Secret Horse (8 page)

“Yeah, I’m taking this guy home. He’s been at summer camp,” said Mr. Grover, not missing a beat.

“Then, girls, hop to it!” Max ordered. “Get those bandages on Gold Dust so Mr. Grover can get out of here.”

“Right!” Carole said, sprinting for the barn.

In a matter of minutes Gold Dust was ready to join Samson in the trailer. Max offered to help them load the horse. “Oh, no,” Stevie said, “let us do it. You go on talking to Mr. Grover.” Carole stood so that she blocked
Samson from view, Stevie put Gold Dust on board, and Lisa raised the ramp in a jiffy.

“You guys go with Mr. Grover!” Stevie urged. “I’ll stay behind to distract Max.”

“Deal!” Carole and Lisa whispered.

Stevie came out from behind the trailer. “Okay, Max.
Now
can I ask my question?”

Max threw up his hands good-naturedly. He said good-bye to Mr. Grover and followed Stevie toward the barn.

Ten minutes later, as the trailer rumbled slowly down the driveway, Carole let out a sigh of relief. “Phew! Now that we’ve stolen Samson, riding him should be a piece of cake!” she joked.

Lisa chewed her lip worriedly. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I guess you’re right.”

“… 
SO WHEN
I put my arm like this, my leg should slide back like that, but only if my head is turned in the opposite direction—”

“Stevie?” Max interrupted. “You’ve been explaining this new position for ten minutes. I still have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Why don’t you just stick to the riding positions outlined in the official manual of the United States Pony Club, okay? I think they should serve your purposes nicely.”

“Okay,” Stevie said, untwisting her arms and legs from the bizarre position they were in. By then she thought Mr. Grover and his cargo should be well out of sight. “I’ll do that, Max.”

Max let out a weary sigh. “Good. And now I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Stevie inquired, tagging along toward Max’s office. “Lisa and Carole are gone on a trail ride, so I said I’d stay behind in case anything urgent came up here.”

Max gave her a funny look. “That’s very kind of you, Stevie. I appreciate all the work you’ve been doing, too. But I don’t expect you to miss riding to help me, you know.”

“But I wanted to, Max!” Stevie protested. “Honest!”

They had come to the door of Max’s office. Max stepped through it. Stevie attempted to follow him, but Max barred the way. “Stevie,” he said. He looked her in the eyes. “For heaven’s sakes, go find something else to do!”

Stevie smiled wanly. “Okay, Max. If you’re sure—”

“I’m sure!” The door shut abruptly in Stevie’s face.

“Excellent,” Stevie murmured to herself. “He’ll be too scared to come out now.”

With Max taken care of, at least temporarily, Stevie looked around for something to do. It didn’t take her long. “Something” materialized in the form of some
one
—Veronica
diAngelo, busy tacking up Danny on the cross-ties. Stevie eyed her prey from down the aisle. She was about to move forward for the pounce when she had a better idea. Quickly she got Belle out of her stall.

“Hello, beautiful,” Stevie crooned. “Ready for some
A.M.
espionage? Nothing like a horse for camouflage,” she muttered under her breath. Belle snorted in reply.

Putting a dejected expression on her face, Stevie led Belle out to the cross-ties closest to Danny. “Oh. Hi,” she said glumly to Veronica, as if surprised to see her there.

“What, all alone today?” Veronica demanded. “I didn’t know you could get out of bed without your two shadows to help you.”

Stevie gave her a long-suffering look. “Carole and Lisa can’t make it till later,” she said, her voice gloomy. “Which is really too bad because we were supposed to go on a trail ride.”

“Oh, were you?” Veronica said unsympathetically. “And now I suppose you want me to go with you.”

Stevie raised her eyebrows. “Only if you want to. I mean—”

“Stevie Lake,” Veronica declared, “your act won’t fool me. You can save the innocent look, too—I know you want something. But I’ll go on a trail ride if you like. Danny’s had so many workouts with top-level trainers this week that he deserves a break. Don’t you, boy?”

Veronica turned back to Stevie, hands on her hips. “So, we can do this together or not. What’s it going to be?”

“Let’s hit the trail,” Stevie said, chuckling to herself. She didn’t mind having her bluff called. She was sure all good spies were used to having to make a second attack.

On the trail Stevie got right down to business. She asked Veronica point-blank if anyone else was going in the Pine Hollow van with her to the Macrae.

Veronica smirked. “I knew that’s what you were after. You still haven’t abandoned hope, have you? Even though you and Belle wouldn’t have a prayer of winning anything,” she added.

“It’s not for me, it’s—!” Stevie began hotly. Then a lightbulb seemed to click on in her brain. If she let Veronica go on thinking that she, Stevie, was the one who wanted to go to the Macrae, she’d be able to get a lot more information out of her. Veronica wouldn’t worry about being beaten by Stevie and Belle.

Belle was a wonderful horse. She could do dressage and jump, go English or Western; she’d been a Pony Club mount and a trail horse. But she wasn’t an expensive Thoroughbred show horse. With a flash of understanding, Stevie realized how lucky this last fact was. “Oh, all right,” she said, making her voice sound reluctant.
“So I do have dreams about the Macrae. Is that a crime? You never know, Belle and I might do really well there!”

Veronica gave Stevie a patronizing smile. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with dreaming, Stevie.”

Stevie had to turn her head away so as not to make puking noises in Veronica’s face.

“As far as the van goes, I’ve rented out two of the stalls,” Veronica said.

“Two?” said Stevie. “Are you bringing a second mount?”

“A second mount—aren’t you silly? Why would I do that? Danny’s all I need to win. Even Tom Riley agreed. He thinks—”

“Then why the second stall?” asked Stevie.

“For my stuff, of course!” said Veronica. “My tack trunk, my two saddles, Danny’s special grain, my spare outfits, my—”

“Okay, okay! I get the picture,” Stevie grumbled. Inside she was thinking,
But that still leaves two stalls open.
“So who has the other two stalls?” she asked as they picked up a trot.

“Search me,” said Veronica. “Why should I care when I’m all taken care of?”

Stevie didn’t trust herself to reply. For several strides she posted silently in the saddle.

Veronica was the one to speak next. Stevie felt the girl glance at her curiously. “Say, Stevie, if you want, maybe I could put in a good word for you with Max.”

Stevie pretended to be thrilled. “Would you really?” she gushed. “It would mean
everything
to me. And Belle, of course.”

“Sure,” said Veronica, obviously relishing her role as benefactor, “I could do that. And you know, I’d be especially happy to try to help you if you could, you know, do a couple of little things to help me—like maybe give my boots a polish from time to time. Just as long as you understand that you’ll probably come home empty-handed,” she warned. “I wouldn’t want you to get your hopes up and be disappointed.”

Stevie gritted her teeth. To herself she said,
I won’t be disappointed—not when I give my spot on the van to Carole and Starlight and they make you wish you’d rented out all four stalls for your stuff!

Stevie was so focused on The Saddle Club’s day of victory that she hardly heard it when Veronica invited her to come over to her house. “Huh? What did you say?” she asked absently.

“I said, it’s silly for our Olympic-sized pool to go to waste with just little ol’ me swimming in it. And I know you never have plans”—Veronica smirked—“other than hanging out
here.
So if you want to come over tomorrow,
I could rearrange my schedule and plan to be home in the morning.”

The condescending tone in Veronica’s voice made Stevie want to strangle her. But every good spy had to sacrifice for the cause. Now was the crucial time to keep Part B of Project Secret Horse going full force. Clearly, Veronica adored the idea of Stevie as a pathetic hanger-on, desperate for a handout. And Stevie was more than happy to lay it on—thick as honey. “Really, Veronica?” she said, her voice meek. “Do you mean it? Swimming in the diAngelo pool would be the thrill of my entire summer!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Veronica said. “Mother will be so pleased. She does a lot of charity work herself, and she’s always on my case to ‘share the wealth.’ ”

Stevie nearly lost it then and there. Surely it couldn’t have been this hard for James Bond. “Wow,” she said in her most fawning voice, “I sure feel lucky.”

“W
HO
’
S GOING TO
ride this bundle of energy?” Mr. Grover asked.

For a second Lisa thought he was talking about the Macrae. She stole a glance at Carole.

Carole was holding Samson’s reins, and Samson, excited by the new setting, was dancing at the end of them. “I’ll hop on,” she volunteered. “Or you go first if you want, Lisa.”

Lisa perked up visibly. “Really?”

“Sure. Let me give you a leg up.”

Carole boosted Lisa into the saddle. Pleased as punch, Lisa walked Samson toward the ring where Mr. Grover’s jumps were set up. Carole’s eyes followed the pair speculatively. She had seen it again: that strange, un-Lisa-like expression. What did it mean?

Carole hadn’t taken two steps when the most glaring truth hit her. “Of course!” she said aloud. It was so obvious, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t picked up on it sooner. Lisa wanted to ride Samson in the Macrae! It was the only explanation that made sense—the reason Lisa’s mood seemed to rise and fall every time Samson and the Macrae were mentioned. But then why hadn’t
she
mentioned it? Frowning, Carole leaned on the rail. The only conclusion she could come to was that Lisa hadn’t wanted to step on anyone’s toes. Lisa was very sensitive to other people’s feelings. And she hated conflicts. If she thought either Stevie or Carole was hoping to ride Samson, too, she probably wouldn’t mention her own desire to do so. Max would decide in the end, of course—if and when he agreed to Samson’s going at all—but it was important that The Saddle Club present a united front.

Carole looked out to where Lisa had the horse moving at a brisk but collected trot. Samson’s ears were pricked up, and he trotted along smartly. Lisa looked happy and confident. “They sure look like a winning pair,” Carole said aloud, relaxing against the fence.

L
ISA FELT THE
breeze on her face and the sun on her back. She sat straight in the saddle, heels down, elbows close to her sides. “This is the day I’ve been waiting for,” she
told Samson. “It’s my chance to prove I can ride you in the Macrae.”

Samson seemed to understand. The moment Lisa slid her outside heel back and sat down in the saddle, Samson picked up a rhythmic canter. A few minutes later, when Lisa asked for a trot again, Samson came back to her right away. More than satisfied with her warm-up, Lisa waved to Carole and Mr. Grover that she was ready to jump.

“We don’t want to overdo it, Lisa!” Carole called. “So if I were you, I’d take him over those little jumps down at the end and then go ahead and jump the course.”

Lisa nodded. “Sounds good!”

A few practice fences later, she was ready to try the set of eight fences. Carole came into the ring to give her some advice. “That one vertical is pretty big, so make sure you set him up right for it,” she said.

Lisa almost had to feign seriousness. The jump that Carole was talking about was nowhere near as big as the Pine Hollow brush!
If she only knew
 …, Lisa said to herself with a smile.

As was customary at the beginning of a jump course, Lisa trotted in a circle and picked up a canter. At Pine Hollow Samson had mellowed slightly, now that he had jumped the fences there several times. But today he was raring to go. He felt just the way he had the first day Lisa
had jumped him. Lisa didn’t mind; she was glad the horse’s spirits were up. Her own were soaring!

The first few jumps went by in a blur. Dimly Lisa was aware that Samson was getting a little strong. She knew she ought to check him, but she almost hated to. Why not let him have his fun? What harm could come of it? None of these fences was big enough to bother a horse with his ability.

Midway through the course, the vertical that Carole had mentioned loomed ahead. A vertical was simply an upright fence with one layer of poles. Verticals could look less solid than other kinds of fences—less inviting, in horseperson’s terms. Lisa saw Samson prick up his ears at the red-and-white poles. He weaved underneath her. Prancer did this sometimes, too, if a fence looked spooky. Lisa sat up in the saddle and urged the young horse on. Despite his curiosity, Lisa knew there was no question of his stopping in front of the fence. Samson didn’t have a refusing bone in his body. In fact, he did just the opposite: He took off early—a stride too early. Completely unprepared for the huge jump, Lisa lost her balance. She expected to be tossed back into the saddle by the natural motion of the jump. Instead she was thrown farther forward. Dismayed, she felt her feet come out of the stirrups. She clutched desperately at the black mane. It was no use. With the impact of Samson’s landing,
Lisa was tossed into the air. She felt the dread of falling hit her. Then she hurtled toward the ground. She wanted to shriek—but it was too late. With a sickening crunch, the wind was knocked out of her.