If I could get him to the round pen, I could close him in there and go get the pick. Then even if he chose “flight,” he couldn’t go far.
I repeat the same routine I did in the pasture. Again, Blackfire follows at my shoulder. He jumps a little when I unlatch the stall door leading into the barn, but he follows me out into the stallway, the aisle that runs in front of the stalls. He keeps trailing me all the way to the round pen area.
I can’t even believe this is working so well. We’re about two feet from the pen’s gate. Then we’re home free.
“Hank?” Guinevere’s shrill voice slices through the barn. Blackfire jerks to a dead stop.
“Come on, Blackfire,” I coax, wishing I could tell Guinevere to shut up.
But it’s too late. She walks into the barn, takes one look at me with Blackfire, and screams, “What are you doing with that horse? Get out of there!”
Blackfire rears, paws the air, then takes off at a dead gallop.
Eleven
Blackfire kicks up his heels as he runs down one stallway, hits a dead end, and races back.
I’m so scared that it takes me a minute before I start after him.
“Don’t get near that horse!” Guinevere shouts.
“Just shut up!” I holler back. I shouldn’t shout either. It’s probably the last thing Blackfire needs. But I’m so angry at Guinevere, I can’t help it.
She’s halfway up the ladder to the hayloft, staring down at me. “He could kill both of us!”
I try to block out her screeching voice and focus on calming Blackfire. He’s trotting now, so I move to head him off. But he’s so quick. He pivots left and canters by me.
Then I remember. I’m the leader. What would the lead horse do in a situation like this?
Calling up everything Winnie wrote about body language and everything I observed in the pasture, I make my move. This time as Blackfire races past me, I step in toward him. Shifting my shoulder forward, I walk with him a few steps. He speeds up, but this is what he should do. He runs in a rough circle around me.
When he comes around again, I move in and lift my arms slowly, as if blocking his way. I’m at least 12 feet from him, and he could still run wherever he pleases, but I can tell he’s thinking it over. Does he want me to lead or not? I think he’s going to bolt away again, so I stare into his eyes and lightly stamp my foot.
He freezes. We stand like that for what feels like hours, until he relaxes his neck and head. His shoulder muscles stop twitching.
Finally, I lower my arms and turn toward the round pen. Without looking back at him, I start to walk, hoping—expecting—that he’ll come with me.
He does. Blackfire follows me all the way into the pen. Once we’re in, I latch the gate and take hold of his halter.
“It’s okay, Guinevere,” I call. “You can come down now.”
Instead of Guinevere, Hank steps out of the shadows and moves toward us. Guinevere isn’t far behind.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Hank asks.
My heart is pounding too loud for me to answer.
Hank walks up to the pen and stops on the other side of Blackfire and me. “You handled that just right, Dakota. Where did you learn how to advance and retreat like that?”
I shrug.
Hank shakes his head. “Let me get you a lead rope, and you can tie him in there. I’ll get you a brush, too.” He takes off toward the tack box.
“And a hoof pick?” I call after him.
“You’re going to lift up his hooves?” Guinevere says this as if I’ve announced my plan to perform brain surgery. On her.
“I guess.”
“Fine.” She starts to walk away. “But I’m bringing Lancelot in, so you better keep Black Devil away from him.”
“His name is Blackfire!” I call after her.
She doesn’t turn around. As she and Hank pass each other, though, she says something to him I can’t hear.
“Brush,” Hank says as he hands me one. “And hoof pick.”
“Thanks.”
He shows me where and how to tie the horse while I work on him. “Be good, Blackfire,” he says before walking off.
Blackfire lets me brush him all over. When I get to his neck, he stretches, like I’m really scratching where it itches.
Hank helps Guinevere with Lancelot, then leaves us to groom our horses. We don’t speak, so the only noise is brush, swish, brush. I move to Blackfire’s left foreleg and trade in my brush for the hoof pick. As I bend down, I try to remember how Hank did it when he cleaned Starlight’s hooves.
Blackfire’s four hooves stay planted to the ground. I lift as hard as I can, but the hoof won’t come up. I straighten and try to think like a leader. Force doesn’t work. I need to ask. I take hold of the hoof again. “Could I please have your hoof now, Blackfire?” I ask politely.
When nothing happens, Guinevere sputters, apparently trying to hold in a laugh.
I poke lightly just above Blackfire’s hoof, while gently leaning against his shoulder. “Hoof, please?” When it doesn’t come up, I press again, a little more firmly. And again. Then, miracle of miracles, Blackfire lifts his hoof.
“Thank you, boy,” I say, trying to get a good hold on it. I scrape the pick around the hoof and in the V at the center. Then I move on. This time he gives me his hoof the first time I ask. Back hooves are tougher. I’m not sure how to hold them, but I give it a shot. When I set down the last hoof, I’m exhausted.
Guinevere makes a frustrated growl. “Get over, you big lug!”
I glance over and see her pushing on Lancelot’s belly with both hands. She’s wedged between the horse and the fence.
“You heard me!” she shouts, bracing her back against the pen and leveraging her body to shove Lancelot sideways. “How do you expect me to brush this side if you won’t . . . get . . . over?”
Lancelot seems to be ignoring her. His body sways slightly, then rebounds even closer to the fence than before she shoved him.
“Guinevere?” I pet Blackfire, then walk toward Lancelot.
“What?” She gives her horse another shove. He groans but refuses to budge. “This stupid horse. I’m telling Daddy I want that other horse he found for me. This one is too stubborn.”
“You can’t force him,” I say, stroking the horse’s neck.
“Fine. I just won’t brush him then,” Guinevere says. “But I still need to get him over so I can put on his saddle.”
“Have you tried asking him? That touch-and-release thing really works.”
“Wait a minute.” She stops shoving Lancelot and pushes her hair out of her eyes. “Are you trying to tell me what to do with my own horse?”
“No. I just mean, if you didn’t shove him—”
“Fine.” She ducks under Lancelot’s neck and comes around to my side. “You do it then.”
“I don’t know if I can do it or not,” I admit.
“Really? I thought you said all I had to do was ask. Well, I’m asking you to ask.”
Hank walks in with an English saddle and sets it over the pen rail. “What’s up?”
“Dakota was about to show me how to make Lancelot move over for saddling.”
I start to protest, but the truth is, I don’t want her to shove the horse anymore. I slip to the other side, between fence and horse. “You’re a good boy, Lance,” I coo, scratching his withers. I hear Guinevere sigh, but I won’t hurry.
I move my hand to his belly. “Okay, boy. Now I need you to move over.”
He doesn’t, and Guinevere laughs through her nose, a nose puff.
“Move, Lance,” I say firmly. This time I barely poke his side. He sways but doesn’t budge. “That’s a boy. Move, please.” I touch him again with my index finger. Then again. “There, now. Move.” I keep steadily pressing, releasing, pressing.
And he steps aside.
“Good, Lancelot.” I press again. But I don’t even need to this time. He moves all the way around.
Hank comes
over and strokes Lance’s head. “Good boy.” He grins at me, and I grin back.
“Thanks,” Guinevere says, taking her saddle off the fence. I’m not sure if she’s thanking Hank for the saddle or me for the horse.
I go back to Blackfire while Guinevere saddles her horse. I don’t think I’d like to ride with that puny saddle.
“Do you ride English?” Guinevere asks. She pulls the strap tighter and buckles it.
“No,” I answer.
Hank hands her a bridle and holds Lance while she puts it on.
“That’s too bad,” Guinevere says, shoving the bit into Lance’s mouth. Hank cringes. “Nearly all the good horse shows around here are English equitation.”
“That’s okay. I don’t want to show.” I can’t imagine that being fun. And I’m sure equitation would make me want to hurl, even though I’m not exactly sure what it is.
“You do ride, though, don’t you?” she asks.
“Yeah. Of course.” Okay, so the truth is, the only horse I ever rode was a plastic one in front of a grocery store. And nobody even put in the quarter to make it move.
“Why don’t you saddle up?” Guinevere suggests. She turns to Hank. “Hank, can’t you loan her a Western saddle?”
“No thanks,” I say before Hank can answer. I have no more idea how to saddle a horse than I do how to cook one. “So not necessary.”
“You ride bareback? Good for you!” she says with exaggerated sweetness. “Daddy won’t let me.” She gathers the reins in her left hand and stands beside the saddle until Hank cups his hands so she can use him as a stirrup. Once she’s in the saddle, she says, “Hank, you have a bridle for Blackfire, don’t you? Get it so Dakota and I can ride together.”
Hank is way too used to taking orders from this girl. He smiles at me, then takes a bridle off the wall. My mind races, searching for another excuse for why I can’t bridle this horse—an excuse that doesn’t begin, “I’m so stupid, I don’t know how to do this.” But instead of bringing the bridle over, Hank disappears with it.
Thank you! Hank must have seen right through both of us females. Pretty hard to believe that Gwennie all of a sudden wants to be riding pals. Even harder to believe that Dakota Brown can ride a horse. My breathing slows to almost normal.
Hank reappears, leading Starlight by the bridle. “Sorry, I can’t let you ride Blackfire,” he says. “Not until I work him myself.”
“Well, I guess I understand,” I say, going for disappointed but brave.
“Are you sure you don’t want a saddle, though?” he asks. He opens the gate and brings his horse into the pen.
“A saddle? No. That’s okay.” Maybe sometime I can practice saddling Blackfire, but I’ll have to read up on it first. I back up to make room for Starlight. I’m pretty eager to get away from Guinevere, but I want to stick around and watch both of them ride first.
“Okay then.” Hank leads Starlight over to me. “I still can’t get over the fact that you ride. You’d think Ms. Bean would have been all over that. She acted like you’d never been around a farm or stable.”
“Uh-huh.” It’s all I can say because my mouth is as dry as Iraq. I’m getting the horrible feeling that Hank hasn’t bridled Starlight for himself.
“Want a leg up?” He bends and cups his hands like he did for Guinevere. “Don’t worry about her being blind. She’s learned where the round pen is, even when she can’t see it.”
I can’t just leave Hank with his stirrup hands, leaning over like that. I walk up and lift my right foot, until I figure out that would put me up backwards. Even I know I should face front. I shift, stick my left foot into Hank’s hands-stirrup, and feel myself boosted up until I nearly flip over Starlight’s back.
“Dakota, you okay?” he asks.
Before I can tell him, No! I’ve never been less okay, Guinevere rides past.
Starlight prances in place. Hank hands me the reins, but I’m not about to let go of the fat lock of mane I’m clutching in both hands. I couldn’t unbend these fingers if my life depended on it. Does my life depend on it?
“Take the reins, Dakota,” Hank urges.
I see the leather reins, knotted together and looped loosely around Starlight’s neck. “No thanks,” I say, squeezing my lock of mane.
I hear the clip-clop of Lancelot’s hooves coming around again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the rise and fall of Guinevere’s black helmet. Why didn’t I get a helmet? I’m the one who needs a helmet.
Lancelot swoops by us, and Starlight doesn’t appreciate it one bit. She turns, ears back, and starts after the bay. Starlight the Dominant Mare does not like being behind.
“Whoa?” I cry, but my voice breaks and disintegrates in the sound of thudding hooves. Starlight wants the lead. She trots, only I don’t post. I bounce. And bounce. My body jostles from side to side. The only steady contact I have with the horse is my fingers clutching her mane.
It’s not enough. Up and down. The world is bouncing. Someone’s shouting. My fingers are slipping.
And I’m sliding down,
down,
down. . . .
Twelve
I hear myself land with a thud a second before I feel the ground.
“Dakota!” Hank is running toward me.
Starlight stands over me, her head lowered, her muzzle inches from my nose.
Guinevere charges up on Lancelot, stops so short that dirt sprays, then jumps off. “Dakota? Tell me you’re all right!”
“I’m all right,” I repeat. I try to decide if I’m lying. But nothing hurts except my seat. I shake my arms, move my head. No problem.
“Hank,” Guinevere says over my head, “I think something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I let out the sound rising through my throat and discover it’s a laugh. A giant, full-blown laugh that I can’t control.
Hank and Guinevere stare at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“That was so tight!” I exclaim. “I think that was the most fun I’ve ever had!” I burst into laughter again.
Hank has Blackfire tied just outside the pen, and I hear the horse sneeze. It sets me off all over again.
“Did she hit her head?” Guinevere sounds sincerely worried.
“I didn’t hit anything,” I say, my eyes watering from too much laughter. “Don’t you get it? I just rode a horse. My first horseback ride. And my first fall. Yeah, they were only seconds apart, but—”
“You’ve never ridden before?” Guinevere demands.
“Have now,” I answer.
“Dakota!” Hank locks his fingers behind his neck, and his face grows as red as Kat’s wig. “Why did you say you’ve ridden before? I never would have put you on Starlight. And bareback?”
I reach up and stroke Starlight’s soft muzzle. “She was wonderful! What a great horse for my first ride. Can we go again?”
“Not today,” Hank says, sliding his hands under my arms and pulling me up. “Go inside and take care of that elbow.”
My elbow looks dirty and bloody, but I’m still too high on horses to feel it.
I’m so caught up in the rush of my first horse ride, trying to relive the seconds I was actually on Starlight’s back, that I don’t see Wes as I come out of the barn. Thunk! We slam into each other, and I almost go down a second time. “Oops. Didn’t see you there, Wes.”
“Have you got it in for Taco, or what?” he demands. At Wes’s heels, Rex starts barking.
Taco sticks his ratlike head out of Wes’s denim jacket.
“Sorry. I didn’t see the dog.” But I can’t afford to slip into defense with Wes. He’s shaping up to be my opponent—his call, not mine. “You ran into me, by the way.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
Rex barks louder, but not at me. He’s barking at Wes. And the angrier Wes gets, the more Rex barks at him.
“Riding horses,” I reply. It sounds so good that I have to fight off a grin.
“I don’t mean here!” Wes shouts, poi
nting at the barn. “I mean here!” His arm sweeps the entire farm. “Why are you still here?”
I don’t think there’s any way he could have read my e-mails with Neil, so I act clueless. “I’m a foster, Wes, just like you.”
“You’re planning to bolt the minute you get the chance,” Wes says. “I saw it in your eyes the day you got here.”
I could deny it, but Wes knows. He knows, but he’s not going to tell. Wes wants me out of here as much as I want out. “So why are you still here, Wes? Thought you said you were going back to live with your mother. Aren’t you getting out of here?”
“Yeah. I was just hoping you’d be gone first.” He brushes past me and into the barn, with Rex barking after him.
* * *
“What did you do to your arm?” Kat rushes to me as if I’ve lost my arm instead of scraped my elbow.
“I’m fine, Kat. I rode a horse!”
Kat is less than impressed. She lifts my arm for a better look at the bleeding elbow. “We have to clean the wound.”
It’s hardly a wound. But I admit it’s stinging now.
“Come on.” Kat heads upstairs and I follow.
She leads me to our joint bathroom and makes me sit on the toilet lid while she digs through the medicine cabinet. She uses cotton balls to dab on rubbing alcohol, which stings like crazy. Then she puts on ointment and follows up with a bandage.
“Impressive, Kat,” I say, meaning it. “Where did you learn all this?”
“Hospitals, mostly.”
“So, are you going to be a doctor, like Annie?”
Kat shrugs. Then she coughs. She turns her head and keeps coughing for a solid minute.
“Kat? Want a glass of water or something?” I have no idea what to do.
Then, just like that, she stops. “Sorry about that. I’m fine. How’s the elbow?”
I wave it like a chicken wing. “Good as new.”
* * *
That night, my daring rise . . . and fall . . . on Starlight monopolizes dinner conversation. Wes stays out of it, but everybody else can’t seem to let it go. I don’t mind. I like reliving it. And Hank makes a big deal about how good I was with Blackfire, so it balances out.
Annie’s quieter than usual. But when we get to dessert, she says, “So, Dakota, I hear you’re taking your driver’s exam tomorrow.”
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