But knowing all that didn’t make it any easier for Carole to accept that it would be almost six weeks before she would be allowed to ride her own horse—or even see him. It didn’t make her feel much better about being banned from the place that had become as much of a home to her as her own house.
As she stared blankly out the window, tuning out the lively conversation around her, Carole suddenly noticed that they were turning down Quarry Road. Her heartbeat quickened slightly as she realized that they would be passing right by the turn-off onto Township Line Road. From there, it was less than a quarter mile to the gates of Pine Hollow.
Craning her neck, she peered out as the van made the turn and approached the intersection. But it was no good. The road curved gently just beyond the turn, denying Carole even the quickest glimpse of the stable’s land. All she could see as the van rumbled past Township Line Road was a couple of houses, a small field with the stubbly remains of the previous summer’s corn crop, and a thick grove of evergreens beyond.
She sat back as far as her cramped position allowed, letting out a weary sigh. She didn’t feel like looking out the window anymore. Closing her eyes, she thought about the park they were going to fix up. It was a couple of blocks beyond Whitby Street, the unofficial dividing line between the main section of Willow Creek and the one most people tried to pretend didn’t exist—an area of run-down homes and decrepit trailers where most of Carole’s friends had rarely, if ever, been.
But Carole had ventured across Whitby not too long before, when she had followed Ben Marlow there from Pine Hollow. Ben was the stable’s youngest full-time stable hand—just a couple of years older than Carole. He kept to himself, and most people were happy to let him. But Carole had sensed a kindred spirit in the taciturn stable hand after seeing the incredible love and respect he had for horses, and horses for him. That was why she couldn’t seem to resist trying to befriend Ben, even though he didn’t make it very easy. One day, curious about his life outside the stable, she’d followed him home and discovered that he lived with an older man—his grandfather, perhaps?—in a tiny, battered house. A house just a block or two from the same park where she was headed now.
Carole’s stomach lurched at the thought that she might run into Ben sometime this week. What would she do? What would he do? A week ago, the answer wouldn’t have seemed too important. But a week ago, Ben hadn’t kissed her and then looked through her as if she didn’t exist. A week ago, Carole might not have known exactly where she stood with him, but she would have felt confident in saying they were friends of some sort. Now she wasn’t even sure they were that.
Still, there wasn’t much she could do about it one way or another. If I see him, I’ll just have to deal with it, she thought. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even be able to figure out what’s going on.
There wasn’t any more time to think about it. They were turning down Whitby Street, and a moment later Craig parked at the curb at the edge of the park, the van’s tires crunching over a discarded aluminum can as he brought the vehicle to a stop.
Carole climbed out of the van with the others and looked around. The park, which was empty—it was early on a chilly morning—took up a full town block. It consisted of a wide open space with a few scraggly trees here and there. Some ancient playground equipment was clustered in the middle, where several paths converged. Once upon a time, the playground and the paths had been paved with blacktop, but now weeds poked through so thickly that the hard, cracked surface was all but hidden from view. Most of the rest of the park looked as though it might have been a lawn at some point, but the grass had long since given up trying to grow, and all that remained was hard-packed dirt. As Carole and the rest of the Hometown Hope crew wandered across the sidewalk, a slight breeze rustled the abandoned newspapers scattered here and there and sent candy wrappers and other small debris scuttling across the dirt and into the street.
“Wow,” Carole commented, forgetting her problems for a moment at the sight. “This place really is a mess.”
A volunteer standing nearby heard her and nodded. She was a moon-faced young woman with wheat-colored hair gathered in a thick ponytail at the nape of her neck. “Isn’t it awful?” she said in a soft, musical voice. “Imagine the poor children who have nowhere else to play. Doesn’t it break your heart?”
Carole nodded, but the woman didn’t really seem to expect a response. In fact, she was already pulling a pair of heavy work gloves out of her jeans pocket and hurrying toward Craig, who was handing out brooms, rakes, and trash bags.
Heaving a sigh and taking one more look around the depressing park, Carole headed that way herself. Craig had asked everyone to bring work gloves, but Carole had forgotten until that morning just before she left. Her father was sleeping in and she didn’t want to wake him to ask where his work gloves were, so she had decided that her oldest pair of winter riding gloves would have to do. Now, grabbing them out of her back jeans pocket, she pulled them on and then accepted the rake Craig handed her.
“Why don’t you join the group over at the playground, Carole?” he suggested. “Looks like there’s a lot of garbage piled up around the merry-go-round. And you’ll want to collect the fallen leaves, too—it’ll make it much easier to paint and stuff.”
“Sure,” Carole said, heading toward the playground. Several other volunteers were there already, sweeping and raking, and Carole threw herself into the work of helping them.
After a while, a flash of movement caught her eye. Glancing over, she saw a clutch of children standing on the sidewalk just outside the park, curiously watching the volunteers. There were half a dozen or so all together, all shapes and sizes. Carole’s gaze was drawn to the smallest child in the group, a tiny girl with impossibly large, dark eyes and a cloud of messy dark ringlets.
Carole couldn’t help smiling. The girl gazed at her shyly for a moment, then returned the smile briefly before ducking behind a bigger girl to hide.
Poor thing, Carole thought. If this is her idea of a good place to play, I’m really glad we’re trying to make it a little better.
The thought didn’t stay with her for long, though. She had other things to think about. Like how she was going to survive more than a month away from the stable.
Actually, it’s five weeks, three days, and, oh, about fifteen hours, she thought glumly as she attacked another pile of trash, trying to get as much benefit as she could out of the physical exercise. But who’s counting?
Lisa took a deep breath and clutched the handle of her carry-on tightly as she walked down the jetway toward the terminal. Mr. Martin had disembarked in Dallas as planned, and nobody had boarded to take his seat. The elderly woman in the aisle seat had been sound asleep within moments of takeoff. Lisa had tried to read her magazine after that, but she hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything except the coming reunion with her father. On the one hand, she couldn’t wait to see him—it had been a long three months since her last visit with him and her baby half sister, Lily.
On the other hand, this wasn’t going to be just another visit. Lisa was feeling more and more apprehensive about the inevitable college lectures. Was she really ready to hear, all over again, how foolish her decision was to commit to NVU so early?
After a moment’s hesitation, Lisa stepped off the ramp and into the terminal. “Lisa!” a familiar voice called almost at once.
“Dad!” For a second, as she turned and spotted her father hurrying toward her, Lisa allowed herself to feel all the joy and relief she always felt at seeing him these days. She dropped her bag and grabbed him in a hug.
He hugged her tightly for a long moment, then stepped back and picked up her carry-on. “It’s great to see you, honey,” he said. “How was your flight?”
“Fine.”
“Good. Now, can I assume you have several dozen suitcases to pick up at baggage claim?”
“You got it. You know Mom,” Lisa replied lightly.
“Yes, I do.” Mr. Atwood shot her a serious look as
they turned and headed off through the crowded terminal. “And I know she’s as concerned as I am about this whole college business.”
Lisa bit back a groan. Couldn’t he even wait until they got to the car? “I know that, too,” she said carefully. “And I’d really like to tell you the reasons I made the choice I did. Then I’m sure you’ll understand a little better. Maybe after we get home and have some lunch—”
“I think I already understand your main reason well enough,” her father replied with a slight frown. “I understand that your boyfriend is only a junior this year, and you don’t want to go to school somewhere far away from him.”
“Dad!” Lisa winced. “You know me better than that. Yes, it will be nice to be close to Alex—and a lot of other people, too, like Mom and my other friends. But that was only a small part of the reason I chose NVU. There are a lot of wonderful things about that school, you know, if you just stop and think about it for a second.”
“There are plenty of terrific things about all the schools on your list,” Mr. Atwood countered, glancing at her as they walked. “And the plain fact is, most of them are a whole lot better overall, academically speaking, than NVU, no matter what other things it has going for it. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Lisa didn’t answer. There was no need to, since her father was already going on about the importance of a good education in impressing future employers and business contacts.
Maybe if I just let him go on, he’ll talk himself out in a few hours and we can get on with having a nice Thanksgiving, she thought as they finally reached the baggage claim area and her father interrupted his lecture to hurry ahead and check for Lisa’s luggage. Maybe he just needs to get it out and then he’ll listen to me for a change. And then he’ll let it go.
But she knew she was kidding herself. It was already painfully obvious that this visit wasn’t going to be easy.
THREE
“Ugh.” Alex wrinkled his nose as he hoisted a pitchfork full of soiled straw and heaved it at the wheelbarrow just outside the stall in which he was standing. “You know, I’m starting to think that being ungrounded feels an awful lot like being grounded. Work, work, and more disgusting and smelly work.”
Stevie shot him a disgruntled look. “Stop complaining,” she said. “You’re the one who practically begged to come to Pine Hollow with me. I can’t help it if Max likes everyone to pitch in and make themselves useful instead of just standing around. I also can’t help it if Belle decided she didn’t feel like holding it in just for your benefit.”
She patted her horse, a spirited bay mare who was currently cross-tied in the aisle outside her stall. Then she picked up her own pitchfork and returned to the work of cleaning manure out of Belle’s stall.
Despite her reply, Stevie had to admit that her brother was right, sort of. After the first thrill of being ungrounded had passed, she had quickly realized that the timing of their release was really bad. On the positive side, they had the next week off from school. But what good did that do them when none of their friends was around to help them celebrate? Lisa was in Los Angeles with her father. Callie and Scott were visiting their old hometown with their family. Carole was grounded and working her fingers to the bone with her volunteer group. Stevie’s boyfriend, Phil, was in bed with a mild case of pneumonia.
“You know, this reeks,” Stevie said with feeling as she stabbed violently at a pile of manure-stained straw with her pitchfork. “And I’m not talking about this stall, either.”
“I know what you mean.” Alex leaned on his pitchfork and gazed at his sister. “Why did everyone have to go away this week of all weeks?”
Stevie strongly suspected that by “everyone” Alex really meant “Lisa.” She also guessed that the main reason he’d decided to hang out at Pine Hollow was because the stable reminded him of his girlfriend.
“I don’t know,” Stevie replied. She sighed, imagining for a moment how much fun she could have had in the next week if Phil hadn’t been sick. Then she pushed the thought out of her mind. It was just too depressing. “Anyway, I was thinking of taking Belle out for a nice relaxing ride through the woods today. Want to come along?”
Alex wrinkled his nose. “A trail ride with my sister?” he said. “I don’t know. I feel like enough of a loser as it is.”
“Believe me, the idea doesn’t thrill me, either,” Stevie said sharply. “But we’re stuck with each other, so we might as well make the most of it. Would you feel like less of a loser sitting around at home watching cartoons on TV with Michael?”
“It’s a toss-up.” Alex shrugged. “But anyway, why can’t we make the most of it somewhere more interesting? We could catch that new action movie—I think it’s playing at the mall.”
“I don’t want to see that. But I guess we could hit the mall if you want. Or we could go grab a slice at Pizza Manor,” Stevie suggested halfheartedly. “Or a milk shake at TD’s.” She wasn’t really hungry, but anything had to be better than standing around complaining all day. And she knew that Alex wasn’t that excited about riding. He’d only taken it up because it gave him a chance to spend even more time with Lisa.
“I guess,” Alex replied, sounding just as non-committal as Stevie felt.
“Hi, Lakes!” a new voice broke in from down the aisle. “What are you two doing here? Does this mean the prison sentence is over?”
Stevie glanced over her shoulder and saw Deborah, Max’s wife, heading toward them from the back entrance to the stable. That was a common shortcut that the whole Regnery family used to get into the stable, since their house stood on a hill just beyond the back paddocks.
“Hi, Deborah,” Stevie said. “Yep, it’s official. We’ve been paroled.”
“Finally,” Alex added, dropping his pitchfork against the wall and leaning against Belle’s stall door.
Deborah smiled and pushed back her shoulder-length auburn hair. “That’s great,” she said. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Alex said. He glanced at Stevie. “Hey, are we about done here? I’ll take the wheelbarrow out back.” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the handles and wheeled it off past Deborah, heading for the manure pit.
Meanwhile Stevie glanced behind Deborah, expecting to see one or both of her daughters trailing behind. “Where are the girls?”
“Oh, Maxi is following her father around, as usual. And Jeannie’s taking a nap,” Deborah reported. “There’s a baby monitor in her room and the office, so I figured she’d be all right for a few minutes while I ran down here and looked up a few things.”
Stevie was instantly on alert. Deborah was a successful reporter for one of the major dailies in nearby Washington, D.C. If she was looking up information at Pine Hollow … “Are you doing another story about horses?” Stevie asked eagerly.
Deborah grimaced. “Well, sort of,” she said. “But don’t get too excited—it’s not another exposé or racetrack scandal.” She sighed. “Not even close.”
“What, then?” Stevie asked curiously, patting Belle as the mare nudged at her hair with her soft nose. She couldn’t help noticing that Deborah didn’t seem particularly fired up about her errand. That was strange—Deborah loved her job, and usually it showed.
Deborah sighed again. “It’s sort of a human-interest piece,” she said, reaching out to scratch Belle on the neck. “About retired show horses. Apparently there’s some nice old lady up toward New Salisbury who takes in horses—boards them for owners who need to make room for their current mounts or whatever. She takes care of the retirees for the rest of their lives, gives them their medicines and so forth.”
“That sounds nice,” Stevie commented, releasing Belle from the cross-ties and leading her toward her stall. “It’s good that those old horses have a place to go.”
“No argument there,” Deborah agreed, leaning against the stall’s wide wooden doorway. “And I should probably be happy to give this service some more publicity. It’s just that it’s not exactly reporting, you know?”
>
Stevie shrugged, not quite sure what Deborah was saying. “Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly fast-breaking news.” She gave Belle a pat and walked to the back of the stall to check her water bucket. “But somebody has to write those kinds of stories, right?”
“Right.” Deborah frowned slightly and tugged at her thick auburn bangs. “It just seems that lately, that somebody is always me.” She shot Stevie a quick glance and shrugged. “But don’t mind me. I’m just feeling a little paranoid. Ever since my last maternity leave, I can’t help wondering if the editors take me as seriously as they used to.”
“Oh.” Now Stevie understood, at least in part. Deborah’s career meant a lot to her—Stevie could no more imagine Max’s wife giving up reporting than she could picture Carole deciding she didn’t like riding. “But those editors know you’re great at what you do,” she added as she gave Belle one last pat, stepped out of the stall, and latched the door behind her. “So what if you took a month or two off a couple of times? That doesn’t mean you forgot everything you knew about reporting.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t mean that.” Deborah smiled. “Look, like I said, I’m probably just being a little oversensitive. And just because I may not be thrilled about this particular assignment, that doesn’t mean I can blow it off. That’s why I’m here doing my research.”
Stevie thought Deborah’s cheerful expression looked a little forced, but she figured it was better to let it drop. “Cool,” she said. “What kind of stuff are you researching?”
“I’m not sure,” Deborah said. “I figured I’d just take a look through some of Max’s books and files and stuff for anything about senior show horses.”
“Hmmm.” Stevie blinked thoughtfully, trying to remember anything she’d ever read about the topic. “I’m not sure you’ll find a whole lot of info on that there. Why don’t you check the Internet instead?”
Deborah looked interested. “I tried that,” she said. “I typed in retired show horse into a search engine, and ended up with nearly a million hits. I thought I’d do it the old-fashioned—”
Cross-Ties Page 3