If Wishes Were Horses

“Just thirty minutes each?” The towheaded boy, whose name was Josh, sounded disgusted.

“Trust me,” Liz answered. “Thirty minutes on a lunge your first morning is plenty. Once everybody has had a turn, we’ll have lunch, rest in the cool for a while, and then if you’ve got the energy and there’s time, we’ll do the lunge-line routine for another thirty minutes. Depending on how well you do, we can assign your horses tomorrow.”

“I’m ready now!”

Liz shook her head. She looked up and caught Albert’s eye. He nodded. If young Josh wanted to keep busy, Albert would make certain he went home with his tail dragging.

Eddy, the other boy, was an entirely different matter. He was tall for his age and shy. Liz suspected he’d be a timorous rider who’d need a gentle hand and some extra nurturing. She fitted all the kids except Pat with hard hats owned by the barn. Pat had her shiny new one. It stood out like a sore thumb among the ratty hats parceled out to the campers.

Despite her objections, Janey was first in the saddle. Liz showed the kids the basics—then she smashed a broad-brimmed straw hat onto her mop of hair, picked up the lunge line and walked Janey and the pony to the ring with the other kids trailing.

Liz noticed that Pat dragged along sulkily. She had her father’s jaw, if not his eyes. Hers were hazel and were emphasized by her short, straight brown hair.

This was a different kid from the one who had bounded onto the arena fence the day Mike came out to see the place. Liz understood that the other children had elected her group freak. Having been the freak in her own sixth-grade class, Liz felt for Pat.

Liz had managed to break out of the mold. Pat could, too. She simply needed to make a couple of friends. But unless Pat stopped acting like Mrs. Astor’s Plush Goat, that would not happen.

Liz concentrated on Janey and the pony. Wishbone was a real packer who could teach kids in his sleep. She could tell immediately that Janey had done more than gallop bareback around her grandmother’s pasture. She’d had lessons from a good teacher. Liz was so impressed she clicked off the lunge line and let Janey trot and canter on her own.

Liz had a sudden idea. Janey would be perfect for the gray pony, Iggy Pop. He’d be a challenge for her, and she’d be good for him. Liz had not planned to use him for the campers, but having somebody like Janey work him would teach them both. Liz glanced at Vic, caught her eye, mouthed “Iggy” and received a nod of agreement.

Liz motioned to Pat.

“I want to go last,” the girl said.

“My stable, my choice,” Liz told her. “Come on, Wishbone is all warmed up for you.”

“I want Traveller.”

“No way. Come on. I’ll give you a leg up.”

“Fraidy-cat,” the girl with the red hair, whose name was Kimberly, whispered to Pat’s back as she passed. Liz saw Pat stiffen, but the girl said nothing. Liz decided to speak to Kimberly later.

Pat reached the pony, who turned his head to stare at her with chocolate eyes. She stepped back.

Kimberly was right, Pat really is afraid, Liz thought. I was. sure she’d be raring to go.

Liz held Pat’s stirrup. After two tries Pat got close enough to the pony to actually put her foot into the stirrup. As her bottom hit the saddle, Wishbone snorted. Pat froze. “What’s the matter with him?”

“He’s lazy. He’s just realized he’s going to have to work some more for his supper.”

“He’ll be mad.”

“Wishbone? He doesn’t know what mad is.”

“I don’t want him. I want Traveller.”

“You’re not ready for Trav...Iggy. Start with the basics. Ready?” Wishbone walked to the end of the line and began to circle Liz at a walk. Liz watched Pat with narrowed eyes. She could see Pat’s chest heaving. The girl held tight to the front of the saddle. Her lower lip trembled.

Suddenly she hauled back on the reins so hard that Wishbone nearly sat down on his tail. “Stop! No. My daddy says I get to ride whoever I want to ride.”

“If your daddy said that, which I doubt, he was wrong.”

Pat turned a furious face to Liz. Now she looked like her father, except her eyes smoldered while his froze. “I want my very own pony. You’re not the boss of me.” Without waiting she threw her leg over the saddle, dropped to the ground and ran as hard as she could straight into the stable.

“Told you she was scared,” Kimberly said smugly, moving forward to take Pat’s place. She looked over her shoulder, “Scaredy-cat, stuck-up scaredy-cat!”

“Cut that out,” Liz snapped. She glanced over at Vic, who stood frozen in the center of her circle with a horrified expression on her face. “Oh, da...drat!” Liz said. “Albert?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where’d she go?”

“She’s in the barn. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Thanks, Albert.” Liz turned back to Kimberly. “Okay, your turn. And remember that anybody who is not scared at some time on a horse is just plain dumb. Got that?”

Chastened, Kim climbed aboard.

The rest of the morning went smoothly but with no sign of Pat. When they came into the barn for lunch, Liz raised her eyebrows at Albert. He jerked a thumb overhead. The hayloft. Oh, great. Momma Kat had a fresh litter up there, and if Pat tried to bother the kittens, Momma Kat would rip her to shreds.

“I’ll do lunch,” Vic whispered. “Go.”

Silently Liz climbed the hayloft ladder. Bales of hay were stacked like stairsteps across the big platform. The ceiling fan kept the shadowy air circulating.

Liz waited for her eyes to adjust as she searched for Pat. At first she saw nothing except hay, then movement at the far back caught her eye.

“Lunchtime,” Liz said matter-of-factly.

“Don’t want any lunch.”

“You brought it, you eat it.”

“Not with them.”

Liz walked toward her and was vastly surprised to find Momma Kat curled against Pat’s thigh and all five kittens asleep in her lap. Pat’s dusty face was streaked with sweat and tears. “Quite a coup,” Liz said, pointing to the kittens. “Momma Kat avoids people when she’s got kittens.”

“They’re beautiful,” Pat said, stroking a small gray kitten who was busily stropping its needle-sharp claws on Pat’s fine new jodhpurs.

“You can have one when they’re old enough, if your daddy says its okay.”

“He won’t let me. He won’t even let me have goldfish. They carry germs.”

“So do you.”

“Tell him that, why don’t you?”

“I did already.” Liz sat on the bale nearest to Pat but on her level.

“You’re kidding! What did he say?”

“Never mind. Tell me what happened out there this morning?”

Pat turned away. “I want to ride Traveller and not that stupid pony you put me on.”

“That wasn’t it. You froze.”

“Liar.”

“I know what I saw. Incidentally, don’t ever call me a liar again. It’s rude, untrue, and I don’t like it.”

“Who cares what you like? My daddy says—”

“We’re not talking about your daddy, we’re talking about you.” Liz realized her tone was harsher than she’d planned. And Vic said she had such a great way with kids.

Abruptly, Pat dumped the kittens, who protested loud enough to wake Momma Kat, and stood up.

So did Liz. “We don’t run from things in this barn, especially the things that frighten us and embarrass the hell out of us.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Sure I can, but I shouldn’t have to.”

Pat sank onto the floor, put her head down and began to sob.

Whitten would have this kid home and that contract nullified before dark at the rate she was going. She reached out and touched Pat’s shoulder as though it were a hot stove.

Pat flinched. “All right, I’m scared, I admit it. Now are you satisfied? You can just throw me out right now and I’ll never come back, never get to ride, never get my pony, never...” The sobs turned to wails.

Liz was stunned. She sat down. “Come here, Pat,” she said and opened her arms. Pat sniffled and knee-walked over to her. “Lesson number one. Everybody. gets scared.”

“I’m scared all the time.”

“Trust me, you do not give that impression.”

“I know!” Pat wailed. “My daddy thinks I’m tough, but I’m so scared something will happen to me and then he’ll just die and it’ll be my fault.”

Mike Whitten, I will have your hide!

“Bull. Nothing’s going to happen to you, and if it does, it won’t be your fault, and your daddy looks like a pretty tough character to me.”

“He’s not. he’s not. You don’t know what he’s been through.”

“Then tell me.”

“No!” Pat cried.

Liz opened her mouth, then remembered she wasn’t supposed to know anything about Pat’s illness. “Okay. Forget your daddy for the moment.” She gestured toward the floor and the office below. “Did you know Aunt Vic was an Olympic rider?”

Pat sniffled, suddenly interested. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Great teacher, great barn manager, best friend I have in the world.”

“Uh-huh.” Pat regarded her suspiciously.

“She hasn’t put her foot in a stirrup for twenty years.”

“Why not?”

“She was warming up her jumper at Madison Square Gardens, and some fool crashed into her.”

Pat’s eyes widened.

“Broke her collarbone, her pelvis and one leg. Nearly killed her.”

“And she got scared?”

“The other rider was one hundred percent responsible for the crash, but that didn’t help Vic. The horses came out without a scratch. She was hurt, but at least she lived.”

“He died?”

“Broke his neck.” Liz realized suddenly this might not be the absolutely perfect story to tell a kid who was terrified of walking around in a circle on a quiet pony at the end of a lunge line.

But Pat seemed absorbed. Liz plunged ahead. “Vic couldn’t ride for nearly eight months. The first time she tried to get back onto a horse, she completely freaked. Everybody knows about it, and they don’t laugh at her. She works around horses, lunges, feeds, does everything else, but she can’t get up and ride. You can.”

But...

“Make you a deal. Call your nanny and tell her to pick you up at four o’clock this afternoon instead of three—make up some excuse. Not unusual to run late the first day. After the other kids are gone, you and I will work through your fear.”

“On Traveller?”

“Absolutely not. No temper tantrums, and you do what I tell you when I tell you or the deal’s off. Take it or leave it.”

“But...”

“My way or the highway.”

Pat stared at her for a long moment, then she nodded. “Okay.”

“Good, now get your tail downstairs and eat lunch. I’m starved.”

“Nunh-uh, not with them.”

“Fine. Deal’s off.” Liz walked to the hayloft ladder.

“They’ll laugh at me.”

“Big deal. Give you a tip. However big a to-do they make over this morning, you make a bigger one. If they accuse you of being scared, tell them you were positively petrified. If they laugh, laugh louder. Confuse the hell out of them.”

“I don’t know.”

“Try it. It may work, and if it doesn’t, you’re no worse off than you are now. And call your nanny from the office after lunch.”

Albert stood at the foot of the ladder with the cordless phone. “It’s Whitten.”

“Drat.” Liz took the phone and adjusted her voice. “Yes, Mr. Whitten, what can I do for you?”

“How did Pat’s lesson go?”

Pat stepped off the last rung in time to hear Liz say her father’s name. She made a face.

. “Beautifully. She did fine. Got the makings of a good rider.” Liz grinned at Pat, who bugged out her eyes and pointed at her chest with an exaggerated “me?” sign.

“Excellent. I’ve decided to pick her up myself.”

“Damn.” Liz whispered. “That’s fine, Mr. Whitten, but we’re running a little late today—first day and all, shakedown. Could you come about four...”

Pat was shaking her head and holding up five fingers.

“Uh, better make that five. Give everyone a chance to cool down.”

Pat nodded and grinned.

Liz heard Mike’s heavy sigh. “Yes, all right. Five. On the dot. Put Pat on the line.”

Pat pantomimed “no.” Liz raised her eyebrows. “Of course, but please be quick. We have a schedule to meet. You’re cutting into her rest period.” That ought to get him.

Pat put both hands around her throat as though she were strangling herself and stuck out her tongue at the phone. Liz snickered and handed it to her anyway.

“Hey, Daddy. Yes, I did great.” She listened and looked up at Liz in panic. “No, you can’t see me ride today. Uh...the horses get fed at four-thirty.”

Liz put thumb and forefinger together in a circle in the “that’s perfect” sign.

Pat nodded and grinned. “Tomorrow?” She made a face. Liz shook her head violently.

“No, Daddy, That’s too soon. I want to be able to show off what I know. Give me time to learn something, okay?” Pat listened for another moment, said goodbye and handed the phone back to Liz. “He wants to speak to you again.”

“Miss Matthews, I apologize for my rude behavior this morning,” Whitten said. He didn’t sound one bit apologetic. Maybe he expected Liz to apologize in turn.

“Think nothing of it. Goodbye.” Liz clicked the phone off and met Pat’s high five in midair. “Go get your lunch. And laugh like he...heck.”

The moment Pat’s back was turned, Liz stuck out her tongue at the phone and handed it back to Albert.

“What you up to?” he asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Doesn’t do to get between a daddy and his little girl. He finds out, he’s gonna whip your tail.”

“Him and what army?”

As she turned away she realized that Albert, as always, was right. She not only had to keep Whitten from finding out about her private session with Pat, she had to keep the other kids from finding out as well. And Pat Whitten did not seem like the most reliable ally. How did she get herself into these things?

As she turned the corner and saw Pat sitting on the sofa between Janey and Kimberly and laughing like a demented hyena, she grinned. Because she reminds me of me.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE VAN PICKED UP the campers at three that afternoon. At three-twenty Pat mounted Wishbone while Liz held his bridle. At three-thirty Pat allowed herself to be played out on the lunge line.

At a quarter to four Pat decided she could walk around all by hersetf—no lunge tine.

At ten minutes to four Liz sat down on a jump in the center of the ring while Pat walked around the perimeter all by herself. By four-fifteen she decided she was ready to trot. Pat didn’t bother communicating this to Liz. She simply kicked Wishbone hard in his sides. Surprised, he woke up, grunted and obligingly trotted forward.

Pat dropped the reins, dug both hands into the pony’s mane and yelped. Liz ran to her and grabbed Wishbone after five strides.

“Our deal is that you do what I tell you, young lady, and not what you think you’d like to try,” Liz said.

Pat threw her leg over the pony’s side. “I want to get down now.”

“No way. Quit now and you’ll never get back on.”

“But my daddy says...”

“Your daddy is not here. Get down now and don’t bother to come back tomorrow.”

Pat sniffled, picked up her reins and walked forward. She gulped when Liz let go and stepped away, but she stuck it out for another five minutes.

“Okay. Now you can dismount. It’s hot and the pony’s tired.” Liz instructed Pat in the proper way to dismount—a way that did not involve throwing the reins up in the air and yelling like a coyote. “Walk him in and give him a bath. Albert will show you how.”

Pat took the pony’s reins and began to move toward the stable door.

“Oh, and Pat?”

Pat looked over her shoulder.

“You did good.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Pat’s face glowed.

As Liz walked into the stable behind Pat she heard the telephone ring and raced to pick it up. “ValleyCrest,” she breathed.

“Hey, Liz,” a familiar female voice said, “This is Angie.” She sounded subdued. “Are you still speaking to me?”

“You mean, since you left ValleyCrest and went over to the competition? I guess so. What’s up?”

Silence, then a deep breath. “I need a favor. A really big favor. This afternoon.”

Liz waited.

“I don’t know whether anybody told you, but I decided to breed my mare Boop.”

“I heard.”

“Thing is, she’s due to foal any minute now and I have absolutely got to go to Europe for a few days on business. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m terrified she’ll foal while I’m gone. Kevin refuses to be responsible. Says he delivers human babies, not horse babies.”

“So, doesn’t Mark have a stall available?”

Another deep breath. “I don’t trust him to handle the birth, either.” Angie went on in a rush. “He’s never foaled a mare in his life, and he couldn’t be less interested. He’s furious that I even bred her.”

“So he won’t take her?”

“Oh, he’ll take her, all right, but I have no intention of leaving her with him unless I can’t con you.” The voice became a wheedle. “Please, Liz, please. I know I was a total monster to abandon you and Vic the way I did for Mark’s barn. I’ve learned my lesson.”

Liz felt a wave of elation. Angie Womack was an excellent rider who kept two very expensive hunters on board and training year round. Her OB-Gyn husband provided her with unlimited funds. If she came back to ValleyCrest, others might follow. The Womacks were good people. Besides, no way could Liz let that mare foal under Mark Hardwick’s tender mercies. “Sure,” Liz said. “Bring her on. I’ll have a double stall waiting for her.”

“Oh, thank you thank you thank you!” Angie said.

Liz smiled and went to tell Vic and Albert that they were back in the baby business.

Angie’s big two-horse trailer pulled into the yard ten minutes later and Angie jumped out. She wore baggy jeans and an Olympic T-shirt with the sleeves ripped out. Her hair was almost as short as Albert’s and nearly as curly. She was burned brown by the summer sun, and she was grinning from ear to ear. She ran to Liz and Vic and hugged them both. “Yell at me, I deserve it.”

“Let’s get that mare bedded down first,” Vic said and smiled at Angie. “Then we’ll yell at you. You did bring the foal predictor kit? I’m not sitting up with this lady every night until you get back.”

“I’ve got it in the car.” She smiled over Liz’s shoulder at Pat, who stood in the doorway. “Hey. I’m Angie.”

Pat nodded, obviously fascinated.

Two minutes later a broad chestnut mare backed out of the trailer.

“Wow!” Pat said and ran to pet the mare.

“Be careful, she’s pretty grumpy. She wants that baby out of there,” Angie said as she led the mare into the barn with complete familiarity. Vic winked at Liz.

“Can I help?” Pat asked as she trailed along. “Daddy won’t be here for another thirty minutes—if he’s on time. Half the time he’s not.”

“Come on,” Angie said amiably.

“You do that, kiddo,” Liz said. “I’ve got to get on Trust Fund before feeding time.”

She was still riding when Mike Whitten arrived and found Pat sitting on a tack trunk helping Albert wash down stirrup leathers.

“You’re too early,” Pat wailed.

Mike checked his watch. “Actually, I’m five minutes late. Are you supposed to be that dirty?”

“Oh, Daddy. I’ve been riding and grooming, and come see the mare who’s about to have a baby.” She pulled her father down the aisle. Outside in the arena he glimpsed Liz cantering by on that same big horse.

“Daddy, I’ve got to finish helping Albert,” Pat said. “You go on outside and wait for me.”

“Pat...”

“Daddy! It’s my first day!”

He gave in, but instead of going to his car he walked out to stand beside the arena and watch Liz.

She hadn’t even acknowledged Mike’s presence, not that he expected her to. She turned the horse down the center toward a pair of big jumps. Mike felt his heart in his mouth. Trust Fund sailed over the first and cantered down to the second.

The horse stopped dead one stride from the fence and dropped both his head and his shoulder. Mike didn’t expect that. Apparently neither did Liz. She did a somersault in midair and came down on the far side of the jump flat on her back with a whump that raised a cloud of dust. She didn’t move.

Mike vaulted the fence, raced to where she lay and knelt in the dirt beside her. The horse shied away.

Liz was on her back, her eyes open and staring, her mouth wide. She didn’t seem to be breathing. As his knees hit the dirt she sucked in a huge breath that sounded like a death rattle.

“Don’t move,” Mike snapped. “You may have broken your neck.”

Liz turned her head on a neck that was obviously still in working order. “I’m fine,” she gasped. “Knocked my breath out.” She put both hands against her diaphragm and pushed. “Better.” She raised onto her elbows. “Nothing broken.”

Mike put one arm behind her waist and the other behind her knees and scooped her up. She was no lightweight, but at that point he figured he had enough adrenaline pumping to move Brooklyn Bridge. He began to walk as quickly as he could toward the stable.

“Hey!”

“Where are you hurt?” he asked, afraid for a moment he might have done her more harm than good.

“I’m not hurt, I’m mad as hell. I’m mad at Trusty, mad at myself, and if you do not put me down his instant I am going to be really mad at you.”

“Fine.” He dropped her legs.

The instant she touched down she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him. “Oh, heck. Just let me stand here a minute until I get my breath back.”

Mike suspected that small request cost her dearly.

It cost him as well. She stood in the circle of his arm, her breast and hip against his side, her breath against his cheek. He closed his eyes and relished the feel of warm woman against him. Too long since he’d felt it.

After a moment she let go of his neck, but he kept his arm around her waist in case she should feel rocky again. And because he liked having her in his arms.

She disengaged herself carefully and took a couple of steps toward the horse, who stood at the far side of the ring eyeing her sheepishly. “Trusty, you old fool, come here.”

The horse meandered over. Mike caught his reins.

“Thanks,” Liz said. “Give me a leg up.”

“You’re not getting back up there!”

“Of course I am.” She sounded surprised. “If I let him get away with that nonsense, he’ll do it again.”

“You need to be checked over by a doctor before you ride again.”

“The hell I do. Now, are you going to give me a leg up or what?”

She bent her knee. Mike tossed her into the saddle so hard that she nearly tumbled over the other side.

“Wow!” she said. “You try tossing Pat that hard and she’ll come down in the back pasture.” She moved away and said over her shoulder, “Better get out of the way while Trusty and I have our little prayer meeting.” She trotted off.

He watched her bottom rise and sink in the saddle and discovered he was having visions that he should not have about his child’s riding teacher. He dusted himself off and walked to the edge of the arena. This time he used the gate. He turned to see Liz heading for that pair of huge fences again. He crossed his fingers and held his breath.

Trusty sailed over both jumps perfectly. Liz pulled him down to a walk immediately and came over toward Mike. “That’s enough. What you saw earlier, Mr. Whitten, was an example of ‘quitting dirty.”’

Mike opened the gate.

“Most of the time horses telegraph that they don’t intend to jump. Trusty occasionally stops with his toenails in the fence. This is the first time he’s gotten me off, but I’ve held on to his ears a couple of times.” She grinned and patted the big horse’s neck. “Quitting dirty is a very bad habit.” She smacked Trusty lightly on his thick neck. “Remember that.”

Albert came out of the barn and stood with his hands on his hips. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked. “You look like you’ve rolled in the dirt.”