Horse Spy

by Bonnie Bryant

  “I bet you have to get back to the set now, right?”

  “Well, in a minute,” Skye said.

  “Okay, then I’ll talk to you when I get out there.”

  “It’s a date,” he said, and hung up.

  Lisa cradled the phone.

  “Are you making plans with Skye?” Alex asked.

  “Not likely,” Lisa said. “He’s so busy with his career that he hardly has any time for a life. But, Alex, even if I do see him, remember, or try to remember, that he’s a friend. He’s been a friend for a long time. He’s never been any more than a friend, or any less. You’re number one on my list, and that’s not going to change.”

  “But you’re so beautiful,” Alex said. “And he’s not blind.”

  Lisa blushed. “I suppose that means you want another kiss,” she teased.

  “No, it means I really want to borrow the Zero Gravity CD for the summer.”

  “But that’s my favorite!” she protested.

  “All the better to remember you by while you’re gone,” he said.

  Lisa smiled and gave in. Love was complicated.

  STEVIE CHECKED over her shoulder. In the backseat of the car was a large insulated container. Each container could hold two pizzas. On the front seat, next to her hat, was the list of addresses, in order, where she was to deliver the pizzas. It wasn’t actually a very long list. There was just one address left.

  Delivering pizzas was just about as routine as Stevie had thought it would be. She delivered the pizza, she took the money, she thanked the customer for the tip, she took off her hat and gave her courtly bow, she waited for the inevitable giggle, and then she left. Sometimes the door closed before she bowed, sometimes not. She didn’t have much time to think about that. People expected pizzas to be delivered quickly, whether they were being reasonable or not. Pizzas that were late were also cold, which meant the customer wouldn’t be happy, meant they wouldn’t tip, meant there wasn’t anything funny or not that she could do with her silly hat that would change that. She had a job to do.

  She backed the car down the Applethwaites’ driveway. There was a bump, and then the left rear of the car dropped an unnerving number of inches. Stevie opened her door and looked behind her. The Applethwaites had a little flower garden bordering their concrete driveway. It now had about eight inches less of impatiens than it had had a minute earlier. She closed her door, pulled the car forward, adjusted the wheel, and backed out without inflicting further damage on the pink and white flowers. She had a brief conversation with her conscience about the damage she’d caused. She had two more pizzas to deliver right away. The Applethwaites had only tipped her a quarter, and a quick examination of the flower bed confirmed that she was hardly the first person to make that mistake. She didn’t feel wonderful about her decision, but she decided to go away without saying anything.

  At the next house, she banged into a garbage can and knocked it over as she came into the driveway. It was a rubber one, so it didn’t make a lot of noise, and it was tightly closed, so nothing happened. Stevie righted the thing before she even rang the bell, wondering all the while why the Singers had put their garbage can right in the middle of their driveway. It belonged by the curb.

  The Singers were very grateful for their pizza—two dollars more grateful than the Applethwaites. Stevie was glad she’d put the garbage can back and hoped they would want to order pizza a lot when she was on duty. She made a note to be on the lookout for their garbage can next time.

  This wasn’t complicated, but it was hard work—harder than she’d thought it would be, anyway. She was always rushed, and she wanted to appear unrushed. Mr. Andrews said people liked fast service, not hurried service.

  Stevie returned to the shop for her next set of pizzas. This time there was only one waiting for her. She checked the slip and the order. She’d already learned that sometimes they got mixed up, and if she delivered anchovies to a sausage household, nobody would be happy. This one was right. It was a large pepperoni with mushrooms on half, and it was going to someone named Forester.

  Stevie checked the address. It wasn’t too far from her house. She knew the place, but she didn’t remember anyone named Forester there. She was getting a vague image of the kids in the family as she drove to the house. It was a big one, nicely kept, but she was sure the family wasn’t Forester.

  The outside of the house was well lit. There was a two-car garage, but a vehicle was parked sideways in a turnaround part of the driveway. Beside the garage, there was a large stack of cardboard boxes. Moving cartons. Obviously, the family Stevie remembered had moved out. And now the Foresters lived there. Well, whoever they were, Stevie hoped they were big tippers.

  She got out of the car, put on her silly hat, took the Foresters’ pizza—still toasty warm—out of the container, and rang the doorbell.

  As soon as the door began to open, Stevie spoke.

  “Pizza Manor at your service, milord,” she said, just as she’d been instructed.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” said the boy who held the door.

  Stevie found herself gazing into the very blue eyes of one of the best-looking guys she’d ever seen.

  “I wish I were kidding,” she said. “But right there in my employees manual, it says I have to say that stuff. Wait till you see what I do as I leave!”

  “Well, don’t hurry the process on my account,” the boy said. “I’m enjoying your company.”

  Stevie was quite aware of the carton she was holding. The heat from the pizza had penetrated the cardboard and was doing the same to the palm of her hand. She was less than comfortable.

  “Perhaps milord would like his pizza?” she asked, trying not to sound pained. “ ’Twould be fully of pepperonius and a moiety of fungal deliciosity. Surely such victuals are sufficient to please the palates of the gourmettiest consumer in all the realm.”

  “Who can resist that?” the boy asked, and took the pizza from Stevie’s hands. She blew on her palm to cool it.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the boy said. “I didn’t realize the pizza would be that hot when it arrived.” He turned and spoke to someone else in the hallway. “Callie, can you bring an ice cube and a piece of paper towel for our delivery person?”

  “Sure,” said a girl’s voice.

  “You’ve just moved in?” Stevie asked.

  “Yup,” said the boy. “My name’s Scott Forester, and this is my sister, Callie.”

  Callie handed Stevie the ice cube and paper towel. Stevie thanked her and introduced herself, explaining that she lived just a few blocks away. By the time Scott had the money for Stevie—with a nice tip—they’d established that they were neighbors and that Willow Creek was a nice place to live. Scott took the pizza into the kitchen. Callie stood and chatted with Stevie for a few minutes.

  “I like your earrings,” Callie said. Stevie’s hand flew up to her ear—she couldn’t remember which pair she’d put on that morning. She shouldn’t have had to check. It was her horseshoes. What other earrings would she have chosen on the day she was going to apply for both her driver’s license and a job?

  “Are you a rider?” Callie asked.

  “As much as possible,” said Stevie. “And you?”

  “Definitely. I ride endurance. But we’ve just moved here, so I haven’t tried out your trails and competition.”

  “Do you have a horse?”

  “We’re leasing a horse for the summer, with an option to buy. In fact, he just got here today. I’m boarding him at Pine Hollow. Do you know the place?”

  “Every inch of it,” Stevie said. “And I can tell you, you’ve just made the best decision of your life.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” said Callie. “It seemed a little—”

  “That’s where I keep Belle—she’s my horse—and my friends ride there, too. We’re probably going to be seeing a lot of each other. I promise you that the next time you see me, I won’t be wearing this silly hat or shirt—that is, unless you order a
nother pizza tonight. But I spend all the time I can at Pine Hollow. Max is great. So are Red and Ben. They’re the stable hands, but you probably haven’t met them yet.”

  “Brooding kind of guy.”

  “That’s Ben,” Stevie said. “He’s wonderful with horses. And my two best friends ride there, too. You’re going to love them. We tried endurance riding once. But just the once. We learned a lot, but I bet you could teach us a lot more.”

  “Well, if you’re interested—”

  “I am,” Stevie assured her. “Say, my friends and I are planning a trail ride in a couple of days. Would you like to come along? We’d be glad to show you the woods around here. We know just about all the trails and the nice places to stop, and where we can canter, and some fallen logs to jump—you know, that kind of thing.”

  “Well, are you sure it would be okay with your friends?” Callie asked.

  “Absolutely,” Stevie said. “We love to show off the place to newcomers.”

  “Well, then, I’ll be there.”

  “Day after tomorrow,” Stevie said. “We’ll take off about ten, so we’ll get to Pine Hollow about nine.”

  “See you then, if not before,” Callie said. “And, uh, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” Stevie said. And then, just the perfect way she was supposed to, she held her hat to her chest and bowed.

  “Enjoy thy pizza,” she said. Callie laughed and closed the door.

  Stevie felt wonderful. She’d met two nice people, one of them a rider who already had a horse at Pine Hollow. What a great day this was turning out to be—if you didn’t count some mushed impatiens, and Stevie didn’t.

  Stevie slid behind the wheel of her car and plopped her silly hat on the seat. That was when she noticed that her beeper was going off. Mr. Andrews had given it to her so that he could let her know when she had to hurry back to the shop. She’d been so happy about chatting with the Foresters that she’d almost forgotten she actually had a job to do. She’d taken a long time to deliver just one pizza.

  She fastened her seat belt, turned the key, and shifted into reverse. She checked the mirror and began backing down the driveway carefully. There was a flower bed on the left side and the parked car on her right.

  “What is it about impatiens?” Stevie asked her rearview mirror. “Why does everybody in this town have a border of impatiens next to their driveway? Is this a test?”

  She checked over her left shoulder and then looked back into the mirror. The flower bed was safe this time. Cautiously she proceeded.

  There was an unfamiliar feeling that Stevie didn’t like at all, and she met some resistance when she put her foot on the gas pedal ever so lightly. She looked over her right shoulder. The car that was parked sideways in the turnaround area was right there. Stevie gulped, shifted into drive, and pulled ahead about a foot. She hurried out of the car, dreading what she might find.

  She was right to worry. She’d broken her taillight and dented the area all around it. It was bad, really bad. She could barely bring herself to look at the other car, but she forced herself.

  The other car was a Jeep. That meant it was expensive, but it also meant it was tough. Where Stevie’s car had really visible damage, it wasn’t so clear that the Foresters’ car did. There was a scratch. And there was a slight dent—or maybe that’s how the car was made. Stevie scooted over to the other side to see if it went that way, too. But it was dark outside, and the lights from the house cast dark shadows on that side of the car. She couldn’t see. She really didn’t know.

  It wasn’t like the impatiens at the Applethwaites’ house. Stevie knew she’d done that and didn’t really care because they’d been so stingy and because so many other people had obviously done exactly the same thing she had to the flowers.

  There was a scratch on the Foresters’ car, but Stevie couldn’t believe she had done that. She’d been driving so slowly, how could she possibly have done any kind of damage? And if there was damage, there wasn’t much of it. A little scratch like that could have happened anytime. Yesterday, last week, a year ago. How would anybody ever know?

  Stevie heard the beeper go off again. She had to hurry or Mr. Andrews would be totally annoyed with her.

  She was pretty sure she hadn’t damaged the Foresters’ car. The damage to her car had almost certainly been caused by the big protective bumper on the van. Definitely, Stevie decided.

  She got back into her car and backed down the driveway very carefully. She decided that from then on, she would park at the curb and carry the pizzas up to the houses.

  “COME ON, boy,” Carole said to Fez the next morning. “You’re about to get your first taste of riding Pine Hollow style.” She gripped the horse’s reins firmly and led him out of his stall toward the schooling ring, where she was going to begin fulfilling her inexplicable promise to the congressman’s daughter.

  Carole had ridden many horses over the years—easy ones, tough ones, old plugs, champion hunter jumpers, and priceless racehorses. Every one of them was a new experience for her, and every new experience was a good one in its own way. She wondered how this horse was going to fit into that.

  Fez followed Carole dutifully out of his stall and down the stable aisle. He was getting his first real look at his new home, and Carole didn’t rush him. He had every right to be curious. He eyed all the other horses as he passed them. He showed little interest, but Carole was sure he was taking it in.

  She mounted and then walked him over to the good-luck horseshoe, one of Pine Hollow’s oldest traditions. Three generations before, the founder of Pine Hollow, Max Regnery, Sr., had nailed this horseshoe over the entry to the main outdoor ring. He instituted a rule for all his students that they had to touch the horseshoe before riding—every time, without fail. He told them the horseshoe had special good luck, and if they followed the rule, they wouldn’t get hurt. It seemed to work. In fact, no one at Pine Hollow had ever gotten seriously injured while riding.

  The little kids who rode at the stable believed deeply in the magic of the horseshoe. Carole suspected something else was at work. Touching the horseshoe was a way of reminding oneself that riding could be a dangerous sport. People could, and did, get hurt when riding, but a lot of riding accidents were the result of carelessness. Riders who remembered the dangers tended to be sensible and cautious. The horseshoe was strong preventive medicine.

  Fez flinched and nearly bolted before Carole had a chance to make contact with the horseshoe.

  “No way!” she said. “I know you’re a handful, and there’s no way I’m taking a chance. I’m going to touch that horseshoe before we take one more step.”

  Fez pulled at the reins and pranced nervously, but he did what he was told, and Carole managed a successful swipe at the horseshoe before she and Fez entered the schooling ring.

  It was early in the morning, and she had the place to herself. The only way she could get in a brief stretch of exercise for Fez that day was to do it before work. She’d been hoping to have a chance to ride Starlight, but that would have to wait until the trail ride the next day.

  Carole’s plan was to give Fez an easy workout for his first full day at Pine Hollow. She wanted it to be easy for both of them, since she had a full morning ahead of her, including a whole class of young riders who needed pony assignments and a meeting with the grain salesman to go over a mysterious and complicated bill. They began at a walk, and after a few times around the ring, she gave Fez a signal to trot. He was slow to respond. A well-trained champion horse like Fez should be eager to move to a more rapid gait, but he didn’t seem eager to do anything she asked of him. It took three kicks and a flick of her crop to get his attention.

  It was a frustrating business. Carole wondered if her annoyance with herself was affecting the way she was riding Fez and the way he was reacting to her, but she dismissed the idea. She knew how to ride. She also knew better than to take out her frustrations on a horse.

  As the ride went on, she found that she had enou
gh frustration to take out on a hundred horses. Champion though he might be, Fez was no joy to ride. She felt as if he were giving her a fight about everything. No wonder he was an endurance champion—any rider would have to have a lot of endurance to put up with this!

  Carole took a deep breath and held her temper. How could she be mad at Fez? He must be terribly confused. He’d just had a long trip, which he clearly hadn’t liked. He was in a new stable, surrounded by totally new horses, handled by totally new people, probably eating a new mixture of grains, exercising in an unfamiliar schooling ring. Everything had to be frightening to him. There was no reason why his rider should be frightening, too.

  Carole leaned forward and gave him an affectionate pat on his neck. “Good boy,” she said. “I know you’re trying, and I’ll try, too. We’ll do just fine together. You don’t have to worry, because I’d never do anything to hurt you. I’ll be gentle as can be and take good care of you.”

  In thanks, Fez bucked.

  Fifteen frustrating minutes later, Carole began thinking about how much fun it was going to be to assign ponies for the beginner class. That was when Stevie arrived. As far as Carole was concerned, Stevie was the proverbial knight on the white horse—only in this case, it was a good thing she arrived without a horse, because Carole was more than willing to provide one.

  “Can you give me a hand here?” Carole asked.

  “Sure,” Stevie said. Carole wondered briefly if she should leave Stevie in blissful ignorance and abandon her to Fez. Somehow that didn’t seem fair.

  She rode over to where Stevie stood by the fence and dismounted. Fez relaxed instantly, and Carole was amused to see that he was clearly as relieved to have her out of his saddle as she was to be out.

  “I’ve done something dumb and I really need some help,” Carole confessed. “This is Fez. He’s new at the stable and he’s like a VIP. The owner was here yesterday. She was difficult, fussy, and moody, and she kept telling me how wonderful her last stable was. Well, you know how I am. I can’t stand the idea that anybody thinks any other stable is better than Pine Hollow, and she gave the strong impression that her horse was exercised by the staff as part of his board there, so naturally—”