Dark Horse (7 page)

Thirteen

Winnie Willis

Nice, Illinois

“Winnie, we’ve landed.”

I hear the whisper in my dream. I feel someone’s breath on my forehead, a hand smoothing my hair. Catman’s hand, his breath. Only I don’t know if I’m dreaming, or . . .

“Welcome to Nice,” Catman says, louder this time.

I open my eyes, and I’m staring into Catman’s piercing blue eyes. It takes me a few seconds to remember where I am—in the backseat of the Coolidge-mobile. My head is on Catman’s shoulder. I must have been asleep for a while because it’s dark out.

I sit up, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry about that,” I mutter.

“No sorrow here,” Catman says. He leans up to the front seat. “That’s the road, right there.”

“Are you sure, Calvin?” his mother asks. “I can’t tell in this dark.” Mrs. Coolidge got her license only a couple of years ago. Since then, she gets behind the wheel whenever she can. I admit that I was a little nervous at first about Claire Coolidge hauling my horse and trailer behind the Coolidge-mobile, but she’s actually done a great job. She takes the turn.

“Won’t they be surprised!” Mr. Coolidge declares, straightening his tie.

“They will indeed,” Mrs. Coolidge agrees.

“Wait.” I’m really waking up now. “You mean you didn’t tell them we were coming?”

“We did discuss Thanksgiving Day. Nothing else though.” Catman’s mother smiles into the rearview mirror. “Mr. Coolidge and I love surprises.”

“But what if they’ve got other plans? What if they don’t have room for
me
? Or for Nickers?” I’ve been nervous enough about spending the week with people I don’t know. Put me with a dozen horses I’ve never seen before and I’m fine. But people? That’s a totally different story. I’ve never been great around strangers, and it doesn’t help to find out these people aren’t even expecting us.

“Since early fall my brother and nephew have been lobbying for us to leave the sanctity of our Ohio abode and make a pilgrimage to the foreign soils of Illinois to celebrate Thanksgiving,” Catman’s dad says.

“They weren’t lobbying to get Nickers and me here,” I whisper to Catman.

“Peace out,” Catman whispers back. “It’s cool.”

I press my nose to the cool window and stare at the stars. The black sky is filled with pinpricks of light. The gravel road changes to dirt. I peer through the back window at the trailer. It’s too dark to make out Nickers inside, though. I can’t wait to get her out of there.

We turn up a long drive. Yellow light spills from several windows of a big farmhouse. Unlike the Ohio Coolidge home, this one looks like it’s in great shape. No boarded-up windows, no patched-up roof. And so far, no sign of a single plastic lawn ornament. “You’re sure this is the right place?” I ask.

“Right on,” Catman answers.

“The yard certainly is plain and undecorated,” Mrs. Coolidge observes.

“Mother used to say
I
got the creativity in the family,” Mr. Coolidge confides.

Catman turns to gaze out his own window. “Oh, man,” he mutters. “Like, total bummer.”

I pop my seat belt and slide over to peer out his window so I can see what he sees. Where a barn must have stood only a week ago, there’s nothing but a pile of charred rubble. The horses were lucky to have lived through the fire, but they’ll probably never be the same.

“Look! They’re all outside!” Mr. Coolidge shouts. “I’ll bet it’s a moon check.”

Catman explains, “Gram Coolidge started it. Anyone, anytime, can call a moon check, and the whole family has to chill out under the stars.”

Catman and I have sat for hours on his roof and watched the stars in Ohio. Sometimes his parents climb out the second-story window and join us. Maybe we were doing our own Ohio version of a moon check without realizing it.

“Yes! There’s Mother!” Mr. Coolidge exclaims.

His wife glances out her window, then taps the brakes until we come to a stop.

Several of the people stretched out across the lawn sit up and look our way. Mr. Coolidge reaches over and honks the horn. Then he lunges to get out, but he’s still trapped in his seat belt.

“Here you go, dear.” His wife unbuckles him. “Now, go give your mother a kiss.”

Catman and I climb out of the backseat. My stomach is knotting up the way it always does when I’m around new people. “Go on ahead,” I tell him. “I need to get Nickers unloaded. I haven’t stretched her since Indiana.”

“I’ll help,” he volunteers.

“No thanks. I got it. Go say hi to your cousins and grandmother and everybody.” I give him a nudge.

He grabs my hand, squeezes it, then takes off running, racing past his parents to the Coolidge crowd. Catman knows me well enough to understand that I need to be with Nickers before I face the masses. I watch him run straight to an older woman, wrap his arms around her, and spin her around. I’m guessing it’s his grandmother. I met her a few years ago when she came to Ashland to visit. What I remember most is her palomino hair. That, and the fact that she scared me a little until I realized she was extremely nice but extremely bossy. She struck me as a cross between a classy thoroughbred and a tough-skinned barb.

My eyes adjust to the semidarkness as I move to the back of the trailer. “Easy, Nickers,” I say, working the trailer latch. “I’ll get you out of there in no time.” She shuffles her hooves when I swing the doors open.

It’s a two-horse trailer, and my plan is to climb the ramp, walk through the empty half, and get my horse. I tug on the tailgate ramp, but the thing won’t budge. I pull at it again. It’s been stuck before, but it just can’t be stuck now. I want my horse.

“Need some help?”

I turn to see a dark-haired girl who’s almost as beautiful as Lizzy. Her hair is wild and curly. She’s slim and a couple of inches taller than I am. If she were a horse, she might be an Andalusian, an elegant Spanish horse with big eyes and inner strength. I recognize her from the news clip. “Dakota?”

“That’s me.”

I don’t know if I should hug her or shake her hand or what. We’ve been friends in cyberspace, exchanging dozens of e-mails, spending time on the Pet Helpline. But this is different. “I’m Winnie,” I announce stupidly.

“You’re kidding,” she says.

“No, I’m—” I stop, finally getting the sarcasm. She had it in cyberspace too.

“You look pretty much like your e-mails,” Dakota says, grinning. “Maybe a little shorter.”

I laugh. I like her already.

“So, need any help?” Dakota asks.

“I could use some help,” I admit, grateful to have something to do besides try to talk. “I can’t get the ramp to come down.” I step aside and let Dakota try. Then we both pull, and it moves a little on one side, but it still won’t come down.

Dakota shouts toward the house, “Wes! Come here!”

Wes appears so fast that I think he must have been watching us from behind the tree. With him comes a big dog who looks friendly enough. But Nickers isn’t used to dogs, and she’s never been that crazy about them. I think she’ll be okay as long as the dog doesn’t start barking.

“What’s up?” Wes nods a greeting at me, then walks up to the stuck ramp.

“Thanks.” I feel like I should say something else to him, but I have no idea what. I wish Lizzy were here.

The three of us tug at the same time, and the ramp pulls free, making us stumble backwards.

“Thanks,” I tell them. There’s an awkward silence, and again I know I should say more, but I don’t know what to say. Where’s my sister when I really need her? Lizzy can talk the spots off a Pinto.

Loud voices are coming from the Coolidge gathering a few yards off. I can’t tell if they’re happy or angry. I start up the trailer ramp, then turn back to Wes and Dakota. “Um . . . you guys didn’t know we were coming, right? You think it’s okay we’re here?”

“Okay by me,” Dakota says.

“Me too,” Wes agrees. He does some kind of finger motion, and his dog runs to him and sits at his feet.

Dakota smiles. “You should have seen Kat’s face when Catman ran up.”

“He was looking forward to meeting Kat too,” I tell them. “And her cats. And you guys. And seeing Hank. I guess they haven’t been together for a couple of years. What did Hank say?”

I catch the look exchanged between Wes and Dakota. Then she shrugs. “I don’t know. Hank didn’t come out for the moon check.”

Nickers paws the floor, shaking the whole trailer. She whinnies. Somewhere in the distance, a horse answers her.

“I better get her out.” I make my way to my horse. “Easy, girl. I’m right here.” I snap on the lead rope and back her down the ramp with no problem.

Now that she’s out, with solid ground under her hooves, she can’t stand still. I feel the tension coursing through her like electricity as she picks up strange scents, sights, and sounds.

“She’s gorgeous,” Dakota says. “Arabian, right? Is she high-strung?”

“No,” I snap. I don’t mean to be so defensive, but too many people have misjudged my horse. Lizzy says I’m way too sensitive when it comes to Nickers. “Nickers is high-spirited,” I explain, “but I couldn’t ask for a better horse.” She’s sidestepping now, and her nostrils are big as she takes in the new smells. “She’s kind of wound up from the journey, I guess.”

“I think Blackfire has some Arabian in him,” Dakota says. “You’ll have to see him tomorrow. He’s out in the south pasture with a couple of the rescues.”

I want her to tell me where I can put Nickers. If I could lead Nickers around the grounds, she’d calm down. But I don’t know the lay of the land here, and it’s too dark to explore. Nickers eyes Wes’s dog. My horse’s ears flatten back. I turn her in a circle to try to get her mind off the dog.

“Come over and meet everybody!” Catman’s mother yells.

“Weird seeing more Coolidges,” Wes says. “Popeye and his brother sure do look alike.”

“Couldn’t be because they’re twins, could it?” Dakota says.

“I know that,” Wes fires back.

“Dakota! Wes? Winnie?” somebody shouts in a high-pitched voice.

“That’s Gram Coolidge,” Dakota explains. “We better get over there.” She and Wes walk toward the Coolidge crowd that’s gathered on the other side of the house, closer to the burned-out barn.

I follow as far as the edge of the house, but Nickers doesn’t want to get any nearer to that barn. She snorts and prances. She’s being a real handful.

Note to self: Why did I bring Nickers here? Why did Catman bring me here? What on earth were we thinking?

I circle Nickers to calm her down, but she’s still tense.

Catman trots over to us. “Far out, huh? Wait till you meet little Kat. She’s grooving to meet you.”

“Nickers is pretty wound, Catman.”

He reaches to scratch Nickers’s neck, but she sidesteps.

“Greetings!” hollers a man who looks exactly like Catman’s dad, minus the toupee and tie.

“Winnie,” Catman says, “this is my uncle Chester.”

“You were right, Catman. That’s the finest horse I’ve ever seen, and that’s the prettiest Ohioan I’ve ever seen.” He grins at me.

“Right on,” Catman agrees.

I elbow Catman. “Thanks for having us. I hope we won’t be too much trouble.”

“Nonsense!” he protests. “We’ll put you to work. The way Catman talks, there’s nothing you can’t do.”

I don’t know what to say, which is nothing new for me.

“Popeye!” Wes hollers.

“That’s me,” Catman’s uncle says. “Guess I’m wanted.” He walks off.

I watch him go, and already I feel better. I’m not sure if it’s because Catman’s uncle is so nice or because Catman said Nickers and I were pretty.

A door slams, and a tall figure storms out of the house. Behind him is a shaggy, limping dog. “What’s going on out here?” he shouts.

He’s too loud. Nickers picks up on the energy and dances in place again.

“Hank! Hey, man!” Catman runs up to his cousin and hugs him, somehow managing to lift him off the ground. The little dog yaps at Catman’s heels.

Nickers is getting more antsy by the minute. I circle her and move closer to the house so I can hear what Catman and Hank are saying.

“No, it’s great to see you, too, Catman,” Hank says, not sounding convincing.

I’m not sure I would have recognized Hank Coolidge. He’s a lot taller than the last time I saw him. I remember having the overall impression of Hank as an easygoing cowboy, but he doesn’t fit that description at all now.

“Been too long, man!” Catman play-punches Hank’s arm.

“I know,” Hank says. “It’s just . . . I wish you’d picked a better time to visit. We’ve got a lot of work to do on the barn and—”

Nickers paws the ground.

Hank wheels on Nickers and me. “What’s that?”

“Winnie and her horse,” Catman answers.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Where are we supposed to put another horse? We don’t have places for the horses we’ve got. I’ve got three horses crowded into one pasture already. We don’t have a barn, in case you haven’t noticed.”

I feel awful. This is exactly what I was afraid of. “Nickers is fine without a barn,” I tell him.

Hank says something, but I can’t hear him because the limping dog starts yapping again. Wes’s big dog trots up to Hank and barks.