“Look, all we have to do is to take Lisa’s name out and insert Phil’s and A.J.’s and we’re in business. We’ll miss you, that’s for sure, but these guys can do it. And Phil promised.”
“I feel terrible,” said Lisa.
“Don’t,” Carole told her. “Just think how nice it’ll be to sit on a tropical beach while we sweat, scrape, sweep, and paint.”
“That’s what I mean,” Lisa said.
“And it’s what I mean, too,” said Carole. “You’ve been talking about how your parents have seemed sort of crabby recently. They need a vacation and so do you. You need the time on the beach.”
“And don’t worry,” Stevie said. “When you get back, we’ll have lots and lots of things for you to do to make up for all the work you missed this week.”
“I guess that’s what I’m afraid of,” Lisa said. “The manure pile?”
“It’ll be waiting for you,” Stevie assured her.
“Well, then, maybe it’s okay if I go.”
Just then, the door to the tack room flew open. The girls didn’t even have to look to see who it was. There was only one person at Pine Hollow who would not respect a closed door with at least a knock.
“Come on in, Veronica,” Carole said without turning.
Veronica diAngelo sashayed into the room as if she owned it, looking disdainfully at The Saddle Club.
“Have you rented the place for the day?” she asked.
“No,” Stevie told her. “We were just planning. We’re going to paint this room as a birthday present for Max. Would you like to help?”
Stevie, of course, knew what the answer would be. She just wanted to give Veronica the opportunity to utter her favorite phrase.
“Isn’t that what stable hands are for?” Veronica asked. She picked up her horse’s tack and walked back out of the room without another word.
The girls waited until Veronica was around the corner before they began laughing. It was strangely comforting to have someone so completely predictable in their midst.
“I still wish I could be here this week,” Lisa said when the girls calmed down.
“Don’t worry. We both wish we could be in San Felipe,” Stevie assured her.
“I guess that makes us even,” Lisa said, smiling. “And I can’t even help you begin the pre-paint cleanup. I’ve got to go get some sunscreen, shampoo, and boring stuff like that before I pack. I’m out of here.”
The girls hugged one another. Lisa promised to send postcards, which they all knew would arrive about a week after she got home.
As she walked out of the room, Lisa could hear Stevie flipping open her chart.
“All right, now, the first item is moving everything.”
“Then let’s get started,” Carole said.
Lisa smiled. She definitely had mixed feelings about missing out on this great idea, but the beaches of San Felipe seemed like a good alternative.
LISA FUMBLED WITH the key card to her cabin. She slid it in one way and it didn’t work. She turned it around. Still no luck. She turned it over. The little light turned green and the door swung open.
Glancing around, Lisa realized it was a nice cabin—not too fancy, but just right. It had a single bed in it, nighttable, dresser, mirror, clean bathroom. It was all she needed, really, but it seemed kind of empty. She wished, not for the first time that day, that she had a friend with her.
The trip to San Felipe had been uneventful. The plane was full of vacationers, all traveling in pairs or as part of groups, headed to the islands in search of sun. Lisa had suddenly felt lonely. It didn’t help that, since their reservations had been made so late, her seat was far from her parents’. She’d sat with a young couple, apparently on their honeymoon, who seemed totally uninterested in talking to Lisa except when they had to climb over her to get to the lavatory.
When they’d arrived at the resort, she’d found the same held true for their rooms. Her parents’ cabin was in one section of the resort and hers was in another. It didn’t really matter. Lisa was old enough not to need her parents next door, but she did feel isolated, as she had on the plane. The one piece of good news was that the honeymooners were nowhere in sight.
Well, the first few minutes or hours in any new place are always a little awkward, Lisa told herself. The thing to do is to be logical. Lisa was good at being logical, and she knew what the logical thing to do was now: She unpacked. It took her all of five minutes. It only took another five to shed her spring clothes from Virginia and put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt with some sandals.
The next step was to see what her parents were up to. Lisa tucked her key card in her pocket and set off in search of their cabin.
Her parents were nowhere near as logical as Lisa. Their suitcases weren’t unpacked, and they hadn’t even changed their clothes.
When Lisa asked what they should do first, her mother told her that they were both tired and were planning to take a nap. Lisa could do whatever she liked, but if she didn’t want to nap, how about going for a swim?
“We’ll see you at dinner. Seven o’clock in the dining room, okay?” her mother suggested.
“Okay,” she agreed, though it didn’t feel okay, and it particularly didn’t feel okay when the door to her parents’ room closed. What it felt was lonely.
On the other hand, Lisa realized that her parents had been up even earlier than she had and that they were both probably tired and they also needed time together. Okay, she told herself. I’ll go far a swim. After all, the ocean was there, it was warm, it was inviting, and she had enough sunscreen to last three vacations.
She returned to her room, put on her bathing suit, picked up her sunscreen, book, two towels, hat, and sun-glasses, and headed for the beach.
It was late afternoon when she got there—late by resort standards. Most of the vacationers had gotten their fill of sun and fresh air and were back in their rooms showering and getting ready for the evening. Lisa welcomed the quiet. She spread her beach towel out on the sand, slathered herself with sunscreen, and then lay down, tucking the other towel under her head for a pillow. It was all she needed. Almost as soon as she closed her eyes, she was asleep, her mind filled with visions of scraping and sweeping, washing and painting, and mounds of tack piled in the middle of her room at the resort.
“JUST WHAT IS going on here?” Mrs. Reg asked, looking at the large pile of tack that Stevie and Carole had made in the middle of the feed room. Mrs. Reg—short for Mrs. Regnery—was Max’s mother and the stable manager. Her hands were on her hips and there was a scowl on her face. Mrs. Reg did not tolerate a mess in her stable.
“We’re moving the tack room stuff,” Stevie said.
“I can see that. What I want to know is, why?”
“For Max,” Stevie began.
“I hardly think he’ll thank you for making a mess in the feed room,” she said.
“No,” Carole said, “you don’t understand—”
“You’ve got that right,” said Mrs. Reg.
“It’s Max’s birthday present.”
“Well, he will be surprised …,” she said sarcastically.
“I think I’d better explain,” Stevie said. Those were the words Mrs. Reg was apparently waiting to hear, and she listened patiently as Stevie told her about her great idea for Max’s birthday surprise.
As Stevie showed her the chart and explained their schedule and their full plan, Mrs. Reg’s scowl turned into a smile.
“Oh, Max is going to love it!” she said. “But where’s Lisa? Isn’t she going to help you?”
“Lisa’s on some Caribbean island,” Stevie said.
“San Felipe,” Carole supplied.
“But Phil’s going to help instead,” said Stevie.
“Well, let me rephrase my question, then,” said Mrs. Reg. “Where’s Phil?”
“May I use your phone?” Stevie asked.
She followed Mrs. Reg back to her office and picked up the phone, dialing a number she knew well.
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Mrs. Marsten answered and told Stevie that Phil was at A.J.’s house and she might just be able to catch him. Stevie hung up quickly and dialed A.J.’s number.
A.J.’s father answered the phone. “I think they’re still here,” he said. “Hold on a sec.”
Stevie could hear him calling the boys’ names.
“Just caught them,” he told Stevie a few seconds later. “Phil will be right here.”
Stevie figured the two of them were on their way over to Pine Hollow, and that would be good news for them—as well as for Mrs. Reg.
“Hi, beautiful! I’ve been meaning to call you. It’s a good thing you caught us because we were on our way out the door!”
“How long until you get here?” Stevie asked.
“Where?” he asked.
“Pine Hollow,” she said, suspecting she was not going to like what she was about to hear.
“Actually,” said Phil, “A.J. and I are on our way to Vermont. His aunt has a condo at a ski resort, and she has room for the two of us for the whole week!”
“Phil!”
“Isn’t that great?”
“What about the tack room at Pine Hollow?” she asked.
“What about it?” he answered, his head apparently in a snow-induced fog.
“Remember how you said you’d help with painting the tack room while Max is away?”
“We’ll be back next week. We can help you then.”
“It’s going to be done by then!” Stevie said.
“Great!” he said. “Listen, I promise I’ll be thinking of you as I’m flying down the mountains. Vermont has wonderful skiing, you know. It’s some of the best in the world. I got these skis for Christmas and I haven’t even had a chance …”
“Phil!”
“What’s the matter?” he asked, finally realizing that Stevie was not exactly excited for him. “It’s just painting. You can do that without me.”
“You promised me,” she said. “And Lisa can’t be here, so we really need your help.”
“Look, Stevie, I’m sorry, but this just came up and when the snow is fresh, you can’t say no. Um, A.J.’s mom is taking us to the airport. I’ve got to go. I’ll send you a postcard, okay? Bye, sweetie. I’ll miss you!” As Phil hung up the phone, she could hear him calling out, “Okay, okay, I’m coming!”
She hoped he’d miss his plane.
“Stevie?” Mrs. Reg said rather curiously. Stevie knew she’d heard enough of the conversation to know that Phil wasn’t coming. Phil’s words stung, but so did the doubtful look on Mrs. Reg’s face.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Reg. We’ll get it done.”
“It’s a big job,” Mrs. Reg said.
“It’s just painting,” Stevie said, echoing Phil’s remark. “We can do that without Phil.”
“And Lisa?”
“Of course,” Stevie said, though she didn’t really feel that way.
“Stevie, perhaps you should reconsider …,” Mrs. Reg began.
Those were the words she needed to hear. All it ever took to convince Stevie she absolutely had to do something was somebody doubting that she could do it.
“Oh, no problem,” she said. “In fact, the last time Phil so-called helped me with something, it took twice as long. Carole and I will have this well done before Max and Deborah get back. Actually, we might even paint the grain storage room, too.”
“Uh, that’s not necessary,” said Mrs. Reg. “The tack room will be just fine, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Stevie said. By this time in the conversation, Stevie was more than a little numb. She’d just promised Mrs. Reg that she and Carole were going to finish a project she hadn’t been at all sure she, Carole, Lisa, Phil, and A.J. could have done in a week. Was she out of her mind?
Carole was waiting for her when she returned to the feed room.
“Look,” Carole said. “I think we can move this bin out to the shed for the week. It’s got the winter feed in it and we’re about done with that, and that’ll make enough room for some temporary saddle racks, and then the bridles can go over here. It’ll mean taking the bridle hooks off the walls and moving them in here temporarily, but we’d want to do that to paint, anyway, wouldn’t we?”
Stevie didn’t have the heart to tell her right then that they were going to be working alone. She just listened to Carole’s suggestions, and when Carole was done, she nodded and said, “Let’s get started.”
It wasn’t until the last saddle was moved out that she had the strength to share her news.
“We’ll do the best we can” was all Carole said. Stevie hoped that would be enough.
LISA COULD FEEL herself breaking into a sweat. The sandpaper block felt heavy in her hand. Up, down; up, down. Layers and layers of paint merged into one another, forming a cloud of dust that billowed everywhere. It glared brightly through the dark afternoon sunlight in the stable. It settled on her clothes and her skin, penetrating her T-shirt, gritty, dry. She breathed in, filling her lungs with dust.
It tickled her nostrils, teasing her sinuses. And there was more, still gritty and dry.
“Ah-ah-ahhhhh-choooo!” She sat bolt upright.
“God bless you!” said an unfamiliar male voice.
Lisa looked up. The bright sun was glaring. She was outdoors, not in the stable. And she could hear the gentle rush of surf, not the scratch of sandpaper. It took a second, but she realized she wasn’t at Pine Hollow—wasn’t even in Virginia. She was on San Felipe, and she’d fallen asleep on the beach, dreaming about the work she was missing at the stable. What had made her sneeze was nothing less than the silky soft sand on which she’d been taking a nap.
“Thank you,” she said, brushing off the sand.
“You’re welcome,” said the voice.
Lisa shaded her eyes to see who was blessing her.
“Tec Morrison, at your service,” he said.
“Oh, hello. I’m, uh—what’s your name again?” she asked, instantly wishing the dumb question hadn’t come out of her mouth.
“Tec. It’s short for Tecumseh. See, my parents had this passion for American history. What do your parents have a passion for?”
“Huh?” Lisa asked.
“I mean, what’s your name?” he asked.
“Oh, Lisa. I think they just liked the name. Lisa Atwood.”
“Glad to meet you, Lisa Atwood,” he said, offering his hand.
She took it and he held hers tightly while he helped her stand up.
As soon as she was standing and looking straight at Tec Morrison, Lisa began wondering if she’d be able to stay standing, because her knees were starting to buckle.
“Whoa, there,” Tec said. “You must still be half-asleep.” He steadied her with his other hand.
“And maybe still dreaming,” she said, hoping at once that he hadn’t heard her. But he had and he seemed pleased.
“Nah, it’s just the tropical sun. And if you think it’s strong, wait until you see what the tropical moon does!”
Her eyes took in the entire person standing in front of her and she knew at once that she wouldn’t have to wait to find out the effects of the tropical moon. There was nothing in the world that could have changed her entire view of all existence as quickly and as totally as one good look at Tec Morrison. And she also knew that any look at Tec Morrison was a good look.
He was about six inches taller than Lisa and wore a yellow boxer-style bathing suit that perfectly showed off his luscious tan, which, in turn, showed off his taut, muscular torso. His face was almost heart-shaped because of the widow’s peak in his sun-bleached light brown hair. His blue-gray eyes smiled warmly, melting Lisa’s heart almost as much as his slightly crooked grin, which was punctuated by boyish dimples.
Lisa gulped.
“Moon?” she asked.
“Well, it should be up before too long,” he said. He raised one eyebrow questioningly, almost as if he were issuing an invitation.
But the idea of moonrise suggested to L
isa that she’d been asleep rather longer than she’d expected. “What time is it?” she asked.
Tec shrugged. “Time isn’t very important around here,” he said. “Maybe six-thirty, I guess.”
“Oh,” Lisa said. “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting someone—um, I mean, my parents told me to be in the dining room at seven.”
“Then I guess you’d better go, unless you want to wear that bathing suit in the dining room, and, since it would surely distract all the diners there as much as it’s distracting me, I strongly suggest you change first. Goodbye until the moon rises,” he said.
And with that, he leaned over and picked up her towels, her beach bag, and her book and handed them to her. Then, almost before she could thank him, he ran off down the beach toward one of the sections of resort cabins.
Lisa’s feet were pinned to the sand, watching his receding form. Food? Clothes? What did they matter when there would be moonlight soon—when there were blue-gray eyes and dimples?
She sneezed again and a breeze from the ocean gave her a slight chill Evening was coming. So was seven o’clock. She wrapped her sandy towel around herself and set off in search of her cabin, a shower, and some clean clothes.
While she showered and dressed, Lisa found herself wondering how much of what she remembered at the beach was real. She knew she hadn’t been sanding at Pine Hollow, but was that boy real? Could someone that beautiful really exist? Tec. Tecumseh. Tecumseh Morrison.
Lisa tried to remember what she could about the Shawnee chief after whom Tec’s parents had named him. He’d been a noble warrior and a fine leader. He had believed that the land belonged to all of the tribes and therefore it was impossible for the European Americans to acquire territory by war or even by trade. The tribes could not cede what was not theirs. She’d remembered liking that idea when she’d learned it in school. And now she knew why she liked it so much. Blue-gray eyes and dimples.
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