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Read all the Saddle Club books!
Horse Crazy
Horse Shy
Horse Sense
Horse Power
Trail Mates
Dude Ranch
Horse Play
Horse Show
Hoof Beat
Riding Camp
Horse Wise
Rodeo Rider
I would like to express my special thanks to Michelle Deudne, Carol Kiger, and Mary Swearingen. —B.B.H.
Special thanks to Sir “B” Farms and Laura and Vinny Marino
Copyright © 1988 by Bonnie Bryant Hiller
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
“The Saddle Club” is a registered trademark of Bonnie Bryant Hiller.
“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.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-82491-2
Originally published by Bantam Skylark in 1988
First Delacorte eBook Edition 2012
v3.1
For Marilyn E. Marlow
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
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
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author
“… AND THAT’S FINAL, Stephanie!” The words echoed in Stevie Lake’s ear long after her mother had closed her bedroom door. She knew her mother meant what she had said. When Mrs. Lake’s mind was made up, she was every bit as stubborn as her daughter.
Stevie flopped onto her bed. “I hate it when she calls me Stephanie,” she grumbled. Her cat, Madonna, settled down at the foot of the bed. Absentmindedly, Stevie stroked the cat. She had some serious thinking to do.
Her parents had told her in no uncertain terms that if she didn’t improve her grades, she wasn’t going on the horseback riding camp-out next month. Unless Stevie proved she was a responsible student, her parents certainly weren’t going to pay for this treat.
“Treat” was an understatement, Stevie thought. The Mountain Trail Overnight was the grand finale of the year. She’d been talking about it for months with her friends at the Pine Hollow Stables, especially her best friend, Carole Hanson. They’d even already decided what to pack! There was no way she was going to miss that camp-out. She just had to go.
Stevie sighed. She knew she could do well in school when she put her mind to it. She wasn’t dumb, she was just more interested in having fun than doing schoolwork. Math did give her a bit of a problem, though. It was Stevie’s bad luck that she had a math project on decimals and percentages due in three weeks for the quarter term grades—right before the overnight trip. There was no way she could do a math project good enough to improve her grade.
Possibilities raced through her mind. She considered basing her project on her younger brother Michael’s guppies. She could count how many more appeared in the tank each day. Too boring, she decided.
She could do some work for her dad’s business that had to do with decimals and percentages. But then, Stevie considered the consequences if she made a mistake for her father. So, that was out, along with the guppies.
It seemed hopeless. Suddenly Stevie realized that her mother hadn’t said she couldn’t go on the overnight trip if her grades didn’t improve. She had just said that Stevie’s parents wouldn’t pay for it.
If her parents wouldn’t pay for it, Stevie could pay for it herself! Stevie had a few dollars in her frequently raided piggy bank, but definitely not nearly enough to pay for the overnight trip. Her allowance was usually gone a few days after she got it. Her twin brother, Alex, said the problem was that there were too many days in a week for Stevie’s allowance. Stevie knew she couldn’t do anything about that, so that meant saving up for the trip was out.
But she could earn money for the trip, Stevie thought excitedly. There must be a zillion things people needed to have done that they’d pay her to do. She’d never tried to earn money before, but lots of other kids did it, so it couldn’t be too difficult.
Stevie’s active imagination began working. She could see herself helping people carry groceries from the store. She could walk dogs. She could baby-sit. She could help her friends with household chores they didn’t want to do. She could water plants for people on vacation. The possibilities seemed endless.
She was roused from her thoughts by Madonna’s insistent meows at the bedroom door. Stevie hopped off the bed and opened the door for Madonna. The cat zipped out of Stevie’s room and set off down the hall, swishing her tail disdainfully. Stevie, suddenly cheerful now that she had a plan, went down to the kitchen to help her mother with lunch. For as soon as lunch was over, it would be time to get ready for her riding class. And that was definitely something to be happy about. Besides, Carole would be sure to have more ideas for money-making schemes.
Things were definitely looking up.
CAROLE HANSON WAS already at Pine Hollow Stables. Her father, a Marine Corps colonel stationed at Quantico, near Washington, D.C., had afternoon duty that day. He could only bring Carole to Pine Hollow in the morning. He had apologized for dropping her off at her riding class two hours early, but Carole assured him that she didn’t mind at all. She loved every minute she spent there. It was just about perfect.
Carole loved the stable area where Pine Hollow’s twenty-five horses lived. The stable area was U-shaped, with the horses’ stalls in double rows on the long sides of the U. The short side of the U housed saddles and bridles in the tack room, equipment such as grooming aids and pitchforks in the equipment room, and grain and a few bales of hay in the feed room. Carole could spend hours going from stall to stall, patting the horses, chatting with them. She could, that is, except for one thing: Max Regnery.
Max owned the stable, which had been passed down from his grandfather to his father, and then to him. On the surface, Max seemed sort of relaxed and laid-back, but it was well-known among the riders that idleness bothered Max. Carole was welcome to hang around the stable—as long as she was doing something useful.
Today, she was cleaning tack. She had a saddle on the stand in front of her and she applied the saddle soap with a damp sponge and rubbed it gently in circles. She admired the shine the soap brought out in the worn leather.
Like Stevie, Carole Hanson was twelve years old. She was a slender African-American girl, with an intense look in her dark brown eyes. Her wavy black hair usually fell loosely to her shoulders, but when she rode in a horse show, she made a single braid in the back and pinned it up. Carole was totally committed to horses
and planned to own her own stable when she grew up.
Even though her friend Stevie hadn’t gotten to the stable yet, she wasn’t alone. While Carole worked, she chatted with Max’s mother, affectionately known as Mrs. Reg.
“Dad just kept apologizing to me today about having to bring me here so early. These days he’s always telling me he’s sorry about something.…”
“Well, perhaps he is, Carole,” Mrs. Reg said gently.
Carole thought about that for a minute. It was true that her father had been sorry, and really sad, ever since her mother had died six months earlier from cancer. So had she. They both missed her very much.
“But it’s more than sad, Mrs. Reg,” Carole said.
“I know that. I think your father does, too. But I think what he’s sorry about is that he can’t be both a mother and a father to you.”
“But that’s silly,” Carole protested. “I don’t expect him to be.”
“Try telling that to him,” Mrs. Reg said.
Carole buffed the saddle for a few minutes, considering how she might assure her father that he wasn’t letting her down.
“Mrs. Reg,” she said finally. The kind woman looked over at her. “Have you ever heard the expression, ‘Tell it to the Marines’?” Carole asked wryly.
Mrs. Reg laughed and nodded. “Okay, then, you’ll just have to wait. He’ll learn, Carole, he’ll learn.”
Carole picked up the clean saddle and carried it over to its rack. Then she reached for the bridle, which hung on the bracket above the saddle rack.
“When you finish that bridle, I need you in the ring,” Max called brusquely as he strutted past the tackroom door. He was leading Patch, a black-and-white pinto, toward the indoor ring. Carole paused to watch. Max and the horse were followed by a girl who looked familiar to Carole, and a woman who appeared to be the girl’s mother. The girl was slight, with wavy brown hair and a little ski-jump nose, which was sprinkled with freckles. She had a look most people would call cute, but her eyes seemed to see beyond the surface. One glance and Carole could tell she was smart.
Carole suddenly remembered the girl’s name. It was Lisa Atwood. She went to the same school Carole attended, Willow Creek Junior High School, but she was a grade ahead of Carole. Carole had barely recognized her, though. At school, Lisa had the confident look of a straight-A student—which she was. Honors Day at the junior high was really more like Lisa Atwood Day. But here, at the stable, Lisa looked decidedly uncomfortable. Carole decided to finish soaping the bridle quickly so she could see what was up.
LISA RELUCTANTLY FOLLOWED her mother into the riding ring. She felt like a fifth wheel. Mrs. Atwood was having a lively conversation with Mr. Regnery about horsemanship. She was telling him about this wonderful rider who had so much natural talent, but just a bit of schooling, who wanted to be his student. She told him about the rider’s devotion to the sport and the hours spent reading about equitation.
“In fact,” Mrs. Atwood said, “just the last time she rode in a show, she got a blue ribbon.”
With a start, Lisa realized her mother was talking about her. She was supposed to be this naturally skilled, intensely interested rider. The show her mother was talking about had been a pony ride at the zoo when she was four years old. All the kids who didn’t cry had gotten blue ribbons!
Lisa sighed. The thing that Lisa was the best at was school. But it seemed that her mother wanted her to be the best at absolutely everything else. Lisa took ballet class on Mondays, painting on Wednesdays, tennis on Fridays, and now seemed to be fated to go riding on Saturdays and Tuesdays. She didn’t really mind this frenzy of activity, but it seemed a little ridiculous to her.
And sometimes, like now, she felt a little embarrassed. She and her mother had spent hours last weekend at the riding store, purchasing the outfit she now wore. Lisa was in riding breeches, with shiny black leather boots up to her knees. She had on a white cotton shirt and a necktie. (Mrs. Atwood had insisted on buying a tie with horses on it. She wouldn’t even let Lisa borrow a striped one from her brother.) Lisa was also wearing a black jacket, slightly flared at the hips. On her head, she had a black velvet-covered hard hat. To complete the outfit, Lisa carried a pair of brown leather riding gloves. She may have looked ready to enter the ring at New York’s famous Madison Square Garden, but she felt like an imposter, dressed for Halloween.
Max Regnery waited quietly while Mrs. Atwood continued her one-sided discussion about Lisa. He held Patch’s reins with his right hand. Lisa stood to his left. While Mrs. Atwood chatted, Max turned toward Lisa. Lisa was sure he thought she was weird. She felt her face reddening. And then, while Max was nodding sagely at Mrs. Atwood, he winked at Lisa.
He knew! He knew her mother was stretching the truth. And that was all right with him. When Mrs. Atwood finally stopped talking, Max turned to Lisa.
“Have you done much riding, Lisa?” he asked.
“Just ponies at the zoo, and once at day camp. I mean, I know how to walk and how to stop the horse,” she said, ignoring her mother’s glare.
“Okay, then, we’ll see what you learned at the zoo,” he said. Then he showed her how to mount Patch and, within seconds, she was on the horse.
“Good,” Max said approvingly. She felt wonderful. Being in the saddle was okay, but what was wonderful was that this man didn’t take her mother’s silliness seriously, and he didn’t mind that she really didn’t know much about horses. Lisa felt more relaxed than she had since they’d arrived. Maybe riding wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
Just then, a girl entered the ring. She was wearing riding breeches and high boots like Lisa’s, but they had long ago lost the sheen of newness. Somehow, this tall slender girl looked comfortable in her riding clothes—not costumed, the way Lisa felt.
“Lisa,” Max said, “I’d like to introduce you to Carole Hanson.” He pointed to the girl. “Once our young riders are past the introductory level, they’re grouped more by age than skill. You’ll be in Carole’s class so I thought you should meet now.”
“We already know each other, Max,” Carole said. “We go to the same school.”
Lisa looked at her in surprise, then recognized the seventh-grader. At school, Carole always seemed to be disorganized, papers flying around, pencils trailing from her book bag. But here at the stable, Carole seemed completely at ease and full of confidence. Lisa found her very likable—the kind of girl she’d like to have for a friend. Maybe horseback riding would be fun after all. Somehow, Carole’s confidence was contagious and Lisa caught it.
“Okay, now, show us your stuff,” Max said. “Begin with a walk.”
Lisa took the single reins in her hands and nudged Patch with her heels. The horse began walking. It was a slow, rambling pace, comfortable and natural. After she’d circled the ring three times, Max asked her to trot. She didn’t know how to make a horse trot, but it seemed that Patch understood the word, for he immediately began a bouncy trot. Almost instinctively, Lisa began rising and sitting with the horse’s pace, more to get away from the bouncing saddle than anything.
“Good, good,” Max said. “Now walk again.” The horse slowed to a walk. It didn’t seem particularly extraordinary to Lisa, but she could see that her mother was beaming with pride.
Just at that moment, another girl came through the door from the outside into the indoor ring, letting the door slam loudly behind her.
Patch, like all horses, had a long memory for things that spooked him. Fireworks spooked Patch, and even though he couldn’t see any flash of light, a sudden loud noise was just as bad. At the instant the door slammed, Patch took off with Lisa aboard.
First, Patch bucked. Lisa grabbed the front of the saddle with her right hand and held on for dear life. At least when Patch started galloping, she had a good grip. At first, Lisa was afraid she would fall off, and then, she began hoping she would. Patch tore around the ring so fast, Lisa could barely tell where she was. Walls, doors, people, all merged into a blur. There seemed to be no
way to control the horse.
She heard Max calling to her, telling her to relax—or was he saying it to Patch? It didn’t matter. Neither of them was relaxed. Patch kept circling the ring and Lisa kept holding on. And the pounding of the horse’s hooves continued in a very fast-one-two-three beat. It was like a waltz at top speed.
Lisa could waltz. She’d taken ballroom dancing for three years. She began to sway with the horse, shifting her weight in the saddle with the rocking of the pace. Now, instead of feeling like a helpless sack of flour, she was riding! She was in control. Lisa let go of the saddle and put gentle pressure on the reins. Instantly, Patch responded, slowing his pace. Apparently, he was no longer spooked and was ready to behave. He switched to a trot. She pulled the reins again, and the trot changed to a walk. Lisa brought him over to where her mother and Max stood with Carole. Her mother was white-faced. Carole’s look was one of frank admiration. Whoever it was who had slammed the door was nowhere in sight.
Max reached up to help Lisa dismount from Patch. “That must have been some zoo!” Max said.
MAX DISMISSED THE girls, asking Carole to show Lisa around. Lisa followed her and Patch back to the stall area while Max and Mrs. Atwood talked before the class.
The Class. It would be Lisa’s first class and she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of it. She was still feeling a strange mixture of fear and pride from her ride on Patch.
“What made him go crazy like that?” Lisa asked.
Carole glanced around uneasily and then shrugged. “Most horses do have things that frighten them, which you try to avoid. Some don’t like dogs. Some jump when they see something waving. Patch doesn’t like loud noises. See, when something scares a horse, he remembers it for a long time—especially if it happened when he was young. They may learn in the meantime that the thing isn’t dangerous, but they still never forget that fear from long ago.”
Although it was odd, it made some sense. After all, even though Lisa was confident that she’d handled Patch well when he’d run away with her, she knew it would take her a long time to forget how scared she’d been. Perhaps she had something in common with these big animals after all. But if everybody knew Patch was afraid of loud noises, why would someone have slammed the door and caused her such trouble? Lisa was too shy to ask and Carole didn’t offer an explanation.
Horse Crazy Page 1