Trail Ride (5 page)

Lisa and Kate remained mute.

Carole turned away and began fiddling with her horse’s gear. “You know, we are burning daylight,” she mumbled.

Kate and Lisa giggled.

“I have to stop by the house and grab our saddlebags,” Kate told them. “You two mount up and I’ll meet you there.”

Lisa hooked her left stirrup over the saddle horn and checked to make sure her horse’s cinch was tight, then replaced her stirrup, gripped the saddle horn, and swung lightly up into place. She noticed someone had tied a small coil of rope to one side of the saddle. “Hey, Carole, what do you think this is for?”

Carole shrugged. “Beats me, but I have one, too. Do you think it has something to do with Kate’s surprise?”

“She’s taking us cow roping?”

“No, it’s the wrong kind of rope for a lariat—that would be much stiffer. This stuff is soft cotton.”

Lisa shrugged. “Well, the sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll find out the answer.” Gathering both reins in her left hand, she shifted her weight in preparation for a turn and was delighted to feel Chocolate already responding. She gave her an affectionate pat on the neck. “Atta girl.”

When Carole was settled on Berry, the two of them set off at a lazy walk. They soon spied their friend, sitting astride her horse by the kitchen, with two bulging saddlebags secured to her saddle.

“Hey, Lisa, is that the horse I think it is?” Carole asked as they got nearer.

“It sure is,” Lisa confirmed. “Stewball.”

The pinto seemed to have recognized his name, because he turned his head in their direction.

“He looks great,” Lisa told Kate, eyeing the animal affectionately.

“Oh, there’s no keeping Stewball down.” With no visible cueing, horse and rider swung in beside the other two. “We had him rounding up strays the last couple of weeks and he loved it, but we didn’t want to
burn him out, so Dad said I could use him for pleasure riding this week.”

“We’d better not mention this to Stevie,” Carole cautioned. “You know how much she loves him.”

Lisa nodded. “She used to say he was practically psychic.”

“I’m not convinced she’s wrong,” Kate told them. “I’ve met a lot of horses with good cow sense over the years, but Stewball is something special.”

“What’s
cow sense
?” asked Lisa. She couldn’t remember having heard the term before.

“A horse’s ability to anticipate and outwit a cow. It’s an invaluable trait in a working ranch horse. Some people say it’s a taught skill, but all the old-timers I’ve ever talked to swear it’s instinctive. The horse has to be born with it.”

“And Stewball has that?”

“Stewball has that and a bit to spare. He’s also got some mountain pony in him, so he’s very surefooted.”

“Remember how Stevie wanted to take him back East to work with her in dressage?” Carole reminisced. “She said with his ability to sense what his rider wants almost before his rider knows they want it, he could be a monster hit.”

“But she was also smart enough to know that Stewball is where he belongs. He probably would have been a great show horse, but in his heart he loves working the ranch,” Kate said. “He wouldn’t have been as happy.”

Lisa frowned. “Do you think we should tell her how content he is without her, or would that make her more miserable?”

“Actually, I think it would make her feel better,” Carole told her.

Kate laughed. “Yeah, but you might want to rethink the wording a little bit.”

They continued along, chatting easily about anything that came to mind.

The morning was faultless. The sky was a deep blue, and although the air was cool, Lisa knew it could easily be sweltering before noon. Looking back, she saw the trail the horses had left as they passed through the long dewy grass. Looking forward, she could see the beginning of a thick, lush forest. “Where are we going, anyway, Kate?”

“I told you, I have something wonderful to show you.”

“How long will it take to get there?”

“As long as it takes.”

“What a typical cowboy reply,” Lisa grumbled good-naturedly.

“What’s in the saddlebags?” Carole asked.

“Something special,” Kate said, smiling.

“Aren’t you going to tell us anything at all?”

“Yeah, have a little mercy,” Lisa urged. “We’re dying of curiosity here.”

“You two will simply have to hold your horses.”

“Tell me you didn’t just say that!” cried Carole.

All the girls laughed.

“All right,” Kate relented. “I’ll say this much—you two are never going to forget this afternoon as long as you live!”

D
EAR
L
ISA
, C
AROLE
, and Kate
,

Got your e-mail.

Could you guys be having any more fun?

Sorry to hear that the airplane ride was a little turbulent, but you should have seen the air pockets my brothers let loose in the backseat of the van. Gross! Of course when I complained to Mom and Dad, what happened? They told me to stop whining! Okay, that wasn’t the way they actually put it, but it was what they meant. I mean, they made it sound like all I had done the whole trip was complain. Gee, I can’t think of what I might have to complain about, can you? I’m only being held hostage, in unspeakably crowded conditions, with basically
inhuman companions, while being transported across state lines against my will, and when I get there I’ll be tortured by the noxious droning of my stupid cousin Dava and deprived of the basic and simple right of physical exercise!!!

By the way, can either of you tell me the average size of a boy’s bladder? Like a
thimble
maybe? Is it possible that miniature bladders are a genetic disorder that runs in my family? Luckily I seem to have been spared, but if the amount of times we had to make bathroom stops for my brothers is any indication, then the answer is a big yes! I mentioned my concern to my parents, explaining that I wasn’t complaining but simply pointing out a medical crisis that I personally felt might be better addressed by our physician at home and my willingness to forgo the trip for the welfare of the many over the few. Pretty selfless of me, hmmm? I know, I know. They didn’t buy it, either.

And, I swear, is counting cows not the stupidest game ever invented? That’s right, counting cows! Whoever has the most cows on their side of the car at the end of the trip wins. That’s pretty much the entire game. But you never heard such arguments over who had how many and who cheated in counting and who passed a cemetery (which means you lose all your
cows) and who cares! Torture, I tell you! Mile after mile of sheer torture!

The worst moment came when I realized we had passed over into Massachusetts and I was now not only in the same country as Dava but in the same state as well! HELP ME! I actually volunteered to let my brothers bounce some more spitballs off the back of my head in return for early parole back home.

Lesser people in my position would have given way to despair by now, but I, Stevie Lake, am determined to triumph over my tormentors. I will rise above, and, failing that, I will take them all down in flames with me! Ha ha ha ha!

Be sure to write me soon. I can’t wait to hear more about the great time you two are having.

Stevie paused with her finger hovering over the Save button. Did that last bit sound insincere? She quickly scanned the e-mail again, then added:
I’ve done my best to hide the true extent of my misery. After all, I wouldn’t want to ruin your vacation. It would obviously be too upsetting for the three of you to read how miserable I really am. I’m holding back some of the gorier details. Love, Stevie.

There was a knock on her hotel room door and her
mother poked her head in. “Stevie, are you about finished? It’s almost time to go meet the Sinclairs for lunch.”

“Awww, Mom, do I have—”

“Yes, you do,” her mother replied firmly, cutting her off. Her eyes opened wide. “You’re not even dressed!”

Stevie looked down at herself. She was wearing her favorite jeans, sneakers, and a comfortable shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “What do you mean?”

“Why aren’t you wearing one of the new outfits I got you?”

Stevie cringed. Her mother had actually bought her a twin set—a short-sleeved sweater with a matching long-sleeved sweater to put over it. She’d look like the school librarian if she wore that. “I was saving them for an important occasion.”

“Meeting your cousins for the first time in ages, in preparation for a wedding,
is
an important occasion,” her mother informed her through gritted teeth.

Stevie looked sullenly at the floor.

“Please, honey,” her mother coaxed. “You know Dava will give you a hard time if you show up like that. You don’t want to give her any ammo, do you?”

That hit home. Stevie was definitely reluctant to let Dava hold anything over her. In fact, the more she
considered it, this luncheon might be the perfect opportunity to set her cousin straight on some of the uglier facts of life. Maybe she could even sic her twin brother, Alex, on the girl.

“Do it for your father and me, won’t you?”

Stevie began to peel off her clothes. “Okay, Mom. I wouldn’t want to let our side of the family down.” She grinned wickedly into the inside of her tank-top.
After all, I have a reputation to maintain.

C
AROLE FOLLOWED
K
ATE
through the dense forest, her horse picking his way easily along the narrow trail. The air was scented with the smell of pine, and the rhythmic sound of Berry’s hooves striking the ground was almost hypnotic. A mile or so back they had left the flatlands and were now going up a steep incline. Every once in a while the trees and shrubbery would thin enough for the girls to catch a breathtaking view of the surrounding mountains and valley below. Carole sighed happily. “You are so lucky,” she told Kate. “Look where you get to live.”

“Look how she gets to ride,” Lisa said. “I almost feel like I’m cheating when I ride Western.”

Carole nodded. “Me too. This big old saddle is kind of like an easy chair, and since we get to keep our
stirrups longer than in an English saddle, there isn’t as much strain on the legs and back.”

“That was exactly the idea when they developed Western riding,” Kate explained. “The pioneers had to travel long distances on horseback, so they made it as comfortable and practical as possible.”

Carole was watching Stewball ambling along in front of her. “The horses even seem to move differently from those back home.”

“A trail horse’s paces were developed for maximum comfort. Their gaits are smooth and flat, so the horse uses a lot less knee and hock action. Most other kinds of riding encourage horses to put spring and tension in their paces. It looks prettier, but it’s harder on the animal’s legs and joints.”

“Not to mention the rider’s butt,” cracked Lisa.

Carole resisted the urge to collect her horse—to remind Berry who was in charge and to perk up his ambling gait. She understood that the way to ride a Western horse was to keep contact with its mouth to a minimum, but after all her years of English training, it made her feel like she was letting her horse be sloppy.

“A good trail horse needs to be calm and relaxed, easy to handle,” Kate said.

Carole noted Stewball’s flopping ears. “If Stewball
gets much more relaxed, we’re going to have to call him a cab.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Kate answered. In a flash her horse had spun 180 degrees to face Lisa and Carole with pricked ears and wide-open eyes. Kate smiled at the other girls’ astonished expressions. “Out here we call that a rollback.” Once again Stewball whipped into action, this time making a full 360-degree turn, spinning on his hindquarters. “And that,” she said, sweeping her cowboy hat off and bowing, “was a pirouette.”

Lisa’s mouth hung open with admiration. “Wow, that was great! I hardly saw you doing anything. It was like Stewball did it all on his own.”

“He almost did. He’s been doing those moves so long, all I had to do was give him a hint of what I wanted.”

Carole was also impressed. “And I thought he was about to nod off.”

“Oh, he was just conserving his energy. A seasoned trail horse will do that so that he has it to use when he really needs it.”

They were standing on the edge of a meadow carpeted with wildflowers. A sea of snowy white, sunshine yellow, and lipstick red blossoms quivered in the
breeze, attended and nurtured by an army of flitting butterflies, bees, and dragonflies.

Kate eyed the meadow speculatively. “What do you say to using up some of the horses’ batteries?”

Carole felt her heart twitch with excitement. “Gallop?”

“This meadow is nice and level, but let me and Stewball lead the way, okay?”

Lisa and Carole were only too happy to agree.

“
Yee haw!
” Kate shouted, urging Stewball into action.

“
Yee haw!
” Carole and Lisa cried, following.

In a flash they were tearing across the meadow.

Carole felt her horse’s powerful hindquarters gathering and releasing, sending the two of them charging forward. She leaned down closer to Berry’s bobbing neck, going with his motion and urging him on. The wind whipped up his mane, and it lashed her cheeks. She relished the feeling.