Horse Shy (7 page)

“Don’t worry, boy,” she said to him, patting his neck gently. “We’ll go back there. One day, you and I will go back to the mountains. We’ll climb the hills and canter through the valleys. We’ll splash in the ponds and the waterfall. We’ll ride together.”

And someday they would, she was sure. Until then, at least they could ride in the ring every day this week. It wasn’t everything, but it was something.

Carole sighed and then slid the door closed on Cobalt’s stall. It was time to go home.

“T
HERE
’
S SOMETHING
I don’t understand,” Carole told Max Thursday afternoon while she was saddling Cobalt.

“What’s that?” he asked, smoothing the saddle pad for her.

“It’s that Veronica always complains that Cobalt is difficult.” She lifted the saddle and placed it firmly on the horse’s back. Then she slid it into place and reached for the girth.

“You do understand,” Max said. “You’re just being polite.”

“Maybe.” Carole shrugged, knowing that was Max’s way of saying she was a much better rider than Veronica.

“But I’ll tell you this,” he continued. “I never approved of Mr. diAngelo buying a stallion for Veronica
to ride. A gelding or a mare would be much better for a young rider. A stallion like Cobalt has got an awful lot of spirit. It takes a very skilled rider to handle a stallion. Veronica isn’t one; you are.”

Carole really didn’t know what to say to Max. He rarely complimented his students. Most of them—including Carole—were thrilled with an “okay” or a “that’s better” from him. And that was all most of them got.

“I shouldn’t complain, though,” Max confided. “Cobalt is a Thoroughbred with fine bloodlines. It’s an honor to have him in my stable.”

Horses, Carole knew, were always evaluated by their bloodlines, meaning who their parents were, and
their
parents. It wasn’t the least bit unusual to know a hundred years’ worth of breeding history for the better horses, like Cobalt. And, since horses tended to pass on predictable characteristics like speed and temperament to their offspring, it could be extremely important to know that those characteristics were part of the family history carried in the bloodlines.

“I know that running fast and jumping high are in his bloodlines,” Carole told Max. “But what constantly amazes me is how smart he is. You know what I got him to do yesterday? I got him to bow! Can you believe it?”

“I was watching from my office,” Max said. “I was pretty impressed.” There was a sly grin on his face.

“Oh, I know it’s silly show-off rodeo stuff,” she said. “But it was like he
wanted
to do it. After only about four tries, he just did it.”

“Well, today why don’t you see if you can teach him something more useful?” Max said.

“I thought we’d work on sideways movements and circles today, and then tomorrow, if it’s okay with you, we’ll just have a fun ride on the trail.”

“And on Saturday?” Max asked.

“On Saturday, Veronica will ride him in class. I won’t be here this weekend at all. Dad and I are taking a trip together. He has to go to Camp Lejeune for the Corps and I get to go along.” Carole adjusted the stirrups to the right length for her lanky legs.

“You have family down there in North Carolina, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’m staying at Aunt Elaine’s. She’s my mother’s sister. We aren’t coming back until Tuesday. Dad got special permission for me to miss school.”

“He didn’t ask me if you could miss riding school,” Max said.

For a second, Carole was afraid he was serious, but when she looked at his suntanned face and saw the sparkle in his sky-blue eyes, she knew it was a joke.

“Have a good time,” Max said. “But don’t fall for any of those Nowth Cahalaina howses, yuh heah?!” he teased in a southern accent.

“No way!” Carole told him, laughing. “There’s only one horse for me and he’s right here!”

Carole led Cobalt out of his stall and over to the entrance to the ring. She slipped her left foot into the stirrup and lifted herself up. As she settled into the saddle,
she saw a look of concern cross Max’s face. But when she looked again, it was gone. Clucking softly to Cobalt, she brought him out into the ring, remembering to touch the stable’s “good-luck horseshoe” nailed on the wall by the mounting block.

That horseshoe was one of Pine Hollow’s oldest traditions. Every rider touched it before beginning a ride. As long as anybody could remember, nobody had ever been seriously hurt riding at Pine Hollow. Carole was pretty sure that the
real
reason for that safety record was because Max (and Maxes I and II) had always been very fussy about the quality of riding at Pine Hollow, but it didn’t stop her from touching the horseshoe every time she mounted. It also didn’t stop her from riding very carefully.

“C
OME ON
,
BOY
,” Carole urged Cobalt. “Over to the left. You can do it.”

She knew perfectly well that Cobalt didn’t understand the words, but hearing her voice seemed to give him confidence. She was working with him on lateral, or sideways, moves. Usually riders practiced moving a horse forward, and sometimes backward, but for the experienced rider, sideways could be just as important. It was often essential for shows, demonstrating the rider’s ability to control the horse and the horse’s ability to respond to commands.

Today Carole wanted to teach Cobalt to turn on the forehand—and she wanted to learn it herself.
Holding the reins short enough so that she knew for sure when she was putting pressure on Cobalt’s mouth, she moved her right leg back a very little bit and pressed on Cobalt’s side. First, he stepped forward. She drew the reins inward to stop his forward movement and held them there. Then, she pressed again with her right leg.

It worked! Cobalt’s right rear leg stepped to the left, his left leg following, while his front legs remained stable, shifting only to pivot. Carole did this several more times and, before she knew it, the horse had turned completely around a circle, with his front legs at the center of it.

“Good boy!” she said, patting his neck firmly. “Good boy! I knew you could do it! Let’s try it again, okay?”

Cobalt stretched his neck. Carole could have sworn he was nodding to her, but she knew better. After all, how many times had Max told her horses couldn’t understand English? A lot of them learned to respond to words like “trot” and “canter” if they heard them during a class and there were other horses doing those paces already. Some days it seemed to Carole that they could tell time, too, the way they started heading for their stalls when an hour-long class was
almost
over. But those things were really the result of training, not an understanding of language or clocks. It was the same as when she got fidgety in her math class after about thirty-eight minutes—or sometimes only three minutes!

Cobalt, however, seemed to understand more. Maybe it was more than Carole’s words and tone of voice. Part of it, she was sure, was how well she could feel his movements under her with her legs and with her seat. It was logical that he was as sensitive to her on top of him.

Standing still once again, she tried a turn on the forehand to the right. Cobalt executed it perfectly, as if he’d been doing it all his life.

How on earth, she wondered, could Veronica own this wonderful animal and not want to spend every waking minute with him?

“I know you’re going to miss me, boy,” she said, leaning forward in her saddle, stroking the horse’s glistening black coat. “But I won’t be gone long. I’ll be back in a couple of days. We’ll ride together again soon—just you and me, Cobalt.”

Carole nudged Cobalt with her heels and he began a regal walk around the ring. As they passed Max’s office window, it suddenly flew open. Max stuck his head out.

“Looks like you and Cobalt had a pretty good session. But how many times do I have to tell you that horses don’t understand English?” he said, only half-joking.

“Don’t worry, Max,” she shot back. “It’s not English. I’m teaching him Swahili!”

Max shook his head, then pulled it back in and shut the window firmly. Carole signaled Cobalt to pick up the pace. Soon they were cantering around the ring, smooth as glass, fast as the wind.

C
AROLE
’
S FOUR-DAY
visit with Aunt Elaine was every bit as nice as she’d thought it was going to be. While Colonel Hanson worked, Carole and her aunt chatted, gossiped, and giggled together while taking care of Elaine’s three young boys. She and Aunt Elaine even spent one morning horseback riding along the beach. It was fun, but it wasn’t the same as riding Cobalt. It felt wonderfully wicked to be excused from school for two days without even being sick, but when it came time to go home, Carole was ready. Saying good-bye to her aunt’s family was hard, though. It seemed as if she couldn’t give or get enough hugs until she thought about how much she wanted to see Cobalt again.

“So you enjoyed it, did you?” her father asked as they drove back home from the airport.

“I had a great time with Aunt Elaine,” Carole said. “She’s just fun to be with. So are her kids.”

“I know you miss your mother,” Colonel Hanson began. “I miss her, too. I try to fill in, but there are some things …”

The time since her mother’s death the previous fall had been hard on both of them. Carole knew that her father had worried a lot about trying to be both mother and father to her, but as far as she was concerned, he was her father and that was great.

“Don’t worry about that, Daddy. I had fun with Aunt Elaine, even though sometimes she reminded me of Mom. She does look like her, doesn’t she? But as far as parents go, you’re enough for me—at least until you meet some wonderful woman and decide to get married again,” she added with a sly grin.

“Now, don’t
you
start in,” her father said.

“Oh, Aunt Elaine gave you a hard time, huh? She told me she thought you should get married again. Is that why she kept having all her ‘friends’ at the house when you were there?”

“I think so. And I had thought I’d get some relief from that when we got away from home.”

Carole had to laugh. Almost every one of their friends seemed to know a single woman who would be “just perfect” for Carole’s father. “You know what Marjorie Jennings—you know, the major’s daughter—told me? She said that the ladies in the bridge league at the Officers’ Club at Quantico call you ‘Colonel Handsome.’
Of course, they’re right. You’re the handsomest man I know. And you look so
dashing
in your uniform—especially the dress blues with the red stripe!” she teased her father.

He laughed. “And don’t you think for a minute that Mrs. Jennings hasn’t invited her unmarried sister down for a visit. Every time I see the woman, she tells me how wonderful her sister is and what a
marvelous
mother she’d make. See, Carole, it isn’t just
me
they’re after. The woman wants to be a mother to
you
. Are you ready for that?”

“Not from any sister of Mrs. Jennings’s!” Carole said, laughing. “But Dad, seriously, wouldn’t you like to get married again?”

“Well, hon, I’ll tell you. I loved your mom. She was one in a million—no, make that two million. There just isn’t anybody to replace her.”

Carole was quiet for a moment. Her father was often very lonely without her mother. She knew that one day he would probably find another woman to share his life with. Until he was ready, or until the right woman came along, nothing she could say would make it happen.

“Especially Mrs. Jennings’s sister,” Carole said.

“And
especially
if she looks like Mrs. Jennings!”

“A fine thing for you to say, Colonel Handsome!” Carole chided him. They laughed together. Carole felt then, as she had felt many times since her mother’s death, that losing her mother was the most awful thing
that could have happened to her. But she still had her father, and a pretty terrific one at that. One in two million.

A
HALF HOUR
later, Carole’s suitcase was unpacked and she was beginning to feel as if she were actually back home again. That made it time to call Stevie and Lisa. Maybe they could all get together at the Tastee Delight ice cream parlor—TD’s, as the girls called their favorite meeting place. But just as she reached for the phone, it rang.