No Horse Wanted (18 page)

“Well, I guess I was macho.” A faint grin
creased Jack’s face. “It didn’t hurt that much before, but it does
now. I didn’t want to come up before I finished chores.”

“Go soak that leg, son,” Dad said. “Next
time, ask for help.”

“I’ve been telling you for years that Nitro
is pure mean,” I said. “Next time, you’ll listen to me.”

“Like that’s going to happen when you’re
wrong,” Jack told me. “It was your horse who nailed me, not mine.
And you can do the dishes for me tonight.”

“Unfair,” I complained. “I always end up
doing them for you. I’ll do them tonight because you’re hurt, but
I’m filing a grievance with the union. I’ll bet Felicia will
too.”

“Twaziem is really quick with his heels.” Mom
shook her head ruefully. “I’m glad that Larry is such a horseman or
he could have been kicked today. The horse certainly tried for him.
I wanted the colt to spend most of his time in the stall until he
gained more weight, but I think it would be safer if the kids put
him in the arena while they muck.”

“Makes sense to me.” Dad rose and began to
clear the table. “Once he learns that we won’t abuse him, he’ll
settle down. He’s just nervous.”

“He only needed a good home and he has one
now.” I got up and started stacking dishes. “He’s a lot better than
he was when he arrived.”

“Try explaining to him that kicking the guy
who comes to do the room is rude,” Jack said. “I’ll put him in the
arena from now on, but that horse doesn’t like me. He wheels and
tries for me as soon as I open the door. I don’t know if I can get
a halter on him.”

“I told you before that he had gender issues,
and you said horses weren’t the same as people.” I ferried plates
to the kitchen. “You told me horses don’t hate or love the way we
do.”

“Well, I’m beginning to change my mind.
Twaziem has done a lot to convince me,” Jack said.

“Starting tomorrow, you go put Twaziem in the
arena, Robbie. I don’t want that horse to hurt your brother again.”
Dad gestured toward the hall. “Jack, you’re not doing that leg any
good by standing on it. If you want to play football tomorrow, go
soak it.”

“And your head,” I added sweetly. “I’ll
handle my mean horse from now on.”

When Jack left, Mom asked, “Robin, are you
afraid of Twaziem? If you are, I’ll take him into the arena or to a
paddock.”

“Twaz doesn’t scare me,” I said. “I’ll bet
Jack moved too fast or swung a tool too quickly or something.
Twaziem wouldn’t kick him without a good reason.”

“What seems like a good reason to a horse
isn’t always one to a person,” Mom said. “I think I’ll call Mrs.
Bartlett and ask her if there’s any reason for Twaziem to go after
a teenage boy.”

“Hello.” I picked up the butter dish and bowl
of jam. “I already told you that her grandson is downright mean and
nasty. He undoubtedly did something to my horse, and now Twaz is
defending himself from Jack even though it’s stupid. Jack might
have moved too quickly, but he’d never do anything cruel to an
animal.”

“It would still be nice to know more about
the horse’s background,” Dad said. “Why don’t Robbie and I drive
over to Mrs. Bartlett’s tomorrow on our way home? We can tell her
how the horse is doing and see if we learn anything.”

“All right.” Mom collected the glasses. “I’m
probably worrying too much. We don’t know what made the horse kick.
It could simply be an accident. If we’re all careful around him
until he relaxes, everything should be fine.”

“We’ll try that.” Dad glanced at me. “I want
you to be careful too, Robbie. You’re not as big as Jack and I
don’t want to see you hurt.”

That made sense and I decided to use the
training halter on Twaziem more often. Sooner or later, he’d have
to figure out that the guys around here weren’t mean, but it might
take a while. Rocky said horses had really long memories and never
forgot anything, especially abuse.

As soon as I finished cleaning the kitchen, I
headed for my room to do my homework. I was halfway through the
first set of algebra problems when I heard limping footsteps in the
hall. “What is it, Jack? You’d better go rest that leg or Dad will
have kittens.”

“It’s Vicky.” Jack loomed in my doorway. “She
wants to talk to you, and you didn’t pick up when she called your
cell.”

I reached into my purse and pulled out my
phone. It was dead. “I forgot to charge it. I’ll go talk to her on
the landline. How is she?”

“Crying,” Jack said. “And since I can’t slap
her folks, I came to get you. I hate it when she’s upset and
there’s nothing I can do.”

“She doesn’t actually want any solutions,” I
told him. “She wants you to listen while she vents. It’s a girl
thing.”

“I’d rather solve problems than emote about
them,” Jack said. “It’s a guy thing.”

I laughed and headed for the hall, stopping
to give him a quick hug. “Sorry my horse is so ornery.”

“It’s okay.” Jack ruffled my hair. “I’m glad
you saved him, even if he is a monster.”

“Me too.” I walked past him. “Next time let
Vicky tell you why she’s in trouble at home. She got yelled at for
something her brothers or sisters did or didn’t do, or because
dinner was burnt, or the laundry didn’t get done, or a dish was
broken, or she didn’t mop the floor.”

“I thought Lincoln freed the slaves,” Jack
called after me.

“He did. He just didn’t free the rest of the
women or girls,” I said over my shoulder. “I have a news flash for
you, Jack. Most guys aren’t like you and Dad. They can’t pick up
their socks or make their beds or put plates in the
dishwasher.”

“They can,” Jack said, “but they don’t.”

“Good point.” I kept walking and went into
the living room to talk to my friend. It was my turn to let her
snivel at me. She certainly listened when I whined at her.

* * * *

Tuesday, September
24
^th
, 7:15 a.m.

Vicky was already in the Commons when I
arrived. That was different. I headed for her and passed over the
latte. “Hi. What are you doing here so early?”

“You mean on time?” Vicky smiled, but it
didn’t touch her eyes. “My mom and I had a screaming fight after I
got off the phone with you. She issued another of her ultimatums
and I told her where to shove it. So, she sent me down to sleep in
the daylight basement.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” A tear trickled down her cheek,
and she wiped it away. “I hate having her mad at me, but I just
couldn’t stand being the family servant for another moment.”

“But, the basement?” I shuddered, thinking of
ours. “Isn’t it creepy and dark with tons of bugs?”

Vicky shook her head. “No. Don’t you
remember? It’s all set up like a studio apartment. There’s a
queen-size bed in the living room and an old entertainment center,
plus a little computer room. It has a kitchen and a full
bathroom.”

“What did you do once you were there?” I
asked.

“I took a hot shower, nuked a pizza, and did
my homework,” Vicky said. “The soda’s kept in the garage so the
kids can’t drink it all in a day or two, so I could even have a
couple colas. I went to bed early, and then I got up this morning.
I had a chance to shower again. I dressed and left for school. If I
end up living there full-time, hey, it’s not all bad.”

“It actually sounds pretty good,” I said.
“Won’t your mom be looking for you?”

“With five kids to feed breakfast, dress and
get off to school?” Vicky laughed, but she didn’t sound happy. “She
won’t even miss me.”

I got up. I walked around the table and
hugged her. “I’m sorry you’re hurt. Please don’t be mad at me when
I say that I think it’s great that your mom has to do some of the
stuff that you do all the time. She may be nicer to you now.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tuesday, September 24
^th
, 2:30 p.m.

During classes, my brain whirled around
Vicky’s problems. I didn’t know how to get her mom to back off, but
I also didn’t think the basement was a permanent solution. Once her
mom figured out that Vicky liked it down there, things would
change. That afternoon, I hurried out to the field and saw the
cross-country team clustered around Coach Norris.

I hurried over to stand by Gwen. “What’s
up?”

“New route today,” Gwen whispered.

Coach Norris glanced around, then pinpointed
me with a barely suppressed smile. “Steve says that the team has a
new leader, and it’s you, Robin.”

“Me?” My jaw just about dropped on the grass.
“Why me?”

“Because when Gwen and Porter run with you,
they P.R.,” Steve said. “Now, Olivia and her girls are next. It’s
only fair that the guys get the same chance to win.”

“A team can’t have two coaches,” Lew told us.
“I’m happy doing what Coach Norris wants and that includes the
route we run.”

“Okay.” Steve glared at the other junior.
“All the whiners can run the short route. Anybody who wants to be a
winner follows Robin, and we’re back in an hour and a half.
Deal?”

“Sounds good to me,” Olivia agreed. “Let’s do
it or we won’t kick butt on Thursday.”

“Well, stretch out,” I said. “It’s Tuesday
and we’re going up Golf Course Hill.”

The team members moved into a semicircle, and
Porter started a series of exercises. While people limbered up, I
went over to Coach Norris. “I run six miles a day. I’m not trying
to make trouble.”

He grinned at me. “Hey, it takes work to
build a winning team, and the most important part is attitude.
Winners never quit and quitters never win. See you when you get
back.”

At four fifteen, I walked out of the school
with Porter and Gwen. They had rides waiting for them, and it
surprised me to see my dad’s car. I went over and opened the
passenger door. “Hi there. What’s up?”

“Did you forget? We’re going to see Mrs.
Bartlett and investigate your horse.” Dad waited for me to climb in
and buckle up before he moved the car. “I’d really like some
answers.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s play detective.”

I didn’t add that I wished he’d just believe
me when I told him about Caine Bartlett obviously abusing Twaziem.
I didn’t have any concrete proof beyond knowing him and his
cousins, but it wasn’t like they’d shoot videos of doing mean
things to the horse and post them on the web for everyone to
see.

It didn’t take long to get to Mrs. Bartlett’s
home. Dad pulled into the drive and parked near the house. The row
of kennels looked empty, but there was a guy cleaning them,
throwing scraps of wood into the back of a pickup truck. My stomach
tightened when he turned toward us. He was tall and skinny, with a
long black ponytail threaded through the back of his ball cap. He
started toward us.

“Do you know him?” Dad asked me.

“Yes. That’s Caine Bartlett.” I watched him
approach. “Can we just go?”

Dad shook his head. “We won’t find any
answers by running away. Come on, Robbie.”

“The guy’s a jerk.” I wasn’t about to act
scared, especially when I was, so I pushed open my door. “Hey,
Caine. How are you? Is your grandma around?”

“At the grocery.” Caine stopped and stared at
us, a sneer twisting his mouth. “You took the only horse we had, so
what else do you want?”

“To know more about him.” Dad came around the
car and stood next to me, sounding super friendly. “Did you folks
have him for a long time?”

“Almost two years.” Caine sauntered closer,
leering at my chest. “Granny bought his mother and he was born
here. Want to know what happened to her?”

“You killed her,” I said in even tones,
longing to smack him. “The only questions are how and did Twaz see
it?”

“It wasn’t me.” He pointed to the woods at
the back of the property. “It was Ash’s turn to ride her. Ashley
was riding her, galloping down one of the trails back there. The
horse went down, broke her leg in a hole. My old man had to shoot
her.”

“But, Ashley was okay?”

“Oh sure. She walked away. That stupid colt
screamed for days when his mother didn’t come back.” Caine
shrugged. “It was like he actually knew who she was. Granny had a
fit and kicked Wanda and Ashley off the property for months.”

“Was the colt still nursing?” Dad asked, his
voice low and grim.

Caine considered the question for a moment.
“Yeah, he was. It was kind of weird since he had to be two months
old. He used to freak whenever we took his mother out to ride her,
but we didn’t want the little snot following us. He’d run up and
down the fence till she came back, whinnying the whole time.”

“I see.” Dad took a step closer to me. “And
when did you start beating him?”

“I only threw a few rocks at him to shut him
up.” Caine smirked at us again. “Get serious. It’s a horse. He
doesn’t have real feelings.”

“Can we go now?” I asked. “If you stick
around, he’ll tell you what else he did and I’ll puke.”

“Sure.” Dad patted my shoulder as if I were
still five. “Get in the car, honey.”

I did, but Dad didn’t come right away. He
stood and talked to Caine for another ten minutes. How could he
stand it? I just wanted to cry for the little foal that lost his
mom, who’d been knocked around almost from the day he was born.
After what seemed like forever, Dad handed Caine a couple bills,
then came around to get in the car.

“What did you pay him for?” I demanded as
soon as he shut the door. “Horse abuse?”

“For his answers, Robbie,” Dad said. “I know
you don’t like him. Neither do I, but now we know some of your
horse’s history. And I’m going to tell Jack to be a lot more
careful. He has a certain resemblance to the Bartlett boy and
Twaziem has plenty of reasons to pack a grudge.”

I managed a nod while Dad started the car and
backed out of the drive. Tears welled up, and I grabbed a tissue
from the box on the console between our seats. “It’s not fair. He
was just a baby and they killed his mom in front of him.”