Horse Whispers

All at once the mare pulled free. Her eyes rolling wildly, she reared, then shied away.

“Grab her!” Frank called.

Stevie lunged for the lead shank but missed.

“No! Let me,” Carole ordered. Instinct took over. She walked slowly toward the mare. She breathed in and out, in and out, willing the mare to sense the calming rhythm. She whispered nonsense words. Everyone watched as the mare stopped and listened to Carole. Carole inched closer. She reached out and stroked the mare’s shoulder. Then she unclipped the lead line. She put it into her pocket. She knew she wouldn’t need it. The mare followed Carole into the barn.

“W
AKE UP
,
SLEEPYHEADS
! Time to get up!” a voice called.

Stevie Lake stirred in her sleeping bag and cocked one eye open. “What time is it?” she croaked.

“Five of seven,” murmured Lisa Atwood, half-asleep in the upper bunk.

“Ouch!” Carole Hanson said across the bunkhouse room. “That’s uncivilized!”

The girls were used to getting up early for school, but this was vacation! They had arrived at the Bar None Ranch in Colorado very late the night before. Instead of going straight to bed, they had gone straight to the barn to visit their favorite horses.

“That’s the one and only drawback to spending February
break at a working ranch,” Stevie groaned. “I can’t get the sleep my growing body needs.”

“You miss the eight hours, huh?” said Lisa, beginning to wake up in spite of herself.

“Eight?” Stevie scoffed. “Are you kidding? More like fifteen! We’re talking the nine-to-noon schedule! I mean, if I wake up before—”

She was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. “Time to get up!” The voice paused. “
Breakfast is ready!
”

“Breakfast!” Stevie exclaimed, letting her previous thought go unfinished. “That’s more like it!” In thirty seconds she was out of bed and yanking jeans and a sweater on over her long underwear. She flung the bunkhouse door open. “Wait up, Kate! I’m right behind you!” she yelled. She took off across the snow after the girls’ friend and hostess at the ranch, Kate Devine.

Lisa and Carole sat up in bed and laughed. “I guess Stevie remembered the big plus about staying at the Bar None—the one that counterbalances the early hours,” Lisa said.

“The food!” Carole guessed.

“Yup. Shall we?” said Lisa. “My stomach’s growling.”

“Mine too,” Carole answered. Gritting her teeth, she sprang from bed into the frigid air of the bunkhouse, and Lisa followed suit.

It made Carole happy to hear Lisa sounding enthusiastic about eating. Unlike Stevie, who basically lived to eat,
Lisa had more complicated feelings about food. Not so long ago, she’d had a bout with near anorexia that had scared all three of the girls. Luckily Carole and Stevie had been able to help Lisa weather the problem.
The Saddle Club comes through again
, Carole thought, tying her long dark hair back in a ponytail.

The unique thing about the girls’ friendship was that they weren’t
just
friends, they were also members of a club called The Saddle Club, which they had started but which now included honorary out-of-town members such as Kate Devine. The club took its name from the girls’ love of horses. But there was another important rule for joining: Members had to be willing to help each other out in any situation, whether that situation was a parental conflict, a boy problem, or something more serious.

“Come on, spacey! Quit zoning out, zip up that jacket, and we’re outta here!” Lisa said.

Carole grinned. The other thing about The Saddle Club was that they all knew each other so well it was scary. Lisa was known for being a perfectionist, Stevie for her practical jokes, and Carole for spacing out about everything except horses. “Guilty as charged,” she murmured, tailing Lisa out the door.

A few minutes later the two had joined Stevie, Kate, and the rest of the Bar None crew at breakfast. Meals were served in the main house’s dining room on long tables. Because of the time of year, there were only a few hardy
guests at the ranch, so everyone could fit at one table. Kate introduced The Saddle Club to two older couples, who nodded politely.

“Boy oh boy, that coffee smells good,” said Stevie, sniffing the air appreciatively. “I can hardly wait.”

Kate looked at her skeptically. “Since when do you drink coffee?”

“Oh, I don’t
drink
it!” said Stevie. “I just—well, I
smell
it and it … it whets my appetite.”

“As if the Lake appetite needed whetting!” Lisa protested.

At that moment Mrs. Devine emerged from the kitchen with a huge bowl of steaming hot cereal. “You might want to go easy on the oatmeal,” she warned, “because this is only the beginning.”

Undeterred, Stevie ladled herself a large portion, covered it with granola and raisins, and smothered the whole thing with cream.

Kate stood up and whispered something in her mother’s ear.

“Yes, you may have the leftover apple pies for breakfast, too. I’m warming them now,” replied Mrs. Devine.

“Pie? For breakfast? Why didn’t you say so?” Stevie wailed. “I would have left out the raisins!”

For the next hour, Mrs. Devine shuttled back and forth between kitchen and dining room, refusing the girls’ offers of help. After the oatmeal came scrambled eggs, Canadian
bacon, corn muffins with homemade preserves, and the promised apple pies.

When they were stuffed and groaning, The Saddle Club agreed that, as usual, Kate’s mother had outdone herself.

Even Lisa had managed to eat a full meal. Forking a last bite, she sighed and said, “If only I could cook like this.”

“You
are
the best cook in the world, Mom,” Kate said.

Stevie opened her mouth to add her vote but stopped. “I was about to agree, but I just realized I can’t. No offense, but as a good daughter I have to say that
my
mother is the best cook in the world … Phyllis.”

In Willow Creek the girls called each other’s parents “Mrs. Lake” and “Mr. Atwood.” But Phyllis and Frank had a firm rule at the Bar None: first names only. It made for a more casual atmosphere. Sometimes, though, it seemed strange, like right then when Stevie had hesitated before saying “Phyllis.”

Kate and Stevie sparred teasingly for a couple of minutes, and Lisa chimed in to the debate. Then Lisa noticed that Carole wasn’t saying anything. She felt a pang of remorse. Carole’s mother had died a few years earlier. Maybe she felt left out. “Say, Carole?” she murmured.

To her relief, Carole looked up, utterly lost in thought. Then she smiled. “Oh, gosh, was I spacing again? I was thinking about Starlight’s dressage test a few weeks ago. He really cut his corners.”

Phyllis Devine and the girls laughed.

“What did I miss?” Carole asked sheepishly.

“We were debating over who the best cook in the world is,” Lisa said.

“That’s easy,” said Carole. “My dad—but only when I help him.”

“I’ll bet you’re a big help to him, the way Kate is to me,” said Phyllis.

“I try to be. At first I didn’t know anything, but now I can get around in the kitchen. After my mom died, we sort of learned together,” Carole explained.

“Boy, I wish I could get around in the kitchen,” Lisa muttered.

“You could learn,” Phyllis responded. “Anyone can learn to cook, Lisa.”

“Thanks,” Lisa said without much enthusiasm. “But the problem is that I have to learn in about five days.”

“Why? Are you having a dinner party?” Stevie teased.

To her surprise, Lisa nodded.

“You are?”

“Yup. Well, not exactly a dinner party, but I have to cook a family meal over break.”

“Why? Has your mom decided you should become a French chef?” Carole guessed. Mrs. Atwood was known for making Lisa learn “domestic skills” such as needlepoint and flower arranging.