No Horse Wanted (3 page)

I hadn’t even bothered to look around the
barn this afternoon. Jack was always messing around. Who knew or
cared what was going on down there? Well, other than the rest of my
family that is!

Sobs clogged my throat as Mom stood and
headed for the bakery box on the kitchen counter. “I don’t believe
you people.”

Dad chuckled. “What did you expect, Robin?
It’s a family tradition. You get to choose a purebred horse for
your sixteenth birthday.”

“But I don’t want a stinky, smelly horse!” I
jumped up, letting the bridle and blanket fall to the floor. “Don’t
you ever listen? I showed you the Mustang again and again. I want a
car. My car, so I can go places!”

A tear slipped down my cheek before I could
stop it. I swiped it away and ran out the back door. Crying in
front of them. No way! Not after this! They’d ruined everything. I
grabbed my shoes and raced across the porch. I was so outta
there.

My car, my car, my car!

Chapter Three

Thursday, September 12
^th
, 8:00 p.m.

I paused halfway across the lawn to pull on
my shoes. Then, I cut across the driveway and ran beside it to the
road. Back in middle school when I started cross-country, I’d
mapped out a six mile route so I could practice at home. After
running it for almost five years, it seemed automatic to take it
now. I didn’t have to think about where I was going, just head
south on Whisky Ridge until I reached the trail through the
woods.

Wasn’t the fact that not one person in my
family understood me bad enough? Did they have to destroy my
birthday too? And it wasn’t like my birthday was supposed to be
unlucky. It wasn’t Friday, the 13
^th
. It should have been
a good day. I barely complained when they expanded the barn so the
horses had more room and added a shower stall so Felicia could
bathe Vinnie on a regular basis. Well, not much—I still thought a
swimming pool would be more fun.

Tears clogged my throat, and I ran faster.
Dust puffed around my shoes from the path. Some green leaves still
clung to vine maple branches. I wound through a grove of young
alders, passed two cedars and came to the crosswalk on Highway 9. I
jogged in place while I waited for the light to change. I was mad,
but not stupid enough to dart between cars and semi-trucks that
used the old main road between Seattle and the Canadian border.

Maybe I was adopted. That would explain why
I didn’t look or feel like anyone in my family. Where had all these
horse-nuts come from? Why couldn’t I have normal relatives? Mine
would probably sell me before they parted with one of those
four-legged wonders down in the stable. Green light and I was
across the highway, heading for the Centennial Trail where I did
most of my running. I always ran the dirt track, which meant I had
to watch out for horse poop, but it was easier than avoiding the
bike riders and dog walkers.

When I got home a little over an hour later,
Mom and Dad waited in the kitchen, sitting at the table. Felicia
and Jack were nowhere in sight. I grabbed a bottle of water from
the fridge and chugged half of it.

“Robbie, we need to talk,” Dad said.

“Why?” I knew I sounded like a snarky
teenager, but I didn’t care. “You never listen to me. What’s the
point?”

Mom heaved a dramatic sigh. “I thought you’d
be over your snit when you got back. Come sit down and we’ll tell
you what we’ve planned.”

“How joyful.” That got me a stern look from
her. I stomped over to join them, slumping into a chair.
“What?”

Another of Mom’s fierce blue-eyed glares
before she planted her elbows on the table and gave me a steely
once-over. “Your dad and I talked. He should have told you flat-out
that the Mustang wasn’t an option. You can’t have a car until your
eighteenth birthday, and the way it works in this family is you pay
half of the cost.”

I took a deep breath. “I told Dad I could do
that. I’ll borrow it from my college fund.”

He immediately shook his head. “No, Robbie.
It costs a small fortune for college, and we don’t touch that money
except for life and death. Believe me, a classic car doesn’t
count.”

“It does to me.” I rolled the water bottle
in my hands. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I
want it.”

“Then, get a job and start saving up,” Mom
said. “We’re not saying you can’t have it, Roberta Lynn. We’re
saying that you have to do what your brother and sister did. You
have to earn the money for the car to prove you’re responsible
enough to have it.”

“But, mine will be gone. Brenna won’t keep
it two years for me.”

“Then it isn’t meant to be,” Mom said.
“There are other Mustangs.”

“What?” I almost felt my jaw hit the table.
“I don’t want a different one. I want this one. Come look at it
again. You’ll see how gorgeous it is.”

Mom rolled her eyes and shook her head. “The
answer is no, Roberta. You are not getting a car. This weekend, you
and Felicia and I are going out shopping. We’re finding you a
horse.”

“I hate horses. They’re big, ugly and they
stink, and they’re way too much work.”

Dad got up. He came around the table and put
a hand on my shoulder. “Now, Robbie, you know you don’t mean that.
It’s not as if you really hate horses. You used to ride Cobbie all
over the place, and you took care of him yourself.”

I jerked away. “Cobbie wasn’t a horse. He
was part Welsh Cob and part Welsh pony. He is dead. He’s been dead
since I was twelve. And going out to find another stinky, smelly
horse won’t bring Cobbie back. He’ll still be dead.”

“And we’ll all still miss him,” Mom said
softly. “He was my first horse, Roberta. I loved him, too. Just
because I have Singer now, doesn’t mean I love Cobbie any less. We
choose to love creatures that have shorter life spans than we do,
and we grieve them when they’re gone.”

“Not me.” I leaped to my feet, knocking the
chair over again. “I won’t love another horse. Not ever. You can’t
make me.”

I bolted from the kitchen and ran upstairs. I
slammed into my room. They’d wrecked my birthday, and I wasn’t
letting them get away with it. Mom might force me to go with them
on Saturday, but I wouldn’t let her get me a horse. I wouldn’t. I
wouldn’t. I wouldn’t!

* * * *

Friday, September
13
^th
, 7:15 a.m.

I sat in the school cafeteria waiting for
Vicky, stirring my mocha with the straw. On the way to Marysville,
Dad had tried talking to me about the stupid horse again, but I
pretty much ignored him until he bought me a coffee at the espresso
stand. Then, it was Jack’s turn. I tuned him out and texted my best
friend, begging her to meet me. I didn’t know if she’d make it or
not. Like she said, since her parents’ divorce, her mom got the
house and a new job. Her dad got the new car and a girlfriend. And
Vick got to take care of her two younger brothers and three younger
sisters.

Ten minutes before the bell rang, she hustled
across the Commons to join me. “Okay, I’m here. What’s the
disaster?”

“I didn’t get my car,” I said.

She plunked her backpack on the extra chair
and sat down next to me. “Did you really think your folks would
cough up fifteen thousand dollars for a Mustang? That’s major
bucks.”

“They’re buying me a horse instead—a
four-legged hay-burner.”

“A horse? A real horse?” Vicky squealed and
jumped up to hug me. “You are so lucky. I’d die for a horse. I’d
kill for one. When can I come see it? What are you going to call
it? Can I ride it?”

“You can have it,” I snapped. “You can
freaking move in with my family and have it!”

“Oh, get over yourself,” Vicky retorted.
“You’re the lucky one, Rob, even if you won’t admit it. You could
be sharing a room with my sister, babysitting all the time and
changing diapers when you’re trying to do algebra. There’d be no
cell phone or your own TV or clothes from the mall whenever you
want. I wish my biggest problem was getting a horse for my birthday
instead of my parents’ divorce.”

The bell rang before I had to say that she
was right. I did have things better than she did, but I still
didn’t want a horse. I wanted my car, my amazing Presidential blue
’68 Mustang with its automatic transmission.

“So, what are you going to do?” Vicky asked,
walking beside me toward Homeroom English. “When does your horse
arrive?”

“I have to go shopping with my mom and
Felicia on Saturday,” I said. “And if they actually make me get a
horse, I’m bringing home the worst one I find.”

* * * *

Saturday, September
14
^th
, 2:45 p.m.

We spent the day touring stables and checking
out the horses they had for sale. This plan had obviously been in
the works for a while. Jack had hitched up the horse trailer to his
pickup so we could bring home the horse when we found it. Mom and
Felicia had chosen six horses for me to look at. If Shamrock
Stable, the place where I did day camp during the summer, had been
on the list, it might have been different, but my family obviously
hadn’t considered the beginning level, safe horses suitable.

Two of the horses they chose had already been
sold. Hurrah. The other four were experienced gaming mounts, so not
my thing. I watched the owner gallop a paint around the barrels and
shook my head. “No way.”

“Don’t you want to try him?” Felicia asked.
“Jack said that he’s a sweetheart.”

“He’s too fast,” I said. “I don’t ride fast
horses anymore, and you two can’t make me.”

Mom frowned at me. “If you just developed
some confidence, you could be a very good rider, Robin. You have a
good seat and good hands. There is no reason for you to refuse to
ride when you’re obviously very talented. That would be like
Felicia refusing to play the piano or your brother throwing away
his paints because his work hasn’t been in a gallery.”

“I don’t want a horse, and I’m not getting on
one ever again.”

That got me twin glares, but luckily we were
soon in the truck and headed off to a nearby café for a late lunch.
Felicia pulled out her cell phone. I thought she was texting a
friend, but it turned out she was checking the classified ads in
the local paper. “Hey, Mom. I think I found one.”

“Really? Let me see.” Mom drew into a parking
lot and reached for the phone. “This does sound interesting. It’s a
trained, registered Morab gelding. Why do they only want
$100.00?”

“I’ll call and find out,” Felicia said.

“Don’t,” I said. “Let’s quit wasting time on
this. That price is definitely a mistake.”

The two of them ignored me. What else was
new?

Mom called the number and talked to somebody.
In minutes, we were on the way north to Arlington. I stared out the
truck window at the evergreens and alders that marched alongside
the highway. Sunshine danced off the glass.

“There it is.” Felicia pointed to the next
side street.

Mom slowed down for the turn. She went to the
third driveway on the left, parking next to another truck, between
the house and a large row of kennels.

I looked around. I didn’t see a barn or even
a shed. “Where is this cheap horse?”

“I don’t know,” Mom said. “We’ll have to ask
the owner. She told me someone else was coming to look at it.”

“Good. Maybe they’ll buy it.” I saw a shape
in the dusty corral behind the house. Was that a horse? I opened
the passenger door of the pickup and slid out. Felicia followed me.
I headed for the corral and stopped when I heard a growl. Did they
have a dog? I didn’t see one. When I scanned the caged runs, I
spotted a giant cat. “What is that?”

“A cougar,” Felicia said.

We shared a look. What kind of nutcase would
have a wild animal like that?

“Lovely,” Mom said. “It’s lucky we left Jack
home. He’d want us to take it, too.” Sighing, she shook her head.
“I’ll go find the owner.”

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll hunt for the
horse.”

Mom walked away, and we headed off to the
corral. My breath caught. Felicia grabbed my arm, nails digging
into my skin.

I just stared at the skeleton pretending to
be a horse. Red brown hide stretched over the bones, and I counted
every rib. He was male, but I didn’t know if he was a stud or
gelding. I hadn’t gotten close enough to see. Hips protruded,
sunken sides, and he was absolutely filthy. Dirt covered his legs,
up past his knees and hocks. Chunks of hair had fallen out of his
mane. Maybe he’d rubbed them out. Half his tail was missing too.
When he shifted, I saw yellow patches on his neck, side and one on
his rump. So, he must have some paint blood too. Why else would he
be a pinto?

“Let’s go, Robin.” Felicia pulled on my arm.
“It’s hopeless. He’s hopeless.”

I almost went with her. Then, the horse
lifted his head and looked at me. And I stopped. “No. He’s the
one.”

“What?” Felicia hissed. “I don’t believe
you.”

“Well, you should,” I said. “He’s the worst
horse I’ve ever seen, and I’m taking him home.”

Chapter Four

Saturday, September 14
^th
, 4:15 p.m.

Felicia gave me one of her older sister dirty
looks that she’d practiced over the years. It meant I was being a
spoiled brat, but I didn’t care. I kept most of my attention on the
horse. He flicked his ears and cocked his head my way, flashing a
white blaze, but his big brown eyes nailed me. And there was no way
I’d leave him here to die of starvation. I turned and scuffed
through the dust to the back porch. I carefully climbed the rickety
steps and knocked on the door.

I’d concentrate on making him look good, like
a horse again, not a skeleton. Later, I’d find him a good home and
sell him. And nobody said I actually had to ride him in the
meantime. He could just hang out in the barn with the rest of the
hay-burners. Once I sold him, I would put the money toward my car.
My car, my car, my beautiful car
—well, if I got Brenna a
down-payment, she’d save it for me. I knew she would. In this down
economy, she’d take installments if that was the best I could
do.