Track Record

by Bonnie Bryant

  I guess ruining my favorite pair of shoes was the straw that broke the camel’s back, she thought wryly, glancing down at the gloppy stain on the brown leather of her left toe. But she didn’t really care about her shoe. For the first time in a long time, she felt certain about what she needed to do, and she knew that she could do it. It’s way past time to do what I was thinking about before, she told herself firmly, already heading out toward the sidewalk. I’ve got to tell George that this is over. For good. And this time I’ll make sure he knows I mean it.

  “Good girl,” Stevie crooned, feeding her horse a carrot. “You did great today, sweetie!”

  Belle chewed the carrot quickly and snuffled at Stevie’s hands, clearly hoping for more. When she realized it was all gone, the sleek, long-legged bay mare lowered her head to check the ground for any stray pieces.

  Stevie grinned and tugged at the lead rope. “Come on, piggie,” she said, reaching out to adjust Belle’s anti-sweat sheet. “Keep moving. As soon as we get you cooled out, you can oink your way through all the hay in your stall.”

  They circled the stable building several times. As they walked, Stevie thought about their training session. It had gone pretty well. After warming up, she had worked over the ground poles for a while. Then Lisa had hung around for a few minutes to watch as Stevie took Belle over a couple of lines of cross rails. Belle had performed well, proving that she hadn’t forgotten all her previous jump training. Still, Stevie knew that they hadn’t accomplished nearly as much as they would have if George had been there coaching her.

  I hope George isn’t going to flake out on me now, she thought. I really need his help if I’m going to be ready for that jumper show next month. I mean, where else am I going to get free lessons between now and then?

  She rolled her eyes at that, feeling slightly guilty. Just because George had needed to run an errand for his own horse that day, it didn’t mean he was blowing her off. He seemed downright eager to help, in fact. She should be grateful.

  And I totally am, she reminded herself. It’s great that he came along to help me with this, especially when I never would have expected it. He’s just not the kind of guy I ever thought I’d be—

  She stopped short as she rounded the corner, all thoughts of George and eventing fleeing immediately as she spotted Carole and Ben. The two of them had just emerged from the stable’s rear exit. Ben had his hand on Carole’s arm, steering her as she held one hand over her left eye.

  “There,” Ben said, his words carrying to Stevie through the cold, still, late-afternoon air. “Better. Now maybe we can see—”

  As Stevie watched, Carole tipped her head back and removed her hand. Ben moved closer, his face only inches from hers as he peered into her eye. His free hand hovered near her cheek. Both of them were clearly unaware that they were being observed.

  What the heck is going on here? Stevie wondered. One answer to that question was obvious: Carole had something in her eye and Ben was helping her get if out. But that wasn’t the part that was worrying her. If the person helping Carole had been Lisa or Red or just about anyone else at Pine Hollow, Stevie wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But since when had Ben turned into Mr. Helpful? And did he really have to stand so close, or keep his hand on Carole’s arm as he peered into her eye? For that matter, did Carole have to gaze back up at him with that trusting, vulnerable expression on her face? Stevie could almost see the sparks flying between them, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  This could be really bad for Carole, she thought grimly as she watched them. First she gets blown away by the whole Cam thing. And now? Well, let’s just say Ben isn’t exactly Mr. Sensitive. If she starts to fall for him again and he hurts her …

  Finally, as Ben gently touched the skin just under Carole’s eye, Stevie couldn’t stand it any longer. “Hey!” she called loudly. “Need some help?”

  Carole and Ben both jumped, Ben almost poking Carole in the eye as they leaped apart. Stevie hurried forward with Belle in tow.

  “S-Stevie!” Carole blurted out, blushing and looking sheepish.

  That was all Stevie needed to see. Didn’t she learn anything from the whole Cam fiasco? she thought, feeling almost angry at her friend. Is she really that naive? I mean, I can see how Cam fooled her—he was a real pro, he fooled all of us. But anyone who’s ever met Ben Marlow can see that he’s just a heartbreak waiting to happen.

  She cast a disgruntled glance at Ben. Yes, he was good-looking. Stevie would be the first to admit that. But he was so gruff; and sullen, so obsessively private—he was almost guaranteed to hurt Carole if she let herself start believing she could have a relationship with him like the one she’d had—or thought she’d had, anyway—with Cam.

  “Got something in your eye, Carole?” Stevie did her best to hide her thoughts as she pushed past Ben to peer into Carole’s eye herself, Belle still trailing along at the end of her lead rope. She must have shoved Ben a little too hard, though, because he scowled at her darkly before turning away.

  “Um, yeah.” Carole glanced helplessly from Stevie to Ben and back again, making it impossible for Stevie to spot any foreign objects in her dark brown eyes.

  “Hold still,” she commanded sternly.

  Ben was already moving away toward the stable door. “Ben,” Carole called, her voice so uncertain and raw that it made Stevie cringe.

  He glanced back at her briefly, his eyes hooded and almost hostile. “Gotta go,” he said shortly.

  Stevie waited until he’d disappeared inside, then rounded on Carole. “What’s the deal?” she hissed. “You and Ben were looking awfully friendly there. I thought you decided that kind of thing was a bad idea. So what’s up with that?”

  Carole frowned. “It’s not how you think,” she said, sounding defensive. “You don’t know him like I do. Besides, it’s not like anything—”

  “There you are!” Maureen’s loud voice interrupted. The stable hand emerged from the building and walked toward them. “Stevie, I’ve been looking all over for Belle. You wanted the farrier to look at her, right?”

  “Oh!” Stevie had completely forgotten about that. “Sorry, Maureen. I’m coming right now.”

  She turned back to her friend, planning to insist on talking to her more after she finished with the farrier. But Carole was already hurrying back toward the stable.

  “Carole, wait!” Stevie called, wondering if she’d been too harsh. Carole could be so sensitive when it came to guys. Maybe she should have taken it a little easier on her. She had just been so surprised to come upon her and Ben like that, especially so soon after that bad scene with Cam.

  Carole paused, though she didn’t meet Stevie’s eye. “I’ve got to go wash my eye out,” she mumbled. “See you later.”

  She hurried away before Stevie could respond. Stevie hesitated, then turned and clucked to Belle, leading her after Maureen. She would have to find out what was going on with Carole later.

  THIRTEEN

  The next afternoon Callie picked at a stubborn. spot of dried mud on Scooby’s flank. Scooby snorted in alarm and shifted his weight, trying to get away from her probing fingers. “It’s okay, boy,” Callie murmured soothingly. The Appaloosa had been uncharacteristically jumpy ever since she’d started grooming him that day, and she was pretty sure she knew why.

  He’s probably picking up on my nerves, she thought ruefully. He can tell I’m all freaked out today and it’s making him anxious. Sort of the way running into George Wheeler every time I turn around has been making me anxious.

  She grimaced slightly, wishing she could just find a private moment to have it out with him. The more she put off their final conversation, the worse he was going to get—she had already encountered him several times since arriving at Pine Hollow an hour earlier.

  And each time it’s a huge coincidence, she thought sarcastically, glancing into the aisle as Ruffian, one of the stable cats, slunk past Scooby’s stall. Yeah, right. The same way it’s a coincidence when R
uffian just happens to end up with a mouse in her teeth.

  She sighed and tossed her currycomb into her grooming kit. She wasn’t accomplishing much with Scooby at the moment—she might as well leave him in peace. She was basically marking time anyway. She knew that George was exercising Joyride in the indoor ring, and she intended to be waiting for him when he was finished. She was sick of being nervous all the time. She hated feeling as though she had to check over her shoulder every five minutes, to skulk around like an escaped convict at Pine Hollow, at school, on the street, and even in her own home. She felt like a fool for letting herself reach that point. After all, it was George Wheeler she was dealing with. He was so dorky, so ridiculously harmless and bumbling. How could she have allowed herself to become so frightened of someone like him? It just didn’t make sense, any more than it made sense to blame herself for George’s weird, pathetic behavior. It was just one more reason it had to end then and there.

  Taking a deep breath, she let herself out of Scooby’s stall and walked around to the opposite end of the stable aisle, where Joyride was kept. The stall was still empty, which meant that George and the mare hadn’t finished their workout yet. Callie took advantage of the wait to prepare herself for the coming confrontation, running over what she wanted to say in her mind.

  Finally she heard the clip-clop of hoofbeats crossing the entryway. A moment later George appeared with Joyride at his shoulder. The mare snorted suspiciously when she spotted Callie, but George broke out in a delighted grin.

  “Hi, Callie!” he said, tugging on his mare’s reins to move her along faster. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you,” Callie replied grimly, not returning his smile. “George, we need to talk.”

  “Sure thing, Callie.” George’s gray eyes were wide and benign. “Just give me a second to untack Joy. Unless you want to talk while I work?”

  “That’s okay. I’ll wait.” Callie crossed her arms over her chest and did just that as George led his horse into her stall and quickly removed her bridle and saddle. He dumped the saddle on the ground outside and slung the bridle over the edge of the door. Then he blinked at Callie expectantly as he removed his hard hat and set it aside.

  “Okay, what is it, Callie?” George asked.

  Instead of answering, Callie crooked her finger, gesturing for him to follow as she led the way to the empty stall at the very end of the row, beside the back door. She didn’t want any spectators, and she definitely didn’t want to be interrupted. It was time to have it out with George once and for all, and she was determined not to let anything stop her.

  He followed her into the clean-swept stall obediently, almost stumbling over a couple of bags of sweet feed someone had stored there. “What’s going on, Callie?” he asked anxiously. “Are you—”

  “Quiet,” she interrupted bluntly, turning to face him. “Listen to me, George. I have a few things to say to you, and I want you to really hear them this time.”

  George cocked his head to one side. “What do you—”

  “Wait,” she commanded, holding up one hand. “It’s not your turn to talk yet. It’s your turn to listen.”

  George gulped, looking startled. But he nodded meekly.

  Callie tilted her chin slightly, willing herself to be strong and firm. “I know you’ve been following me around lately,” she said. “And I want you to know, I’m on to you. And I’m sick and tired of it. Do you hear me?”

  “But Callie—”

  “Shut up!” she shouted, louder than she’d intended. She cleared her throat. “You’re still listening,” she said sternly. “And I’m telling you, I’m fed up. I won’t take it anymore. From this point on, you need to stop it. I don’t want any more ‘coincidental’ meetings in the schooling ring, or in town, or in the halls between classes, or out on the trails where I’m training. And I absolutely don’t want to see you anywhere near my house again.”

  George looked startled and opened his mouth. Callie cut him off before he could make a sound.

  “Yes, I saw you through the window that night,” she snapped. “So don’t bother to deny it. I’ve had enough of that, and of you. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to know you exist. And you’re the one who’s going to make that happen, whether you like it or not. I don’t know what kind of relationship you think we have, or ought to have, in your pathetic little mind, but I’m putting an end to it. For good. No more excuses.”

  George’s jaw had dropped during her speech, giving him the appearance of a wounded puppy. Finally he snapped his mouth closed and shifted his gaze to somewhere just north of her right shoulder. “Is that all?” he asked quietly.

  “Almost,” she said. “We’ve had this conversation before, you and I. This time I want you to know I’m serious. I want you to tell me you understand what the deal is. If I catch you at it again, there’s going to be hell to pay.” She made her expression as fierce as she could at that last part, hoping he would get the hint.

  George didn’t reply, but he nodded, looking a little shell-shocked. “I—I’d better go now,” he mumbled. Without another word, he hurried past her and out of the stall. By the time she stepped into the aisle herself, he’d disappeared.

  Good, she thought with relief. Finally. That’s over with.

  A huge weight had lifted off her heart and mind at the very moment George had slunk out of the stall. Callie was finally free. She could get back to her life now.

  Turning toward Scooby’s stall, she walked forward with a spring in her step. Suddenly she felt like going for a nice long trail ride.

  Lisa was still thinking about the photography club meeting she’d just left as she pulled out her keys to let herself into her house. To her surprise, however, she found that the door was already unlocked.

  That’s weird, she thought as she pushed it open. I thought Mom was working tonight.

  She felt a twinge of worry. Her mother’s attendance record at the clothing store where she worked hadn’t been too stellar lately. Lisa hoped she hadn’t decided to take another random day off. If she kept it up, she was going to be hitting the unemployment office soon.

  “Mom?” Lisa called as she stepped inside and dropped her backpack on the chair near the door. “Are you home?”

  “In here!” Mrs. Atwood’s voice, sounding oddly muffled, called from the direction of the kitchen.

  Lisa shrugged off her coat and walked down the hall. It was already growing dark inside the house—that time of year, dusk came early—but there were no lights on in the kitchen.

  Uh-oh, Lisa thought uneasily. I hope Mom’s not sitting in there in the dark. She still hated thinking about the difficult days right after her parents’ divorce, when her mother had spent most of her time locked in her bedroom with the lights off, drinking wine and crying nonstop.

  “Mom?” Lisa said tentatively as she turned the corner into the kitchen. She reached for the light switch by the door. “Are you—”

  “Surprise!” Mrs. Atwood cried as the light came on, illuminating their very crowded-looking kitchen. Six people were seated at the kitchen table, while another four or five were clustered around the island counter. Mrs. Atwood stepped forward and took Lisa’s hand. “Come in, Lisa. Sit down!”

  Lisa shook her head, completely confused. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Who are all these people?”

  “They’re here to help you, darling.” Mrs. Atwood smiled and tugged at her again. “They’re just a few people from my group who want to let you know it’s okay to share your feelings.”

  “What?” Lisa gaped at the strangers in her kitchen, feeling very unreal. This couldn’t actually be happening, could it? Even her mother wasn’t crazy enough to drag her entire therapy group out to their home. “But I told you, Mom!” she said. “I’m fine! There’s really nothing to share.”

  “Come, Lisa,” said a tall, thin man with several strands of grayish hair combed over his otherwise bald head. He stood from h
is seat at the table and gestured to her. “Take my seat. We’re here to help, just as your mother said.”

  “That’s right.” This time a portly woman dressed in leopard-print stirrup pants spoke up. “We’re here to support you, Lisa. After what you’ve been through, you need a soft cushion of caring to fall upon.”

  “What I’ve been through?” Lisa said, glancing at her mother in horror. “What have you been telling these people about me, Mom?”

  Mrs. Atwood shrugged and waved her hands vaguely. “Don’t be upset, Lisa,” she said. “I just told them about your loss. I’m your mother, after all—whether you know it or not, your pain affects me deeply. That causes me pain. Naturally, I shared that with my friends here, and they just insisted that we had to do something to help you.”

  Lisa gritted her teeth. This whole scene was starting to feel like some kind of bad made-for-TV movie. What was her mother’s problem, anyway? It was bad enough that she had spent the past week pestering Lisa nonstop. Did she really have to bring in reinforcements to make things even more unbearable?

  “Your mother also told us that you were keeping your feelings bottled,” a petite, earnest-looking red-haired woman said. “Letting rejection and resent-fulness build up inside you without sharing them is terribly unhealthy. So when she asked us for help, well, of course we came right away.”

  The leopard-print woman nodded vigorously. “You don’t have to be ashamed to share your pain with us, dear. I didn’t have the best track record with men, either,” she confided with an exaggerated wink. “That is, not until I met my Marvin.” She grasped the comb-over man’s hand and squeezed it to her sizable bosom.

  Marvin leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. Then he blinked at Lisa with sympathetic brown eyes. “We can help you,” he said fervently. “You just have to let us.”

  “Okay, listen, Mom,” Lisa said grimly, ignoring the others. “I know you’re having trouble believing this, but I really don’t need any emotional healing right now. Alex and I are better off apart—we’ve both accepted that, and we’re both moving on. Like I told you, I’m already dating Scott Forester.”