Taming the Star Runner (5 page)

Kristen grabbed the short mane of her horse and swung up. She used the lead rope for a bridle, dancing Charlie in a small circle. He snorted nervously.

“I'm going to throw them in the water tank and lengthen your life.”

“Yeah, and you'll shorten yours. Get back here.”

He took a step. Kristen screamed and kicked Charlie into a trot. It was muddy down by the water tank—all the pony kids had hosed their ponies off earlier.

She really is going to do it, the little jerk, Travis thought as he ran after her. As Kristen twisted around to throw the pack over the rail into the water tank, the Star Runner, who had been trotting up and down at the far end of his paddock, charged the gate. He made a horrible squealing sound. With his head held low, swinging from side to side, his ears pinned flat, he seemed to Travis for a split second like some monstrous snake…

Kristen's horse scrambled sideways, lost his footing in the mud, and fell with her. Then he rolled to his feet, trotted a few yards, and began to eat grass. Kristen lay still in the mud.

Well, she's dead, Travis thought, oddly detached, as he ran down the hill. She had to be, he'd seen the horse roll on her. But he ran on, hearing Jennifer scream, “Casey! Casey!”

She was alive, her eyes were open and she was moving her lips. There was something wrong, though. Even in his first quick relief he knew there was something wrong…

“Don't move.” Casey knelt beside her, pressing her back when she made a move to get up. How'd she get here so fast? he wondered. How … then he saw Kristen's leg, there was something strange about the angle of her right leg, something weird sticking through her jeans…

He shivered, suddenly sick.

“What's wrong?” Kristen's voice sounded very young and breathless.

“What is it?”

“Your leg's broken,” Casey said, “It's going to be okay, a broken leg heals. Travis.”

He tore his eyes away from the bloody white piece of bone. He thought he was going to puke.

“Go call an ambulance. Tell Jennifer to call Kristen's mom, and tell her we're going to St. Francis Hospital. You can call nine-one-one for the ambulance. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Having something to do cleared his mind.

“Casey, it hurts.” Kristen sounded astonished and a little miffed.

“Sure it hurts,” Travis heard Casey reply as he started back to the barn at a run. “It's probably going to hurt worse in a minute.”

He rushed past a white-faced Jennifer to call nine-one-one. He had a hard time remembering the address and the operator got a little sharp with him.

Jennifer flatly refused to call Kristen's mom, so he had to do that too. He could see why: Kristen's mom went into hysterics and it was obvious that would have sent Jennifer into them too.

He got the mom off the phone and on her way to the hospital, had Jennifer sitting quietly on a tack box whispering, “I can't handle this,” told Robyn to take care of Kristen's horse, made Kelsey go home instead of hanging around getting in the way.

Then he grabbed a horse blanket to take down to Casey. He'd seen a wreck once, everybody was putting blankets on everybody.

Kristen was whimpering by now, and Travis couldn't blame her, wanting to whimper himself every time he caught sight of her leg. Casey held her hand, talking quietly: “I know it hurts really bad, Kristen, but pretty soon you'll be at the hospital and they'll give you something: Just think, this time tomorrow it will barely hurt at all. Just hold on a little bit longer—”

It seemed more than a little bit longer to Travis by the time the ambulance arrived. Kristen screamed while they put her on the stretcher, and he thought he'd rather have the broken leg himself than be a helpless witness to it.

As the doors shut Casey said, “You know how many times I've told those kids not to fool around with the horses? I wish it'd been her goddamn neck.”

Travis, almost shaking with reaction, could have slugged her. Then the lights and the siren went on, and the Star Runner, who'd been dancing up and down the far side of his paddock, took two giant strides across it and cleared the top rail. He also cleared Travis.

“Goddamn,” Travis breathed. He ducked, seconds late. He watched the gray horse thunder down the pasture road, clear the gate, and disappear over the ridge.

“Goddamn.”

“I knew he was going to do that,” Casey said.

“Yeah? Well, thanks for the warning.” Travis glanced at her. It could have been his neck—

Her head thrown back against the sky was a thing to stop your heart. Transfixed like a saint by a vision, Casey watched the empty horizon.

Travis suddenly knew why they called it falling in love. It did feel like falling, helpless, half terror and half exhilaration. Wishing desperately to call it off, Travis, wishing it undone, calling it stupid, senseless, hopeless, everything but a mistake, knew he was in love.

“That sucker can jump, can't he?” Casey asked. The joyful intensity of her voice made his pulse leap.

“Yeah.” He choked, kicking around in the mud for his cigarettes, not daring to look at her any longer.

He hadn't known it was going to feel like this.

It was going to take getting used to.

…I think you have captured a certain spirit here very closely
…

It wasn't a rejection slip. He'd known it wasn't a rejection slip before he tore open the two envelopes. It was too long to be “We regret that your work doesn't meet our needs at present,” or whatever a rejection slip said—he knew a rejection slip would be short and thin like a fortune in a cookie. This was a real letter, whatever it said; someone thought enough of the book to write him a real letter.

That meant yes. They were going to publish it.

Travis still stood at the end of the driveway where the school bus had left him. He usually checked the mailbox anyway, it was a long hike down to the house and Ken had asked him to—Ken invariably forgot and had to go back for it. Travis had been surprised to find how eagerly he looked forward to the mail—even letters from Mom. But today he'd slipped his hand into the short silver tunnel gingerly, as though expecting a snake…

Travis walked up to the house, unsure of what he'd read, the words that were used, but just about positive that they meant he was going to get published. He'd sold his book. He stopped on the front step to read it again. Yeah, that's what it said. Possibility, hell, some New York bigwig wasn't going to fly out here and “discuss” with him unless they were pretty damn serious!

Fly out here. They had his old address at home, not this one. He was a lot farther away now. Maybe she couldn't make it now!

He dialed the number and got an operator telling him to dial 1 before the area code. Hell, he'd never dialed long distance before, nobody'd ever told him that.

“Eleanor Carmichael's office,” a voice announced.

“I want to talk to her, Eleanor Carmichael.”

“Who's calling please?”

“Travis Harris. She wrote me a letter—”

“Just a moment.”

Travis danced in a small circle, suddenly wishing he'd gone to the bathroom before calling.

“This is Eleanor Carmichael.”

“Yeah. This is Travis Harris. I got your letter.”

“I was wondering when I'd hear from you.”

“I moved, I live in Oklahoma now, I just got the letter. Can you come out here?”

“If you're between New York and L.A. I can.”

“Yeah, I think we are. Uh, Mrs. Carmichael, you going to publish it?”

“Ms.”

“What?”

“Ms. Carmichael. Well, Travis, I'd like to speak to you in person. There're a few things I'd like to discuss. The profanity, for one thing, will severely limit the market—but as I said, I'd rather talk to you in person.”

“Sure. Okay. But tell me, like I clean up the language and stuff, you'll probably publish it, right?”

There was a short sigh. “I should have known from your novel … Yes, if we can agree on some revision, we'd like to publish it.”

Travis remained silent, trying to understand. This was really happening…

“I want you to understand, there's usually not a lot of money involved for a first novel—don't go out and buy a Porsche. But if we can get this to the right audience, I think word of mouth might be terrific … Travis, are you still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you told anyone?”

“There's nobody here to tell.”

“Oh. Well, I'll write soon and let you know when I'll be there. Can I have your new address and phone?”

After he hung up he dialed Mom. She'd be nuts. He'd like to see the look on Stan's face. There was nobody home. He called Joe. He'd be nuts. There was nobody home. He called Ken at the office and his secretary said he was in a meeting. Travis was having trouble breathing. He walked around and around in circles.

Motorboat jumped up on the sofa and Travis grabbed him and shook him. “I sold my book! I sold my book!”

Motorboat twisted loose and ran.

He might as well tell Casey—she'd be down at the barn by now. He might as well tell her, she'd find out anyway.

He had to tell somebody.

Jennifer and Kelsey were hanging on the arena rails.

“Hey,” he said. “Guess … What's going on?”

Casey was riding the Star Runner. He had never seen her ride him before. She was cantering him around in a small circle while a lady stood on the side.

“More inside leg, Case. You need more bend.”

“What's going on?” he repeated. He kept looking at the Star Runner's face. He could swear it was seething with rage.

“Oh, look at that frame!” Kelsey sighed. “He's so beautiful.”

Beautiful, yes. Breathtakingly beautiful—but for a second Travis had a cold, irrational fear: This was no flesh-and-blood animal at all, but something demonic…

Casey sat deep in the saddle, using her whole body, back, legs, shoulders, to maintain that hold, her will against his will.

“Casey's taking a riding lesson?”

“Dressage,” Jennifer said. “It's a real technical form of equitation.”

“Good, Casey. Very good. Downward transition to a walk.” The instructor dropped her voice as Casey came up to talk.

“I just don't see how Casey can stand it. He just hates all this. He's never going to love her.”

Travis was remembering some of the stories he'd been hearing around the barn, about the Star Runner, bits and pieces he hadn't paid much attention to before.

How he'd been a lunatic horse, practically given away off the racetrack, how he'd jump out of his paddock to race alone in the pasture. Casey's biggest fear was he'd kill himself running one of these hot days—he didn't know how to stop running. The kids wouldn't go near him. Only Robyn was brave enough, or stupid enough, or stoned enough, to groom him. He'd bitten one of the handlers at the track, tearing off a chunk of flesh—Casey herself had a scar on her forehead, he'd reared up on her while she was leading him. Casey, laughing, called it the mark of the beast.

“Don't be silly, Jenna,” Kelsey was saying. “Casey doesn't care if he loves her.”

Casey rode next to where they were standing, her face abstracted and intent.

“Casey, you don't care if the Star Runner loves you, right?” Kelsey asked.

Travis couldn't believe she had the nerve to break in on Casey's exhilaration. He knew the feeling. Like walking to the front step after a good chapter and finding the guys blithering about getting laid, getting drunk.

Casey didn't have time to connect to what she was saying before Kelsey went on, “You just want him to love jumping, right?”

Travis said, “She wants him to do it because he
can
do it.”

Casey stared at him for a second, startled.

Okay, he thought, staring back, I do know you better than anyone else does. Think that over, lady.

He turned and walked off. He didn't want to tell her about the book right now. Jennifer and Kelsey would get silly excited, but Casey, right now, would say, “Yeah? That's great,” or something offhand that would make him mad. He didn't want to be mad right now. He didn't want to be mad, and didn't want to hear that a damn dumb, crazy gray horse was more important than his book.

His book. He'd sold his book. For a few minutes there he'd been sidetracked, but it came flooding back over him now, and he knew what he wanted to do. Right now. As soon as he could.

He wanted to party till he puked.

He had never hitchhiked much at home, he hadn't needed to, his hangouts were in walking distance even if he hadn't had friends with wheels. And he didn't know anywhere to go, here.

He sipped a water-glass full of whiskey while he thought it over. Crown Royal was great, he decided, pouring a Coke-bottle full to take with him. It was just going to waste here; he'd never seen Ken drink anything more than a couple of beers.

He finished his glass with a couple of quick gulps. Hell, he'd just ask his ride where to go.

It was too hot for his leather jacket but he wore it anyway. He needed a place to stash his Coke bottle. Besides … besides, between the jacket, and the whiskey, and news about his book, he was starting to feel like his old self again.

He ended up on a really good street. That was the good news. There were several clubs with live music, a couple of packed restaurants, and the clientele seemed to be pretty upscale; it didn't look like he'd have to spend the evening worrying about getting jumped.

The bad news was, it looked like the only thing open to somebody his age was the Quik Trip. He had a fake ID, but it gave his age as eighteen, so it was no good here. He strolled up and down the street a few times, checking things out, making a game plan.

One club was so packed that people spilled out onto the parking lot and sidewalks, wandering around with drinks in their hands, laughing and yelling to each other. It was hard to tell exactly where the club began and ended. These people probably were twenty-one, but not much more than that; he didn't feel conspicuous at all, hanging around the edges.

He bummed a cigarette, asked about the band, kept an eye on the doorway where the IDs were being checked. It wasn't too long before he had a chance to slip in.

He played it cool, squeezing into the back of the crowd, staying away from the bartenders. He picked up an empty glass to pour his whiskey into; when one of the harried cocktail waitresses saw him, she assumed
someone
had checked his ID when he bought a drink. It looked like he was going to get away with it. He relaxed and surveyed the scene.

It was the worst possible place for live music. The acoustics were so bad it was like being in a tin cave, and unless you were right up front you couldn't even see the band. But the music didn't seem to be important.

People stood around in small groups and yelled in each other's ears, the guys checked out the chicks, the chicks looked the guys over, sometimes the two groups ran together. They all seemed incredibly dumb to Travis. But then, when he had been ten, teenagers had seemed incredibly dumb, and by the time he was twelve he was dying to be one—maybe it was going to be like that.

Right now he couldn't imagine giving up hanging out for this kind of scene.

He bummed a Virginia Slim from a couple of girls.

“You look awfully young to be in here.” The redhead, in tight jeans, high heels, and T-shirt, kept wiggling around to the music. She obviously wanted to dance.

“I just turned twenty-one today,” Travis said. “I'm celebrating.”

“Really? All by yourself?”

“I'm new in town—just started law school.”

God, it felt good, the whiskey, the music, the telling of a story; it was like he'd been walking in his sleep the whole time he'd been here, up till now.

“So you're a Virgo, huh?” The dark-haired girl was a little drunk.

“Do you know Jim Beals?” said the redhead. “He's in law school.”

“I don't think so. I just started—you ever heard of Morris and Harris? That's my uncle's firm.”

“Oh, yeah, I've heard of them.”

“I wouldn't have thought you'd be a Virgo. I would have said Aquarius.”

Travis almost jumped—he
was
an Aquarius. But he just shook his head.

“This is the first night I've been out since I moved to town. Any other good hangouts?”

They talked awhile longer—Travis trying to remember lawyer-type words he'd heard Ken use. The girls insisted on buying him a birthday drink—he went to the john when they called the waitress over. He'd never had a margarita before, it was pretty good stuff. They kept talking. When it was time for the next round he gave them the money for it and headed off for the john again. They probably thought he was tooting up or had the world's weakest bladder.

He got drunk enough to make a big mistake—he told them about his book. The dark-haired girl had been skeptical from the first, but he and the redhead had been having fun; now he lost them both.

“Oh, yeah, sure, you have a book coming out.”

And when he kept insisting—dammit, he had to tell somebody—they started disbelieving
everything
. He knew exactly when it dawned on them he wasn't twenty-one either. He'd lapsed into talking like sixteen and couldn't stop it.

They finally said they were going to the ladies' room. Of course they had to go together. He spotted them twenty minutes later with some other guys.

So what? He found an empty chair at the back of the room, almost got into a fight over it—people were lurking like vultures to pounce on empty chairs.

He was in a crowd and still lonesome. It was as bad as school. He wished he'd told Casey after all, it would have been better than wasting it on those bimbos. He tried to picture Casey in this place…

“Let's see your ID.”

Travis looked up, startled. Some guy with a beard was glaring down at him.

Travis searched his pockets.

“Uh, I guess I lost it. Maybe in the john. I'll go see—”

The guy hauled him up by his jacket and shoved him toward the door.

The crowd had thinned out quite a bit, and Travis wondered what time it was.

“Gary, did you let this kid in here?”

They paused by the doorman.

“Hell, no.”

Gary followed them outside. Travis assumed he was kicked out and was ready to go anyway, but the guy still had a grip on his jacket.

“He didn't come up through the drainpipes. How'd you get in here?” He shook Travis like a stray cat.