Headstrong

by Bonnie Bryant

  Carole could feel the minutes ticking away as she hurried toward the tack room. What was it about horses that made them always turn up lame or injured or colicky at the least convenient time imaginable? Now she was really going to have to hurry if she didn’t want to be late.

  The tack room was unoccupied when she entered, and she headed straight for the first-aid cabinet above the sink in the corner. Yanking it open, she spotted the bottle immediately. She grabbed it, standing on tiptoes to reach it on its high shelf. She realized a split second too late that someone hadn’t bothered to wipe off the side of the bottle after pouring, and it was slippery. She fumbled for a grip, but it was no good. The thick glass bottle shot out of her hands and arced toward the wall, hitting it with a solid crack.

  Carole winced as the bottle fell to the floor in several pieces, its contents splattering everywhere. “Oh, great!” she cried in frustration, checking her watch again. Now she would have to spend valuable minutes cleaning up the mess, not to mention going all the way out to the equipment shed to get another bottle.

  She spun around and grabbed for a paper towel. But only half a sheet came off in her hand. The roll was empty.

  “Damn, damn, damn!” she cried. Then she remembered that Max kept surplus paper goods in the equipment shed. She would just have to grab another roll of paper towels when she went out there to get the ointment. Sighing heavily, she kicked the bottle pieces toward the wall so that no one would step on them, then spun around and hurried toward the back door.

  The equipment shed was a multipurpose outbuilding where Max kept a variety of things, including the stable’s tractor and harrow and some others pieces of large machinery and garden supplies. There was a separate section off to one side that consisted of floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with every conceivable item that a stable might need, from extra rolls of paper towels and toilet paper to spare bandages and medications, a bucketful of dusty riding crops, and miscellaneous farrier supplies.

  As Carole pushed open the small building’s wooden door and reached for the light switch just inside, she stopped short. The overhead bulb was already on. And lounging on the seat of the tractor, her long, lean legs propped up on the steering wheel and her flannel shirt half open, was the new stable hand, Maureen Chance. But it wasn’t the young woman’s partially visible tank top or her relaxed position that caught Carole’s eye. It was the lit cigarette in her right hand.

  Carole gasped. “What are you doing?” she cried. “Are you—are you smoking?”

  “Uh-oh. Looks like I’m busted.” Maureen grinned and tapped the cigarette on the side of the tractor seat, scattering ashes on the cement floor. “You better not rat me out to the teacher or I’ll beat you up during recess.”

  Carole frowned. Maureen could kid around all she wanted to, but this was no joking matter. “Maybe Max didn’t tell you,” she said carefully, not wanting to pick a fight with the new hand on her first day. “He doesn’t like people smoking in the stable.”

  Maureen shrugged and took a long drag. “We’re not in the stable,” she said, letting the smoke out in a puff and then glancing around at the walls of the shed, her eyebrow raised in an exaggerated query. “Are we?”

  Carole’s frown deepened as she wondered how to respond. Everyone knew that fire and stables weren’t a good combination. If Maureen really had to smoke at all, Carole would have preferred to see her doing it out in the open, say in the middle of the schooling ring, where the only thing that might possibly catch fire was a jump or two, rather than here in the overstuffed equipment shed, where there were all kinds of flammable items that would smolder and burn without anyone even noticing until it was too late.

  She was about to try to put some of that into words when she heard heavy footsteps approaching from outside. A moment later George Wheeler appeared in the doorway, an empty bucket in one hand.

  “Oh.” George looked sheepish as he skidded to a stop. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t know anyone was out here.”

  Maureen lowered her cigarette and looked at him with interest. “Well, well, well,” she drawled. “So there are a few actual guys around this place after all. I was starting to feel like I’d sailed away to the land of the Amazons. What’s your name, big guy? I’m Maureen.”

  George blinked, gaping at Maureen as if she were some strange new species that had just landed on earth. Carole ignored him as he stammered incoherently in response to Maureen’s greeting. Her attention was fixed on the orange ember at the end of the stable hand’s cigarette. One stray spark from it could spread into an inferno in a matter of seconds if the wind happened to be blowing the wrong way. Didn’t Maureen realize that? How could she put the whole stable at risk for a lousy smoke?

  “Uh, I’m George,” George managed to choke out at last. “George Wheeler.”

  “Ah! I’ve seen your name somewhere.” Maureen dragged thoughtfully on her cigarette. “You own that gorgeous chestnut mare with the blaze, right? The one in the stall next to Patch?”

  “Right!” George said with obvious delight. “Her name’s Joyride, but I usually just call her Joy.”

  Carole opened her mouth to interrupt the inane conversation and remind everyone that stable rules usually existed for a reason and the one about not smoking was particularly important. But before she could speak, she heard someone clearing his throat behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she froze. Ben Marlow was standing behind George, looking from one of them to the other, a confused and slightly wary expression in his dark eyes.

  “Ben!” Carole blurted out. “What are you doing here?”

  She blushed wildly as she realized the lameness of her question, though Ben didn’t seem to notice. He shrugged and gestured toward the supply shelves. “Paper towels,” he said succinctly. “Someone made a real mess of the tack room.”

  “Oops. Uh, that was me.” Carole blushed deeper than before, hardly noticing as George grabbed a bucket, slipped past her and exited without another word to any of them. “I just came out to get more paper towels myself, and then I was going to clean it up.”

  Meanwhile, Maureen was still puffing away, surveying them both from her position atop the tractor seat. “Good cover story, Ben,” she commented with a laugh. “Now she’ll never guess that you were really sneaking out here to meet me. Our little secret is still safe.”

  Ben shot Maureen a look Carole couldn’t quite read. Without responding to the older stable hand’s flirtation, he stepped around Carole and grabbed a roll of paper towels from the shelf beside her. “I’ll clean up,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Thanks.” Carole could only assume that he was addressing her, since he hadn’t bothered to look her way. “Thanks a lot, Ben.” She found herself wanting to say something more—to keep him in the shed for at least a little while longer. But the right words evaded her, so all she could do was watch while he strode toward the door. Why did she have such a strong urge to hurry after him, to grab him by the arm and make him stay with her?

  It’s only natural, she told herself uncertainly. He’s your friend, and you haven’t seen much of him lately, so I guess you must miss him. Miss him as a friend, that is. Nothing more than that.

  “Catch you later, hot stuff,” Maureen called after him. Only a slight stiffening of Ben’s back showed that he’d heard her.

  Carole wrinkled her nose, realizing belatedly that Maureen was flirting with Ben in a big way. Gross! she thought. She must be, like, five years older than him at least. Besides, Ben would never in a million years be interested in someone like her. She’s so loud, so crude. Not to mention kind of obnoxious …

  She shook her head, wondering what Max had been thinking when he’d decided to hire Maureen Chance. Had he been so desperate to find someone to fill the position that he’d lowered his standards? Was it all Carole’s fault for getting banned from her job just when things were the busiest?

  Then again, maybe I’m just taking out my own feelings on Maureen, she though
t. I’m afraid of being replaced, so I’m looking for things to criticize about the new person. For all I know, Max told Maureen she could smoke in here.

  That last part didn’t seem too likely, but how could Carole know for sure? She didn’t even work there anymore.

  “That Ben’s kind of a muffin, isn’t he?” Maureen said lazily, leaning down and grinding out her cigarette on the tractor’s metal mower attachment. “I just might have to get to know him better.”

  “I’d better get back to Starlight’s grooming,” Carole replied abruptly. “I barely have time to knock him off as it is.” Keeping her head low to avoid Maureen’s eyes, she grabbed a new bottle of antiseptic and hurried from the shed, not slowing her pace until she was back in the main building and approaching Starlight’s stall.

  Then she took a deep breath and slowed down. What am I doing? she wondered. Finding Maureen smoking in the equipment shed had gotten her so worked up that her hands were shaking. Or was it running into Ben that had done that?

  She shook her head, suddenly annoyed with herself. Why was she wasting so much energy on this? Yes, the smoking thing was a real problem, and she would have to keep an eye on Maureen and decide what to do about that. But in the meantime, she had more interesting things to think about. Starting with the same topic that had been occupying her almost nonstop lately—namely, what on earth she was going to get Cam for Christmas.

  FIVE

  Stevie leaned against the hood of the two-door blue car she shared with her twin brother, Alex, who was tapping his fingers impatiently on the roof.

  “Would you relax already?” Stevie complained, shooting him an annoyed glance. “The drum solo’s getting old.”

  “What’s taking Callie so long?” Alex demanded, checking his watch for about the twentieth time in the past thirty seconds. “I’m supposed to pick up Nicole in, like, ten minutes.”

  Stevie grimaced, wondering as she always did how her brother could possibly see anything in a total bimbo like Nicole Adams. It had been weird enough to think about Alex starting to date people other than Lisa. But Nicole? She had to be about as far from Lisa as it was possible to get without actually changing species.

  But Stevie was trying not to think too much about it. She was sure that Alex would come to his senses soon. In the meantime, all she could do was watch and try not to be sick.

  “Come on, Callie,” Alex muttered, staring at his watch again. “Where is she, anyway? Fenton Hall’s not that big.”

  “Chill! She’ll be here, okay?” Stevie rolled her eyes. Alex had agreed to drop Stevie and Callie at Pine Hollow on his way home, since Scott had a student government officers’ meeting that afternoon.

  Turning to scan the crowds of students pouring out of the school building and scattering in all directions—heading for the parking lot, the waiting buses, and the pizza place across the street—Stevie didn’t see any sign of Callie. She did notice George Wheeler emerging from the building, though she didn’t think much about it. She’d been seeing quite a bit of George lately because of his crush on Callie, but normally the two of them barely qualified as acquaintances. If George hadn’t been a regular at Pine Hollow, Stevie doubted she would even know his name.

  To her surprise, George caught her eye and waved, turning and hurrying toward her. “Hi!” he called breathlessly as soon as he was within earshot. “How’s it going, Stevie?”

  “Fine, George,” Stevie replied politely. “How are you?”

  “Fine, fine!”

  Great, Stevie thought. Does this mean he has a crush on me now, too?

  “There she is!” Alex exclaimed, interrupting something George was starting to say about the weather. “Callie! Over here!”

  Stevie glanced over and saw their friend hurrying down the school steps. “See? I told you she’d be here soon,” she told her brother, poking him in the shoulder.

  “Um, see you guys later,” George muttered, spinning on his heel and walking quickly in the opposite direction.

  Stevie blinked, wondering what had gotten into him. Then she shrugged. She didn’t have time to stand around figuring out the likes of George Wheeler. Hurrying around to the passenger’s side of the car, she opened the door and scooted into the backseat, leaving the door open for Callie.

  Moments later the three of them were strapped in and Alex was peeling out of the school parking lot. “Hey, Speed Racer!” Stevie exclaimed, reaching forward to smack him on the back of the head. “Are you trying to get us all killed? This isn’t the autobahn, you know.”

  Alex made a rude sound in response. “Okay, Grandma,” he said sarcastically. He did slow down a little, though.

  Satisfied, Stevie turned her attention to Callie. “So what’s on your agenda for today?”

  Callie sighed heavily and twisted around in her seat to face Stevie. “Oh, I’ll probably spend most of it driving myself crazy trying to figure out what to do,” she said. “I saw a great horse yesterday. I’m just not sure he’s the right horse, if you know what I mean.”

  “Tell me,” Stevie said eagerly.

  “Well, his name’s Scooby, and he’s an Appaloosa.” Callie went on to describe the gelding in detail, including her impressions while riding him the day before.

  Stevie nodded thoughtfully as she listened. She knew that Callie took endurance competition seriously, and it was important for her to find the best horse she could. “All right,” she said when her friend had finished. “That all sounds great. So what’s the problem?”

  “I just don’t know if he’s really as wonderful as I think he is.”

  Alex glanced at her. “Huh? You’re going to have to translate that one.”

  “For once, my brother is right,” Stevie said. “Explain.”

  Callie shrugged, her face twisted with uncertainty. “Yes, Scooby is a good horse, and I’m sure he could do endurance. But I don’t know if I’m making him out to be more talented than he is—in my own mind, I mean—just because I’m getting desperate to find a horse. There are one or two things that worry me a little. For example, Mr. Rayburn mentioned that Scooby is sometimes a little headstrong on the trails. And I’m not really used to Appaloosas, since just about every horse I’ve ridden in competition has been an Arabian or an Arabian cross. Anyway, I haven’t really looked at that many horses yet, when you get right down to it. And I’m just thinking—I don’t have any more appointments set up right now, so maybe I’m just trying to talk myself into this horse so that I don’t have to start the whole process again.”

  “Ah.” Stevie leaned back against her seat, thinking about that. She knew how Callie felt, sort of. Choosing a horse was a huge decision, and it didn’t pay to make it lightly. There were a lot of things to consider, especially for someone like Callie, who needed a performance horse and not just a pleasure mount. Stevie herself had almost made a wrong choice or two before she’d found her perfect partner in Belle. “Okay, answer me this, then,” she said to Callie seriously. “Did you start thinking he might be the one when you first saw him, or only after you got in the saddle?”

  Callie pursed her lips and thought for a second. “Well, I could tell his conformation was good from the ground,” she said. “But that was true of a few of the others, too. I definitely started thinking he was a cut above when I was riding him.”

  “And did that opinion stay pretty much the same for the whole ride?” Stevie asked.

  Callie shook her head. “It got stronger the more I rode him.”

  “Good. And what about the personality thing? Appaloosa or not, did he seem willing to work with you?”

  This time Callie nodded immediately. “Definitely. He was right there with me pretty much from the time I mounted. A little testing, you know, but he settled right in.”

  Stevie shook her head and sighed. “Then I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

  Callie looked worried. “What?”

  Stevie grinned. “I think you found yourself a horse!”

  Alex snorted. “Tell
us another one, O all-seeing Madame Stevie.”

  “No, actually I think she may be right,” Callie said slowly. Stevie could tell that she was thinking hard. “Those were good questions. Better than the ones I’ve been asking myself.” A smile spread across her face, lighting up her blue eyes. “I think you’re right. I’ve found myself a horse!”

  “Whoo-hoo!” Stevie crowed, raising her palm for a high five.

  Callie obliged. “Thanks, Stevie,” she said. “I guess I’d better get to work setting up a vet check. I’m going to call Mr. Rayburn as soon as I get to Pine Hollow and see when he can do it.”

  “Get ready to dial, then, ’cause we’re here,” Alex announced. “You guys will have to walk up from the road. I don’t have time to stop.”

  “Okay, but at least slow down to thirty-five or so, okay?” Stevie said sarcastically, rolling her eyes at Callie. But she was grinning at the same time. She was really happy for Callie. Scooby sounded like a terrific horse for her, and Stevie knew that her friend would be a lot happier once she could start training for real instead of just noodling around with Barq.

  The two girls hopped out of the car and hurried up Pine Hollow’s long gravel drive together. Once inside the stable building, Callie turned off to use the pay phone near the office while Stevie headed across the entryway on her way to Belle’s stall. She was feeling pretty good about herself—she’d helped her friend make an important decision, and it seemed to be the right one.

  As she turned into the stable aisle, she saw Red about halfway down, talking to the new stable hand. Stevie had met Maureen the afternoon before, but she hadn’t gotten much of an impression before one of the younger riders had dragged Maureen away with a question about fly spray. Now Stevie stopped short. Something about the way Maureen was standing—lounging against the nearest stall door, one hip stuck out and almost touching Red’s leg—struck Stevie as somehow inappropriate.

  She frowned, watching as Maureen leaned forward and put her hand on Red’s upper arm, laughing at something he’d just said. Isn’t she standing a little close? Stevie thought. I mean, he’s practically a married man. She doesn’t have to hang all over him like that. What would Denise think if she—