Authors: Mandy Hubbard
And then I stop dead in my tracks.
Because Zoey shrank.
I stare at the little chestnut pony with a nearly identical blaze. It’s wearing my saddle too. “Oh my God, where did you get this thing?” I ask.
“What do you mean, where did I get it? That’s totally your horse.”
I giggle. “Uh-uh. Where is Zoey, really?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I turn to him, taking in the smile that he can’t quite wipe off his face. “You can’t be serious.”
“What, you have something against ponies?”
I dart a look at the pony again. “I mean, at least it’s not a Shetland. …”
He pats me on the back. “That’s the spirit.”
“But I’m not riding it for a whole lesson,” I say. “I’m going to look like a moron.”
“Sure you are. You ride that horse for every lesson.”
I cross my arms. “Are you sure this thing is even broke?” For all I know, the horse has never been ridden.
He gives me an indignant look. “Of course she’s broke.”
“You really expect me to believe this is Zoey.”
“Absolutely,” he says. Then he turns away, trotting toward the group and leaving me standing there with a pony whose back is barely above my belly button. This horse is a good foot shorter than Zoey.
“Hey,” I call out, and he stops, turning back to me. “Where’s my horse, really?”
His grin widens. “Nowhere you’ll find her. So if you want to make these guests real happy with their lesson, I suppose you ought to climb aboard.”
I gotta hand it to him. She does kinda resemble Zoey, if Zoey had been hit with a magic shrinking gun. This little trick of his might be more embarrassing than riding a tricolored horse.
“He better be right,” I say to the pony. The only sign she’s listening is a little flick of her tiny ears. “If you’re not broke and I fly off, I’m blaming him.”
I toss the reins over her neck and bring her fully into the arena, closing the gate behind me. My best guess is she’s a Welsh or maybe a Pony of the Americas or some other little breed. She’s lucky I’m barely a hundred pounds. She’s plenty
big enough to carry me without trouble, but it doesn’t mean I won’t feel like a big old idiot.
With a deep breath, I climb aboard, waiting to see if Landon even bothered to check the training of my replacement mount. The pony doesn’t move, so I nudge it with my ankles and she reluctantly steps out, and soon we’re joining the others on the rail.
Landon rides up alongside me, and now I feel utterly ridiculous. I have to crane my neck to peer up at him.
“We look like circus rejects,” I say, motioning to my tiny mount and his rainbow gelding.
“I didn’t want you to feel left out.”
“Naturally,” I say.
“We could trade,” he offers.
“And give up my stunning pony? Of course not.”
“Mackenzie! Landon!” A voice barks out, and my stomach sinks. Mr. Ramsey strides toward us. Landon and I share an
oh crap
look before we turn our mounts toward him and walk over.
“What exactly is … this?” He motions to our horses.
“What?” I say dumbly.
His jaw tenses. “Why does this horse match your hair?”
“It was a surprise for the guests,” Landon interjects. “They
love
it.”
“Seriously!” I say, my mind finally jumping into gear. “Especially the kids. You know how the Fourth of July weekend is our big family weekend. We thought the kids would get a kick out of it, and they’ve been talking about it all morning.”
“Really,” he says, his voice flat, disbelieving.
“Yes,” Landon and I say in unison.
“And the pony?”
“Zoey threw a shoe,” I say. “I didn’t want to be late for the lesson and make the guests wait. I don’t mind looking a little silly in order to keep them happy.”
He narrows his eyes, as if he’s pretty sure he can see right through our story, but he doesn’t call us out. “Very well. Just see to it that the horse returns to normal after the rodeo. I don’t care if you have to shave it.”
“Yes, sir,” Landon says, and I dart him a look, not surprised he responds to Mr. Ramsey’s military authority in the same way I do.
We watch him retreat, disappearing up the path toward the guest registration building, and then we turn back toward our lesson.
“Whew,” I say, breathing again. “We’re lucky he doesn’t realize you can’t shave a horse’s summer coat. Storm would be bald.”
“I know, right? This dye better wash out.” Landon laughs, gathering his reins and calling out to the group, “Okay, go ahead and pick up a trot.”
Seconds later, I realize I should have taken him up on his offer to trade mounts. I forgot the true bane of any pony owner: the trot. The plucky little thing has tiny little strides but she makes up for it in speed, which results in feeling like I’m riding the top of a jackhammer. I try to post—alternating standing and sitting with each beat of the trot—but it’s nearly impossible, and when I blast past the larger, more relaxed horses, I can’t miss the couple who glance at me or the ridiculous grin on Landon’s face.
He is going to pay for this one.
“His name is Ronan,” Bailey says as she pulls the tank top over her head. It’s still on a hanger, so she’s just draping it across her body to see whether it matches her jeans. Because apparently, jeans don’t actually match every top.
You learn something new every day.
She yanks the top over her head and sticks it back in the closet.
“And Ronan is … ,” I say, waiting for her fill in the blank as I take a sip of my soda. I turn back to the belt buckle sitting on the coffee table in front of me, tilting my head to the side to get a better view. When I realized Landon put on a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt and left to go to town, I snuck into his cabin and swiped this thing. He won’t notice it’s gone until tomorrow, when he goes to put on his Wranglers again.
Landon’s lucky buckle consists of a man, horseback, roping
a little calf. I’m trying to decide how I can turn this image into something totally mortifying in the next several hours. That’s all I’ve got before he’ll realize it’s gone. I’ve gotta creep into his cabin by five a.m. at the latest and return it to his dresser.
“He’s a guest. He’s staying in cabin twenty-three.”
Without looking up from the buckle, I stick out my finger and make a circular motion, as in,
get to the point already
. “And you met him …”
“At the concession stand,” she says. “I was getting a slushie. He bought it for me.”
“Sounds like a keeper,” I say, reaching for the little carton of acrylic paints I bought in town this morning.
I have an idea.
“None of them are keepers,” she says, pulling the shirt over her head and dropping it on the floor. “I mean, it was totally sweet of him, but I’m not marrying the dude. We’re going to college in two months, Mack. Places to see, boys to kiss.” She makes a duckface in the mirror. “So anyway, he’s taking me off-campus—”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” I say, turning back to my paints. I twist the lid on several different options—white, purple, even gold—and reach for a clean brush.
“Huh?” She stops digging and stares at me as if she just realized I was there. “What are you even doing?”
“Messing with Landon’s belt buckle. He wears it to every rodeo.” I hold up the buckle, wiggling it around a little before setting it back down. “Anyway. The not-so-good idea: to leave the ranch with a complete stranger,” I say. “There’s a ton you can do here, and then maybe leave the ranch on your second date.”
“Ew, no. He’s a guest, and he asked me out for a date in town.” She stares into the mirror, holding her hair up off her neck. “What are you even doing to that thing?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “And anyway, don’t text me constantly or anything. But at least text me in a couple of hours and let me know how it’s going, so I know he’s not an ax murderer.”
“Okay, Mom
,” she says, rolling her eyes and turning back to the mirror.
I cross my arms. “I’m serious.”
“Fine. I’ll text you. But once or twice. Anything more and he’ll think I’m being rude.”
“Deal. And if you forget, I reserve the right to sic Landon on you.” Because even though he might be the worst boyfriend in the history of the universe, I believe him when he says he watches out for his two sisters. If I asked him to, he’d probably crash Bailey’s dream date just to be sure the guy isn’t a creeper.
I blink. When did I decide he was anything more than a royal jerk?
“Ah, Landon. Speaking of …”
“There’s not a lot to speak of,” I interrupt, dipping the paintbrush into the gold paint and brushing it over the front of the calf. The buckle started out gold and silver, but this particular gold is a wee bit more gaudy.
“So that
wasn’t
you two heading out on the trails this afternoon?” She grins at me in the mirror, looking like she caught us making out or something.
“You saw us?” I dab a little more glittery paint onto the buckle, until the calf turns into a shimmery unicorn. Awesome.
“I’m surprised, what with your big slushie expedition and all. How’d you find the time?”
“Nice change of subject. And anyway, of course I saw you. You’re on horses. And his has giant red and blue spots. Not exactly low pro.”
“We were just walking out Zoey again. I practiced poles today. For this weekend’s rodeo. I’m supposed to ride in it, in case you forgot.” I drop the gold paint and pick up a clean brush, dipping it into the purple.
“I didn’t forget. My role is relegated to the ticket booth. Not a lot of practice required.”
I hold up the buckle. “What does this look like to you?”
She steps closer. “A guy in a purple dunce cap catching a unicorn?”
I laugh. “Close.” Then I dip the brush in some more paint. “Landon is going to go insane when he sees this.”
Bailey goes back to the mirror, twisting the top part of her hair and frowning at her reflection. “Anyway, how are things going with him, really? Do you think he’s falling for you?”
I dab a little more white onto the belt buckle, elongating a few points until they start to resemble stars in the night sky. Landon is going to look
fabulous
at the rodeo. “Surprisingly, yeah. Our relationship is kind of different this year.”
“Yeah, because you’re screwing with him, smarty.”
“No, I mean, I almost think I’m seeing more of him. Which is weird. I mean, it should be more artificial, right? But last year, in retrospect, it’s kinda like we were trying to be this perfect boyfriend–girlfriend, instead of being ourselves. He told me some stuff about his dad that he’d never mentioned before.”
She snorts. “So you think this year your relationship is more
real.
”
“What’s so funny about that?”
“Because you’re faking like you’re his perfect girl, instead of being yourself! Surely you see the irony.”
I freeze. Am I actually being someone else? Or is it actually the opposite? Somehow this version feels more like the real me than last year.
“At least tell me you’ve used my research.” Bailey tips her head to the side as she studies the lavender blouse she just draped over her body.
“Yeah. That tip on debate? Genius. I suddenly must be right about
everything
.”
Bailey laughs, then tosses the halter top she’s holding on top of the pile of clothes avalanching off of her bed. “That sounds so … unlike you.”
“Shut up,” I say, tossing a Q-tip at her. I add a little more purple to the buckle, then grab the little vial of gold glitter. “Anyway, the important thing is that Landon’s gonna melt down when he sees this.”
As the sun rises over the rolling hilltops on the Fourth of July, I shove the last wheelbarrow of soiled horse bedding out the back door of the barn, down the little path, and onto the cement slab. I tip it over and drag it backward, then let it slam down with a clang.
Done.
The sun beaming down makes the dust and any loose strands of blue hair from my ponytail stick to the back of my neck, and my hands are sweating inside my leather gloves. I yank them off and shove them into the back pocket of my jeans, shaking my hands around briefly so they can dry, then I roll the wheelbarrow to the empty storage area at the back of the barn.
The entire ranch is bustling with activity at six a.m., all of it prep work for the rodeo. Every guest suite is booked, and half
the town comes to the ranch to watch the rodeo or play in the annual golf tournament. Tonight, ten thousand dollars’ worth of fireworks will be detonated. Everyone who lives for miles around will watch the show, as if it’s a big billboard for the ranch and the fun you can have if only you pony up the cash to stay here.
Or if only you work here, like me and Bailey and Landon. Despite the fact that we work our butts off all summer, it manages to be the best job in the world. Freedom and adventure, romance and … a million things wrapped into one. Today is the most exhausting and fun day of the whole summer.
Once the wheelbarrow is put away, I head out to the driveway, to where a half dozen trailers are parked, two more pulling in just as I round the corner of the barn. The dust kicked up by the tires drifts toward me, rising higher, just like the early-morning sun.
“Mack, can you take her? She goes in stall fourteen, and she’s a little too much for me to handle.”
I’m surprised to find Adam in the midst of the horses. He’s more than a little bit frazzled, the hair under his ball cap sticking out at a million different angles as a horse pulls at the end of her striped red lead rope, her ears swiveling constantly, her nostrils flaring.
“You got it,” I say, reaching for the lead. He passes it off, looking instantly relieved as the lead rope leaves his hands. She dances beside me, swinging wide as we head toward the barn entrance.
“Easy,” I say, watching her ears move toward the sound of my voice. I slow as we step up onto the concrete, not wanting her
to panic in the smaller space, but it’s here where she calms, her muscles relaxing as her dancing steps turn into a slow walk.