No Horse Wanted

by Melange Books, LLC

  “Just because I’m not sentimental doesn’t mean I won’t be a good vet. I can take care of sick animals without crying.”

  “You’re just being a macho jerk.” I held the carrot closer. “Come on, Twaz. They taste good. They won’t hurt your teeth like sugar.”

  “If you feed him sugar, you’re brushing his teeth. I’m not.” Jack finished scooping manure and tossed the last pile into the wheelbarrow parked outside. He came back with a plastic wrapped bale of shavings and dumped out half of it into the stall. Then, he spread the bedding.

  “Remember when Cobbie got that cavity? Dr. Larry had to pull out the tooth with his forceps. You cried for hours because he didn’t use a sedative.”

  “He hurt Cobbie.” I broke off a piece of carrot and eased the tip of it into Twaziem’s mouth. He tried a cautious nibble, then crunched down on it. “See, Twaz, I told you they were good. Nobody’s hurting him, Jack. I won’t let them.”

  “I think he’s been hurt enough.” Jack headed out of the stall, making sure he had his fork and rake. “So, are you going to help me with the chores tonight? I’ll split the money with you.”

  “When I came down here, Dad was trying to convince Mom that they should pay me for good grades like they do for you and Felicia.”

  Jack laughed. “They only pay for A’s and the highest you’ve ever gotten is a C average.”

  I shrugged and fed Twaziem another piece of carrot. “I could get a four-point if I wanted.”

  My brother just laughed again and walked away.

  “I could,” I told Twaz. He nickered and nosed me. He believed in me even if nobody else did. Well, of course. Who wouldn’t believe the person who saved you from certain death?

  Chapter Nine

  Sunday, September 15th, 4:30 p.m.

  Jack had moved down the barn to his horse’s stall. My brother was a sure thing, and he’d offered to share the chores as well as the money with me. Grades could wait until my parents came to a consensus. I stepped away from Twaziem and leaned on his stall door. “I’ll take care of the horses and the pigs and my cats, but I won’t do the steers or milk the cow.”

  “Works for me.” Jack whistled as he unloaded his tools and opened Nitro’s door. “I’ll do the chickens since the hen house is on the way to the cow pasture.”

  At the louder sound of his voice, Twaziem lifted a hind foot and kicked at the back wall. His hoof missed the wood by inches, and he followed up with another kick, this time with his right hind. It seemed as if he really didn’t like my brother, but I wasn’t going to say that again, not when Jack laughed at me. What could I do about it?

  Maybe if I made friends with Twaz, he’d realize people weren’t all bad. Despite all of Jack’s macho claims and the way he acted around his football buds, my brother wouldn’t starve or abuse any animal. Sometimes I thought his tough exterior was just the way he hid how he truly felt. When Cobbie died, Jack cried with me. So did Dad.

  “Why isn’t it okay for a guy to admit he has feelings?” I stood next to Twaziem’s brown neck and smelled the bitter odor of lice powder. “Jack would never hurt you. Mellow out, Twaz.”

  This time when I held out a piece of carrot, he took it. His whiskery nose tickled my hand. I giggled when he bobbed his head up and down, tasting the end of the carrot. The greens hung from his mouth like weird spaghetti. Deciding he liked the whole thing, he chewed it up and gulp, it was gone. He nudged me for more. His old owners must have believed that horses shouldn’t have treats. Some people said treats made horses mean, that it caused them to bite. I remembered the training video Rocky showed us with a guy who said, “Treats are a bonus, not a requirement.”

  Well, I wanted Twaziem to trust me, and we had tons of carrots in the garden, so he could have all he’d eat. Over the next half hour I fed carrots to Twaz, one small piece after another. While he munched them, I told him about my car. My beautiful Mustang with its deep Presidential blue exterior and the blue and black interior. “I visit it all the time on my way from school to Dad’s office.”

  He nodded and nudged me for the last piece of carrot. “A person shouldn’t love a machine the way they do an animal,” I said. “I’ll find you the perfect home. You’ll have people who love and care about you. It won’t be me, but I’ll visit. I promise.”

  He finished the treat, and I looked at the barn clock. It was five. I only had an hour before dinner and lots of chores to do. “It’s time to eat, Twaziem. I’ll get everybody fed.”

  Leaving the stall, I carefully latched the door behind me. Then I went down the aisle to get the hose. Water came first before feed, and all of the horses needed their tubs checked and filled. Because horses required so much liquid, Dad put in huge plastic garbage cans, one for each stall. He thought they were safer than automatic water basins that filled on their own.

  I started with Twaziem’s tub. It was only half full, which meant he’d taken on about ten gallons of water since yesterday. That was a good sign. Another one was the way he ignored me and the hose. He didn’t even lift a hind foot, although I stood behind him in the inside back corner of his stall. The bale of hay in his manger took all of his attention. In spite of eating most of the day, he still had about eight flakes left.

  When I finished filling his water tub, I turned off the nozzle. I dragged the hose from the stall and headed toward Buster. His tub had hay and grain floating in it. I went for the strainer, brought it back, and scooped stuff off the surface before I ran water. Next, was Singer. As soon as I opened her door, she jumped back. Personally, I found it hard to believe the hose terrified her. I mean she saw it all the time. I was pretty sure she faked it, but there was always the chance that she was truly frightened. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m just here to take care of you.”

  After her, came Nitro. I was glad I didn’t actually have to go inside with him. Dad put the water tub in the front corner of the stall because the Thoroughbred had such an intimidating personality. I watched him warily, hoping he wouldn’t try to bite me. He pinned his ears back and glared at me, but kept his distance. “You’re mean and evil,” I told him. “One day, I know you’ll prove it to everybody else, and Dad will get rid of you.”

  Nitro snorted. He tossed his head and narrowed pale blue eyes. When he stomped toward me, I shut off the water and backed away. His tub was only three-quarters full, but it’d have to do. I wasn’t taking the risk of being close to him any longer. I coiled the hose and looked at the clock. Five-fifteen.

  I hurried toward the hay loft. I had to give the horses their hay and grain, but I could take care of the cats while I was in the loft. That would speed me up. They didn’t need more water so I filled the other dish with dry food. I had to pet them for a few minutes and cuddle each one. Then, I opened a can of meat and split it onto the two plates. After that, I could drop a bale of hay into the arena for the horses.

  I dropped more hay into Twaziem’s manger at five thirty-five. I still had to grain all four horses and feed the pigs. Twenty-five minutes. How did Jack manage to do everything and get to dinner on time? He must be a superhero. This was awful. I knew I’d be late and Mom would demand to know why. Dad would point out that I was too old to keep the entire family waiting. And of course, I couldn’t go to the house and leave the animals to wait for the rest of their suppers. That wouldn’t be fair.

  It wasn’t the horses’ or the pigs’ fault that I wasn’t as fast at chores as Jack. Maybe I should have limited myself to the cats and horses, but the steers were the hardest to do. They had to be brought up from the farthest pasture to the closest one. Then, their water troughs had to be filled and so did the hay racks. It took ages to feed them and milk the cow. That was why I asked Jack to do it.

  In the grain room, I filled four coffee cans with feed, then picked up the first two. I wasn’t Jack and I couldn’t carry all the cans at one time, the way he did. It took two trips from the grain room to the stalls. First, I fed Buster and Nitro, pouring feed into the grain boxes in their stall
s, then Singer and Twaziem. Back to lock up the grain before leaving the barn, and I headed for the door, switching off the lights on my way. I glanced at the clock.

  Ten minutes till dinner. And I had to feed the pigs. I hurried toward the concrete foundation that served as a pen for the Berkshire hogs. I grabbed their bucket and went to the covered barrel that held their mash. Dad always raised four pigs, two for us and two to sell. That meant six trips between the large container of soaked grain and the pen to fill their feed trough. I checked their water. It didn’t need to be filled tonight. Hurray!

  Finally, I was done. I turned and ran toward the house. I was so late, and I just knew I’d get the lecture. It wasn’t like I could wash my hands and go for dinner. Mom would freak if I smelled like the barn, especially on Sunday. No, I totally had to hit the shower first. Nobody had ever been this late for a meal. Would I even get to eat before Dad chewed my ears?

  I hated it when people got mad at me. Mom was the worst. Dad talked a lot, but Mom remembered stuff and brought it up later. I still heard stories of all the things I’d done as a three-year-old, like throwing a new doll in the garbage and demanding a puppy instead. There was no way Mom would ever forget the time, ten years ago, that I put Cobbie in the laundry room because he had a cold and I didn’t think he’d get better in the barn.

  I was only six then. Two years later when my grandparents visited, they refused to come to the barn to see my pony. Granted, Cobbie was half horse, but he was a pony to me. And if they wouldn’t bring him a carrot, I’d ride him up to get one. So, I rode him all the way up the steps to the back deck, into the kitchen, through the living room and right up to the couch. He definitely deserved a carrot for being so good about it.

  Everybody started talking at once and Grandfather began yelling like he was still in the Marines. All the shouting made Cobbie nervous, and he took a dump on the new carpet. I was sent to my room in disgrace while Jack led my pony back to the barn. I wasn’t supposed to have any supper, but Felicia brought me soup and sandwiches. She acted like it was a big joke and promised me Cobbie got lots of carrots in his grain. I never forgot the look on Dad’s face before he turned his back on me in disgust, shoulders shaking.

  He’d be just as mad tonight. I eased open the door to the back porch and stopped when I saw Jack removing his boots. Were we both late?

  He glanced in my direction. “You better hurry. Fifteen minutes till dinner.”

  I blinked. “What are you talking about? It was ten to six when I left the barn to feed the pigs.”

  “Barn time,” Jack said. “Didn’t you realize I set the clock fifteen minutes ahead? Otherwise, I’d always be late. Grandma taught me that trick. Of course, she calls it bar time because she’ll be in major trouble if her customers aren’t out the door by two a.m. so she can close the tavern and not break the liquor laws.”

  “You mean I had fifteen extra minutes?” I unlaced one boot and kicked it under the bench. “I almost had a heart attack. I knew I’d be so late. Why didn’t you tell me before you left to do the steers?”

  “I thought you knew.” Jack opened the door to the kitchen. “You’d better hurry, or you’ll be late for supper.”

  “You jerk.” I pulled off my other boot. “You clown. You rotten creep.”

  “Why are you picking on your brother, Robbie?” Dad kept chopping vegetables for the salad. “What’s he done now?”

  I glared after Jack as he sauntered out of the room, heading for his shower. “He didn’t tell me that he set the barn clock ahead. I thought I was really late for dinner and I’d be the first course.”

  Dad laughed and grabbed a green pepper. He pointed to the kitchen clock with his free hand. “Ten minutes and you will be. Go, girl, go!”

  “I am.” I hustled through the kitchen and down the hall to my room.

  We were all seated at the dining room table and Dad had just started carving the roast chicken when Mom came in from the den. “Felicia made good time. She’s safe and sound in Pullman and is on her way to the stable to check Vinnie. She’ll call again on Wednesday night.”

  “That’s great,” Jack said. “I promised I’d send her a video of Nitro and me at the Games Day next week. And you’re going to email pictures of Twaziem, aren’t you, Robin?”

  “Yes.” I filled half my plate with salad, then passed the bowl to Dad. “I want him to gain more weight first. Dr. Larry said I should use the tape and measure his weight every week. Will you show me how to do it, Mom?”

  “Sure, honey.” She eyed me and kept putting brown rice on her plate. “Don’t you want your dad to do it? He’s the one who gives the horses their shots.”

  “Yes, but Twaz doesn’t like Jack, and Dad’s a guy too. I don’t want either of them to get hurt, and Twaziem seems to like me, you and Felicia better.”

  “Interesting,” Mom said. “I hadn’t heard of a horse practicing gender bias before. I wonder if Rocky has. You should talk to her about it this week when you start lessons again.”

  Chapter Ten

  Monday, September 16th, 7:20 a.m.

  I sat in the Commons with my mocha, stirring it with the straw while I waited for Vicky. Talk about déjà vu—I’d definitely been here before. Riding lessons? Come on. Get serious. I had plenty to do. Mom and Dad had told me at dinner last night that they’d agreed to pay me for A’s and B’s on my semester grades. Whoopee! But, how was I supposed to study when I had cross-country practice twice a week, a meet every Thursday for the next two months, Twaziem to look after and now riding lessons on Wednesdays and Saturdays?

  “Okay, so what’s the emergency?” Vicky plopped down in the seat across from me and actually grinned before she saw the peppermint latte I’d brought her. “Wow, you’re the best. And I love your parents. They can adopt me anytime.”

  “Mom signed me up for riding lessons.” I groaned. “Like I’m a little kid. She says I need to brush up my skills so I can train Twaz next spring, as if I’ll actually keep him. This was a rescue. I’ll find him a great home, but I don’t want a horse.”

  Vicky buried her head in her hands. “Here we go again with all your dramas. Did you ever think the world doesn’t turn around you, Robin?”

  “No.” I sucked up some mocha. “I’m blonde and beautiful, so of course it does. Do you ever get tired of always being right, Vick?”

  “No.” She took the cap off her cup and sipped. She kept smiling. “In this down economy, I wouldn’t bet on finding Twaziem a home, and you know your dad will want enough money to pay him back for the rehabilitation. That will be major bucks between the feed, the vet, the training, and your lessons, which you wouldn’t have to take if you didn’t have him or me.”

  “You?” I gaped at her. “What do my lessons have to do with you?”

  “Your mom called my mom and said that as long as she had to take you to Shamrock for classes, she might as well drop me to do my internship on Wednesdays and Saturdays. After all, both moms want the same thing—for us to pass our sophomore year with flying colors. And if you hang out with me academically, I might be able to get you on the Honor Roll by Christmas.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes, way!” Vicky drank more coffee. “I thought the Honor Roll thing was a bit over the top, but my mom totally went for it.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t believe it. My mom is such a bitch. Who knew?”

  “Well, you had to suspect it. No offense. I mean, think about Felicia. She had to get it somewhere.”

  We both cracked up. The warning bell rang and we got up, grabbing our backpacks to head for English class. Winding our way through the cafeteria, I asked, “So, is all right in your world now?”

  “Well, my internship is fine for the moment. I just have to figure out cheer practice and the football games on Fridays,” Vicky said, finishing her latte. “So far, Ms. Walker is okay with me leaving early to pick up the kids at their school and Chrissy from day care. But, when the squad starts getting ready for regionals, all bets are of
f.”

  “We have two months before that happens,” I said, draining my mocha. “We’ll figure out something. Hey, maybe your mom will hire a nanny.”

  “Yes and Santa will bring me Clinton Anderson for Christmas. I’d die to train with him and go to his Academy.”

  “You’d have to move to Texas, and Jack would totally freak.”

  “It’s Clinton Anderson,” Vicky said, dropping her cup in the garbage. “Jack would go with me to learn everything the guy knows about horses.”

  “Sure, but you have to be eighteen,” I said, tossing my cup, “and that’s two years away.”

  “Okay, well maybe I’ll get the ‘Colt Starting Videos’ this year. We can use them on Twaziem.”

  I laughed. “Oh, he’ll love that.”

  She always made me feel better, and I hoped I’d done the same for her. We made it to English class and our seats before the last bell rang. That was good since Mrs. Weaver was a notorious hard grader and had a zero tolerance for life. Gray-haired, gray eyes, she was older than dirt and looked like a stumpy rock in her gray suit.

  Silence reigned in the room as soon as the bell pealed. She stood at her desk and waited until everyone looked at her. “Some of you slackers haven’t turned in your letters of intent for your Sophomore Project and you should be starting your hours with your mentor this week. When I call your name, tell me who your mentor is or where you’re planning to go.”

  I cringed and ducked down in my seat. It didn’t do much good.

  She whipped through the first six letters of the alphabet and got to me in what felt like a heartbeat. “Roberta Gibson.”

  “I’m here,” I said.

  “And where are you going? Who will be your mentor?”

  I nearly said I had absolutely no idea, that I could skate through the class and end up with a C- or D+ and still stay on the cross-country team, but my best friend from hell spoke up. “She’s doing it with Dr. Larry Tomlinson at Equine Nation Vet Clinic in Snohomish.”