by Suzanne Weyn
All right, ladies, here’s the thing,” said Mrs. LeFleur, leaning against the old, scratched desk in her office at the front of the main building. She looked at Taylor, Mercedes, and Daphne, all sitting on the ripped leather couch. “As of next week, I am flat out of money.”
“How can that be?” Mercedes questioned. “We have Dana signed up for therapeutic riding and Plum’s lease on Shafir.”
“The first month’s payment on the lease went to the big order of hay that’s coming today from Westheimer’s Ranch. Ralph Westheimer and I shared the expense of buying a bulk order and it was a good deal.”
“If it was such a good deal why did it cost so much?” Mercedes asked.
“Because we bought so much of it,” Mrs. LeFleur replied.
“At least the horses will eat well,” Taylor said, hoping to add a positive note.
“They’ll eat great, but where will they live if I can’t keep up the ranch?” Mrs. LeFleur countered.
“Doesn’t the money from letting Dana use Prince Albert for her therapy lessons help?” Taylor asked.
“Dana’s mother paid me for a month’s worth of lessons, and I’ll use that to pay the farrier, who’s coming today to shoe the horses. Prince Albert and Pixie need it desperately. Their hooves have completely overgrown their shoes. If there’s any of that money left, I’ll bring in a vet to check out the horses. I can’t put that off much longer.”
“We have that ad saying we take in boards running this week in the Pennysaver,” Mercedes reminded Mrs. LeFleur.
“Yes, and it already brought in some calls. I’m meeting with two people who might want to board their horses here. Any other ideas on how we might drum up some business?”
“My dad told me there used to be rodeos here,” Taylor recalled.
“Your father came here as a child?” Mrs. LeFleur asked.
“My social studies teacher did, too,” Taylor replied. It had actually been Mr. Romano who’d first told her about the old ranch.
“What’s his name?”
“Mr. Romano.”
“John Romano?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Yes, I think his name might be John,” Taylor replied. “Do you know him?”
“Possibly, long ago,” Mrs. LeFleur said, a wistful note entering her voice.
Taylor realized that she had no idea where Mrs. LeFleur’s home was. “Do you live in Pheasant Valley, Mrs. LeFleur?”
“Not anymore. I live in Bronxville.”
“Near the city?” Mercedes asked.
“Yes.”
“But you lived here once?” Taylor pressed. “You went to this ranch?”
“At one time. Yes,” Mrs. LeFleur said with a nod. “Is your father little Stevie Henry, by any chance?”
That made Taylor chuckle. “He’s not so little anymore.”
“No. I guess not.”
This revelation that Mrs. LeFleur had known her father when he was a boy fascinated Taylor. She couldn’t wait to talk to him about it. Maybe he knew the story of Mrs. LeFleur’s past. And if he didn’t, perhaps Mr. Romano did.
“A rodeo, huh?” Mrs. LeFleur said, rubbing her hands together thoughtfully. “I do recall that, yes. It might be a great way to get people to come down to see the ranch. Have you ever ridden in a rodeo, Taylor?”
Taylor missed Mrs. LeFleur’s question. She was focused out the front window, looking to the corral where Plum had Shafir on a long lunge line jogging in a circle. Unbidden, the Arabian abruptly turned toward the center, heading toward Plum.
Instinctively, Taylor stood up, ready to run out to the corral at the first sign that Plum was going to discipline Shafir roughly. Noticing what Taylor was seeing, Mercedes and Daphne rose from the couch, too. Mrs. LeFleur also turned toward the window.
They watched as Plum panicked and dropped her end of the line, running from the advancing horse.
Shafir chased Plum around the corral at a jogging pace, while Plum screamed for help.
“Shafir thinks it’s a game,” Taylor realized, laughing.
Daphne and Mercedes fell onto each other, chuckling gleefully.
Mrs. LeFleur seemed about to join in, but her smile quickly faded. “She could fall right in Shafir’s path and get hurt. Daphne, go help her, please,” Mrs. LeFleur requested.
Daphne left the office, and through the window they saw her approach the corral at a half run. Taylor bit down on her smile as Plum jumped behind Daphne, hiding from Shafir.
Daphne took a horse treat from the pocket of her sweatshirt, unwrapped it, and offered the treat to Shafir. The frisky Arabian gobbled it from Daphne’s palm. It was all that was needed to distract her from the fun of chasing Plum.
Mrs. LeFleur turned to Taylor, smiling a little. “You enjoyed that, no doubt?”
Taylor could no longer suppress her grin. “No, not at all,” she joked. “That was terrible. Poor Plum!”
Mrs. LeFleur’s gaze lingered at the window a moment more before she turned away. “Back to business — what were we saying about rodeos?”
“Just that they were held here once and maybe would be a good way to get customers now,” Taylor said as she and Mercedes resumed their seats on the couch.
“I don’t think any of us could ride in a rodeo,” Mercedes said. “They’re kind of rough. But I saw a games event once. It wasn’t as intense as an actual rodeo with bull riding and roping. I’m trying to remember what kinds of games they did.”
“Do you mean events like barrel racing, and stalls, poles, and ride a buck?” Mrs. LeFleur asked.
“What are those?” Taylor questioned.
“Different horse games,” Mrs. LeFleur answered.
“We don’t have enough horses for all that,” Mercedes pointed out.
“But what if we invited people to participate and they could bring their horses here? It might result in some new boarders,” Mrs. LeFleur replied.
A tall, blond young man in overalls appeared at the office door. “Hi, Rick,” Taylor greeted him. She knew Ralph Westheimer’s ranch hand from when she had taken riding lessons over at the rustic Westheimer’s Ranch. Rick had also helped with the rescue of Prince Albert and Pixie.
“Hey, Taylor,” he replied. “I see you got the two rescues out there. They look a whole lot better now.”
“Do you really think so?” Taylor asked, pleased by his words.
“Yeah, I can’t see the ribs on the big black quarter anymore, and you got the little pony cleaned up nice.”
“Thanks,” Taylor said.
“They’re being reshoed today,” Mrs. LeFleur added.
“Great,” Rick said. “You’ve done a good job with them. I don’t know how you pulled it off.”
“A lot of luck and a fairy godmother,” Taylor replied, smiling at Mrs. LeFleur.
“Coupled with her ingenuity and grit,” Mrs. LeFleur said, smiling back.
“Grit?” Taylor asked.
“Your stubborn toughness,” Mrs. LeFleur explained.
“Is that good?” Taylor inquired uncertainly.
“I think so,” Mrs. LeFleur said, nodding.
“Mrs. LeFleur, the hay you bought with Ralph is on my truck. Where do you want it?” Rick asked.
“Around back in the feed house, near the outside stalls. Mercedes, would you show Rick where I mean?”
“Okay,” Mercedes said, getting off the couch.
“Rick, do you know anything about horse games or gaming events?” Taylor asked quickly before they could leave.
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
“We’re thinking of running an event like that here,” Mrs. LeFleur said.
Daphne returned to the office. “Plum has Shafir going in a circle again,” she reported. “She’ll be okay.”
“Come on, Rick. I’ll show you to the feed house where we keep the hay,” Mercedes said, passing Daphne in the doorway.
“I can come back to tell you about the game events after we do this,” Rick said to Mrs. LeFleur, stepping away from th
e door. “There’s a lot about it online, too.”
* * *
Mrs. LeFleur received a call from one of her potential horse boarders, which ended the business meeting for the time being. Taylor and Daphne left the office and strolled together back outside.
“I don’t believe this,” Daphne suddenly cried.
Shafir was alone in the corral. Mandy, Prince Albert, and Pixie were still on the outside of the corral watching the Arabian, who was once more bobbing her head with her stick between her lips, dragging the lead line behind her.
The back of Plum’s mom’s black SUV was turning the corner onto Wildwood Lane.
“Plum just left Shafir, still attached to the lead line!” Taylor cried.
“That girl is too much!” Daphne remarked as they hurried into the corral.
“Tell me about it!” Taylor said. “I guess she thinks we’re her servants.”
“I guess so,” Daphne said, approaching Shafir from the front. “Whoa, girl,” she commanded. “Whoa.”
Shafir did a small two-step dance and then turned away as if she didn’t understand what was being asked of her. “You know what whoa means,” Daphne insisted. “You obeyed that command for me earlier today.” She approached Shafir, looking at her directly.
Shafir took four steps away but then stopped and allowed Daphne to pick up the end of the lunge line that was dragging in the dirt. “Good girl,” Daphne praised.
Taylor watched as Daphne calmed Shafir and then led her back toward the stable, admiring Daphne’s natural ease with horses. Daphne knew how to let Shafir keep her dignity while still insisting that the horse obey commands.
Mercedes came around from the back of the main building with Rick. With them was a guy who appeared to be about fourteen or fifteen. He had dark brown hair and looked slim yet broad-shouldered in his jeans, plaid shirt, and cowboy boots.
Taylor had never seen him, which she found odd. Pheasant Valley was big but not that heavily populated. She recognized most kids around her age because she’d seen them at school.
And she would definitely have noticed this guy.
“Here’s the horse we were telling you about,” Mercedes was saying as she guided him over to Prince Albert. “Taylor owns him now, and she owns Pixie, too, of course.”
“Hi, I’m Eric,” the boy said, raising his hand in greeting. “Mercedes and Rick were just telling me about how you helped rescue these guys and all. Cool.”
Prince Albert sputtered as Taylor petted his side. “Yeah, Pixie and Prince Albert love each other a lot, so it’s good we’ve been able to keep them together,” Taylor said, noticing that Eric’s eyes were hazel green.
“Eric knows a lot about Western games, it turns out. And he’s willing to work with us,” Mercedes said.
“Awesome!” Taylor cried, letting her smile get wider than she meant to. “But … I mean … why are you willing to do that?”
“I don’t know,” Eric admitted with a shrug, “for the fun of it, maybe. I was a junior counselor at a Western riding camp last summer and we did a lot of that kind of thing. I just miss it, I guess.”
“Eric works with us at the ranch after school now,” Rick explained.
“Where do you go to school?” Taylor asked.
“The Johnson School in Dobbs Ferry.”
Expensive, was Taylor’s first thought.
“I get a lot of scholarship help,” Eric added as though he’d read Taylor’s mind.
Taylor was impressed. A scholarship to the Johnson School meant that Eric was smart.
“We’d better get back to the ranch,” Rick said, heading toward his flatbed truck.
“Later,” Eric said, waving to the girls as he followed Rick.
Taylor returned his wave. “Bye!” She watched him climb in behind Rick and kept her eyes on the truck as it stirred up a small cloud of dust on its way out of the ranch.
“Don’t your cheeks hurt?” Mercedes asked Taylor.
Taylor’s hands flew up to both sides of her face. “No. Why should they?”
“Because you’re standing there grinning like a crazy girl,” Mercedes said.
Later that afternoon, Taylor stood beside Prince Albert in the central aisle that separated the inside stalls of the main building. She had unsaddled him, leaving only his halter on, and was running a body brush over his coat when a man in his midthirties with longish black hair and a salt-and-pepper beard approached her. “I’m Norman, the farrier,” he introduced himself as he tied on a full leather apron over his protruding belly. “Is this guy Prince Albert?”
“Yes, he is.”
Norman gave Prince Albert’s flank a friendly pat. “Hey, big fella.”
Prince Albert swung his head around to see what was happening. He sputtered and nodded.
Taylor smiled at her horse’s response. Lately she had noticed that when spoken to, Prince Albert always replied in some way, as if he were actually communicating. Maybe it was only the sound of a human voice that made him react, but it was fun to think he was really answering.
Crouching, Norman got slightly in front of Prince Albert’s left hind foot and lifted it. He emitted a low whistle. “Boy, is this shoe overgrown. It’s not dirty, though.”
“I just cleaned his hoof out with a pick,” Taylor said.
“Good job,” Norman commended her. “I guess I’ll get started on him.”
“He has a therapeutic riding lesson in ten minutes,” Taylor told him. “Could you work with Shafir first?” She pointed to the Arabian who had been returned to her stall.
Mrs. LeFleur joined them. “Norman, maybe Daphne or Mercedes should help you with Shafir,” she suggested. “Shafir is very high-spirited.”
“Of course she is, she’s an Arabian,” Norman said as he set Prince Albert’s hoof down. “I can handle her.”
While Mrs. LeFleur introduced Norman to Shafir, Taylor clipped a lead line to Prince Albert’s halter. Opening Pixie’s stall so the pony could follow Prince Albert, Taylor led both of them outside.
Taylor halted Prince Albert and Pixie so she could open the corral gate. Lois, the therapeutic riding instructor, was just getting out of her car. She was an attractive dark-skinned woman in her late twenties. Lois had her degree in psychology but was still finishing her certification as a horse therapist at the nearby state university. “Hi, there,” she called to Taylor.
Another car pulled in. The driver was a heavy blonde woman named Alice. With her was Dana, her petite seven-year-old daughter who had been diagnosed as having autism. Even though Dana had never ridden a horse before, the pale blonde girl had instantly fallen in love with Prince Albert and refused to work with any other horse.
As soon as Dana got out of the car, she saw Prince Albert and her eyes lit up with happiness. Quivering slightly from head to toe, she lifted her hands and stretched her fingers, fluttering her palms with excited joy.
Lois placed her hand lightly on Dana’s shoulder and gently guided her toward the horse. “Come see your friend, Dana,” she coached.
Dana reached up to pet Prince Albert’s muzzle. “Did you bring him anything?” Lois asked.
Nodding excitedly, Dana dug in her jeans pocket and withdrew an apple. A look of unease swept her delicate face. “Don’t be afraid,” Taylor encouraged her. “Make your hand flat and hold the apple up to him.”
Dana glanced up at Prince Albert uncertainly.
“You can do it,” Lois added.
Dana balanced the apple on her flattened palm, lifting it to Prince Albert.
Chomp! Half the apple disappeared into Prince Albert’s mouth while the other half tumbled to the ground. Dana jumped away, laughing. “Ew!” she shouted, smiling, as she wiped Prince Albert’s slobber onto her jeans. “Ew!”
“Give him the other half,” Taylor suggested.
Dana shook her head. “It’s dirty now.”
Taylor lifted the apple and cleaned it on her sweatshirt. “He won’t mind,” she said, handing it back to Dana.
; Once again the girl offered the apple. Prince Albert gobbled it and then his long tongue licked every inch of Dana’s fingers, searching for any last traces of apple goodness that might remain. This sent Dana into a fit of giggles. “He likes me!” she sang out. Although her nose was wrinkled, she allowed the licking, keeping her hand to Prince Albert’s mouth. “He likes me!” she said again.
“He likes you a lot,” Taylor confirmed. “Scratch his nose. He loves when you do that.” Dana reached for Prince Albert’s nose and ran her short nails lightly up and down his muzzle.
Prince Albert whinnied his appreciation, which made Dana laugh.
“He says thanks. He can’t reach that spot on his own,” Taylor told her.
“It’s great to see her so happy,” Alice remarked, her eyes glistening fondly at her daughter. “Lois, how soon do you think it will be before you have her riding?”
“I think she could be mounted and walking by next week,” Lois replied.
“Next week!” Taylor cried before she could stop herself. “I mean, isn’t that kind of fast?”
“I really want to get Dana in the saddle as soon as possible,” Lois replied. “The even pacing of a steady gait and the balance work can be very positive for children with autism.”
Prince Albert had to be willing to let Dana ride him by next week. If he wasn’t — and Dana had to switch to another horse — Prince Albert would no longer be of any value to the ranch at all.
* * *
Taylor lay on her bed with her socked feet on the wall and her head hanging over the side. She’d just washed her long brown hair and it hung dripping into a bath towel she’d dropped on the floor. Her cell phone was pressed to the side of her face as she spoke to her best friend, Travis Ryan. “Prince Albert was so good with Dana today,” she told him. “He’s so patient and sweet with her. I filmed the whole lesson with Lois’s video camera like I did last time. And guess what? We’re going to have a horse games event at Wildwood.”
“Cool beans,” Travis said. “What kind of games?”
The first thing Taylor had done when she got home from the ranch was to do an Internet search of games played on horseback. There were lots of them, she discovered. “There’s one called stalls, which is like musical chairs,” she told Travis. “A kind of grid is laid out as if they’re stalls, and there’s one less stall space than there are riders. When the ref, or whoever, blows a whistle, all the riders have to ride into a stall, and the one who doesn’t get a stall loses. Each time, they take away one of the stall spaces until there’s only one rider and horse left and they’re the winners.”