“We make chains out of colored paper,” said Lisa.
“And we make chains out of popcorn and cranberries,” Kate said. “So what are we waiting for?”
The four girls went into the lodge kitchen, already filled with tempting smells from the morning’s baking and the huge vat of stew that would be dinner. Stevie declared herself in charge of popping popcorn. Kate located the bags of cranberries. It didn’t take long before the irresistible scent of fresh popcorn joined the other delicious smells in the kitchen. Phyllis produced needles and thread, and the four girls sat in a circle on the floor around the bowls, ready to create “the most spectacular decorations ever put on a tree,” as Stevie had pronounced they would be. It seemed like the perfect activity for a wintry afternoon three days before Christmas.
The lodge door opened wide, bringing in a gust of wind and a brushing of snow.
“Hello!” called the three Finnegans.
“You made it okay from your cabin?” Phyllis asked, standing up to greet them.
“The snow seems to be letting up now,” Mrs. Finnegan said. “There’s a lot of it and plenty of it is blowing around, but not so much is falling down.”
“Well, come on in and get warm by the fire,” Phyllis said. “The girls are making chains for the tree—”
“And we need two more for bridge,” said Ellen Katz. “Would you like to play some more?”
“Sure,” said Gary’s parents. They joined the Katzes at the card table.
Frank Devine looked out the window and then opened the door to check on the weather. It was still snowing, but it didn’t seem to be a blizzard anymore, just a gentle snow. Lisa peered through the window. The whole world was fresh, clean, and white. It looked so beautiful and serene, it was hard to imagine that only a few hours ago it had been dangerously fierce.
There was a loud noise then, approaching the lodge.
“It’s the snowplow,” Frank said. “They’ve cleared the main road and our drive is open.”
“That’s always nice,” said Phyllis. “Even when we have no intention of going out, it’s good to know we can.”
“Actually, I do have an intention of going out,” Frank said. “I want to get to town to talk to the sheriff about the breaks in my fence and the missing horses from my herd and Westerly’s. Something’s up and I think the local law needs to know.”
A look of concern crossed Phyllis’s face. “The weather’s so unpredictable. Can’t you do this by phone?” she asked.
“I think it’ll be better in person,” Frank said. “I talked to Westerly earlier. He wants to go with me. I’ll take our truck. I promise I’ll drive carefully.”
“In these conditions, I don’t think you’ve got any choice,” Phyllis said. “We’ll see you later.”
He bundled up, gave Phyllis a kiss, and ducked out the door, pulling his hat down over his ears.
“Let’s see if we can’t finish the tree before he gets back,” Kate said. “That’ll be a nice welcome.”
The Saddle Club agreed.
Carole was making a pattern of two cranberries and three popcorns, then two cranberries and so on. She liked the look of the contrasting colors.
“Nice,” said Gary.
“Thanks,” Carole said without pausing in her work. “Would you like to try?”
“Sure,” he said, sitting down on the floor next to her. She put her own strand down for a minute and found a needle and some thread. She handed them to Gary. He looked mystified.
“Would you like me to thread it for you?” she asked. Gary nodded a little bashfully. Carole pulled a length of thread off the spool.
Stevie made a strangled sound in her throat. Lisa knew exactly what it was. Stevie was thinking what a wimp Gary was! He couldn’t even thread his own needle! And was that really Carole Hanson doing it for him? Lisa glared at Stevie. The Finnegans were in the VIP Suite and they couldn’t be rude to important guests. Stevie saw Lisa’s look and swallowed her snort.
“Here, now you knot it like this and then it’ll hold. Just poke the needle through the berry,” Carole was murmuring to Gary.
She demonstrated her technique, giving Gary an extra warning about being careful not to break the fragile popcorn. Lisa gave Stevie a dirty look, just in case. Stevie bit her lip.
“Ouch!” Gary cried.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot to tell you not to hold your finger on the other side of the berry,” Carole said solicitously. “Are you okay?”
“What’s the matter, Gary?” Mrs. Finnegan asked from across the room.
“It’s my finger,” he said. “I pricked it with a needle.”
“Did you hurt yourself?” his mother asked. There was a great deal of concern in her voice, much more concern than any of the girls—even Carole—thought a needle prick warranted.
He examined it. Lisa could see a tiny drop of blood where he’d pierced his skin.
“I think I’m okay,” he said.
“What are you doing with a needle?” Mr. Finnegan asked sharply.
“Making decorations,” Gary said. “Or at least I was.”
“You can’t use a needle, Gary,” Mrs. Finnegan said.
“Sure he can,” Carole said. “He was doing a pretty good job of it, too, until he stuck himself.”
“No, I mean you may not use a needle,” said Mrs. Finnegan. “It’s too dangerous.”
Dangerous? What was dangerous about a needle? Lisa wondered. Did Gary have some rare disease or something?
“Your guitar-playing is much too important to risk for the sake of some tree decoration!” Mrs. Finnegan declared.
Lisa could barely believe her ears. And some people thought her parents were too protective! She couldn’t wait to hear what Gary was going to say to his mother about that! His response turned out to be as surprising as his mother’s reaction.
“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t thinking, Mom,” he said. And he put down the needle.
What surprised Lisa even more was Carole’s reaction to the whole thing.
“Oh, Gary!” she gushed. “I should have known better. I’m sorry, Mrs. Finnegan. It was my fault. I just forgot to show him how to hold the berry, and then—”
“It’s okay, Carole,” Gary said. “No harm done. My finger will be good as new in no time, and besides, where I hurt it won’t affect my playing anyway.”
“Sure?”
“I’m sure,” he said.
Carole spoke up again then. “Just to be sure, Gary, would you mind trying out your guitar, like in here? Would you sing for us?”
“What a great idea,” Gary said enthusiastically. “How about a few Christmas carols? Would you like that?”
The look on Carole’s face answered the question. Gary went for his guitar. He returned in a few minutes and sat on a chair near the girls and not far from the bridge players. He began by strumming a few chords, and then he started singing.
His first choice was “O, Holy Night.” It had always been one of Lisa’s favorite Christmas songs. It was both haunting and dramatic. The guitar accompaniment gave it a new and interesting quality, and she enjoyed listening. But there was something odd about the whole thing. The song seemed too big for the room and Lisa was never for a second unaware of the fact that Gary was performing. The song was a showcase for his voice, and the overall effect was a little embarrassing.
Lisa glanced at Carole. She appeared totally mesmerized. Lisa wondered how Carole could not be feeling some of the same discomfort.
Gary was unable to join a group and string cranberries on a thread, but he was totally able to make himself the center of attention. Phyllis Devine had put aside her work to listen. The bridge players put down their cards to listen. Even the popcorn-and-cranberry stringers were compelled to listen. Everything was centered on Gary. What had been a genial, comfortable, warm evening by the fire for everyone became the Gary Finnegan Show.
He finished singing then. There was a moment of silence, and then Carole began applauding vigorously. Every
body else joined her. Gary smiled. Actually, Lisa thought, correcting the observation, Gary glowed.
When the applause stopped, Gary started singing “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful” and invited others to join in on the chorus—as if they couldn’t possibly sing the verses with him. Or, Lisa thought, so that they wouldn’t interfere with his solos on the verses.
Gary’s parents joined him on the second verse, singing a tight harmony with a country twang. They seemed just as happy as he to be in the limelight. They were all happy. That was when Lisa realized that whatever else might be going on—and she suspected that a great deal was—she and her friends had oddly succeeded in making the Finnegans very happy. They were VIP guests and they should do whatever they wanted.
Carole was so smart! All she’d been doing was saying exactly the right thing to make them feel welcome. Lisa wondered how she’d missed the obvious for so long.
IT WAS ALMOST ten o’clock when the last strains of “Silent Night” echoed through the Bar None lodge. Lisa looked out the window. The ground was covered by loads of fresh snow, but there was only a dusting coming down from the sky. Where there had so recently been gale-force winds, there was only a cold breeze. A few stars were visible through the broken clouds above.
“I think I’d like to check on the horses in the barn,” Lisa said. “I’d like to know they’re all snug.”
Her friends looked at one another. Lisa cared about the horses, all right, but she wasn’t any more worried about them than she had been about her tack that morning. She wanted to see John.
“Take some carrots from the refrigerator,” Phyllis suggested.
“Okay,” Lisa agreed.
“Can I come along?” Gary asked.
“You—wha—uh …” Lisa’s mind raced. Then she realized there was only one answer. “Of course. But don’t forget to bundle up. It’s cold out there.”
It wasn’t an easy walk to the barn. Fifteen inches of snow had fallen, but the wind had redistributed it, so while some places only had an inch or two, the snow had drifted to three or four feet in others. It was Lisa’s second adventurous trip of the day.
They slipped into the barn. Lisa was hoping to find a light on. More important, she was hoping to find John Brightstar there.
No such luck. The stable was dark except for the soft glow of the emergency exit lights. The bunkhouse where John and his father lived was completely dark. She was stuck with Gary.
She handed him a bunch of carrots and began introducing him to the horses. He seemed completely at ease with the animals. Lisa remembered what John had said about judging dudes by their riding skills, not by what they claimed they could do. Gary did seem to know a thing or two about horses.
“Do you get much chance to ride?” she asked him.
“As much as I can,” he said. “I really love it, but our schedule doesn’t permit it daily the way I’d like. I was raised in horse country, you know. When my parents were on the road, making a name for themselves, I was at home on the ranch with my grandfather, learning everything I could about horses. I’ve ridden since before I could walk.”
“Really?” Lisa asked.
“Definitely,” Gary said. “Grandpa took me to my first rodeo when I was three.”
“Wow, that’s young to sit for such a long show,” Lisa said.
“No, I mean I performed in my first rodeo when I was three. They had a junior barrel race. Once I’d learned how to do that, Grandpa taught me about roping and cutting. It took me a while to get good enough to compete in those, but by the time I was eight, I was the county champion.”
“Eight?” Lisa had some trouble believing that. Roping and cutting were hard-learned skills that required a great deal of strength. It was difficult to imagine an eight-year-old doing them well. She kept her doubts to herself. If Carole could be diplomatic, she could too.
“I’ve got a whole shelf of rodeo awards. Two shelves, in fact, but those are just the ones I display.”
“Wow,” Lisa said with as much sincerity as she could muster. Humility was not a problem for Gary. He didn’t have any.
“Mom’s going to make me put some of them away, though. The display case was actually built for my platinum records, and they do take up more space than the roping and cutting awards.”
“Wow,” said Lisa. She knew she was repeating herself, but it was the most neutral thing she could say and a whole lot better than what she wanted to say. Gary and his parents were important to the Devines’ business. Lisa would hold her tongue, even if that meant it got sore from teethmarks.
She patted Marshmallow and gave him a carrot. Lisa would have been glad to tell Gary how Marshmallow always came in for the winter, but he was talking about something else. She focused in on it.
“… and she seems to be a really accomplished horsewoman. I mean, with a few more years of practice, she might think of doing some competing.…”
Lisa grimaced. Who was he talking about? She’d lost track. She had to make him continue talking until she could catch up.
“Wow,” she said.
“No, I mean it. I think Carole’s got some potential as a rider.…”
Some potential? Carole was a fantastic rider! She was the best rider at Pine Hollow and she and Starlight had won Reserve Champion at Briarwood—not to mention the blue ribbon she’d won on Long Island last summer. Some potential? Just who did this guy think he was?
“But tell me, uh, Lisa, do you know Carole pretty well?”
There was a change in Gary’s voice, and Lisa gave him a suspicious glance.
“Sure,” Lisa said. “We’re best friends. Stevie and Carole and I hang out together all the time. Why?”
“Well, she seems pretty nice,” Gary said.
“Very,” said Lisa, wondering briefly when Gary had stopped thinking about himself long enough to notice that someone else was nice.
“I mean, I know she likes our music and all, but she seems like a special person, too,” said Gary.
Gary liked Carole! The thought came to Lisa so suddenly that she was totally unprepared for it.
“Wow,” she said involuntarily.
“Yeah, I thought so,” said Gary.
The boastful, boring, Mr. Center of Attention Gary Finnegan had a crush on Lisa’s best friend, and, she realized, he’d come out to the barn with her just to pump her about Carole! Lisa was truly torn. She had an opportunity here to save Carole from a lot of grief and unwanted attention. Her mind raced. She could tell Gary that Carole was pretty nice and that most people barely noticed her bad breath or that she never changed her clothes. No. Carole was her friend and she couldn’t ruin her reputation at the same time as she was saving her. Friends wouldn’t do that. This called for some subtlety.
“Does she have a lot of friends?” Gary asked.
Lisa thought for a moment. Everybody liked Carole. She was a nice, honest, good person. She was friendly and respectful to all. But she had two friends who were closer than anyone.
“A lot of people like her,” Lisa said. “Stevie and I are her best friends—unless you want to count horses. Any horse is her best friend, especially a certain one named Starlight.”
“No, I mean really close friends,” Gary said.
Lisa thought that was an odd question. She and Stevie were Carole’s best friends. She’d made that clear. What could Gary be talking about? Oh, Lisa thought. She could be so dumb sometimes! Gary was asking about boyfriends.
“Like, ones she sees a lot,” Gary persisted.
“I suppose you mean like Cam,” Lisa said, letting the name slip easily.
“Cam? Is that a boy or a girl?” Gary asked.
“A boy, of course,” Lisa said.
“Like her boyfriend?” Gary asked.
She was on to something here. By telling Gary about Cam and perhaps exaggerating ever so slightly, she could get Gary out of Carole’s hair without making Carole look bad. Cam was a friend of Carole’s. They shared a passion for horses, and it sometimes seemed t
hat they each liked horses better than they liked each other. Still, Cam would do as a boyfriend in a pinch, and this was definitely a pinch. Lisa proceeded cautiously.
“I’m not sure ‘boyfriend’ is quite the right way to describe him,” Lisa said.
“It’s more casual than that?” Gary asked.
“Not exactly,” Lisa said. “I meant that it seems to me to be more serious than that.” Well, she told herself, they were both very serious—about horses.
“I kind of thought Carole was interested in me. Did she say anything to you?”
“She loves your music, you know,” Lisa said. “Stevie and I just don’t know much about country-and-western music. Carole shares a passion for it with the man closest to her …”
She hoped Gary would think she meant Cam. Of course she was referring to Carole’s father.
“Tell me about Cam,” Gary said. “Is he a big guy?”
“Oh, very,” Lisa said truthfully. Cam was already almost six feet tall. “He’s as tall as can be—and what an athlete!” She meant he was a great rider, but she hoped she was giving the impression that he was a football player or, better yet, a wrestler or boxer.
“Quick?”
“Extremely!” Lisa said.
“But he’s in Virginia, right?” Gary asked.
“Sure, but you never know with Cam. He’s so crazy about Carole, he could just show up anyplace, anytime.”
“Really?” Gary was beginning to sound nervous. Lisa suppressed a smile, thinking how proud Stevie would be of the job she was doing on Carole’s behalf.
They were interrupted by the ringing of a telephone.
It startled them both. Marshmallow’s ears flicked. Lisa jumped.
The phone was right behind her on a pillar in the barn. Without thinking, she picked it up. Before she could say “Hello?” she realized that she was on an extension phone. She heard Phyllis Devine answer the call from the main lodge. The call wasn’t for Lisa, and she knew right away that she shouldn’t have picked up the phone, but there she was.
“Hi, hon. It’s me,” a male voice said to Phyllis on the other extension.
It was Frank. Lisa knew she should hang up, but if she did it now, both Phyllis and Frank would know she’d been listening. A little embarrassed, she continued listening.
Western Star Page 7