Horse Spy (19 page)

“Oh, sure,” Carole said. Scott was gone instantly. That meant Callie would probably be there in a few minutes. Carole glanced around. Was the stall ready for Callie’s inspection? Ben had been so busy with his grooming that he hadn’t noticed that Fez had eaten some of the hay in the tick. What if Callie thought they hadn’t given him enough food? And the water? There was work to be done.

Callie stepped back from her father’s car. “I’ll see you tonight,” she said through the open car window.

“Bye, honey,” the congressman answered. “Remember to be home on time. Your mother has promised to make everybody’s favorite dinner.”

“Oh, right, that pizza place that delivers—”

“Full pepperoni, half mushroom,” he said.

“Hope they’re as good as the place back home.”

“They are,” he said. “You’ll see.”

Callie waved, and her father pulled out of the drive.

She paused to look around. The place didn’t look like much, but then stables usually didn’t win awards for architecture. There was a single large house, probably where the owner lived. Max something. Regnery—she remembered. He’d had a couple of pretty good riders come through his school. Dorothy DeSoto, who had been big about ten years earlier, had trained here. He had a good reputation. Not that he was known for endurance riding, but he was good with horses and riders. That was all that mattered to Callie. She had her own trainer. Or at least she used to have her own trainer. Back home.

It was the second time in as many minutes that the phrase had gone through her head. Home was a long way away, on the other side of the country. But her father’s work was here now most of the year. Some congressmen left their families “back home.” For her father, that wouldn’t do. He wanted them to be together. So Scott and Callie had finished out the school year at their high school “back home” and had come to join their parents. They’d go to school here next year. She’d finish high school in Virginia, apply to college from Virginia, call Virginia home. No, she couldn’t do that. Home was back there, on the West Coast, where she came from, where she belonged.

She wasn’t ever going to belong here. She wasn’t ever going to like people, make friends, understand that soft Southern accent so many people had. Her friends were going to be on the other end of a long-distance call or on e-mail. She’d ride this horse. She’d earn ribbons, maybe even a few blues.
But staying in a house in Virginia wasn’t the same thing as living there. As far as Callie was concerned, “back home” was still home.

The screen door of the stable swung open and slammed shut.

It was Scott. She’d seen the car, so she knew he was there. Typical of him to have found his way into the barn. He’d probably already made friends with everyone. Scott was a natural-born friend to everyone. It was a skill he had clearly picked up from their father. He was funny, warm, kind, attentive, amusing, and comfortable with everyone. The worst part was that he actually meant it, too—at least when it came to everyone else. When he came to his sister, he wasn’t always Mr. Smooth.

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

“I was waiting for Dad,” Callie said. “I couldn’t leave without him.”

“Well, I may leave here without you,” he said. “I’ve got an appointment with the coach of the debate team in exactly fifteen minutes, and I have to get you to the dentist first. You’ve got to get in there, check out your horse, who looks just fine if you want my opinion, and then we’ve got to get out of here in five minutes so I can take you to your appointment.”

“Five minutes? Scott, I can’t do that! This is the first time I’ve seen the horse in months. I can’t just wave to him. You don’t know the first thing about—”

“What I know is that I don’t have a lot of time. Make it snappy.”

“I’ll do my best.” She sighed. Scott wasn’t improving her mood.

“Inside, turn right down the aisle. He’s in the last stall on the right. There’s a girl named Carole and a boy named Ben looking after him, but I think the horse is in a really bad mood. I guess they had to go to a lot of trouble to get him off the van—not that he got hurt or anything. I’ll be waiting in the car.”

“Thanks,” she said.

She stepped into the stable and paused for a moment. She heard Scott turn on the motor. It irritated her. She knew it was his way of reminding her, as if she hadn’t gotten the message, that he really was in a hurry. She knew he was rushed, just as she knew that he hadn’t been thrilled with his assignment to pick her up and drive her around. He wasn’t a lot happier about moving to Willow Creek than she was, and the only thing that made it easier for him was the excellent reputation of the Willow Creek High School debate team, a reputation he fully expected to help improve.

It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness after the bright summer sun outside. The stable was clean, with just the right amount of disarray. The pitchfork was precisely (and safely) tucked in a corner, but three lead ropes hung loosely around a peg, available on a second’s notice. Just as they should be.

She peered into the tack room. Tack rooms always looked messy to the untrained eye. Callie’s eye wasn’t untrained. She could see that everything in there had a place where it belonged. The pungent smells of leather, horses, and saddle soap combined comfortably.

She’d never been to Pine Hollow before, but she knew the place. It had all the best qualities of every fine stable she’d
ever walked in. This would be okay, even if it wasn’t back home.

There was a long row of stalls on each side of the aisle before the right turn Scott had alerted her to. Every stall held a horse. Every stall was clean, all the horses were groomed, each of the hay ticks had a good supply of hay, and all the water buckets were filled. Pine Hollow had an excellent reputation for horse care, and Callie wasn’t surprised to find everything in order. She was pleased to have the reputation confirmed, even if she could only make the judgment based on a quick peek. Once again, she found herself more than a little annoyed with her brother and his rush to deliver her to the dentist an hour before she needed to be there so he could spend extra time with the debate coach. Why was it that his appointment with the debate coach was more important than her appointment with her horse?

She hurried on along the aisle and turned right.

“Oh, hi. Where’s Scott? You must be Callie.”

Callie looked up to see an African American girl about her own age. The girl wore her black hair in several braids that hung down to her shoulders. She was dressed in riding jeans, stable boots, and a T-shirt. Her hair was full of straw, and there was a large splash of water down the front of her shirt. She brushed ineffectively at the straw and water.

“Right, I’m Callie,” Callie confirmed testily. “And you are?”

“Oh, well, I’m Carole. Um, Carole Hanson,” the girl said. “I’m in charge of the office in the mornings this summer, so I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of one another, and you’ll have to be sure to let me know if there are things I can do for you
because we want you to be happy with Pine Hollow. It’s a wonderful stable. I’ve been riding here since I was—oh, I guess about ten or something, and you’re just going to love it here, Carrie—um, Callie.”

Carole couldn’t believe what she was saying, but there didn’t seem to be any way to stop herself. Her mouth kept going when it was more than apparent that her brain had stopped working eight or ten sentences before. And even while those thoughts were crowding into her mind, she was still talking, by now onto the subject of feeding schedules. “And everyone pitches in. We all help around here. Of course, I do because I work here, but even when I was just a rider with her own horse here—you passed right by Starlight’s—”

“Where’s Fez?” Callie asked.

That stopped Carole. How could she be so dumb? Callie didn’t need anyone to give her a sales pitch on Pine Hollow. Of course the only thing she cared about was her horse.

“Um, right here,” Carole said. She took a few steps back and revealed the Arab to his new owner. “We even had his nameplate installed.”

“Right,” Callie said brusquely. She stepped up to the horse and took a critical look at him. “He seems to have come through the trip okay. Did he give you much trouble getting off the van?”

Carole was about to answer when she realized the question hadn’t been directed to her. Callie was speaking to Ben.

“Yup,” he said. He didn’t elaborate. Carole envied his restraint.

Callie reached up and patted the horse. His first instinct
was to pull back, but he had second thoughts about that and let her touch him. She clicked her tongue and scratched him on the cheek. He responded with as much affection as Carole had seen from him since he’d arrived.

“You’re good,” Carole said, genuinely admiring Callie’s skill.

“I love horses, it’s that simple,” Callie said.

That smarted. Callie had managed to imply that Carole didn’t love horses, and nothing could be farther from the truth. But Callie was a customer, a paying boarder, a congressman’s daughter, a champion rider. And Carole was in charge of making her feel welcome at Pine Hollow.

“It shows,” Carole told Callie. What she didn’t say was that other things showed, too.

C
AROLE PASTED
a smile on her face. “I’d like to show you the office and let you see how we keep our records,” she said.

“On computer, I presume,” said Callie. “I don’t really need to see it. I’m sure it’s just fine. That’s the way Henry did everything at the stable back home. It’s all standard. I’m sure you’re up to date.”

Carole swallowed. In fact, Max had long considered shifting Pine Hollow’s records to computer, but he believed that the books had the advantage of being very portable and entirely secure from the dangers of power outages. Perhaps Callie would be interested to know about that.

“Actually, we keep notebooks for each horse. That way, if there’s a problem with the power, or whatever—well, you know.”

“Right, whatever,” Callie said, dismissing Carole and her explanation. She seemed annoyed and harried. Carole lost every bit of self-confidence she’d ever had and became convinced
that Callie’s annoyance was completely her fault. Normally, when the subject was horses, Carole was relaxed and at ease. Today she felt like a bundle of nerves.

Callie swallowed hard. This wasn’t easy on her. Everything, including the horse she was expected to ride, was new. New wasn’t something that Callie liked or did well with. She liked things that were familiar. For the umpteenth time, she found herself wishing she were as flexible as Scott. Scott was always instantly at home wherever he was—except now, of course. Right now he was out in the car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for Callie and wishing he could already be at the high school talking with the debate coach.

Well, Callie still had a few minutes, and she intended to use them to find out all she could about Pine Hollow and her new horse’s care.

“What about the exercise schedule for boarders?” Callie asked. At her last stable, Henry had set aside Monday and Wednesday mornings and Friday late afternoons exclusively for horse owners. There were no classes at those times, so the owners could use all the facilities without competing with classes and occasional riders. It had worked well for Green-springs Stable, and she wondered if Pine Hollow had anything like it.

The question confused Carole. Boarders were expected to exercise their own horses, and they could do it whenever they wanted. It helped if they let the office know when they were coming, but they were certainly entitled to come over anytime at all. But maybe that wasn’t what Callie meant. She was, after all, a champion rider
and
the daughter of a congressman,
so she was probably used to getting VIP treatment. There was no way Pine Hollow was going to come in second to any other stable.

“We’ll see to it that Fez gets all the exercise he needs,” said Carole.

“You turn the horses out on some sort of schedule?”

“Well, that, of course,” Carole said. “But every horse has individual needs, and we’ll see that they’re met. A champ like Fez needs to be ridden to stay in top form.”

“At least four times a week,” said Callie.

“Just what I thought,” said Carole. “We’ll see to it as part of his board here.”

“You’ll do the exercising?” Callie asked.

“Well, me or whoever is available,” Carole said. “Nothing but the best for our clients—and their owners.”

“Oh, that’s interesting,” said Callie. “Back home, I always had to exercise my horse myself, and four times a week is a lot, especially when school’s open. But if you can do the exercising for me—well, that takes off a lot of pressure. It’ll mean that when I do ride him, I can focus on skills and not just on seeing to it that he’s getting enough exercise to stay supple and strong. That’s great news.”

Perhaps it was great news for Callie, but Carole didn’t think it was such good news for herself. She’d blundered into making an outrageously generous offer, and Callie had taken her up on it. If she’d heard herself right, she’d just told Callie she would ride Fez for at least an hour four times a week. Carole caught Ben looking at her darkly.