right. There’s a girl named Carole and a boy named Ben looking after him, but I think the horse is in a really bad mood. I guess they had to go to a lot of trouble to get him off the van—not that he got hurt or anything. I’ll be waiting in the car.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  She stepped into the stable and paused for a moment. She heard Scott turn on the motor. It irritated her. She knew it was his way of reminding her, as if she hadn’t gotten the message, that he really was in a hurry. She knew he was rushed, just as she knew that he hadn’t been thrilled with his assignment to pick her up and drive her around. He wasn’t a lot happier about moving to Willow Creek than she was, and the only thing that made it easier for him was the excellent reputation of the Willow Creek High School debate team, a reputation he fully expected to help improve.

  It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness after the bright summer sun outside. The stable was clean, with just the right amount of disarray. The pitchfork was precisely (and safely) tucked in a corner, but three lead ropes hung loosely around a peg, available on a second’s notice. Just as they should be.

  She peered into the tack room. Tack rooms always looked messy to the untrained eye. Callie’s eye wasn’t untrained. She could see that everything in there had a place where it belonged. The pungent smells of leather, horses, and saddle soap combined comfortably.

  She’d never been to Pine Hollow before, but she knew the place. It had all the best qualities of every fine stable she’d ever walked in. This would be okay, even if it wasn’t back home.

  There was a long row of stalls on each side of the aisle before the right turn Scott had alerted her to. Every stall held a horse. Every stall was clean, all the horses were groomed, each of the hay ticks had a good supply of hay, and all the water buckets were filled. Pine Hollow had an excellent reputation for horse care, and Callie wasn’t surprised to find everything in order. She was pleased to have the reputation confirmed, even if she could only make the judgment based on a quick peek. Once again, she found herself more than a little annoyed with her brother and his rush to deliver her to the dentist an hour before she needed to be there so he could spend extra time with the debate coach. Why was it that his appointment with the debate coach was more important than her appointment with her horse?

  She hurried on along the aisle and turned right.

  “Oh, hi. Where’s Scott? You must be Callie.”

  Callie looked up to see an African American girl about her own age. The girl wore her black hair in several braids that hung down to her shoulders. She was dressed in riding jeans, stable boots, and a T-shirt. Her hair was full of straw, and there was a large splash of water down the front of her shirt. She brushed ineffectively at the straw and water.

  “Right, I’m Callie,” Callie confirmed testily. “And you are?”

  “Oh, well, I’m Carole. Um, Carole Hanson,” the girl said. “I’m in charge of the office in the mornings this summer, so I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of one another, and you’ll have to be sure to let me know if there are things I can do for you because we want you to be happy with Pine Hollow. It’s a wonderful stable. I’ve been riding here since I was—oh, I guess about ten or something, and you’re just going to love it here, Carrie—um, Callie.”

  Carole couldn’t believe what she was saying, but there didn’t seem to be any way to stop herself. Her mouth kept going when it was more than apparent that her brain had stopped working eight or ten sentences before. And even while those thoughts were crowding into her mind, she was still talking, by now onto the subject of feeding schedules. “And everyone pitches in. We all help around here. Of course, I do because I work here, but even when I was just a rider with her own horse here—you passed right by Starlight’s—”

  “Where’s Fez?” Callie asked.

  That stopped Carole. How could she be so dumb? Callie didn’t need anyone to give her a sales pitch on Pine Hollow. Of course the only thing she cared about was her horse.

  “Um, right here,” Carole said. She took a few steps back and revealed the Arab to his new owner. “We even had his nameplate installed.”

  “Right,” Callie said brusquely. She stepped up to the horse and took a critical look at him. “He seems to have come through the trip okay. Did he give you much trouble getting off the van?”

  Carole was about to answer when she realized the question hadn’t been directed to her. Callie was speaking to Ben.

  “Yup,” he said. He didn’t elaborate. Carole envied his restraint.

  Callie reached up and patted the horse. His first instinct was to pull back, but he had second thoughts about that and let her touch him. She clicked her tongue and scratched him on the cheek. He responded with as much affection as Carole had seen from him since he’d arrived.

  “You’re good,” Carole said, genuinely admiring Callie’s skill.

  “I love horses, it’s that simple,” Callie said.

  That smarted. Callie had managed to imply that Carole didn’t love horses, and nothing could be farther from the truth. But Callie was a customer, a paying boarder, a congressman’s daughter, a champion rider. And Carole was in charge of making her feel welcome at Pine Hollow.

  “It shows,” Carole told Callie. What she didn’t say was that other things showed, too.

  CAROLE PASTED a smile on her face. “I’d like to show you the office and let you see how we keep our records,” she said.

  “On computer, I presume,” said Callie. “I don’t really need to see it. I’m sure it’s just fine. That’s the way Henry did everything at the stable back home. It’s all standard. I’m sure you’re up to date.”

  Carole swallowed. In fact, Max had long considered shifting Pine Hollow’s records to computer, but he believed that the books had the advantage of being very portable and entirely secure from the dangers of power outages. Perhaps Callie would be interested to know about that.

  “Actually, we keep notebooks for each horse. That way, if there’s a problem with the power, or whatever—well, you know.”

  “Right, whatever,” Callie said, dismissing Carole and her explanation. She seemed annoyed and harried. Carole lost every bit of self-confidence she’d ever had and became convinced that Callie’s annoyance was completely her fault. Normally, when the subject was horses, Carole was relaxed and at ease. Today sh
e felt like a bundle of nerves.

  Callie swallowed hard. This wasn’t easy on her. Everything, including the horse she was expected to ride, was new. New wasn’t something that Callie liked or did well with. She liked things that were familiar. For the umpteenth time, she found herself wishing she were as flexible as Scott. Scott was always instantly at home wherever he was—except now, of course. Right now he was out in the car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for Callie and wishing he could already be at the high school talking with the debate coach.

  Well, Callie still had a few minutes, and she intended to use them to find out all she could about Pine Hollow and her new horse’s care.

  “What about the exercise schedule for boarders?” Callie asked. At her last stable, Henry had set aside Monday and Wednesday mornings and Friday late afternoons exclusively for horse owners. There were no classes at those times, so the owners could use all the facilities without competing with classes and occasional riders. It had worked well for Green-springs Stable, and she wondered if Pine Hollow had anything like it.

  The question confused Carole. Boarders were expected to exercise their own horses, and they could do it whenever they wanted. It helped if they let the office know when they were coming, but they were certainly entitled to come over anytime at all. But maybe that wasn’t what Callie meant. She was, after all, a champion rider and the daughter of a congressman, so she was probably used to getting VIP treatment. There was no way Pine Hollow was going to come in second to any other stable.

  “We’ll see to it that Fez gets all the exercise he needs,” said Carole.

  “You turn the horses out on some sort of schedule?”

  “Well, that, of course,” Carole said. “But every horse has individual needs, and we’ll see that they’re met. A champ like Fez needs to be ridden to stay in top form.”