Looks like another buyer taking a look at Joyride, Callie thought with a slight lurch in her peaceful, contented mood. I hope this one likes her. It would be nice to close that chapter of my life once and for all.
After several weeks of practice she was getting pretty good at forgetting that George Wheeler ever existed. But every time she saw his horse standing in her stall or grazing in the pasture, she slipped a little. It would be easier to move on once Joyride—the last physical reminder of George—was gone from Pine Hollow.
As she rode closer she started to pick up a few words of the conversation going on in the ring. Max was reeling Joyride in as a lean red-haired woman with bright blue eyes chattered happily about the mare’s conformation. Callie smiled.
So far, so good, she thought, slowing Scooby’s pace slightly and watching as Max and the potential buyer fussed with the mare’s tack. By the time Callie drew abreast of the ring, the red-haired woman was mounted and putting Joyride through her paces, still looking pleased.
Callie smiled as she dismounted and headed inside with Scooby in tow. From what she had seen, things looked promising. She had ridden Joyride once herself and knew that the mare required a strong, confident, but sensitive rider. When she had one, she was a dream horse for eventing, jumping, or just about any other discipline.
Crossing her fingers and hoping that Joyride had finally found her perfect rider, Callie headed into the stable to put Scooby away. To her slight annoyance, someone—probably one of the younger riders—had left a horse named Chip cross-tied right at the end of the aisle, between her and Scooby’s stall. Chip was an even-tempered Appaloosa, much like Scooby himself, but Callie didn’t feel like fussing around, unsnapping the cross-ties and maneuvering the two geldings around each other. Glancing around, she didn’t see any sign of Chip’s would-be rider.
“What do you say we take the long way around?” she said to her horse. With a cluck, she led him down the other leg of the U-shaped aisle.
She was rounding the corner near the back door when she heard a giggle. A second later Carole hurried out into the aisle in front of her, straw in her hair and a blush on her cheeks. She was looking over her shoulder, so distracted that she almost bumped right into Scooby. “Oops!” she said when she-finally turned and spotted Callie and her horse. “Sorry! We—I was bedding down the stall, and I didn’t know anyone was—um, sorry.”
Callie blinked. Carole could be scatterbrained at times, but she seemed unusually flustered at the moment. And it definitely wasn’t like her to leap out into the stable aisle without looking where she was going.
Then Ben Marlow stepped out of the stall behind her, and Callie understood. Ah, she thought, hiding a smile. No wonder Carole’s distracted. I bet there was more than straw-spreading going on in there just now.
Callie knew that some of Carole’s other friends still had doubts about Ben—they thought he was too brusque and secretive to be totally trustworthy, especially since Carole didn’t have much experience with guys. But Callie thought the two of them were good for each other. She hoped that Carole would help bring Ben out of his shell. If he learned to open up and trust other people even half as much as he did the horses he worked with, he would probably be a lot happier. And she could already see the positive effect the fledgling relationship was having on Carole. Her self-confidence was as high as it had ever been since Callie had known her, and she was absolutely aglow whenever Ben was in the room.
“By the way, is anything wrong?” Carole asked, blinking and seeming to really notice Scooby for the first time. She gave the gelding a pat on the shoulder. “Were you looking for something?”
“Nope, thanks.” Callie gave a light tug on the lead rope to start her horse moving again. “We’re just taking the scenic route back to his stall. See you later.”
Leaving Carole and Ben to their stall bedding—or whatever—Callie continued on her way, humming under her breath. Soon she was leading Scooby into his stall and slipping off his bridle. Hanging it on the hook outside with his halter, she returned to remove the saddle. Scooby stood patiently, staring longingly at his feed tub.
“Don’t worry, it’s almost dinnertime, big guy,” Callie murmured, giving him a scratch on the withers. “And I’ll make sure Ben gives you a full scoop of grain tonight. You deserve it.”
She smiled as the horse sighed patiently and lowered his head, almost as if he’d understood her words. He really does deserve some special attention, Callie thought. We’ve been working hard for the past few weeks, and he’s been great. Things are finally on track for us, and we should celebrate that.
Deciding that her horse’s reward would be a sponge bath, a thorough grooming, and then a full day of turnout the next day if the weather was agreeable, Callie grabbed her tack and headed for the tack room to put it away and get a bucket and sponge. On her way back down the aisle, she passed Carole and Ben again. They were holding hands as they walked, though they hastily moved apart when they saw her. Hiding a smile, Callie gave them a quick wave and ducked back into Scooby’s stall.
Those two are too cute, she thought as she squeezed out her sponge and started wiping her horse down. And I’m glad. They deserve a little happiness—just like me and Scooby. And everyone else around this place, for that matter. It was kind of a tough autumn all around, but things are definitely on an upswing now. Whatever we’ve all been through lately—and most of us have been through a lot—things are looking pretty perfect for everyone right about now.
She snapped back to reality as some kind of heavy machinery started up with a loud whine just outside the main door. Her horse had almost dozed off as she sponged him, but he jumped and looked around nervously at the strange sound.
Well, almost perfect, anyway, Callie amended her thought as she patted Scooby soothingly on the shoulder, waiting for the noise to stop. And once this construction business is finished, things will be even better.
Lisa Atwood slumped on the couch in her living room, wondering why it was that some hours of the day flew by as if they barely had time to happen, while others stretched endlessly. She glanced at her watch.
Five o’clock, she thought. An hour ago I was having a great time at my photography club meeting. Now here I am, stuck at home while Mom plays Martha Stewart.
She watched as her mother painstakingly stacked logs and kindling into an elaborate tepee, then crumpled newspaper and poked it in underneath the neat pile of wood. When the last bit of paper was in place, she pulled a long match out of the box on the mantel and scraped it on the brick lining of the fireplace. The match flamed to life, and Mrs. Atwood leaned forward and lit the corner of the balled-up newspaper. Soon the carefully laid fire was ablaze, crackling merrily and casting a faint orange glow out into the room.
“There!” Mrs. Atwood said brightly. “Isn’t that cozy? Now you can invite Scott in for a few minutes when he comes by to pick you up. Show him that we have a nice, comfortable home, too, even if we don’t have a distinguished congressman as the head of the family.” She smiled and winked at Lisa before turning back to the fireplace to fuss with the brass screen.
Lisa sighed. Her mother had been making that sort of comment all afternoon. Who am I kidding? she thought sourly. She’s been all aflutter ever since she figured out that Scott and I really are going out.
Glancing over at the doorway as her mother brushed off her hands and bustled about the room, Lisa wished she could speed up the passage of time so that she could leave for her date with Scott. But she still had almost an hour before he was due to pick her up.
“Do you think this would look better over here, darling?” Mrs. Atwood said, moving a blue-and-white vase from one end of the mantel to the other. She stood back and cocked her head at it, then returned the vase to its original spot. “Hmmm, no. I think it’s just lovely where it is. Why change what works?”
“Definitely. Looks great, Mom,” Lisa murmured automatically, though her mind wasn’t on the vase. It was really pretty ironic, she d
ecided whenever she thought back over the early days of her relationship with Scott. There she was, dating a new guy who would totally be the envy of all her mother’s friends—he was good-looking, popular, rich, from an important family, all the things her mother cared about—and Lisa couldn’t convince her that it wasn’t all an elaborate lie concocted to hide her pain over her breakup with Alex Lake.
Of course, the truly ironic thing is that I was ever annoyed about it in the first place, she thought. What did I have to complain about? If there’s one thing worse than having Mom worry about me nonstop, it’s listening to her gush on and on about “our distinguished congressman neighbor” and “your handsome young man.”
Even as she thought it, though, she realized it was kind of a toss-up. As relentless as her mother was now about bringing up Scott’s name at every possible opportunity, she had been just as bad about trying to comfort and support Lisa back then. She had even arranged for her post divorce support group—better known to Lisa and her friends as Gripe Therapy—to ambush Lisa in her own home, trying to make her open up about her supposed problems.
That was an experience I’d rather not repeat, Lisa thought ruefully. Maybe I am better off now that Mom is happy for me instead of worried about me. It’s just kind of hard to remember that sometimes.
She sighed again and stared into the flames of the crackling fire. Her mother had never had much to say about Alex one way or the other, though she had been happy that Lisa had “someone special to take care of her,” as she’d always insisted on putting it. Now that she realized Scott was in the picture, Mrs. Atwood already seemed to have forgotten that Alex had ever existed. But Lisa hadn’t forgotten. Not quite. She was happy with Scott—happier than she ever would have expected—but it was still weird to have a relationship of almost a year be so over.
“I have to tell you, Lisa, I’m pleased that you’re seeing such a nice, polite, well-spoken young man as Scott,” Mrs. Atwood commented with satisfaction. “He really is a pleasure to be around—not like so many teenagers today.” She frowned slightly. “Trust me, Lisa. Working at that mall, I see enough of the dregs of society to realize how lucky I am to have a daughter with such wonderful taste in boyfriends.”
“Mmm,” Lisa said noncommittally, not wanting to set her mother off on one of her all-too-frequent tirades about the state of modern youth. Instead, Mrs. Atwood returned her attention to the topic of Scott and his overall wonderfulness.
I guess that makes it unanimous, Lisa thought with a touch of unease as her mother babbled on and on. Mom loves Scott—everybody loves Scott. Mom wants to talk about him all the time, and it seems like everybody else wants to talk to him all the time, even when we’re supposed to be out together, just the two of us.
She chewed the inside of her cheek worriedly. That very topic had been nagging at her for weeks. Everywhere she went with Scott, he seemed to know about seventy-five percent of the people they encountered. They were constantly being interrupted—at restaurants, strolling through the mall, playing miniature golf, even walking down the street. Lisa had just about mastered the art of smiling patiently: She pasted a little smile on her face any time yet another of Scott’s adoring fans approached to say hello. She had known that Scott was popular, but she hadn’t realized that his hordes of friends and acquaintances would demand so much of his attention, cutting into their couple time whenever they ventured into public. It was nothing like it had been with Alex, when it had always seemed as if the two of them were in their own private, special, romantic world, even in the middle of a crowded party or overflowing movie theater.
As her mother continued chattering about Scott’s manners and upbringing, Lisa’s thoughts briefly lingered on Alex. At times, usually late at night when she couldn’t sleep, she still found herself wondering if she’d done the right thing by calling it quits. What if Scott hadn’t been right there to ask her out, tempting her with an interesting new option to her comfortable old relationship? Would she still have decided that she and Alex had outgrown each other? Or would she have wanted to try at least one more time to work things out, salvage what they’d had together for the past year?
I guess I’ll never know, she thought, feeling vaguely unsettled at the idea. Lisa liked getting things right—that was one reason she’d always excelled in all her classes at school—and it disturbed her to realize that maybe some questions didn’t have one correct answer. At least not one she could ever possibly know for sure.
She tuned back in to the present moment as her mother walked over and patted her on the shoulder. “So where is your charming young man taking you this evening, dear?”
Lisa winced at the choice of words but did her best to answer calmly. “We’re going to that new French place over in Mendenhall,” she said. “You know—it’s called Paris, and the chef is that guy who used to cook at that nice place in Georgetown.”
“Ooh-la-la and la-di-da!” Mrs. Atwood batted her eyelashes dramatically. “Fancy schmancy. It must be nice to be dating a guy who has money—and isn’t afraid to spend it on you.” She winked and then turned away to fuss with the fire.
Lisa gritted her teeth, staring at her mother’s back and feeling awkward. She hated it when her mother acted that way. It’s like she forgets she’s my mother, she thought. Instead she wants to believe we’re wild-and-crazy single roomies, swapping stories about our latest dates. Ugh!
Biting her lip to stop herself from responding, she forced a smile. She didn’t want to hurt her mother’s feelings. Mrs. Atwood had had a tough couple of years, and the last thing Lisa wanted was to deny her any spark of pleasure.
I just wish she’d find pleasure in something other than my love life, she thought. It’s tough enough being in a new relationship without having Mom hanging on our every move. Especially considering that everybody else in the world is already watching us. Or, rather, watching Scott.
She grimaced at that thought, hating how petty it made her feel. What was the big deal, anyway? So Scott was popular. What was wrong with that? Was she really so needy that she required his full attention every second they were together?
No, of course not, she thought. But it would-be nice if, just once in a while, he acted like I was more important than some buddy from his chemistry class.
She shook her head, cutting herself off before her thoughts could continue down the same old path as always. It didn’t do any good to dwell on it. She had tried to talk to him about the issue once or twice, but he’d just laughed it off.
How could he possibly understand how I feel? she thought resignedly. Growing up in his family, with a father who’s exactly the same way, he probably has no idea there’s anything weird about the way he acts. So if I want to be with him, I guess I’ll just have to get used to it, too.
She was trying to work on that. But she was still jealous of any private time she could steal with him. That was why she’d begged off when Stevie had invited the two of them along with her and Carole and their boyfriends that evening. Lisa was looking forward to an intimate date with Scott that night—especially since they weren’t too likely to run into any high school friends or acquaintances at such an expensive, out-of-the-way restaurant—and she didn’t want to share him, even with her best friends. Luckily Stevie and Carole had understood, but Lisa still felt a little guilty. She hadn’t even mentioned the invitation to Scott for fear he would eagerly suggest canceling their private, romantic plans to join the group fun.
Noticing that her mother had turned to warm her hands in front of the fire, Lisa took the opportunity to stand up and step toward the door. “Listen, I’d better go up and get changed,” she said. “I have no idea what I’m going to wear tonight.”
“All right, dear.” Mrs. Atwood turned and smiled at her. “Trust me, I understand—you want to look your best for such a special evening.”
Lisa smiled weakly, then headed for the stairs. As much as she hated to admit it, her mother was right. She did want to look her best that night. She wa
nted to look so good that Scott wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off her, no matter what.
THREE
“Where is she?” Carole muttered as she checked her watch for the umpteenth time. It was almost seven o’clock, and her stomach was grumbling irritably about the small apple she’d had as an after-school snack. Besides that, she and Ben were supposed to meet Stevie and Phil in town at seven-fifteen, and Carole didn’t want to be late. She glanced into the stall in front of her, which belonged to a school horse named Comanche. Ben was inside, pulling the chestnut gelding’s mane. “What do we do if she never shows up?”
Ben glanced over his shoulder, pausing for a moment in his task. “Don’t know,” he said. He shifted the metal comb he was using to his other hand and looked at his watch. “Did Max leave?”
“Uh-huh. He and Deborah took off about forty-five minutes ago.” Carole leaned on the half door and frowned. “I wish we were gone already, too. Didn’t that girl say she’d be here by six-thirty at the latest?”
Ben didn’t respond. He returned to gazing at Comanche’s mane with a critical eye.
“Oh, there you are, Hanson,” Maureen said, rounding the corner. “So what do you think? Is this kid going to show or what?”
“Who knows?” Carole straightened and turned to face Maureen, feeling frustrated. Why did this have to happen that night of all nights? Any other time she wouldn’t have minded puttering around the barn until all hours, and she was sure Ben wouldn’t, either. But that night they had plans.
Ben stepped out of the stall to join Carole in the aisle. “She might have had trouble loading her horse or something,” he said quietly.
Carole sighed loudly and rolled her eyes. “What, don’t they have phones in her old stable?” Still, when she thought about it, she had to admit that Ben had a point. “But you could be right,” she admitted reluctantly. “She’s not that late. Yet.”
“I guess. Still, I’m sure Max wouldn’t want all of us hanging around all night.” Maureen shrugged and tapped her jacket pocket. “If you’ll just wait around long enough for me to slip outside and have a smoke, you two can take off. I’ve got some paperwork to do in the office, so I was going to be here late anyway. I’ll cover it if the girl turns up.”
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