Track Record

by Bonnie Bryant

  “Kelsey. Kelsey Varick,” Carole corrected automatically. “But I thought she was coming when the addition was finished, just like everybody else.”

  Ben shrugged. “Max says today. Seems this girl insisted.”

  Carole was more surprised than ever at that. Max wasn’t the type to give in to twelve-year-olds who “insisted” he do things their way. “Well, okay then,” she said uncertainly. “I guess we should go do that. The stall on the corner by the back door is free. Let’s ask Max if that one will work.”

  When they arrived at the office, Max was sitting behind his desk talking with Maureen, who was lounging in the doorway. “Hi,” Carole said. “Um, sorry for interrupting, but Ben just told me about the new boarder coming this afternoon, and we were going to get a stall ready. Should we use that one in the back corner?” She avoided looking at Maureen, who always made her a little nervous. There was something about her cool gold-flecked eyes that made Carole feel like a bug under a microscope. Besides, Maureen had never made any secret of the fact that she thought Ben was cute. Even though she was at least four or five years older than him, she insisted on checking him out, head to toe, almost every time they ran into each other. While Carole couldn’t fault the older stable hand’s taste, it was still kind of disturbing.

  “Sure, that corner stall will be fine,” Max agreed, leaning back in his chair. “And thanks, you two. I meant to get to that myself, but the whole afternoon has been crazy.”

  “No problem,” Carole said. “Uh, but I didn’t even realize a new boarder was going to be moving in already. What’s the big rush? I thought she wasn’t coming until spring, like the others.”

  “I admit, it’s not the ideal time. In more ways than one.” Max rubbed his jaw, his eyes wandering to the wall clock. “Tonight’s the night I have to leave early so Deborah and I can drive into D.C. She’s accepting an award for that story she did on the new environmental laws.”

  Carole noticed that he hadn’t really answered her question, but she knew better than to push it. If Max didn’t want to elaborate, he wasn’t going to. “Oh! That’s right,” she said instead. It really was pretty exciting that Max’s wife, a newspaper reporter, had won a prestigious journalism award. “Tell Deb congratulations.”

  “I will.” Max looked worried. “I just wish I could be here tonight for the newcomer. Especially since Red and Denise are both off.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” Maureen said with a shrug. “I think the three of us can handle moving in one kid and her nag. It’s Friday—a bunch of the Pony Club twerps will probably be hanging around anyway. They can help out.”

  “Right,” Carole agreed, sneaking a peek at her watch and hoping this wasn’t going to interfere with her date. “No problem at all.”

  TWO

  Callie Forester leaned forward slightly, balancing herself easily in the stirrups as her horse climbed a steep hill. The sun had almost disappeared over the tops of the trees, and the wooded trail Callie was following was draped in deep shadow.

  “Good thing we’re almost at the stable,” she murmured to her horse, a leopard Appaloosa gelding named Scooby. “Otherwise I’d have to let you find the trail home.”

  Scooby flicked his alert, shapely ears in her direction, then returned his attention to the trail ahead. He crested the hill and Callie sat back, urging the horse into an easy trot. It was growing cold as night approached, and the sky glowed crimson and orange and pink. This is the stuff, Callie thought with a sigh of deep contentment. It was moments like those, when she was alone with her horse, far from civilization, that she felt the most alive—the most like herself.

  She knew it surprised some people that she had chosen the sport of endurance riding as her specialty—it wasn’t nearly as glamorous as other disciplines she could have picked. To Callie, though, her choice made perfect sense. She had spent several years showing in more traditional areas of equestrian competition. But all the time she spent circling the hunter ring had never brought her the sense of peace and personal satisfaction she felt at times like this. There were no artificial obstacles to get in her way, no silly show clothes to worry about, no judge watching her every move. It was just Callie and her horse, depending on each other and their months of steady training and conditioning. It was riding in its simplest, most basic form. That was why Callie had switched to endurance riding five or six years earlier, and why she’d never looked back.

  I’m just glad to be right here, right now, she thought, taking an extra-deep breath of the crisp winter air. After the year I’ve had … Well, it’s just nice to be back, that’s all. She did her best not to let thoughts of George Wheeler enter her mind. Or the car accident the previous summer, which had robbed her of six months of training as she relearned how to use her body. Or even her family’s move at the end of her sophomore year, which had uprooted Callie and her brother, Scott, from lifelong friends, neighbors, schools, and coaches. Scott had adapted easily enough, of course—he had their congressman father’s gift for making friends instantly wherever he went. But Callie couldn’t help wondering what would have become of her if she hadn’t had riding to carry her through. For one thing, it had given her something to focus on in those first uncertain weeks when everything else was new and scary. Also, the stable was the place where she’d met Stevie, Carole, and Lisa, who had become her true friends.

  A moment later horse and rider approached a fork in the trail. Callie brought Scooby to a halt, debating which way to go.

  “The left way is shorter,” she mused aloud. “But that hill above the creek crossing looked pretty muddy when we passed it earlier. Maybe we should go right. It’s a little longer, but it’ll be easier on us.”

  Scooby stood patiently, offering no opinion one way or the other, his breathing creating little puffs of steam in the cold air. After one last glance at the red-streaked late-afternoon sky, Callie turned right.

  Why not take the easy route for once? she thought with a half smile. People are always telling me I put too much pressure on myself. And see? That’s not always true.

  Fifteen minutes later Callie emerged from the woods just a short distance from the stable yard. As she rode Scooby toward the building, she noticed a small knot of people clustered near the gate of the schooling ring. A fully tacked horse was trotting at the end of a longe line inside—a tall, elegant gray mare.

  Looks like another buyer taking a look at Joyride, Callie thought with a slight lurch in her peaceful, contented mood. I hope this one likes her. It would be nice to close that chapter of my life once and for all.

  After several weeks of practice she was getting pretty good at forgetting that George Wheeler ever existed. But every time she saw his horse standing in her stall or grazing in the pasture, she slipped a little. It would be easier to move on once Joyride—the last physical reminder of George—was gone from Pine Hollow.

  As she rode closer she started to pick up a few words of the conversation going on in the ring. Max was reeling Joyride in as a lean red-haired woman with bright blue eyes chattered happily about the mare’s conformation. Callie smiled.

  So far, so good, she thought, slowing Scooby’s pace slightly and watching as Max and the potential buyer fussed with the mare’s tack. By the time Callie drew abreast of the ring, the red-haired woman was mounted and putting Joyride through her paces, still looking pleased.

  Callie smiled as she dismounted and headed inside with Scooby in tow. From what she had seen, things looked promising. She had ridden Joyride once herself and knew that the mare required a strong, confident, but sensitive rider. When she had one, she was a dream horse for eventing, jumping, or just about any other discipline.

  Crossing her fingers and hoping that Joyride had finally found her perfect rider, Callie headed into the stable to put Scooby away. To her slight annoyance, someone—probably one of the younger riders—had left a horse named Chip cross-tied right at the end of the aisle, between her and Scooby’s stall. Chip was an even-tempered Appaloosa, much li
ke Scooby himself, but Callie didn’t feel like fussing around, unsnapping the cross-ties and maneuvering the two geldings around each other. Glancing around, she didn’t see any sign of Chip’s would-be rider.

  “What do you say we take the long way around?” she said to her horse. With a cluck, she led him down the other leg of the U-shaped aisle.

  She was rounding the corner near the back door when she heard a giggle. A second later Carole hurried out into the aisle in front of her, straw in her hair and a blush on her cheeks. She was looking over her shoulder, so distracted that she almost bumped right into Scooby. “Oops!” she said when she-finally turned and spotted Callie and her horse. “Sorry! We—I was bedding down the stall, and I didn’t know anyone was—um, sorry.”

  Callie blinked. Carole could be scatterbrained at times, but she seemed unusually flustered at the moment. And it definitely wasn’t like her to leap out into the stable aisle without looking where she was going.

  Then Ben Marlow stepped out of the stall behind her, and Callie understood. Ah, she thought, hiding a smile. No wonder Carole’s distracted. I bet there was more than straw-spreading going on in there just now.

  Callie knew that some of Carole’s other friends still had doubts about Ben—they thought he was too brusque and secretive to be totally trustworthy, especially since Carole didn’t have much experience with guys. But Callie thought the two of them were good for each other. She hoped that Carole would help bring Ben out of his shell. If he learned to open up and trust other people even half as much as he did the horses he worked with, he would probably be a lot happier. And she could already see the positive effect the fledgling relationship was having on Carole. Her self-confidence was as high as it had ever been since Callie had known her, and she was absolutely aglow whenever Ben was in the room.

  “By the way, is anything wrong?” Carole asked, blinking and seeming to really notice Scooby for the first time. She gave the gelding a pat on the shoulder. “Were you looking for something?”

  “Nope, thanks.” Callie gave a light tug on the lead rope to start her horse moving again. “We’re just taking the scenic route back to his stall. See you later.”

  Leaving Carole and Ben to their stall bedding—or whatever—Callie continued on her way, humming under her breath. Soon she was leading Scooby into his stall and slipping off his bridle. Hanging it on the hook outside with his halter, she returned to remove the saddle. Scooby stood patiently, staring longingly at his feed tub.

  “Don’t worry, it’s almost dinnertime, big guy,” Callie murmured, giving him a scratch on the withers. “And I’ll make sure Ben gives you a full scoop of grain tonight. You deserve it.”

  She smiled as the horse sighed patiently and lowered his head, almost as if he’d understood her words. He really does deserve some special attention, Callie thought. We’ve been working hard for the past few weeks, and he’s been great. Things are finally on track for us, and we should celebrate that.

  Deciding that her horse’s reward would be a sponge bath, a thorough grooming, and then a full day of turnout the next day if the weather was agreeable, Callie grabbed her tack and headed for the tack room to put it away and get a bucket and sponge. On her way back down the aisle, she passed Carole and Ben again. They were holding hands as they walked, though they hastily moved apart when they saw her. Hiding a smile, Callie gave them a quick wave and ducked back into Scooby’s stall.

  Those two are too cute, she thought as she squeezed out her sponge and started wiping her horse down. And I’m glad. They deserve a little happiness—just like me and Scooby. And everyone else around this place, for that matter. It was kind of a tough autumn all around, but things are definitely on an upswing now. Whatever we’ve all been through lately—and most of us have been through a lot—things are looking pretty perfect for everyone right about now.

  She snapped back to reality as some kind of heavy machinery started up with a loud whine just outside the main door. Her horse had almost dozed off as she sponged him, but he jumped and looked around nervously at the strange sound.

  Well, almost perfect, anyway, Callie amended her thought as she patted Scooby soothingly on the shoulder, waiting for the noise to stop. And once this construction business is finished, things will be even better.

  Lisa Atwood slumped on the couch in her living room, wondering why it was that some hours of the day flew by as if they barely had time to happen, while others stretched endlessly. She glanced at her watch.

  Five o’clock, she thought. An hour ago I was having a great time at my photography club meeting. Now here I am, stuck at home while Mom plays Martha Stewart.

  She watched as her mother painstakingly stacked logs and kindling into an elaborate tepee, then crumpled newspaper and poked it in underneath the neat pile of wood. When the last bit of paper was in place, she pulled a long match out of the box on the mantel and scraped it on the brick lining of the fireplace. The match flamed to life, and Mrs. Atwood leaned forward and lit the corner of the balled-up newspaper. Soon the carefully laid fire was ablaze, crackling merrily and casting a faint orange glow out into the room.

  “There!” Mrs. Atwood said brightly. “Isn’t that cozy? Now you can invite Scott in for a few minutes when he comes by to pick you up. Show him that we have a nice, comfortable home, too, even if we don’t have a distinguished congressman as the head of the family.” She smiled and winked at Lisa before turning back to the fireplace to fuss with the brass screen.

  Lisa sighed. Her mother had been making that sort of comment all afternoon. Who am I kidding? she thought sourly. She’s been all aflutter ever since she figured out that Scott and I really are going out.

  Glancing over at the doorway as her mother brushed off her hands and bustled about the room, Lisa wished she could speed up the passage of time so that she could leave for her date with Scott. But she still had almost an hour before he was due to pick her up.

  “Do you think this would look better over here, darling?” Mrs. Atwood said, moving a blue-and-white vase from one end of the mantel to the other. She stood back and cocked her head at it, then returned the vase to its original spot. “Hmmm, no. I think it’s just lovely where it is. Why change what works?”

  “Definitely. Looks great, Mom,” Lisa murmured automatically, though her mind wasn’t on the vase. It was really pretty ironic, she decided whenever she thought back over the early days of her relationship with Scott. There she was, dating a new guy who would totally be the envy of all her mother’s friends—he was good-looking, popular, rich, from an important family, all the things her mother cared about—and Lisa couldn’t convince her that it wasn’t all an elaborate lie concocted to hide her pain over her breakup with Alex Lake.

  Of course, the truly ironic thing is that I was ever annoyed about it in the first place, she thought. What did I have to complain about? If there’s one thing worse than having Mom worry about me nonstop, it’s listening to her gush on and on about “our distinguished congressman neighbor” and “your handsome young man.”

  Even as she thought it, though, she realized it was kind of a toss-up. As relentless as her mother was now about bringing up Scott’s name at every possible opportunity, she had been just as bad about trying to comfort and support Lisa back then. She had even arranged for her post divorce support group—better known to Lisa and her friends as Gripe Therapy—to ambush Lisa in her own home, trying to make her open up about her supposed problems.

  That was an experience I’d rather not repeat, Lisa thought ruefully. Maybe I am better off now that Mom is happy for me instead of worried about me. It’s just kind of hard to remember that sometimes.

  She sighed again and stared into the flames of the crackling fire. Her mother had never had much to say about Alex one way or the other, though she had been happy that Lisa had “someone special to take care of her,” as she’d always insisted on putting it. Now that she realized Scott was in the picture, Mrs. Atwood already seemed to have forgotten that Alex had ever
existed. But Lisa hadn’t forgotten. Not quite. She was happy with Scott—happier than she ever would have expected—but it was still weird to have a relationship of almost a year be so over.

  “I have to tell you, Lisa, I’m pleased that you’re seeing such a nice, polite, well-spoken young man as Scott,” Mrs. Atwood commented with satisfaction. “He really is a pleasure to be around—not like so many teenagers today.” She frowned slightly. “Trust me, Lisa. Working at that mall, I see enough of the dregs of society to realize how lucky I am to have a daughter with such wonderful taste in boyfriends.”

  “Mmm,” Lisa said noncommittally, not wanting to set her mother off on one of her all-too-frequent tirades about the state of modern youth. Instead, Mrs. Atwood returned her attention to the topic of Scott and his overall wonderfulness.

  I guess that makes it unanimous, Lisa thought with a touch of unease as her mother babbled on and on. Mom loves Scott—everybody loves Scott. Mom wants to talk about him all the time, and it seems like everybody else wants to talk to him all the time, even when we’re supposed to be out together, just the two of us.

  She chewed the inside of her cheek worriedly. That very topic had been nagging at her for weeks. Everywhere she went with Scott, he seemed to know about seventy-five percent of the people they encountered. They were constantly being interrupted—at restaurants, strolling through the mall, playing miniature golf, even walking down the street. Lisa had just about mastered the art of smiling patiently: She pasted a little smile on her face any time yet another of Scott’s adoring fans approached to say hello. She had known that Scott was popular, but she hadn’t realized that his hordes of friends and acquaintances would demand so much of his attention, cutting into their couple time whenever they ventured into public. It was nothing like it had been with Alex, when it had always seemed as if the two of them were in their own private, special, romantic world, even in the middle of a crowded party or overflowing movie theater.