Gift Horse (14 page)

The girls hurried to the stall to look. The mare greeted them affectionately, and they paused for a second to pat her. Then they peered over the stall door. The bucket wasn’t inside. “So much for that plan,” Stevie said.

“Look!” Carole cried from behind her. “That must be it.” She pointed to a bucket that someone had hung from a hook in the aisle. “Red or someone must have found it in the stall and hung it there out of harm’s way.”

“I can’t believe it’s been there for a whole week and Veronica hasn’t even noticed,” Lisa said in disgust. “She must have walked right past it a dozen times since last Saturday.”

Stevie grabbed the bucket and peered inside. “Believe it or not, it’s true,” she cried triumphantly. She pulled a folded piece of paper out of the jumbled mess of combs and rags inside the bucket. “Voila! Here’s the answer to the mystery.”

Carole and Lisa peered over her shoulder as she unfolded the paper and read it.

“It looks like a reward notice,” Lisa said.

Carole gasped. “Oh! The Webbers must have posted these when No-Name was stolen from them.” She pointed. “See? There’s their names and phone number, and a description of the horse.”

“And a notice about the thousand-dollar reward,” Stevie finished grimly. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Not really,” Carole admitted. “I mean, what does the reward have to do with Veronica?”

“Everything,” Stevie said. She angrily crumpled the paper into a ball and clenched it in her hand. “Veronica sold me out. It all makes sense now.”

“But Veronica wasn’t the one who told the Webbers you had their horse,” Carole argued. “Chelsea spotted her at the rally.”

“But the Webbers needed solid proof before they could claim her,” Lisa said slowly, catching on.

Stevie nodded. “Exactly,” she said. “Veronica had to be the one who told the Webbers about No-Name’s allergy to weeds. That was what clinched the identification—the
X-ray just confirmed it.” Her eyes widened. “Come to think of it, she probably told them about the bone splint, too. That’s why the Webbers were certain enough about No-Name’s identity to send the letter with the restraining order so quickly.”

“But the Webbers probably would have managed to prove No-Name and Punk were the same horse even without Veronica’s help,” Lisa said. “I mean, they already knew that Punk had the weed allergy and the bone splint. I’m sure they would have checked for those things eventually anyway.”

“True,” Carole admitted. “But her information certainly didn’t hurt. And besides, that’s not really the point.”

“Right,” Stevie growled. “The point is, Veronica is such a low, greedy, money-grubbing jerk that she stabbed me in the back just for the sake of that reward.”

“Wow,” Carole said softly. “I didn’t think even Veronica could be that greedy. She sold you down the river for a thousand dollars. I guess she really wanted those expensive boots. Or maybe she needed to pay her hairdresser’s bill for those highlights.”

“It wasn’t just the money,” Lisa pointed out. “I bet she did it for Garnet, too. She knew if Stevie didn’t have a horse, she’d have a better chance of talking her into buying Garnet.”

Stevie was seething. “What a worm! What a low-down, bottom of the bucket, rotten awful thing to do,” she exclaimed.
“Veronica hasn’t changed for the better—she’s changed for the worse! Now she hides her rottenness under a nice exterior. I can’t believe I was starting to think I could actually be friends with her.”

“She can’t get away with this,” Carole said. “We’ve got to get back at her.”

“And how,” Stevie said grimly. “I think we should start with bamboo slivers under her fingernails, then maybe …”

Whatever Stevie had in mind next was drowned out as the PA system crackled to life. It was Mrs. Reg, saying there was a phone call for Stevie Lake in her office.

“I wonder who that could be?” Carole said.

Stevie shrugged. “I’ll find out,” she said. She left her friends and hurried to Mrs. Reg’s office off the tack room. Mrs. Reg wasn’t there, but she’d left the receiver lying on her desk.

Stevie picked it up. “Hello?”

“Hello, Stevie?” said the voice on the other end of the line. “This is Chelsea Webber.…”

“T
HAT
’
S THEIR DRIVEWAY
,” Stevie said, pointing ahead.

“Okay,” replied Deborah Hale, Max’s fiancée. She turned the wheel of Max’s station wagon and the big car trundled over the bumpy gravel of the Webbers’ driveway. “So you really don’t have any idea what this is about?”

Stevie shook her head. “All Chelsea said was that I should come over right away.” Stevie’s mind had been racing since she’d hung up the phone a short while ago. The call from Chelsea had been so unexpected, and the message so mysterious, that Stevie was nearly sick with worry. Was something wrong with No-Name? Was that why Chelsea wanted Stevie to come over—so she could blame her for it? Maybe the hair dye had made the mare sick. Or maybe she had eaten something she shouldn’t have.
Stevie’s head whirled with one terrifying possibility after another.

“Here we are,” Deborah said, bringing the car to a stop beside the house.

“Thanks, Deborah,” Stevie said. “I’m glad you were around to drive me over here. I think I would have died if I’d had to wait for my parents to get home.” After Stevie had hung up the phone, she had searched frantically for Max or Mrs. Reg. But Max was already in the ring beginning the flat class, and Mrs. Reg was nowhere to be found. Luckily, Deborah had turned up at just the right moment.

Stevie and Deborah got out of the car. As they did, Stevie noticed a flash of motion at one of the windows in the house. A moment later Chelsea appeared at the door. Her mother was with her.

“Hi, Stevie,” Chelsea said as she approached. Stevie noticed that the other girl’s eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. Stevie gulped. Whatever was wrong with No-Name, it must be something serious.

“Hi,” Stevie replied tentatively. She introduced Deborah to the Webbers, then took a deep breath. “Why did you call me over here?” she asked, getting right to the point.

Mrs. Webber stepped forward. “Deborah, why don’t you come inside for a cup of tea?” she offered. “I think the girls have some talking to do.”

Deborah looked a little perplexed, but she nodded politely.
“That would be lovely.” She glanced at Stevie. “Will you be okay?”

Stevie nodded, feeling more confused than ever. What on earth was going on? How could Mrs. Webber talk about having tea when No-Name was sick?

The two adults headed into the house, and Chelsea started walking toward the barn. “Come on,” she said shortly.

Stevie followed. “What is it, Chelsea?” she asked. “Just tell me. Is something wrong with No-N—I mean, with Punk?”

“No, nothing’s wrong with her,” Chelsea replied. She stopped just outside the barn door and turned to face Stevie. “It’s just that I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Stevie frowned. “What are you talking about?” she asked. After all the emotional turmoil she’d been through in the past two weeks, the last thing she felt like doing right now was dealing with Chelsea Webber’s problems. “Would you just tell me why I’m here?”

“I’m trying,” Chelsea said. She took a deep breath. “You’re here because—because I’ve realized that Punk is your horse, not mine. I mean, she
should
be yours. I want her to be yours.”

“What?” Stevie was stunned. Was Chelsea saying what Stevie thought she was saying?

Chelsea swung open the barn door. “Come on inside. She’s waiting for you.”

Stevie followed her, still in a daze. But she snapped out of it when she heard a familiar whinny of greeting. “No-Name!” she cried, rushing forward to greet the mare.

Chelsea watched the reunion from a short distance away. “I think I made the right choice now,” she said, more to herself than to Stevie.

Stevie turned. “But what—I mean, why—I mean—” she said, the words tumbling over one another. She stopped herself, then tried again. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” she asked. “Are you saying I can have No-Name back?”

Chelsea nodded. “I think it’s the best thing,” she said. “My parents will sell her to you for the same price you paid before. You can take her whenever you’re ready.”

In a rush, all the sadness and bleakness that had hung over Stevie for the past week lifted, leaving her feeling happier than she could ever remember feeling. She opened the stall door and rushed inside to give No-Name a giant hug. The mare nickered softly in return. “Oh, No-Name! Can it be true? You’re going to be mine again!” Stevie cried, her face pressed against the horse’s coat, not caring what Chelsea thought.

After a moment, she tore herself away. She had to know how this miracle had happened. She left the stall, closed the door carefully, then turned to face Chelsea again. “What made you change your mind?” she asked.

Chelsea sat down on a bale of hay. “It’s kind of hard to explain,” she began.

Stevie sat down beside her and listened. Both girls watched No-Name as Chelsea spoke.

“I think it started when I saw what you’d done to be able to ride her in the rally last Saturday,” Chelsea said.

Stevie gasped. “You knew?”

Chelsea chuckled. “The second I laid eyes on her. But you did a good job on her disguise,” she hastened to add. “I don’t think most people would have noticed a thing.”

“I should have known you’d recognize her,” Stevie said. “But I was just so determined to ride her one more time.”

“I know,” Chelsea said. “That’s what I realized when I saw her there. And I realized that you and Punk make a pretty good pair. Anyone who would come up with an idea like that must be almost as crazy and unpredictable as Punk is.” She laughed. “I named her that because of her markings, you know, but the name really suits her personality, too. She’s one wild and crazy girl.”

“I know,” Stevie said, smiling. “I guess I am, too, kind of. Although I’m sure that just about anyone else would call me an idiot for trying to pull a stunt like No-Name’s disguise.”

“Well, you got away with it, didn’t you?” Chelsea reminded her. “I mean, nobody recognized her except me. And the whole thing made me realize something. If you’d risk everything just to have one last chance to ride Punk, I
knew you must really love her. And I guess I hadn’t really thought about that before. All I’d thought about was getting her back.”

“Because you love her, too,” Stevie said quietly.

Chelsea nodded. “I sure do,” she said, staring at No-Name. “But I’ve realized since I got her back that she may not be the best horse for me. And I may not be the best rider for her. I’ve really never been able to ride her that well. She’s thrown me or taken me by surprise more times than I can count.”

“I can believe that,” Stevie said. “She’s quick.”

“Right,” Chelsea agreed. “Too quick for me, I think.” She stood up and walked over to another stall. For the first time, Stevie noticed that the gray gelding, Silverado, was still inside it.

“Oh,” Stevie said. “You haven’t given him back yet?”

Chelsea shook her head and rubbed the gelding’s nose fondly. “No, and I’m not going to,” she said. “My parents are buying him for me. You see, when my parents first rented him, I was so upset about Punk’s being stolen that I just sort of took him for granted. But when it was time to send him back I finally realized that he’s actually a much better horse for me to ride than Punk ever was. Silverado and I are a great match. I didn’t want to give him up. And then I realized how you must have felt having to give up Punk. After that, all I could think about was how sad you looked when you brought her here.”

Chelsea looked down at her hands, and Stevie thought she saw tears in her eyes. “It took me a few days to really make up my mind to give Punk back to you. She and I have been together a long time, and we’ve learned a lot from each other. But you and Punk belong together, just like Silverado and I do. It’s the best thing for all of us.”

Stevie nodded. “I’m really glad you decided that,” she said. She was impressed by the other girl’s thoughtfulness. She realized she really hadn’t given Chelsea enough credit—not only was she nicer than Stevie had thought, she was smarter and more mature, too. “And you can come visit her anytime you want.”

“Thanks,” Chelsea said. “Maybe I’ll do that. And I’ll see you guys at Pony Club rallies and stuff.” She stood up and walked over to the mare’s stall. Stevie followed. Chelsea opened the door and gave the mare a big hug. “I’ll miss you, Punk. But Stevie will take good care of you.”

When Chelsea stepped back, Stevie couldn’t resist giving the horse a hug herself. She knew that Chelsea was feeling a little sad about giving up her horse, and she was sorry about that. But she knew that this was the way things should be. It felt so right to her that she knew Chelsea must feel it, too. Her heart brimming over with joy, Stevie stretched her arms as far around her horse as she could, hugging her so tightly that her horse let out a squeal of surprise and nosed Stevie’s hair.

When she turned away from the mare, Stevie saw that
Chelsea was smiling. Stevie smiled, too. Then the two girls went to find Mrs. Webber and Deborah.

“R
ACE YOU TO
the woods!” Stevie cried joyously. She signaled to her mare and the horse responded instantly, breaking into a gallop, galloping as fast as she could. She had a sleek elegance in her bloodlines—the speed and endurance of an Arabian, and the sassy beauty of the Saddlebred in her. It made a breathtaking combination and that thought made Stevie once again ponder the issue of her horse’s name.