Buckskin Bandit (4 page)

Lizzy brought me a thick slice of crunchy, white bread, loaded with butter. My sister is a natural in the kitchen, the way I am in the barn. I got my horse sense from our mom, who was the best horse gentler in Wyoming. I'm not sure where Lizzy got her cooking skills, though. Mom hated to cook.

While we ate, I tried out some of my invention ideas on Lizzy. “What do you think about horse-scent air freshener? If I could get the smell of horse into an aerosol can, wouldn't that be great?”

“Sweet, Winnie!” Lizzy could be a cheerleader. “What else?”

“I've always wanted to see the world like a horse does. I've told you how horses can see 350 degrees around them, everywhere except a spot in front and behind. Well, what if Dad and I sewed rearview mirrors around a baseball cap so you could see in every direction like a horse? I could call it the ‘horse hat.' ”

“You rock!” Lizzy shouted.

The front door slammed. “I'm here!” It was Geri, Lizzy's friend, who never bothers to knock. Geri's blonde, and Lizzy's more like brunette. But they both have green eyes and are almost exactly the same height.

“In here, Geri!” Lizzy called.

Geri barreled into the kitchen and flung her sleeping bag on the floor. “Hi, Winnie. Did Lizzy tell you we're sleeping outside tonight?”

“I think it's supposed to rain,” I said.

“No problem!” Geri unwrapped her sleeping bag. She pulled a string, and up popped a row of small umbrellas that spread the length of the rolled-out bag. “See? Lizzy collected broken umbrellas, fixed them, and sewed them to our sleeping bags. They're like a built-in tent, in case it rains.”

“Does it work?” I asked. But it did look like the bag would stay dry. The umbrellas overlapped, covering the whole thing.

“Guess we'll find out tonight,” Lizzy said, clearing the table. She grabbed three tomatoes from the fridge and tossed one to Geri and one to me for a snack. “Good luck with Dad, Winnie!”

Geri and Lizzy ran outside, giggling and bumping each other.

I ate my tomato with salt, then walked to the workshop and pressed my ear against the door. The banging had stopped. I knocked.

No answer.

I stuck my head in. “Dad?”

Dad was cutting something on the worktable. He turned toward me briefly, then back to the table. “Hello, Winnie. I'm in the middle of something. If I can . . .” His voice trailed off as he worked the material with giant scissors.

“I just need to ask you something, Dad,” I tried.

“Could we do it later, honey? This invention is driving me crazy. I—ow!” He dropped the scissors and stuck his little finger in his mouth.

“It'll just take a second, Dad. Actually, what I want to talk to you about is an invention.”

“Uh-huh.” He turned his back on me, picked up the scissors, and started cutting again.

“At school they're having a science fair. And each kid is supposed to come up with an invention. And there's a competition. And the winner goes to Columbus for the state finals.”

“Winnie, will you hand me that curling iron?” Dad asked, sticking out his hand behind him.

I handed him the curling iron.

“So,” I continued, “there's not much time to get ready. But if we worked together, well, we could do it.”

There was no sound except the hum of the space heater and the swish of the scissors.

“So, would you?” I asked.

Dad set down the scissors and turned around. He looked at me like I had a third eye. “Would I what?”

“Help me with the project?”

Dad frowned. “Winnie, you have to do your own schoolwork. I'm a little rusty in seventh-grade subjects. Besides, I'm up to my elbows in my own project. I'm sorry, honey. Maybe Lizzy can help. Or Catman?” He smiled at me like I was a two-year-old who had just asked him to take me to the playground. Then he turned back to his own work.

I stared holes through his back. Pat Haven was wrong. Catman was wrong. I was wrong. And I should have known better.

“Fine.” I spit out the word and left, slamming the door behind me.

I ran to the barn, slipping twice in the mud. I was breathing hard, not from running but from holding in tears.
It's not fair,
I muttered to God.
Every other kid in my school has parents helping them with science projects! But not me. Not my dad, the inventor.

I inhaled the smell of horse and manure. It's my sure cure for any problem. But it wasn't working. My temper had exploded, and I couldn't get it back in. Mom used to call me her “hot-tempered Mustang.” I was living up to the name.

I walked into Nickers' stall. She and Buddy, the orphan filly, still shared the same stall, even though Buddy was almost three months old now. Nickers had taken over as adopted mom. Next to them was Annie Goat, on loan from Granny Barker, Eddy Barker's great-grandmother. The goat had been a lifesaver for Buddy, who had nursed from Annie before learning to drink from a bucket.

The rest of the barn was empty except for my friend Hawk's horse, Towaco. It had been a month since I'd boarded my last problem horse, a Miniature Falabella, who belonged to one of my classmates, Sal. The Mini had moved to the backyard of Sal's grandmother. I had two problem horses lined up for April and May. But for now the barn felt empty.

I scratched Buddy's chest, then threw my arms around Nickers' strong, white neck. She nickered softly, and I felt her vibrate. She turned her elegant Arabian head toward me and pressed her dish jowl against my head. Sometimes it seemed like Nickers was the only good thing in my life.

“I need a ride, girl.”

I slipped on the bitless hackamore, even though sometimes I just ride with the halter and lead. But the March wind was blowing. I knew Nickers would be feeling her oats. I led her out of the stall, then jumped up bareback. She and Buddy whinnied back and forth.

Then we were off. Nickers set out at a canter across the pasture. The jarring of the earth helped wear down my anger. I shut out all sound except the pounding of hooves. There was no one but Nickers and me.

We jumped a log, trotted down a ravine and up another one. I let her go wherever she wanted. Leaning onto her neck, I wrapped my arms around her and tried to put every thought out of my head. Part of me wanted to pray because I felt so lousy, but the other part of me felt so lousy I couldn't pray.

I shut my eyes and pretended I was back in Wyoming.

We cantered on and on. I wanted to get as far away as possible from Dad's workshop.

When we were both spent, Nickers and I took our time walking back. The sky had turned gray, and the clouds looked bottom heavy. I felt like riding over to Kaylee's, but I knew she'd still be out shopping for Summer's birthday present.

Note to self: Birthdays. Bah humbug.

Summer and I weren't the only ones having birthdays. Lizzy's birthday was coming up too—March 23, the day before mine. For one day each year, Lizzy and I are the same age. Poor Lizzy. I hadn't heard her mention her birthday. I guess I'd ruined birthdays for both of us.

Note to self: Write your congressman about banning birthdays. Everyone over 30 would vote for it.

I rode through the pasture and came up the back way to the barn. Buddy was waiting for us in the paddock. She came trotting out of the stall, whinnying her high-pitched squeal.

Nickers answered with a long neigh that shook me.

I slid off Nickers' back. “Come on, you two. Let's get you and Towaco fed.”

“There they are!” Mason Edison waved from the barn. He looked okay again. Even from the paddock I could see his dimple. As if God were reaching down and poking long fingers through the clouds, sunlight leaked onto Mason in white-yellow streaks.

Buddy trotted to him. I had a feeling that being with Buddy had snapped Mason back into our world. When the filly's mother died in my barn, Mason had been so upset that I ended up giving him the foal. It had been the right thing to do. Mason and Buddy had come alive for each other over the past couple of months.

There's a term in horse training called
join up
. It means that a horse and a human create a bond, joining each other in the same world—part horse, part human. Buddy and Mason had joined up. They both seemed happiest when they were in the same world.

“Hey, Mason!” I shouted.

“My Buddy,” Mason said, hugging her. Mason is the one who gave the filly the name Buddy. Not your usual girl name, but it fits.

Madeline Edison scurried out of the way as Nickers and Buddy trotted past her to the stalls. “Hello, Winnie.” She looked more normal now too. Her moods seemed to flip back and forth in time with her son's. “We were all the way home when Mason turned to me and announced that he wanted to see Buddy.” She grinned.

I grinned back. Loving Mason was the one thing Madeline and I had in common, if you didn't count the fact that we both like my dad. And I, for one, did not count that fact.

“We were just going in to see your father. Are you coming?” she asked.

“No. Barn chores,” I said, not mentioning that seeing my dad was about the last thing I wanted. “Mason can help me if he wants.”

Mason turned his big-eyed hopeful look on his mom. It worked.

“All right.” She reached down and stroked his white-blond hair. “Just be careful.”

She walked off toward the house, saying, “I'm quite anxious to see how Jack's project is coming.”

My anger bubbled up again. Maybe it was the mention of Dad's project. Or maybe it was hearing Madeline call my dad “Jack.” My mom called him “Jack.”

“Come on, Mason,” I said, going to the tack box. “Let's groom Buddy.”

I took out the filly's halter and picked the softest brush. Mason slipped on Buddy's halter with no problem. Dad had given me the halter for Christmas. It seemed like a year ago, a time when he really cared about things. We'd all known how sick Buddy's mother was and how little chance there was that she or her foal would make it through the birth. Yet Dad had cared enough to buy me a halter for a foal he didn't think would survive.

Mason tied the filly by her grain trough. We'd been doing this for weeks, just to get her used to being tied. He brushed Buddy while I fed Towaco and Nickers and mucked stalls.

Towaco, Hawk's blanket-patterned Appaloosa, nuzzled me as I sprinkled fresh straw in his stall. He'd been an angel since Hawk had brought him back from Florida. She'd spent her Christmas break there at her dad's new home.

Hawk and I liked to ride together whenever we could. But she hadn't had much time lately. Her mom had been taking her to Mansfield Photo Studio a couple of times a week. I didn't know why, and I didn't ask. Hawk usually did whatever she thought either parent wanted.

I was helping Mason clean out Buddy's hooves when I heard someone running into the barn.

“Winnie?” It was Dad.

I dropped Buddy's hoof and unbuckled his halter. “Dad? What's wrong?” It had to be bad to get him out of his workshop. I ran out to meet him, a million horrible scenes flashing through my head, most of them starring Lizzy.