Horse Shy (13 page)

“You get down here, you rascal. How did you get up there?” she demanded furiously. Mrs. Reg stood on a chair and reached for the kitten, but he scampered along the rafter, just out of her reach.

“I’ll give you a hand, Mrs. Reg,” Carole said, stepping into the tack room. “You shouldn’t be standing on a chair with your arthritis,” she added.

“Oh, I wouldn’t, believe me, if I didn’t have to get this little one down. Remember him? This is the cute little newborn kitten you were playing with. Now, he’s a devil—an absolute devil. He’s into everything.”

“Listen, you stay on the chair there, and I’ll shoo him back to you, okay?”

“A devil! That’s what this one is,” Mrs. Reg continued, barely acknowledging Carole’s presence. “Whatever you expect him to do, he doesn’t. Now, you try shooing him, okay?”

Carole moved a tack box under the rafter and climbed up on it. The kitten was trapped between Carole and Mrs. Reg. Eventually, he’d get to one of them.

“Here, kitty,” Mrs. Reg invited.

“Go on! Shoo!” Carole said, hustling the black fur-ball toward Mrs. Reg.

With that, the kitten turned from Mrs. Reg and began walking precisely toward Carole. His little tail waved back and forth to preserve his balance. “You’re right about him,” Carole said. “He does just the opposite of what an ordinary cat would do, doesn’t he?”

“Since the day he was born,” Mrs. Reg agreed.

“Go away, kitty!” Carole said, looking straight into his sky-blue eyes. “Go away!”

She could hear his purring, the magical motor going full tilt. The little kitten stepped off the rafter and onto Carole’s shoulder. Cradling him so that he wouldn’t fall, Carole stepped off the tack box and then helped Mrs. Reg get off her chair.

“Got a name for him yet?” Mrs. Reg asked, picking up their conversation from several weeks ago, just as if no time had passed at all.

“Yeah, I do,” Carole said. She sat down on the tack box and held the kitten on her lap. Within seconds, the black kitten’s purring stopped. He was curled up and sound asleep.

“His name’s Snowball,” Carole told Mrs. Reg.

“Perfect!” Mrs. Reg said, laughing. “He’s so contrary that he’s truly earned a name like that. But there’s a problem with that.”

“What’s that?” Carole asked, stroking the kitten softly.

“Our cats are named after horses. I don’t know of any ‘Snowball.’ ”

“Can’t you make an exception?”

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Reg said. “But I have another solution. If he’s not a stable cat, he doesn’t have to have a stable name. Why don’t you keep him? He’ll be weaned and ready to go to a new home in about two weeks. If you’d like him, ask your dad, okay?”

“Okay,” Carole said. “I’d like that.”

She picked up the sleeping kitten and put him back in the box where he’d been born. All his littermates were awake from their naps and were crawling out of the box.

“I’ll ask Dad tonight,” Carole said, sure that he’d agree. After all, who could resist a little black kitten named Snowball?

“Snowball’s the right name, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Reg said.

Then Carole remembered that she’d once thought she should name the kitten Cobalt. That wouldn’t have been right at all. Cobalt
was
a great horse, but the kitten deserved his own name. Carole glanced at the clock in the tack room. Only fifteen minutes until class!

“Gotta see Max!” she said. “ ’Bye!”

She ran out of the tack room and headed for Max’s office, skidding to a stop as she neared the door. Then she proceeded to walk calmly. It wouldn’t do to arrive huffing and puffing.

“Can I talk to you, Max?” she asked politely.

“Sure, Carole. Come on in,” he said, smiling warmly. Carole hoped he meant it.

“Max, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to come back—join the class again.”

Max was quiet for a minute. Was he angry with her? Had he filled her spot in the class? Did he have rules about quitters? Was she going to have to find another stable?

“Carole,” he began, “I know what you’ve been through. I know how much you cared for Cobalt and I know how much his death hurt you—as indeed it did all of us. I am very happy to have you back. But class starts in fifteen—” he glanced at his digital watch “—thirteen minutes. Can you get saddled up by then?”

“You bet I can!” she said. “I’ll get Delilah’s saddle and bridle right away.”

“Not Delilah,” Max said.

Carole gulped. If she couldn’t ride Delilah, that must mean that Mr. diAngelo had talked Veronica into letting him buy the horse! That meant that Veronica hadn’t learned anything after all. Would she kill Delilah, too?

“I guess you had to do it,” Carole said dully. She understood that the owner of a stable really had to go along with some of the patrons. After all, Mr. diAngelo owned the bank and he could cause trouble for Max—

“Had to do what?” he asked.

“Had to sell her,” Carole said. “I heard that Mr. diAngelo wanted to buy her for Veronica. I understand that kind of thing happens.” She was trying to be realistic.

“Not to me, it doesn’t,” Max said, surprising her. “I couldn’t sell her now, anyway.”

“Is she sick?” Carole asked, suddenly recalling how oddly Delilah had behaved on the MTO with her mood shifts and unpredictable appetite.

“Not exactly,” Max said evasively.

“Then what, exactly?” Carole said.

“She’s carrying a foal, Carole. She’s due in a couple of months and until then she’ll have rest and pasture time. Nobody rides her and she’s not for sale.”

A foal! That meant there would be a birth at the stable. It could be a beautiful palomino like Delilah—a whole new life coming to Pine Hollow.

“You mean she wasn’t sick on the MTO?”

“Nope, she was just getting ready for motherhood—and sometimes mares act up a bit when their time gets nearer. She’s fine and healthy. So’s the foal so far. Vet says she’ll be delivering at the end of the summer. So, it’s time for her to stop work.”

“That’s wonderful!” Carole sat still in the chair across from Max’s desk, too excited to move, or even to think about class.

“Carole,” Max said gently. She looked up at him. “You haven’t asked the question I was expecting.”

“What’s that?”

“You haven’t asked who the sire of Delilah’s foal is.”

“Okay, who is—” Carole suddenly didn’t have to ask. There was only one stallion at Pine Hollow, only one horse who
could
have sired a foal. “Cobalt?”

Max smiled and nodded. “See, in a way, he’s going to live on.” Carole was silent, taking in the good news.
Suddenly Max was his old businesslike self again. “Breeding a mare is a lot of work, Carole,” he said. “From now on, we’re going to have to watch Delilah carefully. We want a healthy foal. And after it’s born, there’s going to be even more work. We’ll be doing feeding and tending and training—” he paused and looked into Carole’s eyes. “You’ll help, won’t you?”

“
Will
I!” she said breathlessly. It was a dream come true.

“Okay, if you’re going to help, you’re going to have to be a better rider than you are now. What are you doing just sitting here? Why aren’t you getting ready for class? You’re to ride Diablo from now on, understand?”

“Yes,
sir
!” she said. She stood up and saluted Max, Marine Corps-style—just like her father taught her.

And then she floated on air back out to the stable. She didn’t have a second to waste before class.

“H
I
, C
AROLE
!” B
ETSY
Cavanaugh greeted her as she tried to dash down the aisle to Diablo’s stall. “Did you hear?”

“Hear what?” Carole asked suspiciously. She didn’t think Max had shared the news about Delilah yet, otherwise she was certain Lisa or Stevie would have called to tell her.

“About Max—the First. He was captured by pirates!”

“Give me a break,” Carole said, making her way to her horse.

“No, it’s true! I think it is, anyway,” Betsy said.

Carole didn’t have time to listen to any more. She stepped into Diablo’s stall and began putting the saddle on him.

“Max the First was a horse thief,” a voice told her, coming over the door to the stall. It was Meg Durham speaking. “It seems that he rode with Billy the Kid and they were rustling horses out west. Then—”

“Meg! I’m late for class and I have to get this done in a hurry. Tell me about it after class, maybe?”

“Sure, Carole,” Meg said. “Nice to see you back.”

By the time Carole had the saddle and bridle on Diablo and was walking him toward the ring—and toward the good-luck horseshoe—two other people had told her two other stories about Max the First. Carole had never heard such zany stories in her whole life—and every single person who told her a tale swore it was true.

“Carole! You’re back!” Stevie shrieked. She had just mounted Comanche and was walking around the ring until class started.

Lisa came up behind her on Pepper. “Oh, Carole, I knew you’d come back. I’m so glad to see you. We missed you!”

“Really?” Carole brushed the good-luck horseshoe with her right hand and then mounted Diablo. “And I think I got back just in time to see this place go crazy. What’s all this stuff I hear about Max the First?”

Lisa and Stevie exchanged glances and then slapped their hands over their mouths. Carole had the distinct impression they were trying to stifle giggles.

“Are you going to tell me that Max was actually the first human being to reach the south pole—on
horseback? A little-known expedition that took place at the turn of the century?”

“Hey, that’s a great idea!” Stevie said, her eyes popping open.

“What is going on around here?” Carole asked.

But before either Lisa or Stevie could answer, Max entered the ring.

“Now, class begins!” he said sternly. From that moment on, talking was strictly forbidden.

“Saddle Club meeting at TD’s after class!” Stevie hissed.

Carole nodded happily. Did she have news for them!

“S
O YOU GUYS
found this old guy at the library who actually knew Max?” Carole asked in surprise.

The three girls were seated at their favorite table in TD’s, the ice cream store at the shopping center. They were each working their way through a sundae, the first Stevie had been able to afford since buying Mr. Thompson the soda!

“Oh, yeah!” Stevie said. “And Max was nothing like anyone had guessed! He was a good rider and a strict teacher—just like our Max—but apparently he was this boring old guy who could put people practically to sleep just by talking. He never left Willow Creek his whole life. He never even did anything
interesting
, so forget about exciting.”

“So, why’s everybody telling me about pirates and expeditions and everything?”

“See, now that we know the truth, we don’t have to worry about anybody believing it!” Lisa said. “So, we tell people we’ve done research—and that part’s true—and this is what we found. Only we tell everybody something different
and
we tell them not to tell anybody else!”

“Somehow this sounds like an idea of Stevie’s,” Carole said, laughing. “You’re really something, you know?”

“I never could have done it without Lisa,” Stevie said. “She had a lot of great research ideas. But if you ever get curious about a certain Mrs. Rappaport, or the town sewer system, just ask me, okay?”

“You’ll be the first person I’ll ask,” Carole assured her. “What I really want to ask, though, is what’s going on with Veronica?” Carole told them about the conversation Veronica had with her father. Stevie and Lisa told her about Veronica’s jumping class—in the library. “Is she changing—or what?” Carole asked.

“I think she is,” Lisa said solemnly. “She really learned something when Cobalt got hurt. You have to respect that, don’t you?”

“I respect it,” Stevie said. “But it doesn’t make me like her much better. She’s still a pain. Now, if she stops being a
pain
, that’ll be news!” The Saddle Club members laughed together.

“Now, let me tell you
my
news.” Stevie and Lisa listened eagerly, almost as thrilled as Carole when she told them about Snowball and then, best of all, about Delilah’s foal.

“I can’t wait!” Stevie exclaimed. “The newborns are
so
cute! Do you think it’ll be black like Cobalt—or a pretty palomino like Delilah?”

They talked animatedly about the foal for a while as they finished their sundaes. Then the talk turned to Carole. She’d known it would come, and she knew that her friends deserved an answer.

“What made you decide to come back?” Lisa asked.

“There were a lot of things. I think that you were right in a way when you said I was horse shy. But not just about any horse—it was Cobalt. It hurt so much when he died that I was afraid I might get hurt again if something like that happened to another horse. But when I saw what Veronica had learned—well, I thought if there’s hope for her, then there’s hope for me. Anyway, the only thing worse than losing something you care about is not having something you care about at all. I learned that when Mom died.”

Stevie and Lisa sat quietly. “There was something else,” Carole continued. “I finally realized that no matter how much I cared about him, Cobalt wasn’t mine. He belonged to somebody else.”