Kate and Holly: The Beginning (Timber Ridge Riders Book 0)

by Maggie Dana

  “Why not?” I ask.

  She stuffs herself back into her shorts, then collapses onto my spare bed. “Because you lied to me.”

  The good part of me wants to say nothing. The bad part wants to yell and scream and tell Becca that she lied, too. Well, not lied, exactly.

  How about bending the truth?

  I’m pretty handy with Photoshop. I know how easy it is to manipulate an image, to make yourself look thinner, younger, whatever. Stars do it all the time. Well, they don’t actually do it. Their managers and publicists do. I doubt Becca has a publicist.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t think it would matter.”

  “Well, it does.”

  “About my wheelchair?” I say, just to be sure. I mean, she could be objecting to my horsey room, or—

  “Yes.”

  This shocks me to the core.

  What planet did she grow up on? Has she totally missed all the web sites about disabled kids who are rocking the world—that girl with prosthetic legs who plays championship basketball, the boy who was born without hands and holds a brush in his mouth to paint the most amazing landscapes that collectors are now paying millions for?

  Then there are ordinary kids like me.

  And her.

  She’s as disabled as I am, but she doesn’t see it. Neither does her mother. She bangs on my door, then barges in like a bulldozer.

  “Becca, are you ready to leave?”

  “Yeah.”

  There’s no discussion about Becca staying over or an apology because their plans have suddenly changed. I pretend it doesn’t hurt, but it does. As I follow them to the door, I can feel my fragile ego being crushed beneath their feet.

  Clomp, clomp, clomp.

  One of Becca’s flip-flops tears loose. She grunts, then bends to pick it up and limps down our front ramp and out to her mother’s car. She doesn’t even wave or say goodbye.

  * * *

  It takes a week for the sting to go away. I know I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it does. Friendship, Mom says, is a precious gift. It needs to be nurtured and cared for, and that’s what I thought I’d done with Becca. Trouble was, she hadn’t done it with me. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that I did something wrong. I didn’t work hard enough.

  Mom runs the newspaper ad again and this time we get one reply.

  One?

  It’s hard to believe, given the cushy job we’re offering. Whoever ends up as my watchdog will get to laze about by the pool, make lunch, and wheel me to the barn so I can hang out with Magician. How tough can that be?

  Mom sets up an interview for this afternoon and then heads off to work. She has a few lessons to give, but promises to be back by the time the girl arrives. She’s my age, which Mom’s not too happy about. She wants someone a bit older, like a college student. But I think it sounds cool—much better than weird old Dorothy and her nose rings.

  It’s gotten really hot, and I know I’m not supposed to swim on my own or when there’s nobody within yelling distance. But if I have to sit in his wheelchair one more second, I will melt. I slip out of my chair and flop into the pool like a seal.

  Getting in is easy. It’s getting out that’s impossible. This pool doesn’t have steps; it’s got a ladder, and I can’t haul myself out of the pool without help.

  I’ll worry about it later.

  For half an hour, I swim laps—butterfly, breast stroke, and crawl. My legs are useless. They drag behind me like a pull toy. At first, they really slowed me down, but now that my arms and shoulders are stronger, I hardly notice my legs any more. In the water, I am anyone’s equal. I check my watch.

  Oh, no.

  It’s time for the interview, and Mom will be back any minute. She will totally freak out if she finds me in the pool. I have to get out. But how? There’s nobody around to help …

  … except Angela!

  She’s riding Skywalker across the back field, reins held far too tightly as usual. Skywalker’s all lathered up. I feel so bad for that horse. He could be such a star with somebody else.

  “Help!” I yell.

  I doubt it’ll do any good. I can’t remember the last time Angela helped anyone.

  She looks at me. “You don’t need help.”

  “Don’t be a pain,” I say, hanging onto the edge of the pool. Despite the heat, my fingers are now blue with cold. “Help me out, please.”

  “No way,” Angela says. “I’m not falling for that trick again.”

  “No, tricks,” I say. “Not this time.”

  And I really mean it. If Angela would just get off Skywalker and give me a hand, it would go a long way to mending whatever it is that’s broken between us.

  “Forget it,” she yells and canters off.

  Just then, I hear a crash, like someone fell off the stockade fence or stumbled over that old wheelbarrow Mom’s been meaning to throw out but hasn’t gotten around to yet.

  “Who’s there?” I call out.

  “Kate McGregor,” comes a voice.

  Mom didn’t mention her name, but I like the sound of it and she’s my age. Maybe she’ll turn into the best friend I am longing to have. But, first things first.

  Right now I need help getting out of the pool.

  * * * End * * *

  I hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please consider writing a review on the book’s Amazon page, here. It doesn’t have to be long — just a few words would be great.

  Here's an excerpt from the beginning of Keeping Secrets, Timber Ridge Riders book #1. Turn the page to find out more!

  KEEPING SECRETS ~ Chapter 1

  Kate McGregor skidded her aunt’s old bike to a stop and stared at the house—gray shingles, white shutters, and a ramp instead of steps. This had to be the right place. Kate pulled the ad from her pocket.

  Mature high-school student needed as summer companion for disabled teen. Prefer someone who can live in. Call Timber Ridge Stables at ...

  Beyond the house lay a sprawl of barns, paddocks, and riding rings. In the largest ring, three girls on horseback circled an instructor while another girl jumped a set of parallel bars. Kate stared at them and shook her head. Was she totally nuts? The last thing she needed was a job next door to a horse barn.

  Kate dumped her bike on the lawn and ran up the ramp. She knocked on the front door. No answer. She knocked again. The house was quiet ... too quiet. Had she got the wrong time? The wrong day? She tried the door, but it was locked. She turned to leave and heard somebody yell.

  “Help!”

  Kate froze.

  “Help me out of the water, please!”

  Sounds of splashing came from somewhere out back. Kate raced around the side of the house, slap bang into a solid stockade fence. No sign of a gate.

  “I need help!” More splashing. “Now!”

  Grabbing a fence post with both hands, Kate hauled herself up. Her foot slipped, and she landed in the dirt. Now what? She hunted around for something to stand on and found a rusty wheelbarrow lying beneath a bush. That would do. Kate leaned it against the fence, climbed on top, and peered into the backyard.

  A girl with hair the color of straw was treading water in a kidney-shaped pool. She raised an arm and cried, “Help me out. Please!”

  “You don’t need any help,” another girl said.

  Kate turned toward her. The girl was riding a sweat-covered bay in tight circles just beyond the back fence. The horse tossed its head and pulled at the bit.

  “Don’t be such a pain,” the girl in the pool yelled. “Help me out.”

  “No way,” the other girl said. “I’m not falling for that trick again.”

  “No tricks. Not this time. I promise.”

  “Forget it. Last time I helped, you pulled me into the pool.” The girl yanked her horse’s reins, dug her heels into its sides, and galloped off.

  Kate tore her eyes away from the horse and stared at the swimmer. She looked competent and strong. So why did she n
eed help?

  Kate’s foot slipped again.

  Crash!

  “Garummmmph!” Kate yelled as she fell off the wheelbarrow.

  “Who’s there?” It was the girl in the pool.

  “Kate McGregor,” Kate said through clenched teeth. She brushed the dirt off her legs and stood up. “I’m here about the job.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Behind the fence.”

  “Can you climb it and help me out?”

  “I’ll try,” replied Kate.

  “Hurry.” Her voice sounded desperate.

  This time the wheelbarrow held. Kate scrambled over the fence and dropped into the backyard. The girl waved at her. Kate frowned. Why would someone who swam like a fish need help getting out of a pool? It didn’t make sense.

  Then she spotted the wheelchair.

  Of course! How could she have been so dumb?

  The pool didn’t have steps, just a metal ladder. No wonder the girl couldn’t get out. Kate dropped to her knees, grasped the girl’s arms, and hauled her out of the water.

  “Thanks,” the girl said, breathing hard. “I was afraid Mom would come back and find me swimming by myself.”

  Kate pointed at the wheelchair. “Should I help you with this?”

  The girl shook her head. “I’ll just sit on the edge for a while.” She reached for a towel. “I’m Holly Chapman. My mother put the ad in the paper. She needs a watchdog for me.”

  Kate waved toward the pool. “If you can’t get out, how do you get in?”

  “Easy,” Holly said. “I flop in like a seal. But getting out is always a problem.” She looked down at her legs. “They don’t work.”

  “Why wouldn’t that girl on the horse help you?”

  “Because she’s a selfish brat.” Holly grinned. “And because she doesn’t trust me.”

  “So you did pull her in the pool, then.”

  “Sure,” Holly said. “It was a pool party. Like, duhhh ... you’re supposed to get wet.”

  “Can she swim?”

  Holly bared her teeth. “Like a shark.”

  “So, what was her problem?”

  “New hairdo, new bikini. She didn’t want to get them wet.”

  “So you did it for her?” Kate said. She was starting to like Holly.

  “She deserved it. She’d just been mean to one of my friends. Told her she was too fat to wear a bathing suit,” Holly said. “And now I bet she’s back at the barn telling everyone about my crime.”

  “Swimming is a crime?”

  “Swimming alone is a crime,” Holly said. “I’d better get dressed. Mom will be here any minute.”

  “Where is she?”

  “At the barn.” Holly paused. “But she knows you’re coming.”

  Kate helped Holly into her wheelchair and watched as the girl wheeled herself up the ramp and through the kitchen door.

  “Promise not to leave before I get back,” Holly yelled before disappearing inside.

  “I promise.” Kate sat in the shade and waited for Mrs. Chapman to show up.

  * * *

  “You must be Kate McGregor.”

  Kate looked up to find a tall, fair-haired woman dressed in riding boots and breeches walking toward her.

  “I’m Liz Chapman, Holly’s mother,” she said, smiling and holding out her hand. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I had a few problems at the barn.”

  Kate nodded. She knew all about those.

  Liz waved toward the pool. “I’m just glad you were here to pull Holly out before she turned into a prune.”

  Kate bit back a smile. That girl on the sweaty bay gelding hadn’t wasted much time spilling the beans.

  “As you’ve probably gathered, my daughter’s a bit headstrong,” Liz said. “She needs someone to keep her out of trouble.” She paused. “How old are you?”

  Kate hesitated. “Almost fifteen.” A slight exaggeration. She’d turned fourteen three months ago.

  “Have you ever done anything like this before?”

  “Like babysitting?”

  Liz nodded. “Or looking after elderly people?”

  “Holly’s not elderly.”

  “No, but she’s just as much work,” Liz said. “She’s stuck in a wheelchair, she hates people doing things for her, and she takes chances when nobody’s looking.”

  Kate didn’t know what to say. She’d never had any kind of a job before that didn’t involve horses ... or her father. “I took care of Dad after my mother died.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Liz said.

  “It was a long time ago,” Kate said. “My father’s useless around the house.”

  “So am I,” Liz said. “Can you cook?”

  Kate shrugged. “Macaroni and cheese, fish sticks, peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.”

  “Fair enough,” Liz said. “Do you swim?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, because swimming’s the best exercise for Holly’s legs,” Liz said. “It helps keep her muscles in shape.” She looked at Kate. “You’re younger than I’d hoped for, but right now I’m thinking it might be good for Holly to have someone her own age.”

  Kate crossed her fingers. Hanging out with Holly would be far better than hanging out with Aunt Marion, whose spare bed had more lumps than a bag full of apples.

  “If your father agrees, I’d like you to move in with us for the summer,” Liz went on. “It’d be easier that way, especially when I have to leave early for horse shows with my students.”

  “My father’s chasing butterflies in Brazil,” Kate said. “I’m spending the summer with my aunt.”

  “How will she feel about you having a job?”

  “She’ll be glad I’ve found something to do,” Kate said. “I’ve been driving her crazy. She’s not used to kids.”

  “What about your father?”

  “He’s not used to them either.”

  Liz raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking.”

  “No, I’m not,” Kate said. “My father’s a lepidopterist. If it’s got wings, compound eyes, and fuzzy legs, he’s all over it. He hasn’t got a clue about people.”

  “But would he mind if you moved in here?”

  “I’ll ask him tonight.”

  “How will you reach him?”

  “Jungle drums.”

  Liz laughed.

  “Okay, cell phone,” Kate said. “That is, if he remembered to turn it on.”

  “Doesn’t he have e-mail?”

  “My father?” Kate said. “On the Internet? He’s only just figured out how to use a toaster.”

  “Well, if it’s okay with your aunt,” Liz said, smiling, “and your father, I’ll need you till school starts in September.”

  Kate wanted to know why Holly was in a wheelchair but didn’t know how to ask. “Does Holly ... I mean, has she always been—?”

  “Two years ago, Holly was in a car accident,” Liz said. “Her father was driving and”—she took a deep breath—“he was killed. Holly hasn’t been able to walk since.”

  “Will she get better?”

  “No one really knows,” Liz said. “The doctors say there’s no permanent damage, but they don’t know why she can’t use her legs. It might be psychological—something in Holly’s mind that prevents her from walking. It’s called hysterical paralysis. We’ve tried numerous treatments; but, so far, nothing’s worked.”

  Wearing a pink t-shirt with Barn Bum in big letters across the front, Holly wheeled herself into the backyard. “So, Mom, did you hire her yet?”

  “I’m not sure.” Liz looked at Kate. “Well?”

  Kate hesitated. Did the job include horses? So far, they hadn’t been mentioned.

  “Kate, please say yes,” Holly said. “The last person Mom interviewed had tattoos and bad breath.”

  “Holly!”

  “Well, she did. And a nose ring.”

  A smile flickered across Liz’s face. “So, Kate,
what do you think?”

  “Mrs. Chapman, I—”

  “Please, call me Liz.”

  “Okay,” Kate said, not sure she’d be able to do that. She’d never called a grownup by her first name before, not even Mrs. Mueller, her former riding instructor. Kate’s mind screeched to a halt. She could hear all the old accusations and felt herself turn pale.

  “Kate?”

  “Would I have to”—Kate gulped—“go to the barn?”

  “I’m glad you brought that up,” Liz said.

  Oh, no! Kate’s heart sank.

  “I can’t afford more than fifty dollars a week; but to make up for lack of money, I’ll teach you to ride.”

  Kate flinched.

  “I know it’s not much,” Liz went on, “but most girls your age love horses and I figured you’d jump at the chance of lessons.”

  “The money’s fine,” Kate said. “But I’ll pass on the lessons.”

  “Don’t you like horses?” Holly asked.

  “No.” Kate felt herself going red.

  “But everyone likes horses.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kate mumbled.

  “No need to apologize,” Liz said, putting a hand on Kate’s arm. “And pay no attention to Holly. Her entire world revolves around horses.”

  Kate looked away. Before Black Magic died, her world had revolved around horses as well. People said it was an accident—a fluke—but Kate blamed herself. Because she hadn’t double-checked that stall door, a brilliant show jumper was dead. She shuddered.

  “Kate, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Kate bit her lip. “I’m just scared of horses, that’s all,” she said, hoping her lie was convincing enough to fool Holly and her mother.

  * * *

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