Horse Whispers (8 page)

“I
SEE THEM
!” Stevie shrieked. She had been staring out the kitchen window for so long she could hardly believe it when the riders came into view.

“Yay,” said Christine.

“Are you sure?” Kate asked, running to join her.

“Look! There’s Stewball and Carole in front, and they’ve got the mare! Bet you anything that crazy pinto found her!” Stevie boasted. She was as proud of Stewball as if she’d owned and trained him herself.

The girls yanked on jackets and ran out to greet Carole, Frank, and John. “Don’t you want to come?” Lisa called to Phyllis.

“I can’t!” Phyllis replied. “Somebody’s got to watch the pies!”

The girls had put off baking two of the pies, hoping that the roundup posse would make it back in time to try some hot. Pie would be just the thing for a late-afternoon snack.

Lisa shook her head ruefully. “Boy, I sure don’t have a cook’s instincts. I would have forgotten all about them,” she said, sprinting for the door.

Outside the barn, the three were dismounting wearily.
Stevie, Lisa, Christine, and Kate walked toward the black mare to welcome her home.

As they approached, the mare wheeled around. She laid her ears back and bared her teeth. Carole didn’t notice right away. She was loosening Stewball’s cinch with her free hand. The mare strained at the end of her lead shank. All at once she 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. “Come on, girl, we’re home now.” The mare’s head drooped slightly. She followed Carole into the barn.

Frank, John, and the four girls stared at the retreating pair. They couldn’t believe what they had seen. It was so strange, and so special, that nobody wanted to talk about it. So nobody did.

A
LITTLE NERVOUSLY
, Lisa removed a pie from the oven and brought it to the table. Stevie was right beside her with
her
pie. “Ta-
dah!
” Lisa said.

Everyone burst into applause. “You might want to wait until you’ve tried some before you clap,” Lisa remarked.

“I don’t need to. I can tell from the smell,” John said.

“And I can tell from the other two pies we ate waiting around for you guys,” Stevie joked.

“Do you want to do the honors, girls, or should I?” Frank inquired.

“Please, be my guest,” Lisa said with a grin. She handed him a knife and a pie server. Frank sliced and served with gusto, first one pie, then the other, until everyone had a
piece. Lisa insisted on having a smaller piece than everyone else, but she did take one. They all dug in.

“Perfect,” said Christine. “Just perfect.”

At the look on John’s face, Lisa felt a rush of pride. When he asked for another sliver a few minutes later, she was even more thrilled. Now she knew why her mother liked it so much when people asked for seconds. It was a compliment, pure and simple. Lisa could hardly wait for the big dinner she and Stevie were going to make.

“Are you sure my wife didn’t make these?” Frank asked, a merry light in his eyes. “They taste suspiciously like hers. Suspiciously
good
,” he added.

Phyllis shook her head. “I didn’t touch them! All I did was demonstrate, right, girls?”

“Right, Mom,” Lisa joked. Out at the Bar None, it did feel as if Phyllis were their surrogate mother—except that she didn’t interfere the way their own moms did!

As they ate, Frank filled everyone in on the search and rescue mission. “It was Carole’s idea to look in the valley where the herd congregates,” he said. “That was very smart thinking.”

“How’d you think of that, Carole?” Stevie asked, impressed as always by Carole’s horsey intuition.

“I—I don’t know,” Carole said, flustered.

Too late Stevie realized that Carole didn’t want the spotlight on her. The attention seemed to make her uncomfortable. Quickly Stevie changed the subject back to the pies. “I guess now my only problem is going to be what
kind to make. There are so many great pies: blueberry, strawberry-rhubarb, lemon meringue …”

Phyllis smiled. “And now that you know how to make crust, you can also make quiches, potpies—”

Stevie gulped down her mouthful. “Wait a minute. Did you say
potpies
? Do you mean to tell me that I, Stevie Lake, am now capable of making, say, a
chicken potpie
?”

Phyllis nodded.

Stevie pretended to swoon. “I have no further ambitions in life!” she cried.

A
S SOON AS
she could, Carole sneaked out to the barn. Or not exactly
sneaked
. She slipped away quietly so that no one would follow her. Dinner had been pushed back to eight o’clock because everyone had eaten so much pie. Carole figured that gave her a few hours with the black mare.

Frank had instructed Carole to put the mare in a stall that night—one that had a double bolt. The mare hardly seemed to have moved at all. The bedding in her stall was barely mussed. She stood by the door, her ears pricked and straining.

“You belong out there, don’t you, girl?” Carole murmured.

“How is she doing?” said a voice down the aisle.

Her heart pounding, Carole spun around to see Frank. She hadn’t counted on his being there. But, of course, after a day away from the horses, Frank would want to give
the place a once-over to make sure everything was ship-shape. Carole didn’t know why, but she felt as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. Her hands felt sweaty.

Aloud she said, “I don’t know. She still seems kind of nervous.”

Frank joined her at the stall and looked in. “Hmmm … You’re right. Today was pretty exciting for her.” He glanced thoughtfully at Carole. “Maybe we ought to assign you to the black mare as a special project. She seems to trust you more than anyone. If you could work with her, help her settle in, I’d be grateful. How would you feel about that, Carole?”

“I’d feel … fine!” Carole said, an understatement if there ever was one.

“Great. Wonderful. I want to try her under saddle just as soon as you think she’s ready. And keep me informed of her progress.” Frank turned to go.

“Um, Frank …,” Carole started. She had no idea what she was going to say. But whatever it was, this might be her only chance.

“Yes?”

Carole took a deep breath. “I—I know this might sound crazy, but to be honest, I think the mare would be happier”—she steeled herself—“where we found her today.” Now that she had said it, she felt sick with apprehension about how Frank would react. Who was she to tell him how to run his stable?

“Go on,” said Frank. To Carole’s relief, he leaned against the stall door, indicating that he would listen to what she had to say.

Carole started to talk. She had nothing prepared. She just went with her gut. Everything came out in a rush. “It’s just—I—I have a strong feeling that this horse belongs in the wild. She doesn’t seem comfortable with people. And the way she ran away to find the herd—Maybe
she
was one of those wild horses, too. Maybe she got rounded up from a herd somewhere, for one of the government sales, and—and didn’t adjust to life in captivity.” Carole paused to catch her breath. “Maybe she never will.” She hadn’t intended to say all that. She hadn’t even formulated that specific theory until then. But everything she had noticed seemed to fall into place.

Frank waited a moment, his lips pursed in thought. When he spoke, his tone was matter-of-fact. “I hear what you’re saying, Carole. And you could be right. You could very well be right. But that doesn’t change one simple fact. This mare is an investment. I bought her to use on the ranch. And that’s what I’m going to do with her.”

At Frank’s words, Carole felt tears spring to her eyes. She clenched her fists so that she wouldn’t cry.

“Now, we haven’t tried her under saddle yet. But the dealer assured me that all the horses were broken.”

“But—” Carole began.

Frank held up a finger. Carole swallowed. She wanted to say that the horse might be broken all right, but
that didn’t necessarily mean she was rideable. Anybody could slap a bridle and saddle on a horse and call it trained.

“I know it may sound harsh to you to think of a horse as money spent or money to be earned,” Frank continued. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve had this conversation with Kate many a time. Unfortunately, that’s how you run a ranch. I have no doubt this mare will come around. Especially with you to help. We’ve just got to think positively. You’ll still work with her, won’t you?”

Carole nodded miserably. “Yes, of course,” she said, her voice threatening to crack. “I’d love to.” She made an effort to smile. She didn’t want to be a baby about this! But at the back of her mind, the barest hint of a plan was forming …

T
HE NEXT MORNING
dawned bright and bitter cold. Kate, John, Lisa, and Stevie climbed into the ranch van. They were off to town to do some shopping for the Devines. Nobody had the heart to wake Carole.

“She must be exhausted from yesterday,” Kate said.

“I’ll say. And she was tossing and turning all night,” commented Stevie.

Lisa raised her eyebrows. “Do you think it’s the mare?”

Stevie nodded.

“But she’s back safe and sound,” said John. “Why should Carole worry?”

Stevie and Lisa exchanged glances. Taking turns, they
told Kate and John the story of Cobalt. “And the black mare looks exactly like him,” Lisa finished.

“I still don’t get what the problem is,” John said. He turned out of the long ranch driveway and onto the one road that led into town.

“There is no problem—yet,” Stevie said.

“It’s just that Carole’s gotten pretty attached to the mare already,” Lisa explained.

“And the mare seems to be getting pretty attached to her,” Kate added speculatively.

“Carole does have a way with her,” John agreed.

“We just don’t want her to get, you know, overly involved,” Stevie concluded.

“Sounds to me like you guys are getting overly involved,” John remarked, his eyes on the road.

The girls exchanged glances. They were all thinking the same thing: What a typical thing for a guy to say. It wasn’t even worth a response.

W
HEN THEY GOT
to town, Kate and John headed for the hardware store, leaving Stevie and Lisa to tackle the grocery list.

“Meet back in an hour?” asked Kate.

“Sounds good,” Stevie answered.

John took Lisa aside for a second. “Maybe you should get some more apples,” he suggested.

“They’re not on the list, but sure, why not? Everyone likes apples,” Lisa said.

“I meant so that you could make some more of that pie,” John explained. “You know what they say about the way to a man’s heart …” He grinned.

Lisa felt herself blushing. “I’ll try to remember,” she said.

“F
IRST ITEM ON
the list: condensed milk,” Stevie read. They were standing in the fruits and vegetables aisle of the Super-Shop. “Wait.
Condensed
milk? What do you think that is?”

Lisa looked over Stevie’s shoulder at the list. “Weird. I have no idea. I guess we should go look in dairy, though.”

They trooped to the end of the aisle. “Skim milk, one percent, two percent, whole, organic skim, organic whole, lactose aid, skim plus … Gee, they have every kind
but
condensed,” Lisa said.

Stevie picked up several cartons and inspected them. “Maybe regular milk would be okay.”

Lisa wasn’t so sure. If there was one thing she had learned in home ec, it was that beginning cooks should stick to recipes. Somehow she had a feeling that beginning shoppers should stick to lists.

“Oh, I bet I know what Phyllis means!” Stevie said suddenly. “She probably wants the little pints of milk for putting into the guests’ lunches.”

Lisa smiled. “Brilliant. That’s got to be it. How many should we get?” She started tossing pints of whole milk into their cart.

“At least four. There are four guests, aren’t there?”

“Yeah, so we’d better get eight to be safe. My mom always says it’s better to get a couple extra rather than go short. And eight will take care of two lunches,” Lisa pointed out. “Okay, let’s see. What’s next? Pastry and flour.”

“Pastry? That’s
all
it says?”

Lisa held out the list. “Yeah, see?”

This, thought Stevie, was total insanity. “But—But what kind does she want? I mean, you can’t just say
pastry
when there’s doughnuts, danishes, turnovers—”

“It must be for dessert. Why don’t you go to the bakery and see what they have? Get a couple of each.”

Stevie was more than happy to oblige. Bakery sections usually had samples. It took her all of about ten seconds to spot the tray of goodies. She paused, planning her attack. Then, with a quick glance right and left, she went into action. First she walked nonchalantly by and picked up a broken cookie. It was gone in one bite. Then she furrowed her brow and pretended to think hard. “Pastries … What a great idea,” she said aloud. She went up to the counter and ordered several. The woman began packing them into a white bakery box.