No Horse Wanted

by Melange Books, LLC

  Dani glanced at me warily. “I didn’t know you had a thing for Harry. Are you really okay with me dating him?”

  I still felt a bit of a twinge when I thought about Harry, but I wasn’t sharing that with any of my friends. I’d been awfully shallow when I didn’t think of him as a human being, and I didn’t want Vicky or Sierra knowing I could actually be a stereotypical blonde.

  I shrugged. “It was more my thing than his. Go for it, Dani.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sunday, October 6th, 5:15 p.m.

  When I returned from my afternoon run, I showered and changed to a T-shirt and jeans, then went down to the barn to help with chores. Twaziem and Singer stood in the middle of the paddock, grooming each other with their teeth. Like I hadn’t thoroughly brushed Twaz before I turned him out, I thought. Everybody’s a critic.

  I walked into the barn and found Bill mucking my horse’s stall. I lingered in the doorway. “Isn’t Jack among the living yet? Or is he still having problems with his leg?”

  “No. I just came to hang out, so I figured I’d help.” Bill finished raking the bedding until the floor was level. He leaned the plastic fork against the wall and came toward me. He stopped in front of me. “You could move, so I can grab the bale of shavings.”

  “I could, but we don’t have an audience.”

  A slow smile crept across his lips and landed in his eyes. “You’re right.”

  He bent his head and kissed me. Long, slow and oh so sweet. My legs felt as if they’d barely hold me up, so I hung onto his shoulders. My pulse thudded and I could have stayed there in his arms forever. Dimly, I heard music.

  Bill lifted his head and stepped back. “What a time for Jack to show up.”

  “You’re telling me.” I took a step sideways so I could pretend I wanted to check out Twaziem’s water tub. The song I heard came from my brother who whistled pretty much the whole time he was in the barn. At least we had an early warning system. I definitely didn’t want to be teased about the first guy I dated.

  Bill shook out half the shavings in the plastic-wrapped bale. “Homecoming is in two weeks. Will you go with me to the dance?”

  “Yes.” I untied the baling twine that kept the blue garbage can against the wall so Twaz couldn’t flood his stall. “I’ll even come cheer you on at the game that Friday, but you guys better kick Mount Pilchuck’s butt.”

  He laughed. “Count on it. What about this Friday, too? Will you be at the game?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  That earned me a steady look before he began smoothing out the pine chips. Heat trickled into my face as I remembered that Harry was on the football team too, and I’d pretty well made a fool of myself chasing him since school started.

  “I’m coming to see you play,” I said, “unless you’ve changed your mind. In that case, I’ll come watch Jack and boo every time you’re on the field.”

  Bill laughed. “I almost forgot how honest you are, Freckle-face.”

  I shrugged. “My sister thinks you’re sweet, but I told her that you’re not.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “And even if you don’t make fun of me when I do stupid stuff, you’re still not sweet,” I said. “So, I’m not perfect. I make mistakes. You should know that by now, but if you don’t, get used to it.”

  He raked out the last of the bedding. “If you were perfect, I’d have to be too. I’m not either.”

  “Well, I like you anyway,” I said. “And perfection is hard to live up to, especially when we’re both human beings.”

  * * * *

  Friday, October 18th, 2:15 p.m.

  The next two weeks flew. I was so busy with cross-country practice, riding lessons, working with Dr. Larry, spending time with Twaziem and going out with Bill twice that ‘I didn’t know if I was coming or going,’ as Grandma said. We’d won our next two cross-country meets. Lew even P.R.’d at the last one. When I saw Phillip during one of our practices, he warned me that the Bartlett cousins were seriously pissed. I’d told him that he should suggest they turn their anger to running, and then their school might beat us. He’d just laughed.

  We were on assembly schedule this Friday. No surprise there since this was the biggest game of the season with our archrival, Mount Pilchuck High. Lots of yelling, clapping and stomping later, the principal dismissed us to head for the buses. I met Jack and Bill out front. Bill had his car, so he could drive me home. We stalled around waiting for Vicky. She was coming to our house, and then we’d all leave for the game from there.

  She hurried out of the school, backpack on her shoulder and school duffel in her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “What’s going on?” Jack asked.

  “My mom has to go to work, and my dad says he doesn’t know when he can get the kids.”

  “But it’s the Homecoming game,” I protested. “They have to understand that.”

  Tears rolled down Vicky’s cheeks. “They don’t care. They want a sitter, and my mom sent a message to my last class for me to take the bus home. I called her from the office and reminded her about Homecoming. She said that my brothers and sisters are more important than football.”

  I pulled out my cell and called my mom to bring her up to speed. Once I finished telling her about the situation, she stepped up. She promised to babysit so Mrs. Miller would be able to go to the casino and work. I spotted Jack on his cell. His call ended about the same time mine did. “Did you catch Dad?”

  “Yes, and he’s contacting Vicky’s father. Dad and Mom will meet us at the game. We need to do the chores because they can’t pick up the slack at Vick’s house and ours too.”

  “That makes sense. We’ll meet you guys there. With all four of us working, we’ll be done in plenty of time.” Bill took my hand. “Let’s move it.”

  Vicky stared at me, wiping away her tears. “Next time I’m a bitch, call me on it. You’ve been the best friend ever, Robin. Nobody else would have helped me stay on the cheer squad.”

  “Hey, we all helped.” I squirmed inside. “You’re making it sound like I’m nice, and I’m not. I was really rude to your mom. And I only got Dani to babysit because she’s my Mini-Me and can be as snarky as I am.”

  “Life is good.” Jack hugged Vicky super quick. “Let’s go. You’ll never get Robin to admit she can do the right thing occasionally.”

  “Most of the time.” Vicky walked away with him, explaining why he should be kinder to me.

  “Jack’s pretty decent as brothers go.” I walked beside Bill to his car on the other side of the parking lot. “I hope he doesn’t think I gripe about him.”

  “No, he knows better than that,” Bill said. “Vicky just needed to vent after you two helped her again. I really hope her parents get their acts together.”

  “Do you think that’s even possible? They dump on her all the time.”

  “That’s why I’m hoping,” Bill said. “Vicky’s already talking about moving in with Rocky and Sierra on her eighteenth birthday, but that’s not her only choice. Once she’s a legal adult, Vicky can go where she wants. And don’t tell her that she can opt for emancipation now that she’s sixteen. If she blows off her family in the next couple of months, it could take years for the breach to mend. I don’t think her folks really want to lose her forever.”

  I waited while he unlocked my door. “You really believe her parents honestly love her?”

  “Of course they do,” Bill said. “If they didn’t, why would they pay for her tuition here? Why would her mom have encouraged her to go out for cheer since middle school? If her folks hadn’t bought her uniforms this year, how could she be on the squad? Why would her dad paint all her campaign signs when she ran for Sophomore Class President and come to all those assemblies last spring to listen to her speeches?”

  “Then, why are they being so mean now?” I asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

  “Because they’re hurting,” Bill said. “When most people hurt, they do mean thin
gs.”

  “Okay, time-out.” I made a T with my hands. “If you tell me the Bartlett brats tortured Twaz because they’re in pain, you’re walking to my house.”

  He laughed. “It’s my car, Freckle-face.” He leaned in and kissed me. “No, they’re beyond pain. They’re just evil. Buckle up!”

  Wow, he made me think. He was so smart. No wonder I liked him. He accepted me for who and what I was, but he didn’t just look at the surface of people or events. He saw things for what they were. Next time I got ticked at Vick’s parents, I’d try to give them the benefit of Bill’s wisdom.

  Maybe I’d use it on my own folks. Then again, perhaps I already had. I wasn’t angry with them about not buying the Mustang. I understood why they turned me down. It wasn’t that they wanted to destroy my happiness. It was just too much money, and having big payments hanging over me when I didn’t have a good job really didn’t make a lot of sense.

  Dani, Porter, Gwen, and I were up in the grandstand when my parents arrived at the game. We had great seats and Gwen shifted our coats. I stood and waved. “Up here!”

  Dad heard my shout. He and Mom wove their way to us through the crowded bleachers where other parents, students, and families waited for the big game to start. “Thanks for saving us seats, Robbie.”

  “No worries. I’m just glad you guys made it before we got mugged.” I moved closer to Gwen. “Did Vick’s dad get there?”

  “No.” Mom smiled and pressed next to me. “Your dad and I packed up the kids and their stuff and took them to the tire store he manages.”

  “No way.” Porter leaned forward, looking around Gwen and me. “What did he say?”

  “What could he say?” Mom asked. “He was too busy to come get them. We explained that normally we would make arrangements to stay with the kids, but not at Homecoming. It’s unfair to expect Vicky to stop being a cheerleader because her folks divorced. He and her mom should be making arrangements to come see her perform with the squad at football games, not abandon her at a crucial time of her life. If she wasn’t such a smart girl, she could turn her life into a total train wreck.”

  “It’s also unfair for him to keep making her friends babysit for free so she can fulfill her dreams,” Dad said. “It’s past time for him to quit punishing the girl.”

  “Now, John. You know he didn’t think of it like that. He was shocked when you told him that you believe he hates his oldest daughter.”

  Dad’s jaw jutted forward, and he took on his most stubborn look. “I call it like I see it.”

  “Must be a guy thing,” I teased. “Great job, Dad.”

  Mom and I shared an amused look. Maybe he’d made a difference. We wouldn’t know until next week. We’d have to talk about it later. No time for it now. The teams raced onto the field.

  * * * *

  Saturday, October 19th, 12:20 p.m.

  “Wasn’t that a great game?” Porter glanced over her shoulder at me while the technician worked on her nails. “I couldn’t believe the run Jack made, eighty-three yards.”

  “It was something,” I agreed. “I liked the three turnovers with Bill better.”

  “You would.” Vicky sipped hot tea. She always sounded like a giant frog after an exciting game, but she didn’t mind. She shook her head at the bottle of red polish Gwen held up. “No. Our colors are blue and gold. Where’s your school spirit?”

  I laughed. Trust Vick to think of that. I glanced at the rack filled with containers of fingernail polishes on the other side of the salon. We’d joined up to come to the Everett Mall to primp for the dance tonight. Once we finished with our manicures and pedicures, we’d have lunch at our favorite Chinese place. Then, we’d have our hair done at the studio on the other side of the mall. I wondered what traditions the guys had today. They probably weren’t anything like ours. I bet Bill would tell me if I asked. And I might later tonight.

  I arrived home early enough to help with the chores before I hit the shower and dressed for the dance. I wore a scarf over my hair and gloves to keep my nails nice. I wouldn’t win any prizes as a fashion diva, but I wanted to look awesome tonight. Between Dad being gone to the store to collect the supplies for what he called a date night with Mom, and Jack off to get his tux, I was the first one to go to the barn. I headed straight for Twaziem’s stall. I had carrots for him, but I’d taken them from the fridge, not the garden. I’d make up the difference tomorrow.

  He stood in the center of his stall. His head drooped down, almost to his knees. Snot streamed from his nostrils and mouth. “Oh my Gawd! What happened? What did you do?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Saturday, October 19th, 4:45 p.m.

  Mom arrived at the barn in less than five minutes. She took one look at Twaziem and announced. “He has choke.”

  “What? How could he be choking?”

  “Choke,” Mom repeated. “Something is lodged in his esophagus. Call Dr. Larry while I start massaging him.” She came into the stall and stepped up next to Twaz. While I pushed buttons on my cell phone, she began rubbing my horse’s chin, then his jaw, working her way up between his cheeks to his throatlatch and back down again.

  I explained the symptoms to the receptionist, and she promised to send Dr. Larry immediately. She told me to keep massaging the throat to help clear the blockage until the veterinarian arrived. “We are,” I said, “and we will.”

  “What could he have choked on?” I asked Mom as soon as I ended the call. “Not his hay or his grain. He hasn’t had any problems before.”

  “He’s still wormy and debilitated,” Mom said. “It could be anything he’s eaten from hay or grain to carrots to his manure. Why don’t you clean his stall while I massage, and then when my hands get tired, we’ll switch.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  I fetched the wheelbarrow and tools as well as a partial bale of shavings. It didn’t take long to pick the stall and dress it with new bedding. Despite Mom’s massage, Twaziem didn’t look better. White mucus with bits of grain still flowed from his nose and mouth. “Are you sure you’re doing it right?”

  She nodded. “Yes, honey. You probably don’t remember, but this used to happen to Cobbie when he got rolled oats instead of wet cob. After the first couple of times, I didn’t bother with Dr. Larry. I just massaged Cobbie’s throat until the blockage cleared. I don’t want to take any chances with Twaziem. He’s such a baby.”

  “What is wet cob?” I asked.

  “The kind of grain we feed,” Mom said. “It’s corn, oats and barley mixed together with molasses to dampen it. The feed store also has dry cob, the kind without molasses. Our horses get enough work that they need the extra energy.” She stepped back and flexed her hands. “Your turn.”

  I put the tools outside the stall. “What do I do?”

  “Come on over and I’ll show you.”

  I placed my hand on Twaziem’s throatlatch, but there wasn’t a bump or anything pushing against my fingers. “What should I be feeling?”

  “It’s a bit swollen already,” Mom said. “You want to rub softly there and stroke down the underside of his neck. Think of it as if you have something stuck in your own throat. You’re trying to clear the blockage. While you do that, I’ll get a grooming kit and brush him. It’s psychological first aid. He’ll feel better if we both fuss over him.”

  That made sense. For the next hour, we took turns massaging Twaziem’s throat, but it didn’t help. He still had white snot streaming from his nose and mouth when Dr. Larry came in the barn. He smiled at both of us before he eyed Twaziem. “I’m going to have to be put on retainer with this fellow. Let’s see what I can do to make him more comfortable. How long have you been massaging his throat?”

  I looked at my watch. “I found him an hour and a half ago. Probably about an hour and fifteen minutes.”

  “Any change in the amount of saliva?” Dr. Larry asked.

  I shook my head. “No. What are we going to do?”

  “Let’s rule out some causes f
irst, Robin. Any chance that he got to rat poison or other toxic substances? Some can cause excess saliva.”

  “No way,” I said. “We don’t have any rats, and we don’t use poison because the cats could get to it.”

  “I’m still going to examine him and look for physical trauma,” Dr. Larry said. “We’ll need a halter and lead since he may not stand still for this.”

  “Okay.” I went and got the training halter. When I returned, I found the veterinarian with his hand inside Twaziem’s mouth. “What are you doing?”

  “Checking his teeth. There aren’t any sharp points on any of the molars. He should have been able to chew his lunch, not choke on it. He doesn’t have a broken jaw, and there aren’t any other signs of trauma.”

  Mom and Dr. Larry shared a look before she said, “You’re going to have to flush the blockage, aren’t you?”

  “Afraid so.” Dr. Larry turned toward me. “I’m going to run a surgical tube through his nostril and down his throat to move the obstruction toward his stomach. I won’t use a twitch to immobilize him. Instead, I’m going to give him a light dose of a local anesthetic to ease his stress. While it takes effect, can you get me some warm water to flush the blockage away?”

  “All right.” I took a bucket and headed for the shower stall. Suddenly, it occurred to me that Bill would be showing up anytime to take me to Homecoming, and I couldn’t leave Twaziem. While I waited for the water to warm, I pulled out my phone and texted Bill. I hated breaking our date, but this stupid horse came first. He was making it easier and easier for me to sell him to get a car next summer. I swear Twaz lived to wreck my life.

  Twaziem had started to relax when I returned, his eyes half-closed as he drowsed and drooled on Dr. Larry’s gold coveralls. I put down the bucket of water. “How is he?”