Secret Horse

  NO TURNING BACK …

  Out of nowhere a rash voice inside her head whispered: Why not try the brush fence? Just see how he takes it. Then you’ll really know what you’re dealing with. Lisa’s hands began to sweat. Reason told her to wait. But just this once she didn’t feel like listening to reason. She eyed the brush from twenty yards away. It was at least two feet higher than the tires, and with the shrubbery reaching up from its wooden box it looked even higher. Lisa told herself she was going to think about it. But riding Samson in a circle, she realized she was only lining up to get a better approach. She knew she was going to take the fence. Her confidence was up; there was no turning back.

  RL 5, 009–012

  SECRET HORSE

  A Bantam Skylark Book / March 1999

  Skylark Books is a registered trademark of Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and elsewhere.

  “The Saddle Club” is a registered trademark of Bonnie Bryant Hiller. The Saddle Club design/logo, which consists of a riding crop and a riding hat, is a trademark of Bantam Books.

  “USPC” and “Pony Club” are registered trademarks of The United States Pony Clubs, Inc., at The Kentucky Horse Park, 4071 Iron Works Pike, Lexington, KY 40511-8462.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1999 by Bonnie Bryant Hiller.

  Cover art © 1999 by Paul Casale.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  For information address: Bantam Books.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-82588-9

  Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada.

  Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036.

  v3.1

  I would like to express my special thanks to

  Caitlin Macy for her

  help in the writing of this book.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  About the Author

  CAROLE HANSON BREATHED deeply. There was no better combination of smells than freshly mown grass and horses. And, she reflected, standing outside Pine Hollow Stables, there was no better time than the early morning in summer. For as long as she could remember, summer vacation had meant one thing: more time to spend at the barn. What made summers even nicer was that Carole shared them with her two best friends, Stevie Lake and Lisa Atwood. Stevie and Lisa were almost as horse-crazy as she was. They would be arriving soon. But for now, except for the stable employees, she had Pine Hollow to herself.

  Carole paused before going in to greet her horse. The scene was arresting. A small group of young horses frolicked in the pasture that stretched out before her. There were two chestnuts, a bay, a gray, and one pure black. Carole smiled as the black horse bucked and took off down the fence. Whenever she watched this particular young horse, her heart swelled with pride. His name was Samson, and he had been born and bred, and now was being trained, on Pine Hollow grounds. The stable’s owner, Max Regnery, had high hopes for Samson, as Carole knew. She lingered a moment longer to watch the young gelding at play. Samson was what horsepeople called a good mover. His gaits were long and even and smooth. He had excellent conformation and a good disposition. That was no surprise, Carole thought. It was just what you’d expect from the son of Cobalt, a fiery black stallion, and Delilah, a gentle palomino mare. Samson seemed to combine the best of his parents’ traits.

  “Nice picture, huh?” said a low voice beside Carole.

  Startled out of her reverie, Carole turned to see the head stable hand, Red O’Malley, standing next to her.

  “I’ll say,” she agreed. “I was just thinking how great Samson looks.”

  Red nodded. “He’s been going great, too,” he said. “I only wish Max and I had more time to work with him. We’ve been so busy, and now …”

  As Red’s voice trailed off, Carole noticed that he was carrying his saddle and had a large duffel bag slung over his back. “Are you going away?” she asked.

  Red nodded, his eyes bright with anticipation. “Yeah, I got a working student position with Toby MacIntosh. I’m going up to Vermont for a month.”

  “Wow!” Carole exclaimed. “Congratulations.” Toby MacIntosh was a top three-day eventer. He took on working students at his farm every summer and, Carole knew, the positions were extremely hard to get.

  “Thanks,” Red said modestly. “I just found out yesterday. I was on the waiting list and someone dropped out at the last minute. Max was great about letting me go on such short notice,” the stable hand added, a note of worry creeping into his voice.

  Carole could read Red’s thoughts instantly. “Don’t you worry about Max,” she said firmly. “Stevie and Lisa and I are planning to hang out here every day. We’ll pitch in—muck stalls, clean tack, anything.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” Red confessed. His face brightened. “There are horses to be exercised, too, you know, so it won’t be all drudgery.”

  “Even better,” Carole said. They both looked out at the pasture again. The horses had settled down and were grazing quietly. “Samson, too?” Carole inquired.

  Red nodded vigorously. “Definitely. The more he gets out, the better. In fact, it’ll be great to see what the three of you can do with him.” As an afterthought, he added, “Drop me a line and let me know how his training is going.”

  Carole promised to do so. She walked with Red to his pickup truck. “Have fun!” she called as Red started the engine. “And don’t work too hard!”

  Red gave a jaunty wave and disappeared up the driveway.

  Walking into the barn, Carole glanced once more toward the pasture. She couldn’t wait to try Samson again. But her own horse came first. And if Carole had learned anything recently, it was that she was happy to keep it that way.

  “Starlight!” she called. “Hello, boy!”

  The bay gelding stuck his nose out over the stall, nickering faintly. Carole saw that he was chewing on a mouthful of hay. “Okay,” she said, laughing, “you finish breakfast and I’ll get my grooming kit.”

  On her way into the tack room, Carole glanced idly at the bulletin board hanging on the wall outside. Max used the board to post notices about horses for sale, stable jobs, boarding fees, and horse shows. Carole had looked at it the day before—and the day before that—and didn’t really expect to see anything new. But then she did a double take. Tacked to the cork was a horse show program, and not just any program, but one for the Macrae Valley Open in Pennsylvania.

  Carole could feel her heart start to beat a little faster. The Macrae Valley Open was one of the premier horse shows on the East Coast. Carole had dreamed about riding in it since she was a little girl. She had been a spectator on several occasions, and each time she went, her desire to show there herself had gotten stronger. Besides being A-rated and having the reputation of attracting the best riders, the Macrae was particularly famous for its junior divisions. Many of the best Olympic riders had cut their teeth riding in the junior jumper division of the Macrae.

  Gingerly, as if she were handling a sacred object, Carole removed the program from the bulletin board. She flipped through the heavy cream-colored pages with longing. But when she came to the junior section, she closed the program abruptly. It was just too hard to read about a show she couldn’t enter. The Macrae was hundreds of miles away. Carole didn’t own a horse trailer. Max, with his busy schedule of coaching, training, and farm management, could hardly be persuaded to take one rider that great a distance. Carole wouldn’t even want to ask him. Besides, if Max ever thought she deserved to go, he would mention it himself. That, Carole thought grimly, tacking the program back to the board, settled that.

  Still, when Lisa and Stevie turned up half an hour later, Carole couldn’t help mentioning the show.

  “The Macky Ray—what?” said Stevie, yanking on her cowboy boots.

  “The Macrae Valley Open!” Lisa said. The three girls were changing in the locker room. “Even I’ve heard of it.”

  “Well, why don’t you just ask Max if you can go?” Stevie suggested. “I’m sure you and Starlight are good enough.”

  Shaking her head wistfully, Carole explained that it was more complicated than that. She would need transportation, a driver …

  “Maybe Red could drive you in the Pine Hollow van,” Lisa suggested. “I bet he’d love to go to the Macrae. Maybe he could compete as well.”

  “Oh, I meant to tell you,” said Carole. “I just saw Red on his way out. He’s going away for a month—to be a working student on Toby MacIntosh’s farm. Maybe I’ll talk to him about the show when he comes back. But until then, I told him we’d pitch in and make up for his absence.”

  Stevie groaned good-naturedly. Unl
ike Carole, who thought mucking stalls was sheer joy, Stevie preferred her days heavy on the riding and light on the barn chores. Still, when the time came to help out, she always did more than her fair share. That was one of the rules of The Saddle Club, a group that she, Lisa, and Carole had started. Members had to be (a) horse-crazy and (b) willing to help each other out in any situation. Because Pine Hollow Stables was the club’s unofficial home base, the helping out often took place there.

  To soften the blow, Carole added, “Red did say there are horses to be exercised while he’s gone, too. Including Samson.”

  The mention of Samson set the girls talking excitedly. Samson had been a Saddle Club project since day one. Since before day one, actually: since the girls had helped care for his mother, Delilah, while she was in foal. They had also been there at the colt’s birth. A local horse trainer, Mr. Grover, had helped Samson through his initial months under saddle, but The Saddle Club had been waiting for him on his return. More recently, they had watched him develop into a real riding horse.

  “I saw Red riding him the other day,” Lisa remarked. “Samson looked great! He’s a really good mover.”

  “I was just thinking that this morning,” Carole said enthusiastically.

  Lisa flushed. It made her happy when Carole, the most experienced rider of the three of them, agreed with her opinions.

  “Ready, girls?” said Stevie with a grin.

  “Ready,” Lisa said.

  “Let’s head ’em up and move ’em out.”

  Dressed to ride, the girls hurried down the aisle to tack up. All three of them stiffened when they saw who was walking toward them.

  “Veronica,” Stevie muttered under her breath.

  “Well, hello!” cried the new arrival in a singsongy voice. Veronica diAngelo was also dressed to ride. But unlike The Saddle Club, who wore an assortment of old jeans, T-shirts, and boots, she was wearing brand-new breeches and a show-quality sleeveless riding shirt. “Has anyone seen the program for the Macrae Valley Open?” she inquired loudly.

  “You’re staring right at it,” Stevie said coldly, with an inkling of what Veronica was up to.

  “Oh, you’re right! Silly me. Here it is, tacked up on the bulletin board.” Annoyed, The Saddle Club watched the girl remove the booklet and flip through the pages. “Phew!” Veronica said, pretending to be relieved. “The junior jumper division is scheduled during a weekend. I was afraid it would interfere with my private—”

  “Manicures?” Stevie interrupted sweetly. “I’m sure you’ll be able to fit them in.”

  Veronica gave Stevie a pitying look. “Poor Stephanie,” she said. “Always trying to get at me, aren’t you? I guess that’s what the little people do. In their small, pathetic ways, they—”

  “Are you going to the Macrae?” Carole broke in.

  “Excuse me?” said Veronica.

  Carole swallowed as Stevie glared at her. “Are you going to ride in the Macrae?” she repeated. She knew she was playing right into Veronica’s scheme by giving her the attention she wanted. But Carole didn’t care. She had to know.

  “Why, yes, Carole, I am,” said Veronica, beaming. “And I expect to do very well. After all, we know how Danny got his name, don’t we?”

  The Saddle Club rolled their eyes at one another. Danny was only the barn name of Veronica’s horse. His real name was Go for Blue—as in “go for blue ribbons.” He had been a champion jumper when Veronica bought him, with many trophies to his record.

  “Yes, we do know how Danny got his name,” Stevie sneered. “Being ridden by people other than you!”

  “Stevie Lake!” Veronica sputtered, her face turning red.

  “Maybe you should change his name to Go for Pink,” Stevie suggested gleefully. Pink was the color of the fifth-place ribbon.

  “Stevie …,” Lisa said warningly. She knew from experience that Stevie and Veronica’s little tiffs could quickly escalate into major feuds.

  Veronica snapped the program shut. “I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned the Macrae!” she cried. “I knew you’d all just be … jealous! It’s not my fault that none of you has horses that are good enough for top competition!” Veronica paused, glancing hastily at Carole.

  The Saddle Club said nothing—not Carole, not Lisa, not even Stevie. But they all knew what the sidelong glance meant: In her heart of hearts, Veronica knew Starlight was as good as Danny—maybe better. Carole’s father hadn’t paid a lot of money for Starlight, and Carole had trained the horse herself without fancy private instructors. But Carole had trained him well, and over fences, the two of them were the team to beat.

  After momentarily holding her tongue, Stevie couldn’t resist getting in another little dig. “I wonder if Danny will even be up to his old level,” she mused aloud.

  “What do you mean, ‘his old level’?” snapped Veronica.

  Stevie pretended to be surprised. “Well, you know—the level he was at when you bought him. I mean, since you’ve owned Danny, he hasn’t really brought home tons of blues, has he? At least, not that I can remember …”

  Stevie had turned away, prepared to ignore Veronica’s cries of outrage, when she happened to catch sight of Max Regnery walking toward them. In a flash she had pasted a smile on her face and was elbowing Veronica to be quiet.

  “Huh?” said Veronica, a fraction of a second before she and Stevie, in a rare moment of unity, called, “Hello, Max!”

  “HELLO,” SAID MAX dryly, showing he hadn’t been fooled by the cover-up. “Are you ready for your lesson, Veronica?”

  The Saddle Club exchanged glances. Normally they all had a group lesson together. Evidently Veronica was paying to take private lessons as well.

  “I’m ready, yes,” said Veronica. “So if Red has Danny tacked up …”

  “Red had to leave early this morning. You’ll have to tack Danny up yourself today,” Max replied tersely.

  Stevie snickered, but Veronica had an immediate comeback.

  “All right,” she said. “But thank goodness Daddy hired me my own private show groom for the Macrae!” With that, she pinned the program back to the bulletin board and disappeared into the tack room.

  The Saddle Club all looked at Max. Max looked back. “Yes?” he asked. “Is there something you need?”

  Carole couldn’t speak. Lisa didn’t know what to say. So Stevie jumped right in. “So, Max, I was just thinking …”

  “I’ll bet you were,” Max murmured.

  “… if Veronica’s going to the Macrae, you must be taking the big Pine Hollow van. And that means you have four stalls to fill …”

  Noticing the skeptical look on Max’s face, Lisa suddenly had an idea. Stevie was going about this all wrong! “Er, Max?” she interrupted, giving Stevie a significant look.

  “Yes, Lisa?”

  “I think what Stevie meant to ask you is what we can do to help around here while Red’s gone.”

  Max beamed. “Now, that’s an excellent question. In my office there’s a list of horses to be exercised.”

  “Great,” said Stevie, catching on. “Why don’t we go tack up right away?”

  “Well”—Max hesitated—“only one horse really needs to go out today.” He grinned as he added, “But there’s another list on my desk of—”

  “Barn chores,” Stevie finished for him.

  “How did you know?” Max said innocently.

  “Wild guess,” muttered Stevie.

  “Who’s the horse?” Carole called hopefully as their instructor started down the aisle.

  “Samson,” Max called back. “I guess you can draw straws.”

  “I’VE ALWAYS PREFERRED paper, scissors, rock,” Stevie said when Max had gone.

  “How does that go again?” Carole asked.

  “Scissors cuts paper, paper covers rock, and rock smashes scissors,” Lisa chimed in.

  “Okay: you and me, Carole,” said Stevie. “Two out of three.”

  Carole beat Stevie. Then she and Lisa played. For some reason Lisa felt nervous. When she won she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I knew I should have stuck with rock!” Carole said. But the truth was, she was just as happy to ride Starlight that afternoon. “I’ve got an idea,” she added. “Why don’t Stevie and I get going on Max’s list while Lisa exercises Samson, and then in the afternoon we can all ride our own horses, together?”