Track Record

by Bonnie Bryant

  Track Record

  Pine Hollow, Book Sixteen

  Bonnie Bryant

  My special thanks to Catherine Hapka

  for her help

  in the writing of this book.

  ONE

  Callie Forester sat on the sofa, clutching the armrest so hard that her fingers were numb. It felt like forever since her older brother had rushed out of the room into the dark January night, though in reality it had only been a minute or two. What was taking Scott so long? What had he found out there? Was he in danger? Should she call the police, go outside herself, do something, anything?

  Chill, Callie told herself sternly, taking a few deep breaths. You recognized that face at the window just now. You know who it was, and there’s no way Scott’s in any danger from him.

  Somehow, the thought wasn’t particularly comforting. Why hadn’t she told her brother the truth? Chewing on her lower lip and tugging on the end of her straight blond hair, Callie stood up and sidled toward the window. The moon was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, and the front yard was dark, full of deep shadows and uncertain shapes.

  Callie jumped as the front door swung open and Scott hurried in, his face red from the winter cold. “Nobody out there,” he reported breathlessly, slapping his arms across his chest to warm himself. “Whoever you saw must’ve taken off when he heard me coming.”

  Callie was strangely relieved. She was already wishing she had just kept her mouth shut in the first place. If she hadn’t been so startled by the sight of that face, she could have dealt with it on her own instead of dragging her brother into it. “Oh well,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice normal. “It was probably just some neighborhood kid playing a prank, like you said.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Scott said slowly, glancing at the darkness beyond the picture window. “I found a footprint right outside the window there. It was kind of hard to see in the dark, but it was definitely too big to belong to a kid. It looks like we’re dealing with a full-grown Peeping Tom.”

  “Oh.” Callie wanted to argue with him, to insist that it had all been nothing. A little kid playing some silly spy game. A particularly bold deer or stray dog. A figment of her imagination.

  And maybe that last one is the truth, she told herself. Maybe I’m so jumpy about all this that now I’m imagining things.

  It wasn’t the first time that possibility had crossed her mind. In the past weeks she had often wondered if she might not be losing it, seeing things that weren’t there and assuming things that just couldn’t be.

  But she couldn’t quite dismiss the image burned into her brain—the sight of an all-too-familiar face, pale and round and apple-cheeked, pressing against the glass, its watery gray eyes fixed on her.

  George Wheeler’s face. It had definitely been George out there. Or was she so certain? Had everything that had happened lately made her so jumpy that she couldn’t even trust her own senses anymore? After all, George had made her feel a little off balance from the beginning. Even months ago, when she’d thought his crush on her was harmless and sweet, she’d never been sure how to respond to him. He was so different from most guys—helpless and gentle and almost painfully sensitive. Or at least that was what she’d thought until recently.

  “I sort of think we should call someone,” Scott said. “Maybe the police? Or we could try to reach Mom and Dad at the country club.” He seemed uncertain, which wasn’t a familiar state with him. Callie sometimes thought that Scott had been born knowing exactly what to say and do in every possible situation. She assumed he’d inherited that particular talent from their father, a congressman and a natural-born politician. Seeing Scott flounder made Callie feel even worse about the whole situation and guilty that she’d let things with George progress this far.

  “Don’t be silly,” she insisted quickly. “I’m not even sure I saw anything. It could’ve been a reflection from headlights on the road or something.”

  “But the footprint—” Scott began, glancing anxiously toward the window.

  “That footprint could be days old,” Callie interrupted. “It’s probably yours.” She forced a laugh. “Let’s not get too hysterical here, okay?”

  Scott shook his head, still looking worried. “I don’t know, Callie,” he said slowly. “It could be nothing. But Dad’s made some real enemies because of his work on that congressional welfare committee this fall. I still think we should—”

  “There’s no need to get Dad involved in this,” Callie broke in sharply.

  “Get me involved in what?”

  Callie gulped. She had been so busy trying to convince Scott to let the whole incident drop that she hadn’t heard the front door open. She glanced into the hall and saw her parents unwrapping their winter scarves and coats and shaking off the cold.

  Callie’s mother pulled off her hat and ran one slender hand over her smooth blond hair. Stepping forward into the living room, she glanced around, a look of dismay on her fine-boned face. “Oh my!” she said. “What’s going on? This place looks like a disaster!”

  Callie winced, suddenly remembering the mess she’d made. She had fixed herself a snack just before the peeping incident and ended up dropping it when she’d seen the face pressed to the window. Now she realized that strawberry yogurt was seeping into the Oriental rug in front of the sofa and grapes were rolling around on the hardwood floor.

  “Callie saw someone,” Scott said before she could open her mouth. “Like a Peeping Tom or something. There’s a footprint outside the window.”

  Congressman Forester looked concerned. “Callie, is this true?”

  “Well …” Callie hesitated, but she knew better than to lie to her father. “Um, sort of. I mean, I thought I saw someone—er, something—at the window. But I’m not sure it was really a Peeping Tom,” she added hastily. “I didn’t get a good look.”

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Forester said, glancing at her husband. “Do you suppose we should call someone?

  “I don’t know.” Congressman Forester took a step toward the window, peering out into the darkness. “Maybe I should go out and take a look around.”

  Callie bit her lip, wishing again that none of this was happening. The last thing she wanted was to let her parents make a big deal out of this stupid incident. All that would do would be to make it more difficult than ever to put it all behind her.

  “Scott already looked and there’s no one there,” she said, feeling rather desperate. “Really, I’m not even sure I saw anyone. It was just out of the corner of my eye. There’s no reason to get all worked up about this.”

  To her surprise, her father nodded. “All right,” he said. “I suppose we can just turn on the alarm and keep a close eye on things for a few days.”

  Callie let out the breath she was holding. “Good,” she said. Turning away to hide the relief on her face, she added, “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up the mess.”

  “Don’t bother with that.” Mrs. Forester was already bending to gather up the stray grapes. “I’ll take care of it. Whatever happened, you must have had quite a scare, and it’s late. Why don’t you head up to bed?”

  “Okay.” Callie didn’t have to be told twice. “Thanks, Mom. See you in the morning.”

  She headed for the stairs before her family could ask any more questions. Moments later she was collapsing onto her bed, wondering how she’d ever gotten mixed up with George Wheeler in the first place.

  But she already knew the answer to that. It was all her fault. Everything had happened because she had let it happen. She had allowed him to think they were friends—even to hope they could be something more—merely because she had assumed he was nothing more than a clueless dork. Her first mistake had been agreeing to go out with him once. After that
one date she had made her second big mistake. Even though she’d known by then that there was no way she would ever be romantically interested in him, she hadn’t just come right out and said so. Why not? She still wasn’t sure.

  I guess I’m not the only one who’s ever assumed things about George because of the way he looks, she reminded herself, thinking about people at Pine Hollow, the stable where they both rode. George was way too pudgy and unkempt-looking to inspire much awe in his competition even in the relatively casual eventing world. In fact, most people who saw him on the ground never imagined that he could be any kind of athlete. But Callie had seen him ride often enough to know that in his case, appearances were deceiving. He was one of the best young riders at Pine Hollow. Callie had never seen him compete, but she knew from hearing her friends talk that George was a talented eventer, competing and winning at training level.

  None of that made her feel much better about her own situation, though. If only she hadn’t misjudged George, the way so many of his fellow eventers must have done over the years, maybe she wouldn’t be in this mess. But she was in it now, and moving forward would be a lot more productive than looking back and wishing she could change what had already happened. She had learned that in her own competitive career in endurance riding.

  Now all she had to do was figure out how to move on.

  “Justine!” Carole Hanson exclaimed cheerfully. “Hey there! How’s it going?”

  “Fine.” Justine Harrington shot Carole a slightly suspicious look, then scurried off in the direction of the tack room.

  Carole grinned. She had spent much more time yelling at the stubborn seventh-grade riding student about accepting the horse she was assigned and not running in the stable than showering her with happy greetings. It was no wonder the younger girl had just looked at her as if she were crazy. But Carole couldn’t help herself. Even though she’d been riding a few times a week recently, it was a whole different feeling to be returning to work after almost two months off. It was like coming home. Even the most obnoxious intermediate riders felt like long-lost family.

  Hesitating in the center of the stable’s roomy entryway, Carole glanced in one direction and then the other, pulling indecisively on her thick black braid. She knew she should head down the hall to the office, but she couldn’t resist turning the other way and walking down the wide stable aisle. Before she got down to work, there were a few friends she wanted to see.

  It was early, and most of the horses were still munching on their morning meal. As she rounded the corner, Carole saw a large roan head peering at her from behind the metal mesh of the top half of the nearest stall door. “Hey there, Checkers,” she said, poking her fingers through to stroke the sturdy school horse on his mottled nose.

  Carole moved on, pausing just long enough to pat a boarder’s Tennessee walking horse before stopping in front of another stall. A compact leopard Appaloosa gelding blinked at her and then came forward to greet her.

  “Hi, Scooby,” Carole said as the horse blew gently on her fingers with his wide nostrils. She gave him a few pats and scratches, watching him carefully to figure out which were his favorite areas. Scooby was Callie Forester’s horse, and he was new to Pine Hollow—in fact, he’d moved in only two weeks earlier. Callie had been a junior endurance champion on the West Coast and had planned to continue the sport after her family had moved to Virginia the previous summer. Unfortunately, a serious car accident had put those plans on hold for a while. Callie had spent most of the past six months in physical therapy, regaining her balance and her confidence. But now that Callie was better, Carole knew, she had to be eager to get back into the swing of things. She had made a good start by buying Scooby. Carole didn’t know as much about endurance riding as she did about some other riding sports, but she knew enough to realize that Scooby had the appropriate conformation and temperament for the task.

  As Carole was leaning on the stall door, studying Scooby’s nicely sloping shoulders, Maureen Chance came barreling around the corner, pushing a wheelbarrow full of grain buckets. She stopped short and grinned when she spotted Carole. “Hey, Hanson,” she said. “If this is how hard you always work, I don’t know if I should say welcome back or not.”

  Carole returned Maureen’s grin. “You’re starting to sound just like Max,” she teased in return.

  Maureen rolled her gold-flecked brown eyes toward the ceiling. “Say it ain’t so. I hope I’m never that old.”

  Carole blinked, wondering if Maureen realized that her comment came across as obnoxious rather than funny. The twenty-five-year-old stable hand had started working at Pine Hollow just a couple of weeks earlier, and Carole still wasn’t sure what to think of her. There was a certain quality in the way she carried herself, a kind of hardness that made Carole a little nervous sometimes. But at the moment, even Maureen’s sarcastic sense of humor couldn’t dampen her own good mood. “Anyway, you’re right,” Carole said. “I’d better get cracking. I just need to check on Starlight first.”

  As Maureen continued on her way, Carole hurried down the aisle to a stall near the middle. The tall bay gelding inside came forward at her step and greeted her with a nicker.

  “Hey, boy,” Carole murmured. Tears sprang to her eyes. As much as she had missed everything about spending time at Pine Hollow, she didn’t realize until that moment just how hard it had been to be separated from her horse, only seeing him for a limited number of hours per week and being forced to leave him almost exclusively to the care of other people for the first time since she’d owned him. She quickly unlatched the stall door and slid inside, wrapping her arms around Starlight’s neck.

  She was a little surprised to find herself getting so choked up as the gelding nosed at her hair, blowing warm breath on her neck under her braid. True, she had missed her horse a lot. True, she was really glad to be back, finished with being grounded and all the rest of it. Still, she suspected that her sudden rush of emotions might also have something to do with something else, something that had happened two nights earlier on New Year’s Eve.

  She pushed that idea out of her mind as quickly as it had come. She didn’t want to think about Cam Nelson right then. Stroking Starlight’s face, she took a few deep breaths and did her best to get her emotions under control.

  Carole jumped when she heard someone clear his throat in the aisle outside. Spinning around, she saw Ben Marlow watching her.

  “Oh!” Carole blushed immediately, though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as though she needed to be embarrassed that Ben had caught her hugging and patting her horse. Ben would be the last person in the world to criticize or make fun of something like that—most people who met Ben soon realized that he seemed to like horses better than people. That quality was one of the first things Carole had appreciated about him when he’d started working at Pine Hollow a couple of years earlier. It was sometime after that that she’d begun noticing that Ben had other attributes, as well. Like broad shoulders and deep, somber brown eyes—eyes that were gazing at her steadily at that very moment.

  “Um, h-hi,” Carole stammered, not knowing what else to say. Unbidden, a rush of memories from New Year’s Eve flooded her mind. A lot of them were awful, painful memories having to do with Cam, the guy who’d pursued her and then dumped her. But a few featured Ben, who had been there afterward.

  “Welcome back.” Ben was staring over her shoulder at Starlight. He cleared his throat. “Um, Starlight will be glad to have you around full-time again.”

  Carole smiled tentatively. Ben usually didn’t have much to say, and she was a little surprised that he was actually standing there making small talk. Of course, she’d been more than a little surprised on New Year’s Eve, too, when he’d asked her to dance. Was he turning over a new leaf? Or was this just a fluke—like the time a couple of months earlier when he’d kissed her and then pretended it never happened?

  “I’m glad to be back,” she said lightly, though her cheeks were still burning.

  “We
ll.” Ben paused. Keeping his gaze fixed on Starlight, who was nuzzling Carole’s shoulder, he said, “Uh, so Starlight looks good. Um …”

  Carole could tell he was casting around for something else to say. She wanted to help him, but her mind was suddenly a total blank. What did people say to each other, anyway? She couldn’t imagine.

  “Carole!” Max Regnery exclaimed heartily, appearing from around the corner of the aisle. “Welcome back!”

  Carole turned to watch as the stable owner hurried toward them, a broad smile lighting his blue eyes and weather-beaten face. Max had inherited Pine Hollow from his late father, who had taken it over from his father before him. Max ran the stable with strict discipline, a sense of humor, and a deep and genuine love of horses and riders alike. The place was in his blood, and Carole couldn’t imagine him doing anything else. His older daughter, five-year-old Maxine, had clearly inherited the family love of horses, and Carole could already picture the little girl taking the reins someday and carrying on the Pine Hollow tradition for another generation.

  “Thanks!” Carole smiled at Max, doing her best to ignore the fact that Ben was slinking away down the aisle. Was he relieved that Max had interrupted? Or disappointed? She tried not to wonder. “It’s great to be here,” she told Max. “What’s on the schedule for today?”

  “Let’s go to the office and find out.” Max gestured for her to follow him. “In any case, I’d like to talk over a few things with you before you get started.”

  Carole grimaced slightly as he turned away and headed down the aisle. What did Max want to talk to her about? Was he worried that she was going to get in trouble again now that she was back on the job? Fat chance—she would keep her grades up this time if she had to give up sleeping and eating to do it. There was no way she was ever going to risk being separated from the work she loved again.

  As they entered the office, she noticed a phone message in her own handwriting tacked to the bulletin board over the desk. “Hey!” she said, pointing to it. “Did you ever call about those horses that woman wants to sell you?” She had taken the message a couple of days earlier when a local woman had called looking to place her two horses as schoolies. One of the horses sounded as though it had a few problems, but Carole was excited, as always, at the prospect of a new training challenge. She had been afraid that Max might not even consider taking the horses on—the woman claimed she would only let them go together.