Million-Dollar Horse

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Yes, a million dollars,” Max said to her pointedly.

  “Well, I suppose a horse like my Danny would fetch almost that much—if I were of a mind to sell him, which, of course, I’m not.”

  Everybody there knew perfectly well that, valuable as Danny was, he was not worth anywhere near a million dollars.

  “Well, Veronica, if your horse is so valuable, perhaps you could explain to me why it is that Red tells me you left his stall door unlatched again …,” said Max.

  “He claimed I did it?” she asked.

  “Well, since Danny’s your horse, it’s your responsibility to latch the door when you put him away after a ride.”

  “I’m not at all sure that Red wasn’t the one who put him in his stall.”

  “I’m sure you tried to get him to do it …,” Max said, allowing the implications to hang in the air.

  “You’ll have to speak to Red about that,” Veronica said.

  “I have,” said Max. “I take my responsibility to our resident horses seriously. I can’t be responsible for the owners, however. See that it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Well, then, I’ll speak to Red,” said Veronica as she moved on down the hallway, indicating that the conversation was over.

  Stevie, Lisa, and Carole all looked at one another, stifling giggles. It was always a glorious moment to see Veronica (a) caught doing something unforgivable like leaving a stall unlatched, and (b) getting bawled out for it. They didn’t want to let Max see their glee, however. Veronica’s oversight was foolish and dangerous to her horse. Max didn’t take anything that imperiled a horse lightly, and neither did they.

  “Million-dollar snob,” Stevie whispered to her friends.

  “Ahem,” Max said, letting them know he’d overheard. It was enough to remind them that they had a job to do, and a weird one at that. Since it wasn’t a mare about to foal that was going to live in the foaling stall, what was it?

  “I bet it’s another stallion,” Carole said.

  “Why do you say that?” Max asked.

  “Well, because stallions can be sort of temperamental and need space. Also, this has a small paddock attached, and that would allow the stallion to be outdoors but kept separate from the other horses. Am I right?”

  “Your logic is good, but your conclusion is wrong. It’s not a stallion.”

  Stevie heaved a load of shavings on the floor, and while Lisa and Carole smoothed it out with pitchforks, she shared her idea.

  “It’s a show horse and it’s in training,” she declared.

  “Nope,” said Max.

  Lisa had an idea. “It’s not in training, it’s already been trained and it’s won a zillion ribbons. The horse needs the extra wall space for the cabinets that contain its trophies.”

  “Nope,” said Max.

  For a moment Carole leaned on her pitchfork. “The most valuable horses around here are the best of the schooling horses. If a stable like Pine Hollow has a new and great schooling horse, one that any student can ride at any level, that’s like a treasure. I bet that’s what’s coming.”

  “Nope,” said Max.

  He was definitely not being helpful.

  “Come on, Max. Tell us,” said Stevie, brimming with curiosity.

  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” he said.

  “Yes?” Lisa asked.

  “You’re not even close.” He grinned mischievously. Stevie tossed a handful of shavings at him.

  “And flattery will get you nowhere. Hard work might, however.”

  With that, he left the three of them to complete the chore. It wasn’t hard to do and it was certainly something they’d done often enough to be able to finish without supervision.

  “This is strange,” said Stevie, ever interested in a mystery.

  “It’s probably that Max doesn’t have a permanent stall available right now and that’s why he’s using the foaling stall,” said Lisa.

  It was logical, but it didn’t fit in with Max’s contention that this was a million-dollar horse and that he might eventually build an extension on the stable for it.

  “Maybe it’s a really rare breed or something,” said Carole, trying to think what kind of horse would be so unusual that it would be worth a million dollars.

  “Maybe it’s just really big, like a Clydesdale, and it’s too big for a regular stall,” said Lisa.

  “They can be valuable, but usually in matched sets, like the ones that pull that beer wagon,” said Carole. “And a million dollars? No way. Not even the ones that pull the beer wagon.”

  They were stumped, but speculating made the time pass quickly as they finished the work on the stall. Just as Carole was smoothing out the last scoopful of wood shavings, Max returned. He was carrying something in one hand and a screwdriver in the other.

  “Ah, the name!” Carole said. “Maybe it’s like Secretariat!”

  “Secretariat’s dead,” Lisa reminded her. The Triple Crown–winning stallion had been worth a million dollars at least. “And besides, Max said it wasn’t a stallion.”

  Max handed the screwdriver to Stevie. He took the horse’s nameplate and lined it up with the screw holes that were already in the stall door. Then he handed Stevie a screw and motioned for her to fasten the nameplate.

  She stepped forward and read the new tenant’s name for the first time.

  “Honey-Pie?” she asked, astonished.

  “That’s right,” said Max.

  “That doesn’t sound like a million-dollar horse,” Carole protested. “That sounds like the kind of weird name an old lady would give her puppy!”

  “Now you’re getting warmer,” Max said mysteriously, handing Stevie the second screw. He didn’t say another word to the girls while Stevie finished fastening the nameplate to the door. He just smiled, took the screwdriver from Stevie, and walked back to his office, clearly enjoying every minute of his mystery.

  “I’ll be here on Monday,” Lisa declared.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for … for—well, a million bucks,” Stevie agreed.

  “I bet whatever kind of horse it is—and I’m pretty sure Honey-Pie is a horse—is going to take a lot of extra care,” said Carole. “That’s got to be why Max wanted us to help out in the first place, and I know he’ll need us to help out in the future. We’ll all be here on Monday to welcome, um, Honey-Pie”—the sickly sweet name didn’t come easily to her lips—“to its … his … her new home.”

  “Sure we will,” Stevie agreed. She picked up the handles to the wheelbarrow and began to push it back to where it was stored next to the tack room. Her friends carried the pitchforks. They’d finished preparing Honey-Pie’s new home, and now it was time to head for TD’s.

  They stowed their gear, washed up, and changed into street clothes. They’d long since discovered that they were not always welcome in public places if they smelled as if they’d just been doing a lot of hard and heavy work in a barn.

  A few minutes later, they settled into their favorite booth and gave the waitress their order. As usual, Carole and Lisa ordered items most people would consider normal. Lisa wanted a dish of caramel frozen yogurt. Carole asked for a small hot fudge sundae with vanilla ice cream. Stevie was also true to her usual form.

  “I’d like mint chocolate chip ice cream with pineapple chunks and, um, butterscotch sauce,” she said.

  The waitress winced.

  “And, please, may I have some rainbow sprinkles?”

  “Whipped cream?”

  “Of course, but no cherry. I think the flavor would clash with the pineapple,” Stevie said.

  “We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” the waitress asked, fleeing before Stevie could add anything else to her concoction.

  Carole brought out the Cross County catalog and resumed the job of filling out the order form for Starlight’s new halter.

  “There must be something else you want,” Lisa said, still saddened by the fact that among the three of them their order would bring in only forty cen
ts for CARL.

  “There isn’t anything else that I want or that Starlight needs,” Carole said. “But I can think of a few people who might be interested in all sorts of goodies.”

  “Like?” Stevie asked.

  “Well, for one thing, you can call Phil,” Carole said. “I know he shops at Cross County all the time. He can certainly buy something from the catalog.”

  “And I bet A.J. needs something, too,” Stevie said enthusiastically. “Okay, so if they each buy a halter, too, that’ll make it a dollar twenty for CARL.” Phil was Stevie’s boyfriend, and A.J. was his best friend. They both lived in a nearby town and rode horses at Cross County Stables.

  “And then I’m going to call Kate and her parents,” said Carole.

  “Wow,” said Lisa, impressed with Carole’s idea. Kate Devine’s parents owned a dude ranch out West that the girls had visited many times. A place like the Bar None needed all sorts of equipment all the time. “If all they needed were a few saddles, well, that would really mount up quickly—pun not intended,” she said.

  “Even if they don’t buy any silver-studded ones,” said Stevie.

  “And the next thing you know, the horses CARL rescues will be riding in style,” said Carole.

  “Just like they’re worth a million bucks,” said Lisa.

  WHEN STEVIE ARRIVED at Pine Hollow on Monday, she found her two friends perched on the top rail of the fence that enclosed the stable’s schooling ring. They were facing the driveway, obviously still awaiting the arrival of Honey-Pie.

  “No sign of her yet?” Stevie asked.

  “Max said she’s supposed to be here by four,” said Lisa.

  “It’s after that now,” Carole observed, looking at her watch.

  “It probably took extra time to pack all her jewelry,” joked Stevie.

  Lisa laughed, but Carole just looked tired. It wasn’t easy for Carole to joke about horses, and everybody knew that horses didn’t need jewelry to look beautiful. A good grooming would do that just fine, as far as Carole was concerned.

  Stevie was glad to have a few minutes with her friends before Honey-Pie’s arrival. She had some news.

  “Phil ordered a saddle blanket and A.J. said he was going to talk to his parents about getting a new tack trunk,” she announced proudly.

  “That’s great!” said Lisa, mentally toting up the money going to CARL. “And if you add in the gloves my parents said I could buy, that’ll come to almost fifteen dollars toward the trailer.”

  Carole had news of her own on that front. “The Devines asked me to send them the whole catalog,” she said. “Frank said he didn’t know for sure that the dude ranch needed anything, but he was going to check and promised he’d place any orders through us for CARL.”

  Stevie was so pleased to hear that, she clapped Carole on the back, which resulted in Carole’s losing her balance and almost falling into the ring.

  “I don’t think they have back braces in the catalog,” Lisa said, steadying Carole.

  “Sorry about that,” Stevie said. “I just got a little excited.”

  “It’s okay,” Carole said good-naturedly, settling herself back onto the rail. “It’s for a good cause.”

  While Lisa and Stevie were asking Carole if she was really all right and Carole was assuring them that she was, they nearly missed the arrival of a horse van in the yard.

  The van, from a commercial leasing operation, was followed by two cars, a silver Volvo and a black Jaguar, all of which gave the impression of a parade, and that seemed fitting for a million-dollar horse.

  The van came to a stop and the cars parked nearby. While the driver of the van stayed in the cab, filling out papers, the drivers of the other two cars eagerly approached the back of the van.

  Neither one of them was dressed to be anywhere near a stable. The driver of the Volvo was older than the other, with gray hair and a tidy mustache. He was wearing a double-breasted pinstripe suit, a white shirt, and a striped tie.

  “A lawyer,” Stevie declared.

  “How do you know?” Lisa whispered.

  “Both my parents are lawyers,” Stevie reminded her. “I can smell them from a thousand miles away. Besides, look at his shoes.”

  Lisa and Carole obeyed. “What about his shoes other than that they don’t belong in a stable?” Carole asked.

  “Wing tips,” Stevie said. “It’s a dead giveaway.”

  Carole and Lisa weren’t as tuned in to the clothing preferences of the legal profession as Stevie was, but they had to agree that the overall look of the older man was definitely staid and, well, lawyerly.

  “Okay, so what about the other guy?” Carole asked.

  “I don’t know, but he’s not a lawyer,” Stevie said.

  “Definitely not a lawyer,” Carole agreed. “He looks more like someone on vacation than a working lawyer.”

  “Permanent vacation,” Lisa said. “I mean, I spend enough time shopping with my clothes-conscious mother to know that he’s wearing very expensive casual clothes. The shoes are Gucci, the slacks Armani, and the sweater—well, I’m not sure who made it, but it’s got to be pure cashmere. And I’ll bet you his socks are, too.”

  “That’s all expensive stuff, right?” Carole asked.

  “Let me put it this way,” Lisa said. “We could swap him for a horse trailer for CARL and have change left over.”

  Carole shook her head. “What a waste of money,” she said.

  “Not if you’ve got a lot more of it,” Lisa said. “Someone who drives a Jaguar and dresses like that is bound to be a millionaire.”

  “But a dumb one,” said Stevie. “I mean, it’s dumb to wear expensive clothes like that to handle a horse.”

  “Not that he’s actually handling the horse,” said Carole, who had not taken her eyes from the goings-on. Usually with a newcomer, the girls hurried to welcome the horse and help the owners, but Max had been so mysterious about Honey-Pie that they were reluctant to butt in. The men, who they presumed were the horse’s owners, were proceeding on their own. If they wanted help, they could ask for it.

  The two had gone around to the rear of the van.

  “I’ve got it,” said the older man.

  “No, I can do it, Ben,” said the other.

  “I’m going to do this myself, Paul,” said the lawyer apparently named Ben. “I have to protect this horse.”

  “Like I don’t care?” Paul asked.

  “Hmmph,” said Ben.

  Ben reached for the van’s door handles and held them with his fingertips, trying to unlatch the door without getting any mud on his suit—which, as Lisa pointed out, could also be swapped for a trailer for CARL. “A thousand dollars at least,” she muttered to her friends.

  But the younger man, Paul, was taller and had longer arms. Eventually he managed to undo the latch. They swung the doors wide open. Inside the four-horse van was a lone mare, a honey-colored chestnut.

  Together, because it was clear that neither of them could have managed it alone, they pulled out a ramp. Paul walked up the ramp gingerly, leaving Ben down at the end of it.

  And then the girls saw something they’d never seen before—a level of such total incompetence and ignorance about horses that they were stunned into silence.

  Paul unlatched the gate on the stall where Honey-Pie had been secured while traveling and stood back, presumably to let her wander down the ramp on her own.

  Ben, standing at the base of the ramp, uttered the immortal words, “Here, boy! Here, boy!” and clapped his hands.

  Any fool could have told him Honey-Pie was a mare.

  The Saddle Club knew a disaster in the making when they saw one. Without any discussion, the three of them hopped off the fence and hurried over to the van.

  Carole climbed into the van, located a lead rope, clipped it to the mare’s halter, and brought her down the ramp, easy as could be. As soon as Carole and the mare reached the ground, Stevie fished in her pocket and found a piece of carrot (she almost always had
a horse treat in one pocket or another) and rewarded the horse for her good behavior.

  Lisa reached up and gave Honey-Pie a warm welcoming pat and then a hug. The horse’s sweet nature was so evident by the way she’d obediently come down the ramp that the girls all knew exactly why somebody had named this lovely horse Honey-Pie. That was what she was.

  “What a great horse!” Carole said, admiring her strong lines and the eager and alert way her ears perked, listening for interesting sounds around her.

  “She’s wonderful!” Stevie said, rubbing the soft graying nose and looking deep into the mare’s wise old eyes.

  “She’s really old,” said Paul.

  Carole took a look in her mouth. “Not that old,” she said. “Maybe fifteen. This horse has a lot of good years left in her, and you don’t have to worry. She’ll get the best care in the world here at Pine Hollow.”

  “I’m sure,” Paul said unenthusiastically.

  “I’d like to have a discussion with Mr. Regnery about that,” said Ben. “Is he around or does he entrust all his horses to little girls?”

  “He’s around,” Stevie said, a little put off. “He’s in the office, which is through that door and to your right. We can take Honey-Pie to her new home while you talk with Ma—uh, Mr. Regnery.” Nobody Stevie knew had ever called Max that before, but if this was a million-dollar horse, then Max was a million-dollar stable owner, and if that meant calling him Mr. Regnery sometimes, well, she could do that.

  The two men picked their way through the soft mud of the stable yard toward the door while the girls led the mare across the turf to the double door of the stable.

  They could hardly wait until they were out of hearing distance of the two owners.

  “ ‘Here, boy’?” Lisa said. That was enough to make the three of them dissolve into giggles. The idea that a horse could be called like a dog and that the owner didn’t know the sex of his horse was too weird.

  “I’ve got it,” Stevie said. “They’re from another planet!”

  “Does that mean this is an alien horse?” Lisa asked.

  “No, this is a very earthly horse,” Carole assured her. “I mean, look at this sweetie. Did you ever see a nicer horse?”