Night Mare (3 page)

5

Happy Trails!

The sun is barely rising when I open my window and whistle. A cool breeze sweeps into my bedroom, and with it the sweet scent of horse. Dandelions have popped up all across the yard. Dew sparkles in patches of clover.

Dream canters up to the window, and I give her a good morning kiss right on her blaze. “Trail ride today, Dream. We're going to have so much fun. Hang on. I'll get your breakfast.”

I pull on jeans and a T-shirt. On the way out of my room, I notice the computer. So I stop and check my e-mail. All junk, except for one from Winnie the Horse Gentler. I open it right away.

Happy trails, Ellie! Have fun on your trail ride today. I ran across one more recipe you might want for your blog project. Nickers loves these treats, and they're easy to make.

Nickers's Noshes

1 cup flour

2 cups oatmeal

3 cups unsweetened applesauce

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Grease a 13-inch pan and pour in mixture.

Bake for about 40–45 minutes. Cool completely before giving a piece to your horse.

I copy the recipe. Then I write Winnie a thank-you note before heading to the backyard.

My dad is already hard at work in his dining room office. “Ellie, what are you doing up so early on a Saturday?”

“Trail ride. Remember?” I walk over to him. Stacks of papers litter the whole table. Paper wads cover the floor like giant snowflakes. “Tough night, Dad?”

“A rhyme-less night, if that's what you mean.”

I feel sorry for my dad. I'm about to go on the most fun ride ever, and he's stuck at home trying to rhyme
fish
. I start to sit down in the chair next to Dad, but Squash, our cat, is curled up there.

“Hey, Dad. How about this?

“There's nothing fishy about our food.

We'll put your fish in the very best mood!”

“Yes!” Dad exclaims. “I can work with that. I need to put in the name of the company, of course. And a tune and whatnot. . . .”

I leave Dad to his jingle, and I rush out back to give Dream her oats. Pinto Cat, the calico who followed Dream and me home from the cat farm and decided to stay, demands her food too. While Dream eats, I brush her. “So, Dream, what do you think about riding bareback today?”

Dream keeps eating and acts like she doesn't hear the question.

“You've filled out enough. I can ride you bareback now without killing myself on your bony spine.” I give her back an extra brushing. Instead of her bone sticking up there, she has a nice, padded, broad back now. I love my horse's spots. I brush my favorite spot, the one that looks like a shiny black saddle. “You know, Dream, this saddle spot looks like God drew it on you Himself.”

When Dream is finished eating, I lead her over to my mounting post, a tree stump we already had in the backyard. Even standing on the stump, I have to jump a little to get up on her back.

“You are so not a pony,” I tell her. “Once again, Larissa doesn't know what she's talking about.”

Dream and I trot across the road to Colt's. I expect to have to wake him up for the ride. But Colt is already in the barn, with his horse saddled and ready to go.

“Wow! Bullet looks great, Colt. He's thinned down a lot.”

“I think so too,” Colt says. “See?” He pulls back the big stirrup of his Western saddle to show me the cinch buckle. “Two notches tighter than the last time I rode with this saddle.”

Bullet still needs to lose another three or four notches. But it's progress. It has taken me a long time to fatten up Dream. I suppose it will take Colt a long time to “skinny down” Bullet.

“I think we can get into some serious barrel racing this summer,” I say.

“Counting on it.” He unties Bullet and leads him out of the barn. Colt mounts his horse from the left, the way we learned in horsemanship. He lands on Bullet's back with a thud.

I bite my tongue to keep from telling him he needs to grab a bit of the mane from the base, along with the reins, in his left hand. And he should face the back of his horse and take hold of the cantle, or the back of the saddle, with his right hand. That way he could bounce on his right foot, with his left in the stirrup. That would help him spring into the saddle without thumping down so hard.

I only know these things because I've been going to Mr. Harper's horsemanship classes forever, long before I had my own horse. But today isn't for the how-tos of horsemanship. It's for the sheer joy of riding. That's what Mr. Harper said when he invited us to his property for the trail ride.

“Let's go,” I say, reining Dream around.

Colt and I ride side by side down our road. Our homes are the last two houses on this end of town. I love living out here, where our yards are the size of most people's pastures.

The gravel road turns to dirt. Wildflowers peek out from ditches on both sides. I spot tiny sweet clover. “Colt, do you remember when we used to pull out the purple from those clovers and try to taste the sugar?”

He laughs. “You always claimed you could taste it, but I never did.”

A cardinal zooms right in front of us, but neither horse shies at it. It's like the birds are as excited about our trail ride as we are. We pass pastures of black-and-white cows. Before long, the only sounds are the clip-clop of hooves and the squeak of Colt's leather saddle.

“I heard from Larissa this morning,” Colt says.

“What did
she
want?”

“She wanted me to come to her house and help with the blog instead of going on the trail ride.” Colt reaches down and pats Bullet. That's one of the best things about Colt. He treats his horse like he's a best friend. “I told her thanks, but no thanks.”

“Did she say anything about the comments on her blog?” I know Larissa wrote those things. But my stomach still flips over just remembering that half a second when I thought somebody else wrote that comment.

“I asked her about it. She acted like she didn't know what I was talking about.” Colt glances at me. “But she did. She just didn't want to admit we're onto her.”

I remember my nightmare. And for a second, worry creeps like a cockroach up the back of my neck.

Neither of us says anything for a while.

I shake off my nightmare and refuse to think about Larissa. I'm glad she'll be home working on that blog of hers instead of riding on the trail with us. Larissa's horse lives at K. C. Stables. Maybe she didn't think it was worth the hassle of having somebody drive her horse to the Harpers'. Custer's Darling Delight wouldn't do so well on a trail ride anyway. He's used to practice arenas, not forest trails.

But I'm done thinking about Larissa.

Colt is quiet, but I never worry about making small talk with him. That's one of the best things about Colt and me, most of the time. We don't have to be talking to know everything's okay between us.

“This is my first trail ride,” Colt says when the Harpers' stable appears in the distance.

“Mr. Harper took us on a trail ride for an hour last year, out at Brookfield,” I say. “But this one will be way better. And longer.”

Colt reaches behind his saddle and pats his saddle bags. “That's why I packed enough food for the whole day.”

I stare at his saddle bags. I thought they were just decoration. “Um . . . I didn't think about that. I haven't packed anything.”

“No sweat.” Colt strokes Bullet again. “I made plenty of peanut butter sandwiches. I even made those apple-carrot horse treats from your blog. Bullet will share with Dream. Won't you, boy?”

“Well, Dream and I both thank you two.” And I know right away this day is going to be something I'll never forget.

Only just as I think this, I feel that worry-cockroach crawling back up my neck. I stare at the blue sky and bright sun. But I imagine a black cloud lurking over the horizon. And I'm pretty sure that nasty cloud is Larissa-shaped.

6

Joy

Mr. Harper waves to us as we ride up. He's busy leading three of his horses to a hitching post. The Harpers have so many horses that Mr. Harper always lets kids who don't have horses ride some of his.

That was me for a long, long time. Every horsemanship practice I'd ride one of the Harper horses because I didn't have a horse of my own. I shoot up a prayer of thanks to God that now I have Dream.

Ashley Harper comes yawning out of the barn. She's wearing jeans and a T-shirt like me. Only she looks like she's stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. She shields her eyes from the sun and then waves.

“Hey, Ashley!” I call. “Which horse are you taking out?”

She holds up one finger, then jogs back to the barn. When she comes out, she's leading Galahad, a young quarter horse that has already won three ribbons.

Mr. Harper takes off his cowboy hat and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Can you believe that girl nearly forgot her horse?” he asks.

I'm not sure Ashley would ride if it weren't for her dad taking her to the shows. She doesn't love horses the way Colt and I do.

I'm surprised when Rashawn walks out of the barn behind Ashley and Galahad. Rashawn's coal-black hair is caught up in a clip that matches the clip in Ashley's long blonde hair.

Rashawn is leading her horse, Dusty. Next to Galahad, Rashawn's farm horse looks like a giant. She tries to get Dusty to hurry up, but that horse has a mind of her own.

“What are you doing here already?” I ask Rashawn. “I thought you and Cassie would ride over together.”

“My fault,” Ashley says. She yawns again. “Rashawn and I are so far behind on our blog that she had to stay over last night so we could work on it. I'm a terrible partner.”

“No, you're not,” Rashawn says. “We got a lot done yesterday.” Rashawn is a great student, and she always works hard. I haven't heard her complain once about Ashley not doing her share of the work.

“How on earth did you and Colt get here so early?” Ashley asks.

Colt grins. “Our horses are lightning fast.”

“Anybody want to give me a hand here?” Mr. Harper shouts.

Colt helps Mr. Harper saddle the horses he's letting people use while Ashley saddles Galahad.

I follow Rashawn back to the barn and help her with Dusty. Once we're out of earshot, I quiz her. “What was it like staying at Ashley's?”

“Aside from the fact that her room is bigger than my whole house, you mean?” Rashawn laughs. “It was cool. You should see her room. Seriously. She has a king-sized guest bed—for
moi
. I had to beg Ashley to show me her trophies. She keeps them in a trunk. And she doesn't have her ribbons hanging on the wall like Larissa does.”

I've never seen Larissa's or Ashley's rooms. “What else did you do?”

“We really did work on our blog. The project would have been easier if Ashley hadn't begged me to stay away from anything related to horses. So we're doing presidential candidates. Neither of us knows anything about that one. Or cares. That's the problem.”

It takes both of us to brush Dusty and hoist the saddle onto her back.

“There you are!” Cassie runs up to us. She's leading her pony. At 14 hands, Misty is a true pony, and Cassie is fine with that . . . except when Larissa calls Misty Phony Pony.

“Cassie!” Rashawn hugs her friend and launches into a detailed account of her overnight with Ashley.

After a minute, I slip out of the barn and back to Dream. My horse is standing all by herself. I look around for Colt and Bullet. Finally I spot them on the other side of the stable with Lance and Brendon. Brendon only comes to horsemanship a few times a year. Lance doesn't even like horses. He only shows up at horsemanship events because he knows Ashley will be there.

But they're the only other guys here. So I know Colt will want to hang with them.

Mr. Harper has us line up. “A few rules before we start. Rule number one: You're not the only one on this ride. Look out for each other. Rule number two: Stay on the trail unless I give you the go-ahead to explore. Rule number three: Keep a horse's length between you and the horse in front of you. Rule number four: Have fun, riders!”

Cassie and Rashawn fall in right behind Mr. Harper. Cassie turns in her saddle and shouts back, “Ellie! Come on up here with us.”

Rashawn nods and waves me up too.

That's one of the best things about Cassie and Rashawn. Even though they're best friends with each other, they always try to include me.

I glance around for Ashley. She's the last rider in the pack. I wave to her. But she has her head down on her horse's neck like she's taking a nap.

Mr. Harper leads us through two of his pastures and out to the woods. The trail is covered by a blanket of pine needles and spreads between jagged rows of evergreens. Our horses' hooves sound like they're in stocking feet, swishing across a silk carpet. Sunlight flashes between the branches. The scent of pine mixes with horse, smelling so good I'm a little dizzy.

“Is all of this your land?” Cassie asks Mr. Harper.

“This part is,” he answers. “But we're headed over that ridge into woods that are publicly held. I love these woods.”

“Me too,” I whisper, so low that nobody can hear me except Dream and God. I feel as much pure joy as when I wake up on the first snow day of the year. I want it to last forever.

After a while, the voices grow softer. We're spread farther apart. Horses snort and sneeze. They whinny secrets back and forth.

Cassie and Rashawn fall back so I'm between them again.

“Where's Larissa?” Cassie asks.

I feel like somebody popped the bubble I've been floating in. “You had to ask.”

“What?” Cassie sounds concerned. “What did I say?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell us, Ellie,” Rashawn urges. “What's up?”

So I tell them about Larissa's blog and the scare it gave me.

“You must have gone crazy!” Cassie exclaims.

“Really! You should have called us,” Rashawn agrees.

That makes me feel good, that they'd want me to call them. I'm sure they call each other about everything. “Once we figured out it had to be Larissa writing the comments, I went from crazy to crazy mad.”

They laugh. We ride without talking for a couple of minutes. Then Rashawn says, “So . . . so you're sure Larissa made the comment, right?”

I frown at her.

“I mean, did she admit she wrote that—about Dream being her horse?” Rashawn tugs her hair the way Miss Hernandez does when she's upset.

“Larissa wrote it, all right. She may not have admitted it. But come on. Who else would do a thing like that?” I ask.

Cassie laughs. “You have a point. I vote we forget about it.”

“And I vote we forget about voting,” Rashawn says. “It reminds me of our presidential blog. And it's much too beautiful out here to think about that now.”

The rest of the ride is even better. Dream loves it as much as I do. It's like we're reading each other's mind. I start thinking how much fun it would be to trot. And the next thing I know, Dream breaks into a trot. When we go down a hill and it feels too fast, Dream slows down before I even signal her. And when we eat lunch, Dream enjoys her horse treats as much as I love Colt's peanut butter sandwiches.

On the ride back, Colt still hangs with the guys. But he manages to pull Bullet in front of me and Dream. And now and then he loops his reins around the saddle horn, sticks his hands behind his back, and signs something.
Did you see that hawk?
Or
How's Dream holding up?
Or
Want another sandwich?

When we get back to the Harpers' stable, I can't believe we've been gone for over four hours. I'd happily turn around and do it all again.

Instead, Mr. Harper invites us to stay for some classic old horse movies. While we watch
National Velvet
and
The Black Stallion
, Mrs. Harper brings out so much food we can't even eat it all.

By the time Colt and I head home, the sun is setting. I'm thinking it's been a perfect day, even better than I imagined. As we ride up the dirt road toward our houses, I relive every detail of the day. Without words, I tell God how thankful I am for all of it. Who wouldn't be? A day like this. Friends like these. And a horse like Dream.

The road turns to gravel, and I know my house is just ahead. But the sun is so low it's hard to see.

“Hey! What's that about?” Colt asks. He stands in his stirrups and shields his eyes. “You expecting company?”

“Not that I know of.” I tilt my head and try to see what he's talking about. A strange car is parked in front of my house. “Whose car is it?”

“I don't recognize it. It's a cool old car, though. It doesn't look like it's from around here.”

We're almost to my house when the front door flies open. Out comes a boy I've never seen before. He stomps over to the road and points right at me. “There! Is she the one? Is she the one who stole my horse?”