by C. S. Adler
“Look at him, Daddy. Isn’t he beautiful?”
“He’s a nice-looking animal. Yes, I’ll grant you that.”
Lainey whistled her two-note call, and Whiskey pricked up his ears and faced her across the corral. Even stock-still, he vibrated with energy.
She left her father outside the fence and entered the corral. “Whiskey,” she called.
Abruptly, he broke into a gallop and came racing full out, straight for her. The double-time pounding of his hoofbeats started up a pounding echo in Lainey’s chest. What had gotten into Whiskey? Was he planning to run her down? And, with Dad watching, why did Whiskey have to start acting crazy when she wanted Dad to see how well behaved he was!
“Lainey, get out of his way. Move it,” Dad yelled. He was wrestling the corral gate open, but it seemed to be stuck.
She stood with her legs braced, perfectly still as Whiskey flew at her, nostrils flaring, like some wild stallion on the attack. Fear struck an ax blade through her chest. She had to jump. But which way? Suddenly there he was, looming over her, huge and powerful.
And then Whiskey stopped short.
He was so close, his yeasty breath tickled her cheek. Mischievously, he bumped her shoulder with his warm nose as if to say, “Scared you, didn’t I?”
“That crazy animal could’ve killed you,” Dad shouted. “Why didn’t you move, Lainey?”
“Because I knew he wouldn’t hurt me,” she said.
Lopez had come up on Chico without their being aware of him. Dad noticed him now and turned toward him.
“This is my father, Lopez,” Lainey said. “He thinks Whiskey’s a dangerous animal.”
Lopez’s lips lifted in a disdainful smile. His beard had come in well, and he looked more like a dapper, modern-day conquistador than ever.
“You don’t think this horse is safe for a little girl like her, do you?” Dad asked.
“She can handle him,” Lopez said.
“Please, Dad,” Lainey begged. “Whiskey was just teasing. He didn’t mean any harm.”
“He could cripple you not meaning any harm.”
“But I’ve told you, Dad—I have to ride him in the parade.”
Whiskey bumped Lainey’s sore shoulder gently with his nose again. She winced but didn’t budge.
“You’re supposed to be expert with horses,” Dad said to Lopez in a strained voice.
Lopez looked him straight in the eye without responding.
“Just tell me this. If she were your daughter, would you let her ride this horse tomorrow?”
“If she were mine, I’d trust her,” Lopez said in a quiet voice. “I’d be proud of her, and I’d trust her.” He waited half a minute while Dad stood there looking stunned, then he clip-clopped off into the corral on Chico.
Dad eyed Lainey through the heavy silence between them.
She faced him, nearly bursting with the confidence Lopez’s approval had given her, but all she said was, “He’d trust me, Dad. Can’t you?”
He rubbed his chin with his big hand and groaned. “I’ve taken a lot of risks in my life and come out a loser, Lainey. If I risk you—”
“You won’t lose, Daddy. I promise you. Whiskey and I are going to do fine in that parade. You’ll see.”
“All right. All right. I do trust you. I do. You can ride him, but for my sake, Lainey, you just better be careful.” He put his arms around her and held her close, as if he’d like to keep her safe there forever.
Meanwhile, Whiskey pawed the ground, softly blowing out air and waiting for Lainey.
Chapter 13
“You’ve got to be at the courthouse at eight sharp,” Amber said over the phone.
Lainey looked at the clock. It was only 5:00 A.M. “You should have called me earlier, Amber,” Lainey teased. “How am I ever going to make it in three hours?”
“I only just woke up,” Amber protested. Anxiously, she asked, “You need any help?”
“Just kidding. I got everything ready last night. All I have to do is get Whiskey and trot on over. I’ll be there. Don’t worry.” She smiled into the receiver as Amber breathed out a whoosh of relief and hung up.
It was cool in the dim light of dawn. Lainey listened, but it seemed the ringing of the phone hadn’t awakened her parents. The house still rested quietly in the lap of sleep. Amber’s riding pants, the blouse Lainey had ironed last night, and the boots she’d polished were packed in a gym bag. All she had to do was slip on her old jeans and sneakers, eat a peanut butter sandwich, and leave. Her parents knew she’d be leaving early, but she wrote a note saying she was off. Then she started walking to the ranch.
Today might be the last time she took this road, she thought. Another week and they’d be moving. She’d have to come by to see Mr. Dodge, of course, although visiting the ranch once Whiskey was gone would be depressing. She didn’t want to even imagine how much she’d miss him. But no matter, Whiskey had to find a new owner. He had to look so fine in this parade today that some rich girl would buy him and give him his own paddock and plenty of good feed and lots of loving attention.
Lainey’s lip trembled. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she couldn’t keep Whiskey herself. It wasn’t fair that Dad’s business was failing. He worked so hard, and he was such a good man. Well, and she was a good girl and Whiskey was a good horse, and Mr. Dodge was good, too, and look what was happening to him! “Life isn’t always fair,” Mom would say. And then she’d smile and add that no matter, you just had to keep chugging along doing your best. Shape up and stop sniveling, Lainey told herself. The rider had to look good, too, on parade.
Whiskey was one of the few horses in the corral who seemed to be awake. Lainey could smell the warm, rank horseflesh in the dewy air of early morning. It was an odor she loved, and she couldn’t imagine why her father objected to the smell on her.
“Come on, Whiskey. We have to make you beautiful. Today’s your big day,” she told him when her whistle brought him to her.
He snuffled, and she kissed his doughy muzzle. “Have I ever told you I love you, Whiskey?” she whispered, as if anyone were around to hear her. Saying it made her eyes fill up again. Impatiently, she shook her head. No time for tears this morning.
She’d forgotten to bring a halter from the barn, but she only needed her arm on Whiskey’s neck to make him follow her through the corral gate and over to the hitching rail. There she had a moment of anxiety. If she let go of him and he ran away now, it was her own stupid fault for not thinking ahead. “Whiskey, you stay here a second, okay? I’ll bring you some oats,” she bribed. Then she rushed into the barn and grabbed the nearest halter. Whiskey was right behind her when she turned. He’d followed her into the barn.
She chuckled and said, “Oh, you. When are you going to listen to what I tell you and just do it, huh?” She laid her cheek against his and led him back outside to the rail.
He munched contentedly on the bucket of oats she’d promised him while she gave him his last brushing. “You’re going to be the best-looking horse in that parade today,” she assured him.
The sun was roof high when she finished. Its rays struck reddish embers from Whiskey’s mink brown hair. Lainey gave her favorite saddle a last rubdown. She’d already cleaned and oiled it. It took her less than a minute to change into her riding pants and shirt and leave her work clothes in the gym bag in the barn. Finally, she fitted the bridle over Whiskey’s narrow head. “You know how special today is, don’t you?” she asked him. His eyes studied her. Of course he did. He understood everything. Nobody would ever convince her he didn’t.
“The best horse in the parade,” she crooned to him. “Just the very best.”
“Came out to wish you luck,” Mr. Dodge said. He was walking with a cane today, Lainey saw. Like the ranch, he seemed to be deteriorating fast.
“How are you, Mr. Dodge?”
“Not bad. Not bad. You got Whiskey shined up like a show horse. We should get a fortune for him at the auction.”
“
What I want to get is a good home for him.”
“Well, whatever happens, you done a good job. How’d you make your dad change his mind about letting you ride? He sure didn’t sound like he was going to give in yesterday.”
“It was Lopez,” she said. “Something Lopez said.” She lifted herself lightly into the saddle.
“That so? Well, Lopez must think pretty highly of you, Lainey. He don’t have much good to say about two-legged creatures as a rule, especially not female ones.” Mr. Dodge patted Whiskey’s rump. “You both look like winners. Think he’ll go over that bridge okay?”
“He didn’t have any problem with it yesterday.”
“Is that so? Well, good luck, then. I’ll see you at the park. I hear the auction’ll be held by the new ball field parking lot. Should be easy to find.”
“Should be. I’ll see you, Mr. Dodge.”
She adjusted her battered felt hat. It was the only thing she was wearing besides her boots that didn’t look crisp and new. “This’ll be your lucky hat,” Dad had told her when he gave it to her—back in the days when Cobb Builders promised to be a big success and there was sure to be a horse to go with the hat eventually. Never mind, she told herself; this morning she was riding the horse she would choose if she could have any in the world.
Whiskey rocked her along steadily in the saddle on the long trek to the courthouse. She even let him trot for a while when they were still on the outskirts of town, where traffic was light and there was plenty of undeveloped land alongside the road. Today Whiskey’s trot was so smooth she barely bounced in the saddle with it, and trotting ate up the ground faster. They’d get to the courthouse early, but that would be a plus. It would allow Whiskey time to get used to the crowd and the other horses in the parade.
There it was, the bridge over the irrigation ditch. She could just see its metal arch gleaming dully in the distance.
But what was happening on it? An accident? Two police cars with top lights flashing blocked the middle of the bridge. Men were setting up barricades. And a couple of cars were sprawled at awkward angles. It looked as if they were still allowing a single lane of traffic across the bridge, though.
Lainey slowed Whiskey to a walk and approached the bottleneck cautiously. If he had to cross the bridge on the mesh rather than on the deck, she didn’t want to try it when any cars were also crossing. She held Whiskey back until a car passed and then a truck. He began to toss his head and dance his feet about impatiently. When she set him walking toward the bridge again, she told him, “Relax, Whiskey, it’s just a little narrower today, that’s all. You can do it. No problem for a steady guy like you.” But she could feel the pulling of his neck.
A sudden rise of his body and Whiskey bolted.
He flew straight for the three-foot barricade and leaped it as if it weren’t there. His feet touched the deck. Then he careened past the police cars, twisting wildly to avoid the bashed-in cars involved in the accident. Straight down the middle of the highway on the other side of the bridge he galloped, while Lainey did her best to guide him to the side of the road.
Behind her, she heard the scream of a police car’s siren. She couldn’t believe it! Was there a policeman in Arizona who didn’t understand horses well enough to know it was dangerous to chase them with a siren blaring?
Whiskey lunged forward, straining with all his might to get away from the screaming thing chasing him. Suddenly, he veered off the road into somebody’s front yard. He leaped another fence, a high one this time. Lainey didn’t make the leap with him. She lost her balance, fell, and landed on her back with a whomp.
For a while she blacked out. When she came to, a young policeman was standing there with his ticket book open. He looked dismayed. “You all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Where’s Whiskey?”
“The horse? He’s over there.” The policeman pointed. Whiskey was standing by the swimming pool looking as nonchalant as an invited guest waiting for the party to begin. “I’m giving you a ticket for jumping that barricade,” the policeman said.
Lainey stared at his round, beardless face. “You nearly killed me,” she said. “You scared my horse half crazy. I didn’t jump that thing on purpose. I don’t even know how to jump. Whiskey spooked. He didn’t expect anything to be on the bridge, and when he saw that barricade, he just took off. I could’ve stopped him soon enough if you hadn’t chased us.”
The young policeman looked uncertain. “Well,” he said, “all right. I’ll let you off this time, but you better not ignore a police barricade again. They’re there for a purpose, you know.”
She was tempted to reply that he’d better not chase horses with siren blaring again either, but she held her tongue. Her head hurt. She touched the back of it carefully. Nothing wet there that might be blood, fortunately.
Seeing her gesture, the policeman asked anxiously,
“You want to go to the emergency room? Maybe you’d better.”
“No, I’m fine.” She got to her feet to prove it. “I have to get to a parade. What time is it, please?”
It was seven-thirty. She still could make it. “My father’ll be there,” she said as the policeman hesitated about letting her go. “He’ll take care of me if I need anything.”
Sheepishly, he said, “It’s my first day on the job.”
She unlatched the gate to the pool and collected Whiskey. He was calm now, as he usually was immediately after he’d acted up, Lainey realized. She mounted him, said good-bye to the policeman, and rode off. Actually, she told herself, she’d been lucky no one had come storming out of the house to complain about a horse tearing up their yard.
“You just made it,” Amber said when Lainey brought Whiskey to a stop beside her in front of the small stone courthouse.
Lainey’s head was throbbing. Her shoulder and hip ached, and she felt nauseous, whether from nerves or the fall she didn’t know. “How long is the parade?” she asked, wanting to know how long she had to endure.
“Not more than an hour. Why?”
“I had an accident. Whiskey jumped a fence, and I fell off. Do I look okay?”
“He threw you!” Amber used her bandanna to whisk dirt off Lainey. “There, you don’t look too bad. What happened? How did he throw you?”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Lainey said, and briefly explained about the barricade and the police car.
The square in front of the courthouse steps was a carnival of horses walking around or standing and facing in every direction. Anyone who wanted to ride in the parade was welcome. Little girls had come on ponies, old men in military uniform, ladies in fancy fringed western shirts and boots, kids with a banner from a 4-H club.
The nearest float carried an environmental display of Arizona flora and fauna. Kids on foot in red and white baseball uniforms were getting ordered about by a loud-voiced man. Several people held up homemade banners. A man was shrilly hawking his helium balloons. To add to the excitement, a brass band began tuning up. At the first resonating sounds, horses started sidestepping, backing up, and in one case, rearing. Whiskey stood still, with his ears stretched forward as if he were intrigued.
“Let’s go,” someone yelled, and a man on a white horse with a flag set off toward the park. A car full of dignitaries followed, and the brass marching band fell in behind the car. The bandsmen wore high red fezzes with tassels. They set off with a drumroll and a blast of horns. Their music was as loud as any Lainey had ever heard.
“This is it,” Amber yelled over the tubas. “Let’s go.”
Whiskey didn’t need much encouragement. He responded immediately to Lainey’s touch and surged forward eagerly. She let him move up to the front line of riders, just behind the marching band. It took her a minute to figure out that the reason Whiskey’s gait felt different was that he was prancing. He was picking his legs up high and holding his head erect, moving like a dancer in time to the music.
She couldn’t help but grin despite the pain in her head. Whiskey l
iked music. What a horse he was! She laughed in delight.
Amber drew up beside her. “Wow,” she said. “You didn’t tell me he could do that.”
“I didn’t know,” Lainey said.
Whiskey pranced the entire route of the parade. At one point bulbs flashed in Lainey’s eyes as a photographer snapped pictures. He stepped up alongside her leg to ask Lainey for her name.
“Is it okay if we print a picture of you and your horse in the paper, Elaine Cobb?”
“Sure,” Lainey said, but she was careful to explain that Whiskey belonged to Mr. Dodge.
“Look at that horse, Mommy. Look at that horse dance!” a child squealed in wonder along the route to the park. She was pointing to Whiskey. Lainey sat up straighter, so proud it almost took her headache away.
When they got to the park, she saw that her cheering section had come in full force. There was her father. He stood tall and broad with Ryan and his father and Mr. Dodge, in front of their parked cars. Ryan’s smile stretched off his cheeks. He gave her a thumbs-up sign. Her father’s face had a matching grin as he watched her. When had he last grinned that joyously? It had been weeks, months maybe.
Next thing Lainey knew, the parade was abruptly over. Someone on a loudspeaker advised the crowd where refreshments were to be found and said the horse auction was about to begin. Lainey dismounted, introduced Amber to Ryan, and met Ryan’s father, who thanked her for single-handedly getting Ryan interested in horses. She denied that but accepted her male supporters’ compliments on Whiskey’s performance with pleasure. “Where’s Mom?” she asked her father.
“Potential customer showed up, so she stayed.”
Amber tugged at Lainey’s sleeve. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “Dad’s meeting me with the horse trailer by the gate, Lainey. Let me know how the auction comes out.”
“Okay,” Lainey said. She turned to find a stranger leading Whiskey away to the far side of the parking lot, where the horses to be auctioned off were being shown. Instantly, Lainey stopped hearing what was being said to her. She had an urge to stop the man and snatch her horse back. But Whiskey wasn’t her horse. She could only stand there helplessly and let him go.