A SPECIAL BOND
All at once the mare pulled free. Her eyes rolling wildly, she reared, then shied away.
“Grab her!” Frank called.
Stevie lunged for the lead shank but missed.
“No! Let me,” Carole ordered. Instinct took over. She walked slowly toward the mare. She breathed in and out, in and out, willing the mare to sense the calming rhythm. She whispered nonsense words. Everyone watched as the mare stopped and listened to Carole. Carole inched closer. She reached out and stroked the mare’s shoulder. Then she unclipped the lead line. She put it into her pocket. She knew she wouldn’t need it. The mare followed Carole into the barn.
Other Skylark Books you will enjoy
Ask your bookseller for the books you have missed
THE WINNING STROKE (American Gold Swimmers #1) by Sharon Dennis Wyeth
COMPETITION FEVER (American Gold Gymnasts #1) by Gabrielle Charbonnet
THE GREAT DAD DISASTER by Betsy Haynes
THE GREAT MOM SWAP by Betsy Haynes
BREAKING THE ICE (Silver Blades #1) by Melissa Lowell
SAVE THE UNICORNS (Unicorn Club #1) by Francine Pascal
RL 5, 009–012
HORSE WHISPERS
A Bantam Skylark Book / February 1998
Skylark Books is a registered trademark of Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and elsewhere.
“The Saddle Club” is a registered trademark of Bonnie Bryant Hiller. The Saddle Club design/logo, which consists of a riding crop and a riding hat, is a trademark of Bantam Books.
“USPC” and “Pony Club” are registered trademarks of The United States Pony Clubs, Inc., at The Kentucky Horse Park, 4071 Iron Works Pike, Lexington, KY 40511-8462.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1998 by Bonnie Bryant Hiller.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.
eISBN: 978-0-307-82575-9
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada.
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036.
v3.1
I would like to express my special thanks
to Caitlin Macy for her help
in the writing of this book.
Contents
Cover
Other Skylark Books You Will Enjoy
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Author
“WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEADS! Time to get up!” a voice called.
Stevie Lake stirred in her sleeping bag and cocked one eye open. “What time is it?” she croaked.
“Five of seven,” murmured Lisa Atwood, half-asleep in the upper bunk.
“Ouch!” Carole Hanson said across the bunkhouse room. “That’s uncivilized!”
The girls were used to getting up early for school, but this was vacation! They had arrived at the Bar None Ranch in Colorado very late the night before. Instead of going straight to bed, they had gone straight to the barn to visit their favorite horses.
“That’s the one and only drawback to spending February break at a working ranch,” Stevie groaned. “I can’t get the sleep my growing body needs.”
“You miss the eight hours, huh?” said Lisa, beginning to wake up in spite of herself.
“Eight?” Stevie scoffed. “Are you kidding? More like fifteen! We’re talking the nine-to-noon schedule! I mean, if I wake up before—”
She was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. “Time to get up!” The voice paused. “Breakfast is ready!”
“Breakfast!” Stevie exclaimed, letting her previous thought go unfinished. “That’s more like it!” In thirty seconds she was out of bed and yanking jeans and a sweater on over her long underwear. She flung the bunkhouse door open. “Wait up, Kate! I’m right behind you!” she yelled. She took off across the snow after the girls’ friend and hostess at the ranch, Kate Devine.
Lisa and Carole sat up in bed and laughed. “I guess Stevie remembered the big plus about staying at the Bar None—the one that counterbalances the early hours,” Lisa said.
“The food!” Carole guessed.
“Yup. Shall we?” said Lisa. “My stomach’s growling.”
“Mine too,” Carole answered. Gritting her teeth, she sprang from bed into the frigid air of the bunkhouse, and Lisa followed suit.
It made Carole happy to hear Lisa sounding enthusiastic about eating. Unlike Stevie, who basically lived to eat, Lisa had more complicated feelings about food. Not so long ago, she’d had a bout with near anorexia that had scared all three of the girls. Luckily Carole and Stevie had been able to help Lisa weather the problem. The Saddle Club comes through again, Carole thought, tying her long dark hair back in a ponytail.
The unique thing about the girls’ friendship was that they weren’t just friends, they were also members of a club called The Saddle Club, which they had started but which now included honorary out-of-town members such as Kate Devine. The club took its name from the girls’ love of horses. But there was another important rule for joining: Members had to be willing to help each other out in any situation, whether that situation was a parental conflict, a boy problem, or something more serious.
“Come on, spacey! Quit zoning out, zip up that jacket, and we’re outta here!” Lisa said.
Carole grinned. The other thing about The Saddle Club was that they all knew each other so well it was scary. Lisa was known for being a perfectionist, Stevie for her practical jokes, and Carole for spacing out about everything except horses. “Guilty as charged,” she murmured, tailing Lisa out the door.
A few minutes later the two had joined Stevie, Kate, and the rest of the Bar None crew at breakfast. Meals were served in the main house’s dining room on long tables. Because of the time of year, there were only a few hardy guests at the ranch, so everyone could fit at one table. Kate introduced The Saddle Club to two older couples, who nodded politely.
“Boy oh boy, that coffee smells good,” said Stevie, sniffing the air appreciatively. “I can hardly wait.”
Kate looked at her skeptically. “Since when do you drink coffee?”
“Oh, I don’t drink it!” said Stevie. “I just—well, I smell it and it … it whets my appetite.”
“As if the Lake appetite needed whetting!” Lisa protested.
At that moment Mrs. Devine emerged from the kitchen with a huge bowl of steaming hot cereal. “You might want to go easy on the oatmeal,” she warned, “because this is only the beginning.”
Undeterred, Stevie ladled herself a large portion, covered it with granola and raisins, and smothered the whole thing with cream.
Kate stood up and whispered something in her mother’s ear.
“Yes, you may have the leftover apple pies for breakfast, too. I’m warming them now,” replied Mrs. Devine.
“Pie? For breakfast? Why didn’t you say so?” Stevie wailed. “I would have left out
the raisins!”
For the next hour, Mrs. Devine shuttled back and forth between kitchen and dining room, refusing the girls’ offers of help. After the oatmeal came scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon, corn muffins with homemade preserves, and the promised apple pies.
When they were stuffed and groaning, The Saddle Club agreed that, as usual, Kate’s mother had outdone herself.
Even Lisa had managed to eat a full meal. Forking a last bite, she sighed and said, “If only I could cook like this.”
“You are the best cook in the world, Mom,” Kate said.
Stevie opened her mouth to add her vote but stopped. “I was about to agree, but I just realized I can’t. No offense, but as a good daughter I have to say that my mother is the best cook in the world … Phyllis.”
In Willow Creek the girls called each other’s parents “Mrs. Lake” and “Mr. Atwood.” But Phyllis and Frank had a firm rule at the Bar None: first names only. It made for a more casual atmosphere. Sometimes, though, it seemed strange, like right then when Stevie had hesitated before saying “Phyllis.”
Kate and Stevie sparred teasingly for a couple of minutes, and Lisa chimed in to the debate. Then Lisa noticed that Carole wasn’t saying anything. She felt a pang of remorse. Carole’s mother had died a few years earlier. Maybe she felt left out. “Say, Carole?” she murmured.
To her relief, Carole looked up, utterly lost in thought. Then she smiled. “Oh, gosh, was I spacing again? I was thinking about Starlight’s dressage test a few weeks ago. He really cut his corners.”
Phyllis Devine and the girls laughed.
“What did I miss?” Carole asked sheepishly.
“We were debating over who the best cook in the world is,” Lisa said.
“That’s easy,” said Carole. “My dad—but only when I help him.”
“I’ll bet you’re a big help to him, the way Kate is to me,” said Phyllis.
“I try to be. At first I didn’t know anything, but now I can get around in the kitchen. After my mom died, we sort of learned together,” Carole explained.
“Boy, I wish I could get around in the kitchen,” Lisa muttered.
“You could learn,” Phyllis responded. “Anyone can learn to cook, Lisa.”
“Thanks,” Lisa said without much enthusiasm. “But the problem is that I have to learn in about five days.”
“Why? Are you having a dinner party?” Stevie teased.
To her surprise, Lisa nodded.
“You are?”
“Yup. Well, not exactly a dinner party, but I have to cook a family meal over break.”
“Why? Has your mom decided you should become a French chef?” Carole guessed. Mrs. Atwood was known for making Lisa learn “domestic skills” such as needlepoint and flower arranging.
“Hardly. In fact, cooking is the one thing she doesn’t make me do—or even let me do. My mom’s so perfect in the kitchen that she doesn’t let me near the stove. No, this is for school. I have to cook the meal, take pictures of it, and write a report including all my recipes,” Lisa explained with a sigh.
“Gosh, by the sound of your voice, I’d guess you had to catalog your stamp collection. But cooking’s fun!” Phyllis said encouragingly.
“Maybe when it’s for fun. But half of my home ec final grade is going to be based on this one meal,” Lisa said, “and I can’t even boil an egg!”
“Fiddlesticks,” replied Phyllis.
“No, it’s true! I tried and almost torched my teacher’s hair!” Lisa wailed.
“Now, that sounds like a good idea,” Stevie put in.
“Don’t laugh! I’m getting a B-minus!” Lisa said. But then she started laughing, too. Another major difference between Lisa and Stevie was that while Stevie scraped by in school and prayed every day for a natural disaster to close the place for good, Lisa loved her classes and got straight As—at least, she usually did.
“Excuse me,” said one of the female guests from the end of the table. “I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation. I didn’t know they even offered home economics at school anymore.”
Lisa nodded unhappily. “In Willow Creek, Virginia, they require it,” she said. “We have to take a semester each of home ec and shop. Only now home ec is called Nutrition and Household Management, and shop is called Advanced Woodworking. Boy, do I wish I were back sawing boards!”
“It’s not fair,” Stevie declared. “Public schools have all the fun! I would kill to take shop and home ec! But no, Fenton thinks every last class has to be an ‘enriching academic experience.’ ”
At home in Willow Creek, Carole and Lisa attended the local public school, and Stevie went to a private day school, Fenton Hall.
“So you’re saying you’d like to learn how to cook, Stevie?” Phyllis inquired.
“And how!” said Stevie. “I can make spaghetti and cookies and pancakes and stuff, but real food is over my head. Gosh, if I could make pies like these, I could feed myself all day long.” She sighed blissfully at the thought.
“All right, that’s a good enough reason. And Lisa, you have to learn,” said Phyllis. “So why don’t I teach both of you this week? There’s no better place to learn than the Bar None kitchen. Heck, I’ve even taught cowboys how to cook!”
“Say, Mom,” Kate piped up. “Couldn’t Lisa make her big meal for the Bar None family? It doesn’t have to be your family, does it, Lisa?”
Lisa shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. The only rule is that I have to cook for at least four people.” She laughed. “And I don’t think that would be a problem here.” The Bar None was known for its massive gatherings at mealtimes. The Devines often invited neighbors and employees to join in the festivities with their guests.
“Do you mean it?” Stevie asked. “You’d really teach us how to cook?”
“Of course I mean it! We’ll start this afternoon.”
“That would be great. I don’t want to ask my mom because I know we’ll get into a huge fight,” Lisa said. This had already happened once. There was no way Lisa was going to deal with it again.
“And I don’t want to ask my mom because my stupid brothers will make fun of everything I make and then they’ll eat it all!” said Stevie.
At the other end of the table, the guests laughed. “Typical boys!” said a gray-haired woman, standing up to leave. “My brothers were exactly the same.”
“Are you off for the day, Brenda?” Phyllis asked.
“Yes, we’re going to head out,” said the woman. All four of the guests thanked their hostess for the breakfast and excused themselves.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Phyllis urged.
“I can’t think of a thing,” one of the husbands replied. “We’re off to snowshoe right now, and we’re going to eat lunch in town, so we probably won’t see you till dinner.” With a nod to the girls, the foursome left the dining room.
When they had gone, Phyllis poured herself another cup of coffee and sat back in her chair. “Gosh, I love old guests. The McHughs and the Martins have been coming here since we bought the place. I feel like they’re almost family. They’ve been with us through thick and thin. And now they’ll get to share a real family dinner with us.” Then she added, looking at Lisa, “As long as you’re game.”
Lisa gulped. “I—I’m game. If you think I can do it.”
“I know you can. Especially with Stevie as your helper. How about you, Carole, do you want to lend a helping hand?” Phyllis asked.
Stevie and Lisa glanced at their friend. From the doubtful expression on Carole’s face, they knew she was thinking one thing and one thing only: Time spent in the kitchen was time away from the barn.
“You know what? I’d rather surprise Carole with our concoctions,” Stevie said hurriedly. “She can be the taste tester.”
Carole shot Stevie a thankful glance.
“That’s an even better idea. Besides,” Phyllis continued, her eyes twinkling to show she understood, “I wouldn’t want to rob my husband of all hi
s help in the barn.”
“Speaking of Frank, where is he hiding this morning?” Carole asked. She was surprised that the head of the Bar None hadn’t turned up for breakfast with them. Frank was as big a fan of his wife’s cooking as The Saddle Club was, and with all the outdoor work he did, his appetite rivaled Stevie’s.
“Dad’s out at the barn,” Kate replied. “He got a new load of horses in this morning at dawn. He and John and the other guys have been settling them in since then.”
Carole’s eyes lit up at the words a new load of horses. Lisa’s eyes lit up at the name John. Both had to fight off an instinct to charge outside the way Stevie had at the mention of breakfast. The two of them started to talk at once.
“Where did the horses—”
“Did John say—”
They stopped, looked at each other, and burst out laughing.
Kate smiled knowingly. “Carole, the horses are from a dealer in Wyoming. He’s done business with Dad before. There are five new ones, mares and geldings, all broken to saddle. Lisa, John has asked me ten times when you guys were arriving. He can’t wait to see you.”
The Saddle Club laughed some more. Even without hearing their questions, Kate had known how to answer.
Carole was so excited by the news of the horses that she automatically stood up and began to clear the breakfast dishes. Meanwhile she talked a mile a minute. “Five? Wow. Do you know anything about their breeding? How old are they? What colors? Do they go English and Western or just Western?” Laughing, Kate and Stevie helped her clear.
Phyllis tried to protest. “Girls, there’ll be plenty of time to help out! Why don’t you relax? This is your first day. I can get these.”
But the girls insisted. Laden with plates, they trooped off to the kitchen.
Lisa sat for one last minute at the table. She stared out the window at the snowbanks and gave a little sigh. John Brightstar was the son of the Devines’ head wrangler. His heritage was Native American and his looks, Lisa thought with a pang, were tall, dark, and handsome. During the course of The Saddle Club’s many visits to the ranch, Lisa had gotten to know him very well. They were friends, but they were something more than friends, too. Lisa was excited that John couldn’t wait to see her. She couldn’t wait to see him, either.
Horse Whispers Page 1