Trail Mates

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Don’t be silly,” Carole said.

  “Who’s being silly?” Stevie asked. “He’s madly in love with you—and he’s cute, too. I love those dark brown eyes. They practically sparkled when they looked at you—and they looked at you a lot, did you notice?”

  “Not really,” Carole said, carrying the bucket to the faucet. Then she added, “Well, sort of. You think he’s got a thing for me?”

  Stevie nodded vigorously.

  “He’s a nice-enough guy,” Carole said. “And he is kind of cute, but I don’t think he’s my type.”

  “Just because he doesn’t know anything about horses?” Lisa asked. “It certainly doesn’t mean he can’t learn. Look at me.”

  “And he’s eager enough,” Stevie reminded her.

  Carole slipped the big plastic bucket under the faucet and turned it on full force. Fresh, cool water rushed in, rinsing out the dust that always accumulated. Carole sloshed the water around in the bucket, dumped it out, and then put some water in it for Patch. She returned to the horse’s stall, her two friends trailing her.

  “Oh, he’s eager, all right, but he just doesn’t seem like my type.”

  “Oh, really? And just what is your type?” Stevie teased.

  Lisa giggled. “And if those looks of glowing admiration mean anything, you’re going to have a rough time convincing him you’re not his type.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Carole said. “I’ve already been thinking about how to do it,” she admitted.

  “It’s not easy,” Lisa said. She recalled the rough time she had had when Stevie’s brother Chad developed a crush on her and it had turned out they didn’t have anything in common. At least he had come to the same conclusion, though, so it wasn’t really difficult. In this case she could see that it might not be so easy.

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Stevie said. “If Scott’s going to be here all day tomorrow, why don’t you put him to work on chores—like he asked.”

  “He’d probably love it,” Carole said. “And what good would that do me?” She hung up Patch’s bucket, and while the tired horse took his first long slurp, she left the stall and latched it closed.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Stevie said. “But then again, maybe there’s more to chores than meets the eye. Come on. It’s time for lunch. Let’s get our sandwiches and talk about a plan.”

  Carole and Lisa looked at each other. When Stevie got like this, it meant something was up—and the something was usually worth waiting for.

  Eagerly, they followed her to the tack room, where there was a small refrigerator for their lunch bags. They retrieved them and each took a soda from the ample supply Max always kept there. Stevie led them to their favorite lunch spot—a knoll overlooking the paddock where Delilah and her colt, Samson, spent their afternoons. Today, in the heat, the two horses were standing idly in a shady corner, evading flies.

  Stevie unwrapped her tuna fish sandwich and opened her soda with a flourish.

  “Okay, so what’s your idea?” Carole challenged her.

  “Well, soaping saddles and lugging buckets of water are just one part of horse care, aren’t they?” she asked.

  Carole and Lisa agreed.

  “Max has been complaining a lot recently about how carelessly some of the students have been mucking out the stables,” Stevie continued with a sly smile. “It would be a good idea to just spend a whole day at it. If you really took the time, you could clean out every single smelly corner. But we’re all so busy. If only there were someone else who could help out …”

  Lisa burst out laughing, but Carole’s expression was serious as she put her chin in her hand and stared at her bologna-and-cheese sandwich. “Mucking out? All day long? He’d never want to look at another horse—or me—as long as he lives.”

  “That’s what you have in mind, isn’t it?” Lisa asked. She knew that Stevie’s idea was brilliant, as most of Stevie’s ideas were.

  Carole took a bite of her sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “I think you might have something there,” she said, finally smiling. “I’ll even let him use the new pitchfork!”

  “You’re all heart!” Lisa joked. They all laughed, thinking about what was in store for Scott the next day.

  “IS THIS ANOTHER joke about a talking dog?” Carole asked her father at breakfast the next morning.

  The colonel nodded eagerly. “And one of the best, too,” he assured her. Next to fifties and sixties music, Colonel Hanson’s favorite subject was old jokes. Usually, the colonel swapped them with Stevie, who seemed to love them as much as he did, but since Stevie wasn’t there, he told this one to his daughter instead.

  “So this man makes a ten-dollar bet with a stranger that his dog can talk. He asks the dog what goes on top of a house and the dog says ‘Roof!’ The stranger shakes his head. The man asks his dog what sandpaper is like. The dog says ‘Rough!’ The stranger won’t pay up. Then the man asks the dog who was the greatest baseball player of all time. The dog says ‘Ruth!’ The stranger still refuses to pay, so the man and his dog walk away. While they’re walking, the man turns to his dog and says, ‘You just cost me ten bucks, you know!’ The dog looks at him. ‘What did you want me to say,’ the dog asks, ‘Joe diMaggio?’ ”

  Carole laughed in spite of herself. “I think I’ve heard it before,” she told her father, “but it’s still good. Want me to tell Stevie?”

  “No,” the colonel said. “I’ll tell her myself the next time she calls. You want some more bacon?” He stood up to help himself to seconds.

  “No, I’m fine. I’m going to have a busy day at the stable, so I don’t want to start out too full.”

  “Really? What’s up?” he asked.

  “Oh, it’s a long story,” Carole said. “But—” She was interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

  “Why don’t you answer it?” the colonel asked. “It’s usually for you.”

  When Carole answered, she was a little disappointed to hear the voice of Lynne Blessing. “Oh, hi, how are you?” Carole asked automatically. Lynne was a woman her father had been dating recently. Since her mother’s death the year before, Carole had always encouraged her father to date. She liked the idea of him having fun with new friends because she had so much fun with her own friends.

  The trouble was that Lynne wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

  Not only did she interfere by trying to drive Carole places—and making her late, as she had been to Pine Hollow the day before—but she always seemed to want to meddle in Carole’s life. It was as if Lynne thought she ought to make some changes in Carole. And she was at it again.

  “Oh, I’m so glad to talk to you, Carole,” Lynne bubbled over the telephone. “There’s a sale going on at The Dress Rack at the mall. They have some of the most wonderful things. I was hoping you’d like to go with me. We could have fun shopping together. Just us girls, you know. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  Carole pasted a smile on her face. Even though Lynne couldn’t see it, it would help her pretend she was being nice, and it might fool her father, too. Going to the mall with Lynne would take a lot of pretending. Lynne’s idea of a pretty dress included ruffles, lace, and bows. Carole’s idea of a pretty dress was a comfortable pair of jeans. Carole still hadn’t figured out how to wear the scarf Lynne had given her a month earlier.

  “I’m afraid I’m busy that day, Lynne,” Carole said. It sounded polite.

  “Which day?” Lynne asked. “We could go on Saturday or any afternoon next week.”

  “Here’s Dad,” Carole said, ducking the question. She handed the phone to her father. While he chatted pleasantly with Lynne, Carole collected the dishes and put them in the sink to soak. She wiped off the breakfast table and then, popping an apple into her lunch bag for dessert, she checked her watch and waved good-bye to her father. If the bus was on schedule, she had just two and a half minutes to make it—and if she didn’t make that one, she’d certainly have to talk to Lynne some more. The door slammed behind her and she dashed
to the corner.

  CAROLE ARRIVED AT the stable early. And so did Scott. He was standing by the entrance waiting for her when she walked up the driveway.

  “Good morning,” he said brightly.

  And it was. It was a beautiful summer day with a bright blue sky and not a hint of clouds. All signs of the storm of the previous day were gone. This was the kind of day to be out on the trail, not indoors doing chores.

  “Hi,” Carole said to Scott. She swung her equipment bag up over her shoulder. “You sure you still want to do this?” she asked.

  “Do what?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Whatever chores I’m going to do,” she said to him.

  “Yup,” he assured her.

  “Okay, then. Follow me,” she said. First she led him into Max’s office, where she got clearance to cut classes for the day to work on cleaning the stalls. Max could hardly believe that she was suggesting it, but he agreed, readily.

  Then Scott followed her into the tack room. After they both changed into work boots, she had Scott haul out the pitchforks, shovels, and utility carts. Then they began their task. It wasn’t a pleasant one.

  First, Carole removed a horse from its stall and secured him in the aisle of the stable. Then, while she hauled the fresh peat and straw from the storage area in a cart, Scott was in charge of removing all of the soiled straw and muck and shoveling it into another cart. There was a lot of it.

  Carole had to admit that Scott was a hard worker. While she hauled away the first load of refuse in one cart, he filled another. As fast as she could dump them, he could fill them. But it was hard work. When the stall was finally emptied, Scott squirted in the cleanser and brushed down the inside, finishing up with a good hosing. Most stalls had manure removed a couple of times a day and fresh straw would be added as necessary. But every once in a while it was necessary to clean them from the bottom up, and Carole discovered that Scott was a championship cleaner.

  “Hey, you don’t have to work quite so hard,” she said. “You want to take a break?”

  “Oh, no!” he told her. “Let’s finish up this stall so we can get on to the next one.”

  Carole couldn’t believe it. She stared at him with her mouth open.

  “You tired?” he asked.

  She was, but there was no way she would admit it.

  Usually, it took an hour or so to do a thorough cleaning of each stall. Scott was going at such speed that he’d finished one in less than a half hour.

  Carole’s frequent trips to the manure pile did not go unnoticed by Max. In between his classes, he came over to her.

  “What’s going on in there?” he asked. “You got a team of workers shoveling for you?”

  “Just one,” she said. “Best worker I ever saw, too.”

  “I’m going to have to see this,” he said.

  “You’re going to have to see it to believe it, you mean,” she said. He followed her inside the stable.

  Max watched in amazement as Scott finished up his third stall. Carole shoveled in the new peat and fresh straw and smoothed it all around the floor of the stall before returning the horse.

  “Never saw a better worker,” Max said. “He’s something.”

  Carole had to agree with that. The only trouble was that it was clear Stevie’s brainstorm was a total failure. Scott was as happy as a clam to be shoveling manure. By the end of the day, when they’d mucked out a lot of stalls, he was looking around for more.

  “That’s all that needs to be done now,” she told him. He looked very disappointed.

  “It’s probably just as well,” he said. “I’m supposed to meet my folks for a nighttime tour of the city in about an hour. I probably ought to shower first, don’t you think so?”

  Carole giggled and nodded.

  “Okay, then, I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said cheerfully.

  “There’s no riding camp tomorrow,” she said. “It’s Saturday.”

  “Oh,” he said, clearly disappointed. “Will you be back here Monday?”

  Carole sighed, mostly to herself. “I’ll be here,” she told him. “But I’ll be in class all day.”

  “Maybe I can watch?”

  “Maybe,” she said noncommittally. “So long.”

  She watched him walk down the driveway that led away from the stables. His shoulders were rounded with fatigue and his head drooped forward. But for some reason, there was still a spring in his step. Carole shook her head in surprise. Scott was really quite a boy. She admired the way he had attacked the cleaning chore and gotten the unpleasant job done. She’d even enjoyed his company as they worked together. But the summer was for horses, not boyfriends, she thought, heading for a much-needed shower herself. She really wasn’t interested in going out yet, even with a nice boy like Scott.

  “HE MUCKED OUT how many stalls today?” Stevie asked Carole.

  “Didn’t you hear Max talking about him to Red?” Lisa asked. “Said he’d never seen a better stable worker!”

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Carole asked Stevie. “It means your plan didn’t work and you’ve got to come up with something else!”

  The girls were sitting at a booth at Tastee Delight—or TD’s, as the ice cream parlor at the local shopping center was called. The three members of The Saddle Club met there frequently for treats after riding. They called such gatherings Saddle Club meetings because the subject was usually horses. Today, however, the subject was Scott.

  “Oh, there are lots of other things you can do,” Stevie assured her.

  “Like what?” Carole challenged.

  “The first thing you do is start talking about your other boyfriends,” Stevie advised.

  “I don’t have any,” Carole reminded her.

  “But he doesn’t know that,” Lisa said.

  “I can’t do that. I wouldn’t know what to say.”

  “Okay, okay,” Stevie said. “Here’s another idea. Talk too much. Bore him to death by talking about horses. You can do that, can’t you?”

  Carole glanced at Stevie. “Very funny. Besides, I already do. He hangs on every word I say. Today, I was talking about colic. You should have heard me go on about it. He even wanted to hear the part about milk of magnesia!”

  “Oh, yuck!” Stevie said, putting her spoon back down on her plate. “Nobody likes that part.”

  “You’re right,” Carole agreed. “You two would have shut me up long before I got to that!”

  Stevie and Lisa smiled. It was true that Carole was prone to talking about horses too much—and in too much detail. It was hard to imagine anybody listening to her complete discussion of a horse’s digestive problems!

  “Okay, then, be boring about something else. Tell him you have a really dull hobby. I have a nerdy cousin who collects beer cans. Want to try that?”

  “Wouldn’t work,” Carole said. “He collects matchbook covers.”

  “Bugs? Want to tell him you have a bug collection?”

  “No way. He’d probably ask to see it.”

  “There must be a way,” Stevie insisted.

  “Yeah,” Lisa agreed.

  “Sure,” Carole concluded. “But what is it?”

  STEVIE WAS SO excited she could barely dial the phone. “Did Jackie Small just call you?” she blurted out when Lisa answered on the first ring.

  “Boy, did she ever!” Lisa said. “And it took a whole bunch of convincing to get my mom to agree. You know how she can be, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but she did agree, didn’t she? I mean that’s the important thing.”

  “Only when I promised her that I’d agree to the piano lessons she wants me to take in the fall.”

  “Whew!” Stevie said. “I was really afraid she’d say no.”

  “Me, too,” Lisa said. “But she didn’t and this is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “Me, too.”

  Stevie leaned back on the pillows on her bed, relaxing for a good long phone conversation with Lisa. Th
ere was a lot to talk about.

  Jackie Small wanted both of the girls to work for her in a photo session the next day. She had called to say that she had finished developing her pictures and she was sure both Stevie and Lisa would do exceptionally well. Jackie wanted them to help her with a catalog “shoot” for both English and western riding clothes and equipment. And, best of all, she was actually going to pay them!

  “This is only the beginning, you know,” Stevie said. She twirled the phone cord around her fingers as she got caught up in the excitement.

  “What do you mean?” Lisa asked.

  “Well, all models start with little jobs like this, but the thing is, see, if you’ve got the kind of face and figure that photograph well …” Her words hung in the air for a few seconds.

  “You mean you think this could lead to other jobs?”

  “Lily Logan had to start someplace, didn’t she?”

  “Who?”

  “Lily Logan—she’s this famous model,” Stevie reminded her friend.

  “Oh, like on the makeup commercial!” Lisa said, remembering it from television. A cool summer breeze wafted into her room. She could feel her hair being brushed back by the puff of wind. In her imagination she was on a sailboat, in a sleek white cotton outfit, holding the mast casually with one hand while being refreshed by the light wind and the salty mist. Smile! Click! That’s a take!

  “You think Lily Logan did a catalog for riding clothes?” Lisa asked.

  “When you just start out, like us, you’ll do anything,” Stevie said. “You’ve got to have something to fill your portfolio—until the offers start coming over the phone.” Stevie squeezed the telephone cord. It became the handle of a large portfolio filled with luscious pictures of herself in sports clothes, evening clothes, school clothes. Her favorite portfolio shot showed her at a school basketball game, completely surrounded by the team!

  “It’s a lot of money, isn’t it?” Lisa asked, interrupting Stevie’s daydream.

  “Oh, it’s nothing compared to what the big-time models get. But just wait …”