Saddle Sore

by Bonnie Bryant

  COLONEL DEVINE PULLED the truck to a stop in front of the ranch house. “Home, sweet home,” he said.

  The girls piled out. “C’mon!” Kate said. “Let’s go see the horses!”

  “What about your luggage, hmm?” her father asked. “Or maybe Emily wants a glass of water. Have you thought about that?”

  “Oh, the luggage!” Lisa stopped in her tracks. “I suppose—”

  Kate pulled her forward. “He’s joking! Don’t worry about it! Only—”

  “I’m not thirsty,” Emily said, walking forward without a backward glance. “Which barn has my horse in it?”

  As they approached the horse barn, a tall, dark-haired boy in a cowboy hat and blue jeans came out to greet them. “Hi, everybody,” he said softly. “Hi, Lisa.”

  “Hi,” Lisa returned. “Emily, this is John Brightstar. John, this is Emily Williams.”

  John tipped his hat. “Pleased to meet you, Emily,” he said. “I’ve been working Spot for you. Want to try him out?”

  “Right now?”

  “Why not?”

  Emily beamed. “Wonderful!”

  They entered the big, high-ceilinged barn. Inside, the air was rich with the fragrance of hay. Only one horse stood in the stalls inside.

  “Where’s Stewball?” Stevie demanded. Stewball was the horse she always rode at the Bar None. “You’ve made poor Spot stay inside by himself! Where are all the others?”

  “Outside, where they belong,” John replied. “And poor Spot has only been inside for ten minutes, since I saw Kate’s dad’s truck turn off the road. I haven’t even gotten him groomed yet.”

  “That’s good,” Emily said. “I’d rather groom him myself, so I can get to know him.” She walked to the door of the stall and held her hands out so that Spot could sniff them.

  “Here’s what John and I thought,” Kate said to The Saddle Club. “Emily’s never ridden Western, which is a little different, and she’s used to her own horse, not Spot. So—sorry, Stevie, if this disappoints you—we thought just Emily should ride right now, in the paddock, to get used to things. We can all show her how to do it. Then tomorrow we’ll head for the trails, where we belong.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Carole said.

  “I agree,” Stevie said. “Just let me duck outside and tell Stewball about it. I wouldn’t want him to think I was ignoring him.” She went out the back door.

  Emily attached a lead rope to Spot’s halter and led him into the aisle. She tied him there so that she could groom him. “Is Stevie always that way about Stewball? She talked about him the whole trip, but she never actually told me what he was like.”

  “Put it this way,” Lisa said. “Stevie and Stewball are exactly alike.”

  “Oh.” Emily chuckled softly.

  Kate came out of the tack room with a bucket of grooming supplies in her hand, a Western bridle slung over her shoulder, and a heavy Western saddle over her arm. Carole and Lisa quickly relieved her of saddle and bridle. Kate handed the grooming bucket to Emily.

  Emily took a rubber curry out of it, then set the bucket down on the ground. She had to maneuver carefully around it so that she wouldn’t hit it with the tip of a crutch. “Here’s an improvement for you,” she said. “See, Kate? I’m going to have an awful time getting stuff in and out of that bucket. When I bend over I sometimes lose my balance. At Free Rein, we’ve got a little shelf to keep stuff like this at waist level. Your dad could build one in here.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Kate said. “That’s a good idea.”

  “When Emily comes to Pine Hollow, we use a hay bale,” Carole said. She dragged one within Emily’s reach and put the bucket on it.

  “Thanks,” Emily told her.

  Carole grabbed a brush and went around to Spot’s other side. She started untangling his mane, humming as she did so. It felt so great to be back at the Bar None, surrounded by horses, mountains, and friends. But not in that order. Maybe friends, horses, mountains? Horses, friends, mountains? It was hard to decide. The mountains were definitely the least important, so they should go last. Friends were most important, so probably they should come first. But then horses were important, too, and the Devines had so many horses, they really outnumbered the friends. Maybe horses should be first, because there were so many of them. Carole laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Emily came around Spot’s rump and started to curry his withers.

  “I’m trying to decide what friends are worth in terms of horses,” Carole said. “If I have four friends here, how many is that in horses? The Devines have nearly a hundred horses—but maybe foals don’t count as much—”

  “How good are the horses?” Emily asked.

  “Very good.”

  “How good are the friends?” Kate chimed in.

  “The best.”

  “Then each friend is worth thirty-two point two five horses,” Emily said. “So unless you’ve got more than, uh—”

  “One hundred twenty-nine,” Lisa said. She was good at math.

  “One hundred twenty-nine horses here—we’re still worth more.”

  “Sorry, Carole,” Kate said. “Last count was seventy-eight horses, including foals.”

  Stevie came back in time to hear most of this. “Stewball counts quadruple,” she said. She picked up a comb and started on Spot’s tail. Lisa was picking out Spot’s feet. Emily traded the curry for a large body brush and began brushing the dirt from Spot’s flanks.

  “Hey,” Kate protested to The Saddle Club, “the only reason I didn’t grab a brush is that you guys told me Emily didn’t like to be helped. Now there’s nothing left for me to do!”

  “You could brush his face with the soft brush,” Emily suggested. She went on to explain. “They’re right, I do like to do things for myself. It drives me crazy when people rush in to help me because they think I can’t do something, or because I’m doing it more slowly than they would. But two things make this different: First, you guys are my friends, and even when you’re helping me I know you know I’m capable of things. Second, Kate, this is The Saddle Club. Have you ever seen them stand near a horse and not try to groom it? You should have been there the first time they met P.C. They practically had to sit on their hands not to touch him.”

  Kate laughed. Carole said, “She’s got us figured out.”

  Lisa had just started to wonder where John had gone when he came in through the back door. “I watered the paddock down,” he said. “It’s dusty out there. Is Emily ready?”

  Kate finished explaining the intricacies of a Western girth to Emily. It was the only thing truly different about saddling up a horse Western. “We’re ready,” Kate said.

  Emily led Spot outside. Though she walked slowly, Spot kept his head level with his shoulder, just as he should. “Good boy,” Emily murmured.

  “He’s always been this good,” Kate said proudly.

  John showed off the mounting ramp he had built. It was a wooden platform about two feet high. On one side it had steps, like a regular mounting block, but on the other side it had a long, shallow ramp.

  Emily started up the ramp. Steps were almost always too high for her to climb. “This is great,” she said. “Only, John, you might want to add a handrail to both sides, not just one. I don’t need it, but some of your other guests might.”

  John nodded. “I didn’t think of that. I have been teaching the horses to get used to being mounted from either side.” Horses were almost always mounted from the left side only, but some riders with disabilities found it easier to mount from the right.

  Kate helped hold Spot still in front of the block while Emily unfastened her leg braces and set her crutches down. She held on to Spot’s mane and the back of his saddle for support.

  “The stirrups look different,” she said.

  “That’s because they’re made of wood,” Kate explained. “They won’t feel much different, except that in Western riding you usually ride with your stirrups a little lower.”

  �
�Did you remember to bring your crop?” Lisa asked. Emily showed it to her. “Good,” Lisa said. Crops weren’t generally used in Western riding, but Emily always rode with one because she had trouble moving her legs to give the horse the correct signals. She gave them with the crop instead. She called her crop her third leg.

  “We’ve been using a crop on Spot for a couple of weeks now,” Kate informed her. “He should be thoroughly used to it.”

  “All aboard,” Stevie said.

  Emily grinned. She carefully climbed into the saddle and settled her feet in the stirrups. She picked up the reins, and Kate moved away from Spot’s head. Spot stood still, waiting for Emily’s signal.

  Emily looked around with mock dismay. “Help! I never thought about this. How do I ask a Western horse to walk?”

  “How do you think?” Stevie asked.

  “How should I know? I might have to pull his tail or something!”

  Kate laughed. “It’s the same as English riding,” she said. “The horses are trained to the same cues. Just pretend you’re riding P.C.”

  Emily nodded. “That’s a relief. I’m not sure I could reach his tail.” She signaled Spot to walk and pointed him toward the rail. “This saddle’s comfortable. It’s much more like a chair than my saddle at home. How do I look?”

  The Saddle Club, Kate, and John surveyed her critically. “You tell her,” Kate said to John.

  “Oh, no,” Emily said. “Sounds like I’m doing something wrong.”

  “You look relaxed and comfortable,” John said, “but you’re holding your reins in both hands.”

  “What should I be doing? Holding them with my feet? Draping them around my neck? Hands seem like the obvious choice here.”

  “Hand,” Stevie said. “Hand, not hands. Put both reins in one hand, and keep them loose.”

  “Like a cowboy,” Emily said.

  “You are a cowboy now,” Kate said.

  Emily grinned. “I never thought of that.” She walked Spot several times around the arena. “Feels good. What else?”

  “Move your rein hand so that your left rein drapes across his neck,” John directed. Emily did. Spot instantly swung to the right, away from the rein.

  “Wow!” Emily cried. “He turned!”

  “Sure.” Kate looked proud. “That’s called neck reining, and most Western horses do it. Spot does it very well.”

  “Cool beans,” Emily said. She neck-reined Spot in a serpentine pattern around the arena. Then, following John’s instructions, she jogged and then loped around the arena. A jog was a Western trot, and a lope was a Western canter. She did circles and changed directions at all three gaits. She looked easy and confident, and Spot obeyed her perfectly.

  A loud bell rang across the ranch. Emily eased Spot to a halt. “That wouldn’t be—by any chance—a dinner bell?” Kate nodded. Emily beamed. “I love the West!” she shouted. “Get along, little dogies! Let’s eat!”

  With all of them working together, it didn’t take long to untack Spot and turn him out with the other riding horses. John and his father left for home. Soon the rest of them were all sitting at one of the long tables in the ranch house dining room. Kate’s parents joined them for a hearty meal. No one else was in the room. Mrs. Devine explained to them that the only other visitors right now were two honeymoon couples, both of whom had requested picnic dinners to take on sunset rides.

  “That’s all they’ve done since they got here,” Kate said. “We hardly see them at all.”

  “They aren’t much work, but they aren’t much company, either,” Mrs. Devine agreed. “I’m glad all you girls could come. And tomorrow, of course, we’ll be joined by the Hopkins family.”

  “That’s Monica and her parents,” Kate explained.

  After they helped with the dinner dishes and said good night to the Colonel and Mrs. Devine, Kate took them to the four-person bunkhouse they always stayed in. “This week it sleeps five,” Kate said as she opened the door. “I added a cot.”

  “Kate always stays with us,” Lisa explained to Emily.

  “Good,” Emily said.

  Aside from the fold-out cot, Lisa noticed a few other small changes to the familiar bunkhouse. A new ramp had been added to the side of the porch, to supplement the steps, a wedge of wood had smoothed the step up to the door, and the door was wider. In the small bathroom, rails had been added near the toilet and bathtub. All of these would make it more usable for Emily and the other disabled visitors who would come.

  Colonel Devine had brought their bags in and dumped them on the beds. Emily’s wheelchair was folded and stored beneath a bunk. “Let’s leave it there,” Emily said, pushing it farther under. “I’m not using the stupid thing once this week.”

  “You won’t have to,” Stevie said. “You’ll be riding everywhere we go.”

  Lisa yawned. “I hate to say I’m tired, but …” She yawned again.

  Stevie yawned in response, and then Emily did. Carole shook her head. She opened her mouth to say something but yawned instead. “It’s contagious,” Kate said. She yawned, too. “I don’t know why I should be tired.” She yawned once more. “But I guess I am.”

  “The sooner we go to sleep, the sooner we can get up and ride,” Lisa suggested. The others thought this was a perfect example of Lisa’s best logic. Before long they were all in their pajamas, crawling into the bunks.

  “I keep thinking about Monica,” Kate confessed, as she passed around a box of cookies her mother had given her. “I’m really excited about seeing her, but I’m sort of dreading it, too. I want her to have a fun time here. I don’t want it to be different from the way it used to be. What I really want is for her accident not to have happened. She was so lively—I think one day we rode for eight hours straight. And once we hung a rope from the barn rafter and took turns swinging into this big pile of hay. And we used to laugh together all the time.”

  Lisa tried to comfort Kate. “She’ll still laugh. She’ll be the same person—she lost a leg, that’s all. She didn’t lose her personality.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Stevie said. “I mean, of course she’ll still have a personality; I’m just not sure she’ll be exactly the same. Like the people you read about in books, the dark heroes whose lives have been overshadowed by tragedy. It colors the soul.”

  “Like Heathcliff,” Kate said. “Maybe.”

  “No, Heathcliff’s a cat,” Stevie said. “I’m talking real tragedy.”

  “Heathcliff’s not a cat,” Kate said indignantly. “Honestly, Stevie!”

  “He’s a guy in an old movie,” Carole explained. “I saw it one night with my dad. He was played by somebody famous, I think, but it was in black and white.”

  “He’s a person!” Kate said. “I mean, a character. In a book I read, Wuthering Heights. His life was overcome with sorrow.”

  “So he wasn’t as nice, then?” Lisa asked.

  “He wasn’t all that nice to begin with,” Kate admitted. “What do you think, Emily?”

  Emily propped herself up on her elbow. “I don’t have any idea how Monica will be,” she said. “I’ve never met her. But if the accident just happened recently, I’m sure she’ll still be upset about it. I would be. I think anyone would be.”

  “I am, and it didn’t even happen to me,” Kate said. “I guess the only thing we can do about it is make sure she has as nice a time as possible.”

  “We’re all going to have a great time,” Carole said. “I love it out here, Kate.”

  Emily flopped back against her pillow. “A whole week with nothing to do but ride!” she said. “I never imagined anything so wonderful!”

  THE NEXT MORNING, after breakfast, the girls followed Kate out to the paddock beside the barn, where a dozen or so of the ranch riding horses had spent the night. John Brightstar was already there, haltering a gorgeous chestnut gelding.

  Lisa went up to greet him. “Tex looks marvelous!” she said. “He’s really added some muscle since we saw him last.”

/>   John smiled proudly. “He needs it now. You should see what he can do.” Tex was John’s horse, and John had been training him to do reining, the most precise and elegant form of Western riding. Reining was similar to dressage in English riding.

  “Come with us,” Lisa said. “We’re going to warm up in the side paddock for a few minutes, and then we’re taking Emily on her first Western trail ride.”

  John smiled wryly. “Why do you think I’m out here?” he asked. “Kate already invited me. I even got up early, to get my work done first.”

  “Great,” Lisa said. Something about the way John smiled always made her stomach feel pleasantly uneasy. She often wished John lived a little closer—like, in Willow Creek, or at least in the state of Virginia. Sometimes they wrote to each other, but it was hard to keep a long-distance friendship going.

  “I’ll put Tex in the barn and help you guys get your horses out,” he offered. He walked away, and Lisa turned back to her friends.

  Emily and Carole were standing just outside the gate, waiting with lead ropes in their hands. Kate had gone into the paddock to separate out their horses. Stevie was standing just inside the gate with her arms around a shaggy skewbald’s neck. “Good morning, darling Stewball,” Lisa heard her say. She walked over to Emily and Carole.

  “After everything I’ve heard about Stewball,” Emily said, “frankly, I expected him to look a little more spectacular than this! This is a movie-star horse?” When The Saddle Club’s friend Skye Ransom had filmed a movie at the Bar None, Stewball had been used as a stunt horse.

  “Only because he takes such good direction,” Lisa said. “We had to dye his coat so that he would match this gorgeous, brainless horse they brought in. They used the gorgeous horse for close-ups.”

  “Stewball’s a fabulous cow horse,” Carole added. “He can cut a cow out of a herd like nobody’s business. In fact, that’s really the reason Stevie didn’t buy him. She was going to, but it would have meant taking him away from the one thing he loves and does well. He wasn’t cut out to be an English horse.”

  “He’s still gorgeous,” Stevie said hotly, coming toward them leading Stewball. “Emily, I heard what you just said about my darling not looking spectacular. All I can say is, if we were having a beauty contest, I’m not sure Stewball would do worse than P.C.”