Congo was younger, but much too heavy to make him an efficient mover. Besides, he lacked the fire that Callie had always found so important in her competition mounts. While it didn’t pay to have a hyper horse that would wear itself out before the ten-mile mark, it was definitely an advantage to have a horse with a winning spirit. All the training in the world couldn’t give a horse that spark, and Congo just didn’t have it.
Then there was Topside. The Thoroughbred gelding had been a show-jumping champion in his younger days, and he had impeccable manners. Callie had no doubt that she would be able to control him even in the most crowded shotgun start, or that he would accept her orders about pacing no matter how much he wanted to catch up to a speedier opponent. But like Comanche, he was a little past his prime for competition. Besides, as a Thoroughbred—and a large one at that—he was unlikely to be a contender among the tough little Arabians, Arab crosses, and mustangs that dominated the sport.
Windsor wasn’t even a faint possibility. The big, handsome, dignified gelding was a perfect school horse for intermediate riders. He was kind and willing, but definitely not a pushover. However, his sheer size made him the wrong choice for Callie. Not only was he too big to make a likely endurance prospect, but he was too big for her to fit comfortably over a long, strenuous day of riding, though she had no trouble riding him for shorter periods.
Callie sighed as she glanced down the stable aisle, picturing herself trying to finish a fifty-mile ride on any of the rest of the horses housed on either side of the wide aisle, or the others that occupied the other arm of the U-shaped stable. Diablo. Checkers. Talisman. Calypso. Eve. Chip.
It’s no use, she thought, grinding her teeth in frustration. None of them is right for what I need to do. At least not from what I’ve seen of them.
She couldn’t just go home with the problem unresolved. Spinning on her heel, she headed toward the top of the aisle. She would go talk to Max. Maybe he would come up with a possibility she’d missed.
Halfway down the hall leading to the office, Callie heard Max’s voice. It sounded as though he was talking on the phone.
“… will have to hit the ground running, so I’ll need someone who has quite a bit of experience,” Max was saying.
The office door was open, so Callie stuck her head in and knocked softly on the frame. Glancing up from his seat behind his messy desk, Max gestured for her to enter.
“Yes, yes, that’s excellent,” he continued into the phone as Callie tiptoed in and took a seat in the guest chair. “How many years were you there?”
Sounds like he’s talking to someone about the stable hand job, Callie thought, flicking a spot of mud off her jeans leg. I almost forgot he’s been trying to hire someone. She knew that Max’s search for a new Pine Hollow staffer was only partly because Carole had had to quit her job while she was grounded. The population of the Willow Creek area was growing, and the stable had been getting noticeably busier, even in the six months that Callie had been riding there. Max was talking about buying a few more horses to keep up with the demand, and Callie had even heard him mention possibly building an addition to the stable if things kept on the way they were going.
She tuned back in to Max’s conversation. It sounded as though he was wrapping things up. “Okay, then,” he said briskly. “Can you come by sometime this week so we can talk a little more in person? Say, Thursday at noon?” He nodded with a satisfied smile as he listened to the person on the other end of the line. “Great,” he said. “See you then. Oh, and please wear riding clothes.”
Max said good-bye and hung up. Then he glanced at Callie.
“Now,” he said. “What can I do for you?” He checked his watch. “I thought all your cronies left a while ago. Something about ice cream?”
Callie waved one hand impatiently. She’d had absolutely no interest in sitting around stuffing herself with sugar along with her brother and the others. And she certainly didn’t need Scott driving her home every time she came to the stable anymore, either. She’d insisted that the four of them go ahead without her, and to her relief, they’d agreed. “Uh-huh. Listen, Max. I’m kind of worried.”
Max leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head. “What about?”
“Barq,” Callie replied succinctly. She paused, thinking back once again over that day’s ride. “I took him out for a long time today—you know, to see how we get along and what kind of condition he’s in.”
Max nodded. “Yes, I know,” he said. “So I take it things didn’t go well?”
“Not really.” Callie shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, Barq’s a nice horse. But I’m not sure he’s going to be up to the task. His balance is okay, and I’m sure I could get him into shape on that, but he just doesn’t seem to get what I want from him.”
“It is your first day working together,” Max reminded her gently.
Callie frowned. How could she explain it to him? “I know,” she said. “Believe me, I know what you’re saying. But what I’m saying is that I just don’t get a good feeling about my chances with Barq. Like I said, he’s a very nice horse. We just don’t, I don’t know, click.”
Max nodded somberly. “I see.” He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the desk and running one hand over his short-cropped hair. “Well, that’s a problem, then—at least if you’re planning to take Barq all the way to competition level. But it will be a while before you need to worry about that. In the meantime, while you’re getting yourself back into shape, I really think Barq is the best horse I have for your needs.”
Callie frowned. That wasn’t the answer she’d been hoping for. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I mean, isn’t there another horse I should try before I make up my mind?”
“Well, let me see. If Chippewa were a few years younger, I’d suggest him,” Max said, rubbing his chin and staring thoughtfully at the wall. “Appaloosas can be successful long-distance horses. Chip’s legs and feet are rock solid, and his night vision has always been just fine. But I think he’s getting a little long in the tooth to start a new discipline now.”
Callie nodded. She’d already come to that conclusion herself, but she had to respect Max’s knowledge of his own horses—and of the different requirements for seemingly every equine sport out there. Hearing about the wide range of disciplines and activities he’d had his young riders try over the years, from endurance riding to foxhunting to polocrosse, Callie had almost wished that she’d learned to ride at Pine Hollow, too.
“I know,” she muttered. “And you’re right. There’s really no horse at Pine Hollow that’s going to do better than Barq.” She sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to make do.”
She thanked Max for his time and left the office, still feeling a bit disgruntled. That’s it, then, she thought. The only answer is to get myself a new horse—my own horse, a competition horse—as soon as possible. I’ll have to start talking to Mom and Dad about it—
“Hi, Callie!” A loud voice interrupted her thoughts.
Glancing up, Callie saw George Wheeler hurrying down the hallway toward her, a big grin on his round face. “Oh,” she said, not in any mood to deal with George’s crush on her. “Hi, George.”
“I thought I heard you in there with Max.” George beamed as he came to a stop beside her. “I figured I’d wait and say hi.”
“Uh-huh.” Callie continued on her way down the hall, with George matching her step for step. “Well, listen, I’ve got to get going. See you at school.”
“I’ll walk you out,” George responded quickly. “Actually, I was getting ready to head home myself.”
Callie bit back a sigh, thanking her lucky stars that George lived in the opposite direction from her—and that he didn’t have a car. “Whatever,” she muttered.
“So how’s your training going?” George asked brightly, not seeming to notice her irritation.
Callie shrugged. “I’ve only been at it one day,” she said a bit sharply.
George laughed and
touched her lightly on the arm. “I know, I know,” he said. “Sorry. But I just think endurance riding is interesting. I really want to learn all about it. In fact, if you need any help—you know, a riding partner or whatever—just let me know, because I—”
“Ben!” Callie blurted out, suddenly spotting her salvation stalking across the stable entryway in the form of Ben Marlow. She shot George what she hoped would pass for an apologetic smile. “Look, I really need to go talk to Ben for a sec. Um, about Barq.”
“Oh.” George’s smile faded quickly. He shot Ben a cautious look. “Okay. Then I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.” He slunk away quickly, disappearing through the stable entrance a second later.
Callie heaved a sigh of relief. She knew that George was intimidated by most other guys—especially strong, silent, brooding types like Ben. Thank goodness that little trick worked, she thought. Suddenly noticing that Ben had paused and was looking at her expectantly, Callie smiled sheepishly.
“Um, never mind,” she told him quickly. “It’s nothing. Really.”
Ben didn’t reply. He just shrugged and moved on, not even seeming curious about Callie’s odd behavior.
Callie waited just long enough to ensure that she wouldn’t run into George outside. Then she headed for the door herself, already forming her arguments for why her parents needed to let her start shopping for a horse as soon as possible.
SIX
“Yo, wife!” Spike greeted Stevie loudly, looking up as she approached his cafeteria table, where he was surrounded by his usual crowd of friends and admirers. “What’s up, babe?”
Stevie sighed. What did I ever do to deserve this? she wondered. My luck must really be on a downswing to get stuck with Spike Anderson for this project.
She knew that a lot of girls at Fenton Hall would be quick to disagree. Even Stevie had to admit that Spike wasn’t too hard on the eyes. He was a couple of inches over six feet tall, with a quick and winning, if slightly cocky, grin and light blond hair bleached even lighter by time spent in the sun. Along with his broad shoulders and the rangy muscles of a natural athlete, his other attributes included—according to a conversation Stevie had once overheard between Nicole Adams and one of her bimbo friends—the world’s finest butt.
“So you couldn’t stay away from hubby, eh?” Spike commented, much to the delight of his buddies. “Well, if you want to make out, you’ll have to wait till I finish my lunch.” He held up his half-eaten sandwich.
Finest butt, yeah right, Stevie thought irritably. If you ask me, the only award Spike deserves is world’s biggest butt-head!
“Very funny,” she told him with a frown. “In case you forgot, we agreed to meet now to go over our assignment. Marriage class is next period, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Spike smiled and winked at his friends. “That’s what they all say.” But he got up, gathering his lunch and following Stevie to an unoccupied table nearby.
As she took a seat across from him, Stevie swallowed a frustrated sigh. Taking care of the extra work for marriage class and coming up with brilliant ideas for her newspaper article at the same time wasn’t turning out to be as easy as she’d hoped. The day before, Miss Fenton and the guest speaker, a professional marriage counselor, had asked the couples to meet and draw up their own wedding vows, expressing what they expected from the relationship.
That had sounded easy enough at first. But it turned out that Spike had a team meeting for the upcoming basketball season after school. Besides, Stevie had needed to meet with Theresa about her idea for the article. Spike wasn’t sure how long his meeting would run, and Stevie hadn’t wanted to waste time waiting around for him to finish when she could be at Pine Hollow. She’d offered to come by Spikes house after dinner, but he had a date. Finally they’d given up trying to work out a time and agreed to each write down some ideas on their own, which they had planned to combine somehow at lunch.
At least that’s what I thought we’d agreed to, Stevie thought sourly as she flipped open her notebook. Apparently, Spike forgot all about the assignment. It figures. She was glad she’d managed to jot down a few notes while she was working on an outline for her Sentinel article. The last thing she wanted was to be caught totally unprepared in front of the entire junior class that afternoon.
“Okay,” she said, trying to stay positive. She was going to make this ridiculous marriage work if it was the last thing she did. Otherwise it would be just too humiliating to include herself in her article, and changing her plan now would mess up the whole outline. “Listen up. Here’s what I’ve got so far.” She glanced at Spike to make sure he was paying more attention to her than to his sandwich. “I, Miles Anderson, do hereby solemnly swear to love and honor and adore Stevie Lake, and I promise on my life that this will be a partnership, with all the good stuff and the not-so-great stuff shared equally, like cooking and vacuuming and mowing the lawn or whatever.”
Spike snorted. “That’s the best you could come up with? Totally pathetic!” he exclaimed. “Nope, here’s what we’re going to say.” He cleared his throat dramatically and unfolded a slightly crumpled sheet of notebook paper. “I, Spike Anderson, Esquire, promise to honor and love Stevie Lake, to support her in style with my million-dollar endorsement deals, and to protect her from the dirty minds of other dudes when they hit on her. In return, I, Stevie Lake, swear to honor, worship, and obey my studly husband, the pinnacle of manliness, Spike Anderson, Esquire. I promise to cook for him, clean his house, do his laundry, wash his hair, and repair his nets when necessary. Oh, and also to always be available for, uh, the performance of my wifely duties.” He smirked and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Give me that.” Suddenly suspicious, Stevie snatched the sheet out of his hand. It was blank, except for the name Melanie and a phone number. “You didn’t do the assignment at all, did you?”
Spike shrugged and raked one hand through his hair. “What’s the big deal?” he said casually. “It’s not like we get graded on this. Besides, I had a date last night, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Stevie snapped. “But you’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m going to let your love life mess up this stupid marriage.” As Spike grinned again, Stevie tossed her head and stood up. “You know what I mean. Anyway, just keep quiet in class today, okay? I’ll come up with something for our vows so we don’t end up looking like total idiots. In the meantime, I have better things to do than sit around here with you.” Spotting Callie sitting alone at a table across the cafeteria, Stevie grabbed her notebook and stomped away without a backward glance.
I really hope Mom and Dad come around soon, Callie thought, taking a bite of her apple and flipping through the pages of the new book on endurance riding she’d received through the mail. It had arrived the day before, but she’d been so tired from her long day of training—not to mention her long evening of trying to convince her parents to let her start horse shopping—that she’d only made it through the first chapter before falling asleep. Because the thought of starting Barq on a serious LSD program when he probably isn’t cut out for endurance racing at all makes me want to cry. LSD stood for long slow distance training, the conditioning that endurance riders did to get their horses into shape for the rigors of their sport. Callie knew that an LSD program would improve Barq’s physical abilities on the trail, but it couldn’t give him the will to win or the desire to keep pace for hours at a time for the sheer joy of it. No training program could do that.
Callie paused over a photo in the book. It showed a compact, tough-looking little mustang clambering its way up a steep rocky trail, its rider leaning so far forward in the saddle that she was almost eating mane.
Somehow, I can’t see Barq taking that kind of tough incline in stride, Callie thought dejectedly, wishing that girl in the photo could be her. Or any of the other horses at Pine Hollow, either. No matter how much training and conditioning I do.
There was no question about it. She needed her own horse, a real endurance ho
rse. Otherwise there was no way she would be competitive again anytime soon. Why couldn’t her parents see that as clearly as she did? All they’d said the night before—despite all her convincing arguments, and even despite her respectable PSAT scores, which had arrived in the mail that afternoon—was “we’ll think about it.”
As Callie lowered the book to her lap and reached for her orange juice, she noticed Stevie barreling across the cafeteria toward her, a dark scowl on her face. “Hi,” Callie said as Stevie reached her table. “Is something wrong?”
Stevie flopped into the empty seat across from Callie and snorted. “Yeah,” she replied. “I’m married to an imbecile.”
Callie gasped, suddenly remembering that she’d made plans for that lunch period—plans that had completely slipped her mind, thanks to all the other issues that were crowding it. “Oh no!” she cried, slamming her book closed and jumping to her feet. “I’m supposed to be meeting with Corey right now. We need to finish up our vows. We did most of it on the phone last night, but we wanted to tighten up the wording today, and—Well, anyway, I’d better go find him.”
“Oh! Wait. That reminds me.” Stevie gave her a pleading smile. “Did Scott happen to mention anything to you yesterday about my new assignment for the Sentinel?”
Callie was busy scanning the cafeteria, trying to remember where Corey usually sat. Finally she spotted him sitting by himself at a table near the windows and waved. “Uh, what?” she asked Stevie as Corey waved back and smiled. Callie stuffed the rest of her apple into her paper lunch bag and tucked her book under her arm.
“My article,” Stevie said insistently. “Did he tell you about it?”
Back in the Saddle Page 6