Cutting Horse Read online

  Lisa had barely straightened up before a uniformed security guard was breathing down her neck. “What do you girls think you’re doing?” he demanded. “This is a private filming session. Can’t you read?” He pointed to the NO TRESPASSING signs hung at intervals all along the rope.

  Shocked, Lisa looked to Kate for help.

  Her blue eyes flashing, Kate drew herself up to her full height. “I am Kate Devine,” she said.

  “Kate who?” the guard asked.

  “Kate Devine. The daughter of Frank and Phyllis Devine. We own the ranch.”

  The guard eyed her suspiciously. “All right,” he said. “I guess you can watch. But I don’t know about your friends.”

  “These aren’t simply my friends,” Kate informed him icily. “These are three personal friends of Skye Ransom, not to mention his technical advisers for the movie.”

  By now the guard looked a little nervous. “Really?”

  “Really,” Kate said flatly.

  “Well, how come you weren’t here an hour ago?” the guard asked.

  “Because we were looking after Mr. Ransom’s practice mount, of course,” Stevie said in the coldest tone she could muster.

  The guard shook his head. “All right, I give up. Go ahead in.”

  On their way to the seating area, Lisa, Stevie, and Carole laughed the incident off. But Kate was still upset.

  “We did look like we were sneaking in,” Stevie pointed out. “In fact, this may be the most wrong I’ve ever looked when I was right.”

  “I guess so,” Kate said, “but I’m sick of being ordered around on my own property.”

  The seating area was a platform raised on scaffolding at one side of the set. A number of older people were watching. The girls climbed the steps and found a group of empty folding chairs near the back. As soon as they were seated, someone yelled, “Quiet on the set!” and then, “Roll film!” The Saddle Club leaned forward in their seats to watch the action begin.

  Off in the distance a horse and rider appeared and began to guide a small herd of cattle toward a corral. A dog skirted the herd, barking, helping the rider bring them forward. In a couple of minutes the girls could see Skye clearly.

  Again Carole noticed how confident Skye looked. “He’s ten times better than the last time we saw him,” she whispered. “He won’t need a double!”

  Just then, as the herd neared the corral, one of the cows tried to dart away. Skye turned his horse to stop the cow. But instead of obeying, the horse balked and started to back up. “Cut!” a voice screamed.

  A short, red-faced man charged onto the set. He ran up to Skye’s horse and waved his fists in the air. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re supposed to stay to the right so we get the mountain backdrop in. If you cut left, all we see behind you are a couple of ugly buildings.”

  “But the cow ran left, so I had to follow her,” Skye explained.

  “Cow! Who cares about the cow? You’re the star of this movie, Skye, not the cow! And the horse—try to make him prick up his ears! We want him to look like he enjoys this. Okay? Got it?”

  Skye looked down at the director, visibly trying to control his reaction. “Yes, I’ve got it,” he muttered.

  Back on the viewing stand, the girls were indignant. It was clear from the exchange that the director knew nothing about any animals—and horses in particular.

  “What was Skye supposed to do? Let the cow run away?” Carole asked, her dark eyes flashing angrily. Nothing annoyed her more than people who thought horses could be ridden like bicycles.

  “I’m telling you, this is typical of their attitude,” Kate said.

  “You must be really tired of them,” Lisa said sympathetically. “It’s no wonder John’s fed up too.”

  “Hey, speaking of John …,” Kate said, and pointed. Lisa turned and looked down. John was leaning against the platform scaffolding, watching the commotion between takes with a skeptical look.

  Lisa stood up and called to him. She waited until he found her face in the crowd and then yelled, “Come up and watch with us!”

  John motioned that he would. As he began to pick his way through the throng of assistants, grips, and camera-people, the director’s high, nasal voice pierced the air again. “Somebody better get me my coffee within ten seconds or heads are going to roll!”

  Lisa saw a harried young woman thrust a paper cup into John’s hand. “Take it to him! Quick!” she cried. John looked surprised, but he shrugged, walked forward, and handed it to the director.

  “It’s about time!” the little man screamed. “You think I have all day to wait for my coffee? Next time you get it to me fast, got it?”

  John opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, someone else screamed, “Clear the set! Everybody off the set! Quiet!” John looked shocked, then utterly disgusted. Instead of coming up and joining the girls, he ducked under the rope and disappeared into the crowd. Watching him stalk off, Lisa didn’t know who annoyed her most—the woman with the coffee, the director, or John. With a frustrated sigh, she sat down to watch the retake.

  The second take—and the third—didn’t go any better than the first. The cattle were getting sick of being herded back and forth. Skye and the sheepdog had to work twice as hard to keep them moving in the right direction. The director’s demands were only making things more difficult. But on the third take, Carole noticed something. It wasn’t just the director who was giving Skye a hard time—his horse was, too. The horse didn’t seem to know anything about cattle. He looked nervous and unsettled and didn’t show any of the signs of a good cutting horse. When Skye urged him closer, he shied and backed away.

  “Who is Skye riding?” Carole whispered to Kate. She couldn’t remember seeing the horse in the Devines’ stable.

  “Oh, he’s not ours,” Kate replied. “You don’t think a horse of ours would be that cattle-shy, do you?”

  Carole shook her head. “Of course not. That’s why I was wondering.” All the horses on the Bar None were familiar with cattle, even if they weren’t cutting horses.

  “The horse is a movie star, just like Skye,” Kate explained.

  “You’ve got to be kidding! You mean they brought their own horse?” Carole asked, incredulous.

  “All the way from Beverly Hills,” Kate said. “He’s called Sir Prize. He was in a very popular little kids’ movie last year, and the producers specifically wanted Skye to ride him in Cowboy Come Home.”

  Carole was flabbergasted. She had never heard of anything so stupid. They could have had their pick of experienced ranch horses, and instead they had flown in a pretty face. “That horse has probably never seen a cow in his life,” Carole murmured.

  Kate’s response came quickly. “No kidding,” she said drily. “But, hey, that’s Hollywood.”

  THE NEXT MORNING the girls were up at dawn to enjoy the hearty ranch breakfast that Kate’s mother, Phyllis, had prepared. The Devines were busy serving the crew breakfast outside, so The Saddle Club had the kitchen table to themselves. Over eggs, bacon, and toast, they discussed Skye’s problems.

  “The problem is that Skye doesn’t have any real problems,” Carole said. “He’s not a champion, but he’s riding well. There are two reasons why the scene isn’t working: the director and Skye’s horse.”

  Stevie reached for the platter of eggs and served herself a second helping. “Everyone can just sit back and relax because I have the perfect solution,” she said between bites.

  Lisa and Carole eyed her skeptically. Somehow Stevie’s “perfect solutions” had a way of being more complicated than the problems themselves. “All right. Get it over with. What’s the solution?” Lisa asked resignedly.

  Stevie pretended to be shocked. “Such doubt, Lisa! And from a friend? I can hardly believe it!”

  “Stevie,” Carole warned.

  Stevie took her time buttering her third piece of toast. Then, sensing that her friends’ patience had reached its limit, she revealed her one-w
ord solution to all Skye’s problems: “Stewball.”

  “Stewball?” Carole asked.

  Stevie nodded.

  “Stewball the horse?” Lisa asked.

  “Yes! Of course Stewball the horse. If Skye rides him in the movie, all his problems will be solved. Stewball is the perfect cutting horse. He could make a stark beginner look like a champion cowboy.”

  “But Stevie, you heard what Kate said. Sir Prize isn’t just any horse. He’s famous. The director’s not going to want to replace him after flying him out here to be in the movie,” Lisa said.

  “He will when he sees Stewball,” Stevie predicted confidently.

  “But he doesn’t know the first thing about horses,” Lisa reminded her. “How are we going to convince him that Stewball is better than Sir Prize?”

  “We’ll have him watch Stewball in action. Even a total idiot could see the difference between those two horses,” Stevie said.

  “I don’t know …,” Lisa said.

  Stevie set her fork down with a clatter. “Where’s the Saddle Club spirit? It’s worth a try, isn’t it? You two aren’t getting intimidated by a little old Hollywood director, are you? Stewball is our best shot!”

  Lisa and Carole were doubtful, but they had to admit that Stevie had a point. Stewball’s skill was just what Skye needed to look convincing in the cutting scenes. “The worst the director can do is say no,” Carole said.

  “Maybe he’s not as dumb as we think,” Lisa commented. “Maybe he will be able to understand that Stewball is the better man for the job—er, horse for the part.”

  As they finished breakfast and cleared the table, the girls worked out the details. Stevie wanted to speak to the director right away—the sooner they could persuade him, the better. “I say we go out and get Stewball ready now. We bring him over to the director’s trailer and surprise him with the idea. We’ll say, ‘This is the best cutting horse in the West and he ought to be in your movie.’ Then I’ll do an on-the-spot demonstration just to give the director a hint of what a great horse Stewball is. After a lesson or two, Skye can ride him in the cutting scene. It will be so perfect that the director won’t care one bit about firing Sir Prize and hiring Stewball.”

  Won over by Stevie’s enthusiasm, Carole and Lisa followed her out to the barn. They cross tied Stewball and set about giving him a real Saddle Club once-over. Stevie started with a currycomb, Lisa with a hoof pick, and Carole with a mane-and-tail comb. Stewball craned his neck to watch them.

  “He’s saying, ‘What’s all the fuss, guys?’ ” Stevie translated. “I’ll bet he’s never had this much attention in his life.”

  “That’s because he’s a real working horse,” said Carole. “He does his job, and he doesn’t expect to be fussed over.”

  “Unlike Sir Prize. That horse probably has a whole army of grooms,” Lisa said dryly.

  “But I’d take Stewball over Sir Prize any day of the week. And you know it, don’t you, boy?” Stevie asked. She felt in her pockets for the pieces of carrot she had filched from the Devines’ kitchen.

  In response Stewball raised his head, pricked his ears up, and eyed her curiously. Stevie laughed out loud. Stewball always looked slightly comical, with his chestnut-and-white patchwork face and his splashy pinto coat. Now his expression highlighted his funny appearance. “Yes, I do have a carrot for you. Imagine that,” Stevie told him. After she fed him the treat, she gave him a big hug. Stewball immediately laid his ears back.

  “He doesn’t go for that mushy stuff, Stevie,” Lisa said, giggling.

  “I know,” Stevie said with a sigh. “I guess I’m feeling overprotective today. I’ve never been a stage mother before, you know.”

  “Imagine how Skye’s mother must have felt before he auditioned for the first time,” Carole mused, picking up a body brush.

  “You think Skye has a mother?” Stevie asked.

  Lisa looked at Stevie as if she were a creature from outer space. “Of course he has a mother!” she said.

  “I’m kidding! It just seems strange that a movie star like Skye was ever a normal, unfamous kid with a normal mother who made him wash behind his ears and put Band-Aids on his cuts and stuff, doesn’t it?” said Stevie.

  Carole and Lisa thought for a minute. “I guess it does,” Carole agreed. “But I think that’s why Skye is such a nice person, even though he’s famous. He probably has a very supportive family.”

  “And that’s probably why he’s so polite. His parents must have taught him good manners,” Lisa said.

  “Don’t forget good-looking!” Stevie put in. “He had to get those ‘cute’ genes from somewhere.”

  As they brushed and rubbed Stewball’s coat, the girls chatted more about Skye. They were extremely pleased that he was fitting in so well at the ranch and that Kate and her family genuinely liked him.

  “He’s such a great guy, it would be hard not to like him,” Lisa concluded when Stevie went to get the tack. As she finished speaking and turned back to Stewball, a stall door at the end of the aisle swung open and John Brightstar emerged, wheeling a cart with a pitchfork in it. Lisa jumped at the noise, then felt her face turn red. Once again John had overheard her raving about Skye. It wasn’t that she’d said anything wrong or untrue, but it made her feel awkward to know that John had probably listened to their whole conversation.

  To cover up her embarrassment, Lisa greeted John enthusiastically. “Hey! What are you up to this morning?”

  John paused with the cart. He looked tired and frustrated. “Hi, Lisa. I’m just finishing the mucking out. That was my last stall.”

  “If you’re free now, do you want to come with us to introduce Stewball to the director? We’re trying to get him a part in the movie,” Lisa explained.

  “Not just a part—the part. The lead role,” said Stevie, returning from the tack room.

  “Thanks, but I can’t,” John said, his voice heavy. “I still have to do the morning haying. We’re way behind today. I spent two hours positioning horses in the corral for a ‘candid’ shot of the ranch.”

  “That doesn’t sound fun,” Lisa said glumly. Then she brightened. “Hey if you’re so busy, why don’t I help you instead?”

  “But what about Stewball?” John asked.

  “Stevie and Carole can take him over, right, guys?” Lisa asked. She didn’t want to miss Stewball’s introduction, but right then, helping John seemed more important.

  Stevie and Carole agreed. “Absolutely. If you finish, come meet us over there,” Stevie suggested.

  John seemed genuinely pleased by Lisa’s offer. The two of them chatted companionably as they walked to the back of the barn and climbed the ladder to the hayloft. When he got to the top, John gave Lisa his hand and helped her up the last couple of rungs.

  “This will be great,” John said. “With two people we can finish in—”

  In the middle of his sentence, John stopped. A look of astonishment and then of anger crossed his face. With a quick look around, Lisa saw what had upset him. The loft, which normally held more than a hundred bales of hay, was empty.

  “What happened to the hay?” Lisa asked.

  “I know exactly what happened,” John said furiously. “I just can’t believe it. Last night the set designer came to speak to my dad about getting some hay to use in one of the scenes. Dad had me show the guy out here to the loft. We figured he meant five or ten bales!”

  “But he took it all?” Lisa asked with a gulp.

  “He sure did! Cleaned us right out! Wouldn’t you think he’d realize that the horses need it?” John cried.

  Lisa didn’t know how to respond. John had every right to be angry. It would take him the better part of the morning to clear up this latest Hollywood mess. “What are you going to do?” she asked quietly.

  John shrugged, his expression grim. “I’ll have to talk to my father,” he said. He focused briefly on Lisa, and his face softened. “Look, I’ll handle it. You go help Carole and Stevie with Stewball. They
’ll be glad to have you with them,” he said.

  After a minute, Lisa agreed. She knew that she couldn’t do anything more to help John. As she left the loft, she offered to mention the missing hay to Skye if she saw him.

  “Skye Ransom?” John said, his voice full of disdain. “Come on! The big star isn’t going to take time out to deal with a problem like this.”

  “You’ve got Skye all wrong,” Lisa retorted. “He would care about this. He’s not some stuck-up celebrity!” Without giving John a chance to reply, Lisa hurried down the ladder. She didn’t want to hear John’s response. In fact, she didn’t want to see any more of this side of him. Period.

  Running hard, Lisa caught up with Carole and Stevie on their way over. “That was fast!” Carole said.

  “We didn’t get to do the haying after all,” Lisa said.

  “Why not?” Stevie asked.

  “Because Hollywood got to the hayloft first,” said Lisa. “Huh?” Stevie said.

  “I’ll tell you later. For now we have to concentrate on Stewball,” Lisa said. Things with John were so confusing at the moment that she wanted to wait to talk to her friends until she could explain everything in detail.

  “He looks good, doesn’t he?” Steve asked.

  “He’s shining—at least to the extent that a skewbald can shine,” Lisa assured her. Because pintos had so much white in their coats, they didn’t glow the same way a bay or a chestnut did.

  “What’s the difference between a skewbald and a piebald, anyway?” Stevie asked. “I’ve never really known the difference, even though I know Stewball’s a skewbald.”

  Carole spoke up promptly. “A piebald has large, irregular patches of white and black. A skewbald has large, irregular patches of white and any other color except black. Do you know an easy way to remember?” When Stevie and Lisa shook their heads, Carole continued, “Just remember this: ‘Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.’ And, Stevie, I think skewbald Stewball looks stupendous.”

  “At least he’s not nervous. Stage fright can ruin even the best performers,” Lisa remarked. Lisa knew all about nerves and auditions. She had starred in the Willow Creek Players’ production of Annie.