Horse Fever (6 page)

It was nine-thirty in the morning. Probably time to think about getting a ride over to Pine Hollow. On Lisa’s desk was a framed picture of The Saddle Club—of her, Carole, and Stevie with the horses they had ridden when they were first friends, the horses that in a way had brought them together. Lisa loved that picture. It reminded her of the two Saddle Club rules, that everyone had to be horse-crazy and had to be willing to help each other out in any situation. “Too bad needlepoint doesn’t count as a situation,” Lisa mused aloud. She opened her
top desk drawer and took out the needlepoint kit. It really was a nice pattern. It would make a good pillow covering—maybe as a gift for little Maxi.

As Lisa stood up from her desk, she caught sight of herself in the mirror again. She frowned. It was silly, but she wasn’t looking forward to wrecking her new haircut by crushing it under a hard hat and getting all sweaty. She could wash it later, but it wouldn’t look as good. As she was debating what to do, there was a knock on the door and her mother walked into the room. “I’m heading out to run some errands, dear. Do you want to come?” said Mrs. Atwood.

“Where are you going?” Lisa inquired.

“Post office, dry cleaner’s, but mainly the library. I’ve got to return some books, and your dad wants a new mystery.”

Lisa chewed her lip. She loved going to the library. She liked to settle into the reading room while her mother browsed the adult section. But Stevie and Carole were probably already at the barn. After their day off, they’d be raring to go. They would also be wondering where she was.

“It’ll be fun,” Mrs. Atwood urged. “We can stop at Tastee Delight on the way home.”

“TD’s?” Lisa said. It was the town’s ice cream parlor. She, Stevie, and Carole often went there after riding.

“Yes, I’m going to break my diet and have a sundae.”

“I’m supposed to go to Pine Hollow,” Lisa said reluctantly.

“What time are you meeting the girls?” asked her mother, for once not harping on the amount of time Lisa spent there.

“We didn’t set a time,” Lisa answered. “But usually everyone gets there around now. Max is away, you see, and we’re supposed to be working extra hard—”

Now Mrs. Atwood did interrupt, frowning ever so slightly. “Does it ever occur to that man that there might be other things you have to work on? I mean, other things besides walk, trot, and canter?”

Lisa smiled in spite of herself. “Max gave us a day off—yesterday. It’s just Prancer. I don’t want to let her down.”

“Prancer’s a
horse
,” said Mrs. Atwood, the way only a nonhorsey person could. “Another day off isn’t going to
kill
her, for heaven’s sakes.”

Lisa had to admit that her mother had a point. That was the thing about nonhorsey people. They didn’t understand at all, but sometimes they were right. “You know what, Mom? I will come with you. I can go riding this afternoon.” Out of the corner of her eye, Lisa could see the picture of The Saddle Club on her desk. She felt a twinge of guilt. “Stevie and Carole will just have to get along without me,” she said aloud.

“That’s right. As I always say, you don’t have to spend every waking hour there.” Mrs. Atwood turned briskly and left the room.

Lisa tidied up her desk, brushed her hair for the millionth time, and went downstairs. She had a strange feeling. She couldn’t place it until she realized it was relief: She was relieved that she was not going to the barn. “Big deal,” she said aloud. Morning or afternoon—it made no difference when she rode. Except that she wasn’t all that psyched for afternoon, either.

“Bring your riding clothes if you want, Lisa,” Mrs. Atwood suggested. “And I can drop you off on the way home.”

Lisa hesitated. She had pictured herself coming home and lying on the family room couch with a large stack of new books to read. And, oddly enough, she was kind of looking forward to starting the needlepoint. “Umm … That’s okay,” she said. “I don’t want to make you wait.”

“It’s no trouble, sweetheart. Why don’t you run up and get your breeches?”

“No, really,” Lisa said more firmly. “I don’t know if I’m even going to ride at all today. I thought about it and you’re right, Mom: Two days off isn’t going to make a difference.”

Lisa’s mother gave her a funny look. “Are you feeling all right, Lisa?”

“Yes, I’m fine, Mom! I don’t have to hang out there twenty-four/seven, do I?”

“No, dear,” said Mrs. Atwood, “you certainly don’t. But let me just take your temperature anyway. I can’t remember the last time you skipped riding voluntarily.”

S
TEVIE’S FACE WAS
burning up. It was January and she was so hot she wanted to jump into a bathtub of ice. Her ankles were wobbling. She couldn’t feel her right foot. Her stomach felt like lead. Her lips were parched. She wanted to retch. Gasping for air, she turned the last corner before home. Up ahead she could make out a figure—barely. The figure was charging up the driveway like a gazelle. Stevie looked down at the road. She watched her feet hitting the pavement. She had no idea what or who was picking them up and putting them down again. It certainly wasn’t her. She looked back up the driveway. The figure was doing a dance. An odd tribal victory dance of some kind.
I. Will. Not. Stop. I. Will. Not. Stop
, Stevie chanted in her head. The figure had stopped dancing and was running—running toward her.

“Hey! Stevie! I’ll run the last fifty with you. How you feeling, huh? You look like you’re lagging a little. You want to pick up the right foot, not drag it like that. Come on, sis!”

Stevie looked at Alex. She couldn’t speak; she didn’t
have the breath. But mentally she said,
You are going to die a horrible death inflicted by me
. To herself she chanted,
I. Will. Not. Stop
. Then all of a sudden she did. She just stopped. Then she walked, at an aching shuffle, holding her side, panting, tasting the acrid flavor of defeat.

“Aw, too bad. You were
so close
,” Alex said. He gave Stevie a whack on the back. “Better luck next time,” he said, sprinting toward the house.

“Rematch!” Stevie yelled after him. Or tried to yell. The words came out in a whisper. “Rematch!” she murmured hoarsely. “I demand a rematch!”

A
FEW MINUTES
later, Stevie was stretched out on the couch, a cold cloth pressed to her head, a pitcher of ice water balanced on her lap. She had never felt so awful in her entire life. Then Alex came in. “You should never lie down after exercising,” he said. “You’ve got to bring the heart rate down slowly.” He proceeded to do a series of jumping jacks and squat thrusts in front of her.

Stevie didn’t trust herself to engage in conversation, but there was one point that had to be made. “Rematch,” she said, staring stonily at the ceiling.

Alex paused midsquat. “What was that?”

“Rematch,” Stevie repeated, her voice steely.

“You want a rematch? I don’t know. It would be so boring. Well, maybe if we tested, like, overall fitness—strength,
endurance, et cetera. I’d still whip you, but at least there’d be something interesting about it.”

“One week,” Stevie said.

“One week? I’d better give you two to try to get into something resembling fitness,” Alex said.

“Ha, ha. I guess you think—” Stevie began, letting her guard down for an instant. Then she stopped herself. She refused to let Alex get a rise out of her. Freezing him out was her only hope of maintaining a last shred of dignity. Silently, though, she groaned. Two weeks!
Two weeks!
What was it about two weeks? Two weeks to get into shape. Two weeks to prepare a demonstration for Max. Two weeks till vacation ended. Didn’t she have some homework or something? Better not think about it.… Who knew what awful assignments lurked in her backpack? Luckily it was safely zipped and stowed in the back of the closet.

“Look,” Stevie said, finally giving in to an overwhelming urge to snap at her brother, “would you mind taking the fitness parade out to the kitchen so I can watch
Priced to Sell
? You’re blocking my view.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Alex said. He got down on the floor and began to do push-ups. “One! Two! Three! Hey, aren’t you going to Pine Hollow? For some ‘exercise’?” He snickered. “Won’t Carole and Lisa be wondering where you are?”

Ignoring him, Stevie took the remote and turned the TV up. Normally she had no trouble with snappy comebacks. But this time Alex was right. Carole had probably been there for hours. Lisa would have joined her after breakfast. “What do you care?” she growled. Mentally, however, she was forced to cede round two to Alexander Lake.

C
AROLE WAS FAR
from Pine Hollow. She wasn’t even in Willow Creek. She was two towns over, speeding along the back roads in Pat Naughton’s sports car. And this, Carole thought happily, was the life.

“So anyway, Dave asked me what I most wanted for our tenth anniversary and I said, ‘A horse.’ I thought he was going to fall off his chair. But he’s gotten used to the idea. He might even try riding himself. If I ever find a horse, that is.”

“That’s great. You guys could ride together,” Carole said. She had always thought that being grown up looked pretty boring. But Pat made it seem fun. Carole was almost sorry when they pulled over to the side of the road
and parked in front of the house where their first appointment was.

The two of them had gotten out of the car and started toward the front door when a window was pushed open. A woman with her hair in curlers poked her head out. “Here about the horse?” she called.

“Why, yes,” Pat said, walking toward the window. “I have a ten
A.M
. appointment to see …”—she consulted her day book briefly.

“I know, I know, you’re here to see Princess. Well, you’re too late. She was sold yesterday,” the woman announced flatly.

“Sold?” Pat repeated.

“Yeah! Sold! You got a problem with that? Sold to a nice little girl over in Baker’s Village.”

Carole was ready to turn around and go, but Pat put her hands on her hips and stood her ground. “Excuse me, but I
called
yesterday and you said the horse was still available.”

The woman shrugged and gave them a “What can you do?” look. “Hey, I didn’t know if she’d pass the vet check. I mean, if anything fell through, you had a shot at her.”

“Oh,
thanks
,” said Pat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You mean you were willing to sell us a lame horse?”

“I didn’t say she was lame!” the woman yelled, her face turning a nasty shade of red.

“What else would she be if she didn’t pass the vet check?” Pat retorted.

“She did pass the vet check!” the woman shot back.

“Right: Sound on Saturday, lame on Sunday, I’ll bet!”

“Look, you better get outa here or I’m gonna call the cops!” the woman said, brandishing a fist at them.

“Uh, Pat?” Carole said quietly. “Maybe we should save our energy for the next appointment.”

Pat looked distractedly at Carole. Then all at once she burst out laughing. “You know what? You’re right. I was having too much fun yelling.”

As they headed back to the car, another car pulled up behind them. A man in breeches and boots got out. “Here to see the horse?” Pat asked.

“Uh, yeah,” the man said uncertainly. He held up a tattered copy of
Horseman’s Weekly
. “The one advertised.”

“Too late,” Pat said. “Sold yesterday.”

“Sold yesterday!” the man exclaimed angrily. “Of all the rude—”

“Don’t worry,” Carole said, getting into the spirit of things. “Turns out it was lame anyway.”

Shaking his head in disgust, the man thanked them, got into his car, and drove away.

Back in Pat’s car, Carole was overcome with giggles. “I
never would have had the guts to chew that woman out. You were great!”

“It comes from years of practice,” Pat said.

“My friend Stevie’s good at that,” Carole said. In a way, Pat reminded her of a grown-up Stevie, even though Stevie was a tomboy and Pat seemed so glamorous.

“Stevie Lake?” said Pat. “I know her. We live right down the road from the Lakes. I see you guys together a lot at Pine Hollow—with one other girl.”

“Yeah, that’s Lisa. We’re The Saddle Club,” Carole said.

“The Saddle Club?” Pat repeated.

Carole explained about the club. Pretty soon she found herself telling Pat about some of their adventures.

“Gosh, sounds like you guys are
tight
!” said Pat.

“We sure are,” Carole agreed. But then her face fell. No doubt Stevie and Lisa were at Pine Hollow right then, joking and laughing, taking Belle and Prancer out, getting a jump start on their demonstrations for Max. With a twinge Carole thought of Starlight, waiting in his stall, expecting her to come. If she had said something to Stevie and Lisa, they would have taken him out. But Carole hadn’t said anything. In fact, she had deliberately “forgotten” to call them last night. She had spent the evening worrying over the
Horseman’s Weekly
story contest.
Once Lisa had mentioned it, Carole did want to enter. The topic was a turning point in the life of a horse and rider. The thing was, it was hard to write about a turning point when she herself was riding the same horse she’d been riding for months and months and months. A horse she knew as well as any of her friends, as well as her father—maybe better.
If only I were looking for a horse
, Carole thought idly.
Then I’d have the perfect topic
.