Back in the Saddle

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Good point,” she told Scott, swallowing her envy. She knew that there was a trade-off to Callie and Scott’s high-dollar lifestyle. Living in the public eye, knowing that they were always being watched because of who their father was, put pressures on them that Stevie and her other friends couldn’t begin to imagine. “So do you really think she’ll start looking for a new horse soon?”

  Scott shrugged. “I don’t see why not. She was pretty gung ho before the accident, and when Callie sets her mind to something …”

  He didn’t bother to finish, but Stevie nodded in agreement. Callie was one of the most intense people Stevie knew. I mean, who else would kick off their return to training with an afternoon-long session out on the trails? Stevie thought. I’m sure Callie knows what she’s doing and all, but it still seems pretty extreme.

  She shrugged that off, though. Callie could take care of herself. And right now Stevie had other things to think about—like trying to control her excitement about her article until Alex, Lisa, and Callie returned from their rides. She couldn’t wait to tell them about it.

  I’m just lucky Scott decided to hang around this afternoon, Stevie thought as she pulled her notebook out again, eager to get started. Maybe Scott could help her come up with interview questions for her subjects. Because I wasn’t kidding—if he hadn’t been here to talk to, I really might have exploded!

  FOUR

  As Carole turned onto her street, she spotted a familiar maroon sedan pulling into her driveway. Looks like Dad’s home early from his board meeting, she thought, hitting her turn signal. Colonel Hanson had had a long and distinguished career in the Marine Corps before retiring a couple of years earlier. Since then he’d joined the boards of several charities and launched a second career making motivational speeches to businesses and other groups.

  “Hi, honey,” Colonel Hanson called as Carole climbed out of her car. “How was your volunteer meeting?”

  “Good.” Carole had recently started donating some of her free time to a local volunteer group called Hometown Hope. “We’re going to start sprucing up the animal shelter on Saturday.”

  She’d only started volunteering with the group to avoid being suspended from school. But Carole had to admit that working with Hometown Hope was turning out to be a lot more rewarding than she ever would have expected. Besides, she thought, all the scrubbing and painting I’m going to be doing this weekend will give me plenty of time to figure out my future.

  During her fourth-period study hall, Carole had tried to follow Lisa’s advice by making out a list of all the horse-related careers she could imagine. By the time the list was two pages long, she’d started to feel a little overwhelmed. How was she ever going to decide? Just about the only conclusion she’d come to so far was that becoming an equine vet probably wasn’t for her. That had always been high on her list, mostly because she really admired Judy Barker, the vet who cared for the horses at Pine Hollow. A few years earlier, Carole had even spent some time going on rounds with Judy, assisting in everything from foaling to euthanasia and learning more than she ever would have imagined.

  But as much as Judy’s knowledge and dedication inspired her, Carole didn’t think she was cut out to follow in her footsteps. For one thing, being a vet really wouldn’t play to her strengths—riding, training, and general horse care. She would have to focus so much on equine health that she might not have a lot of time left over to spend on those things. And speaking of time, there’s one other time problem with becoming a vet, she thought as she hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder. It was stuffed with textbooks she needed for that night’s homework. That’s the time I’d need to spend in school. It would take years and years of sitting in classrooms, taking tests, and writing papers. I’m not sure I’m cut out for all that extra schooling.

  “Do you have your house key handy?” Colonel Hanson said, breaking into her thoughts. “We got so much mail today, I need both hands just to hold it.” He shook his head in dismay as he flipped through the thick stack of mail. “Is it just me, or do we get about seventeen times as many catalogs at this time of year?”

  Carole smiled. “I don’t think it’s just you,” she replied. “It’s because there are only twenty-three shopping days until Christmas.”

  Her father glanced up from the stack of mail, looking startled. “Really?” he said. “How did you know that?”

  Carole laughed at his expression. “I don’t,” she admitted. “It was just a guess.”

  Colonel Hanson grinned. “I should have known,” he teased. “I mean, most people would be able to figure it out from today’s date. But since when does my scatterbrained daughter remember what day it is—or what month, for that matter?”

  Carole shrugged and smiled. It was true that she rarely remembered what day of the month it was unless she had a horse show to attend or something important going on at the stable. But these days she was finding it much easier to keep track of the passing days. Still, she didn’t think it was necessary to mention that she knew exactly how many days were left until New Year’s, which signaled the end of her grounding.

  Besides, she didn’t want to think about that at the moment. It would only ruin her mood. And her mood just then was actually pretty good for a change. The volunteer meeting had gone well, and she’d aced the biology quiz her teacher had handed back that day. Besides, as she stepped ahead, house key in hand, Carole couldn’t help thinking that it felt really good to be on more comfortable terms with her father once again. After Colonel Hanson had found out about the cheating incident, Carole had really started to wonder whether things would ever go back to normal between them. They’d always been close, and in the years since Carole’s mother had died of cancer, they had become as much friends as father and daughter.

  I guess we’re not quite back to that point yet, Carole thought as she turned the key in the lock and led the way into the house. But the week before at Thanksgiving dinner, they’d finally cleared the air between them. Talking out their recent problems had made the atmosphere at home a lot more pleasant.

  “You’re home early, Dad,” she commented, dropping her backpack on the floor and shrugging off her coat. “How was your board meeting?”

  “It was fine,” Colonel Hanson replied, still sorting through the mail as Carole headed to the hall closet to hang up her coat. “There really wasn’t much new business to discuss this time, so we …”

  His voice drifted off, and Carole glanced over her shoulder. Her fathers expression was very strange. “What’s the matter?”

  Colonel Hanson held up a thin white envelope. “This is for you.”

  “What is it?” Carole was confused. She didn’t get much mail aside from horse magazines and catalogs. Glancing at the return address as she accepted the envelope didn’t help her much.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Looks to me like it’s your PSAT scores.”

  Carole gulped, staring at her name on the envelope. I almost forgot about the PSATs, she thought with a rush of nervousness. The entire junior class had taken the standardized test a few weeks earlier. Even though it was just a preliminary test to help prepare them for taking the SATs that spring, Carole knew that her score on the PSATs was still pretty important. For one thing, it was the first step in getting ready to apply to colleges the following year. But more to the point right now, she added as she turned the envelope over in her hands, still staring at its blank whiteness, it could blow things between me and Dad again, just when we’re getting back on track. He’s so into the importance of a good education and all that stuff—if I bombed on this, he’ll freak out. And then who knows when I’ll see Pine Hollow again.

  Glancing up, she saw that her father was staring at her eagerly, the rest of the mail forgotten. Knowing she couldn’t put it off any longer, Carole took a deep breath and slid her finger under the flap of the envelope.

  “Too bad Callie decided not to come,” Lisa commented, scanning the menu a waitress had just handed her. She, Alex, Stevi
e, and Scott were crowded into a small booth at TD’s, their favorite ice cream parlor. “Isn’t mint chocolate chip her favorite flavor? It’s the special today—two scoops for the price of one.”

  Stevie looked interested. “Really?” she said. “Mint chocolate chip’s kind of boring, but I’m just starved enough to go for that right now.”

  Lisa’s stomach grumbled. After her long trail ride through the crisp afternoon air, she was hungry, too. And knowing that her mother wasn’t likely to be up to cooking dinner in her current state, she planned to fill up now. She almost wished that they’d decided to stop for a snack at a pizza place or sandwich shop rather than the ice cream parlor.

  “You know,” she commented, “some people might think eating ice cream when it’s, like, forty degrees outside is kind of weird.”

  Alex cocked an eyebrow at her. “Are any of those people here right now?”

  “No way.” Scott laughed. “I know I’m definitely in the mood for a triple banana split. And I don’t care if it’s twenty below zero outside.”

  Lisa chuckled. Scott could probably convince Eskimos to switch to an all-ice-cream diet if he put his mind to it. “Actually, a banana split sounds perfect,” she said. “Maybe I’ll have one, too.”

  “Me three,” Alex put in, tossing his menu to the center of the table. He shrugged and grinned. “Now that I’m a married man, I’m going to have to get my junk food where I can. My new wife is some kind of health freak. She says we can only spend our family budget on organic vegetarian foods and purified water.”

  “Really?” Stevie laughed. “Did you tell Iris that your idea of the four food groups are sugar, salt, grease, and more grease?”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “Get real, Stevie,” he said. “The fourth group isn’t more grease. It’s caffeine, of course.”

  Lisa laughed. “Sounds like Iris might be a good influence on you,” she teased. “I’ve been trying to get you to eat healthier for months. Maybe she’ll have more luck.”

  “Guess again.” Alex leaned over and planted a kiss on Lisa’s temple. “Nobody has more influence over me than you, sweetie.”

  “Isn’t that cute.” Scott grinned at Stevie. “Looks like Alex’s sudden marriage isn’t hurting their relationship any, huh? I hope the same is true of you and Phil.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Stevie replied as the waitress reappeared and set four glasses of water on the table. “It would take a lot more than getting married to someone else to mess us up. Especially now that Phil finally shook off that stupid pneumonia that kept him in bed for the entire break.”

  The waitress interrupted to ask for their orders, and once she left, the group continued to chat about the marriage project and other topics. But Lisa was only half listening.

  I guess it’s not surprising that I feel weird about Alex being “married” to another girl, even if it’s just for a school project, she thought. But it’s not like I’m jealous or anything. I know that Alex would never be interested in someone like Iris.

  She shot her boyfriend a sidelong glance. He was leaning over the table, talking to Stevie and Scott, so he didn’t notice her look. As usual, his brown hair was slightly rumpled and his eyes were bright, giving him the boyish, mischievous look that Lisa had always found irresistible.

  So why do I keep thinking that the whole idea of arranged marriages suddenly doesn’t sound so bad? she thought, toying with her napkin. I mean, it’s nuts. But with all the crazy and confused thoughts I’ve been having about me and Alex lately, it sure does seem like it would be a lot easier to have these kinds of decisions taken out of my hands.

  FIVE

  Carole blinked, wondering if she was hallucinating.

  Or maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention when they told us what the scores mean, she thought. Maybe it’s like golf, where a low score is good and a high score is bad. She wasn’t completely positive that things worked that way in golf, but that just helped prove her point. After all, while she could have explained precisely how a dressage judge assigned points for any test from Training Level to Grand Prix, she wasn’t too clear on the scoring of most non-equine sports, mostly because she didn’t care all that much.

  She glanced over at her father, who seemed to be having some sort of attack. His eyes were bulging and he was gasping for breath like a fish on a line.

  “Carole!” he sputtered, his voice choked and raspy. “Do you realize what this means?”

  Carole bit her lip, certain now that her golf theory was right. I guess I can kiss Pine Hollow good-bye for a lot longer than another month, she thought helplessly. This academic stuff is so important to Dad. I guess I should have remembered that and studied a lot harder for this stupid test, no matter how busy I was with more interesting things—like everything, for instance.…

  “Sorry, Dad,” she began. “I really thought I did okay, but I guess—”

  “Okay?” Colonel Hanson raised one hand to his forehead as if checking to make sure it was still there. “Okay? Carole, this score—it’s fantastic!”

  “It is?” Carole wrinkled her brow, puzzled. She glanced at the paper in her hand again. “You mean I didn’t mess it up?”

  Colonel Hanson reached out and grabbed her, pulling her in for a tight hug. “Oh, honey,” he said, still sounding a little choked up. “If you do as well on the SATs as you did on this, you’ll be able to get into any college you want. You could go to Harvard. Or Annapolis!”

  Carole’s head was spinning, and not just because her father’s fierce hug was cutting off her breath. Harvard? Annapolis? It didn’t compute. When she’d bothered to think about the PSATs at all, the most Carole had hoped for was an adequate score—one that would keep her father happy and set her up for a reputable equine studies program at a solid local university like NVU. She’d never imagined anything more.

  Still, this is definitely good news, she thought as her father continued to babble about all her unlimited possibilities for the future. I mean, anything that makes Dad this happy has got to be good news, right?

  “There you go, bub.” Callie gave the lively Arabian gelding a pat on the neck. “Fresh as a daisy.”

  Barq didn’t bother to respond. Instead he turned away from her as soon as she released him, nosing at his water bucket. Callie sighed, suddenly missing a particular horse she’d ridden regularly at her old stable back on the West Coast. The horse had been an Arab cross named Karachi, and he’d been one of the best horses she’d ever seen. He’d had an instinctive feel for the best path over a difficult trail, solid hooves that had never known a crack or split, and a will to win that was almost as strong as Callie’s own.

  “You’re a good horse, fella,” she murmured, scratching Barq at the base of his mane. “I’m just not sure you’re going to do the trick for me. Not for long, anyway.”

  She sighed again. After that day’s long workout, she was feeling less optimistic about getting back into competitive form with Barq. He was an Arabian, generally the most successful breed in endurance riding. The same efficient cooling system—thin skin and large blood vessels—that helped them survive in the harsh desert conditions under which the breed was developed, as well as their relatively light bones and natural stamina, made Arabians a popular choice for the strenuous sport of endurance riding. But a lot still depended on the individual. Most reasonably fit horses, Arabian or otherwise, could safely train for endurance races—maybe even win a local twenty-five-miler or two. But it took a special horse to compete at a higher level and win. A horse like Karachi. Or like Fez, the horse that had died on that rainy summer night when Callie’s whole life had changed.

  But the change was temporary, Callie thought fiercely, banishing the memories of that horrible moment when she’d felt the car spinning out of control on the slick road. Now I’m back. Or I will be before long, anyway. Just as soon as I can find the horse to help me.

  After a quick check to make sure that Barq’s water bucket was full enough, Callie let herself out of the st
all and wandered slowly down the stable aisle, feeling weary and dissatisfied. Right next door to Barq was Starlight, Carole’s bay gelding. Nice horse, Callie thought, stepping up to the stall and scanning Starlight’s conformation as he dozed in the corner. Good paces, and he certainly has good form over fences. But you can tell by his feet that he’s part Thoroughbred. Those hooves belong in a show ring or on a smooth trail or pasture. Not on a tough, rocky ride over rough terrain where every second counts.

  Next in line was Belle, Stevie’s horse. The feisty mare was hanging her head over the half door of her stall, watching Callie with bright, curious eyes. Callie stopped to give her a pat.

  “Half Arabian,” she murmured, leaning against the stall door and running her eyes down the mare’s sleek, coppery neck. “So you’ve probably got some natural stamina, eh, girl? Not bad conformation. But that Saddlebred half …” She shook her head, taking in Belle’s long pasterns. While Callie had seen gaited horses finish well in a few races, she knew that they weren’t generally among the best of the best.

  After giving the spirited mare one last pat, she moved on, realizing that it didn’t really matter whether Belle or Starlight had endurance potential. They belonged to her friends, which meant they wouldn’t be available for hours and hours of hard training and conditioning, potential or not.

  Max’s horses were another story. Callie was sure that the stable owner would let her work with just about any of his school horses. But were any of them good enough? Barq had seemed like the obvious choice, but now Callie wasn’t so sure that any amount of work she could do with him would bring him or her to the necessary level.

  She checked out a few other possibilities as she continued down the aisle. Comanche had spirit, but he had a choppy trot that would be difficult to ride for the extended periods required in endurance; and besides, he was getting on in years. Callie wasn’t sure, but she guessed that the chestnut gelding was probably in his late teens. That was far from decrepit, but it was old enough when the horse had never been asked to finish a fifty-mile course over steep, rocky ground. Callie planned to train hard to get herself back in shape for competition, and she needed a horse that could keep up.