скачать книгу бесплатно
She walked up the front steps to her cottage, opened the door to the screen porch, made her way across into the cluttered living room and felt her sweat freeze in the air-conditioning as suddenly as though someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on her.
“What a jerk!” A raucous voice spoke from the shadowy corner.
“Am not.” Liz said.
Jacko, her small gray parrot, hung upside down from the perch in his large wicker cage and regarded her over his shoulder with beady eyes.
“What a jerk?” he wheedled.
Liz laughed. “I wish you’d learn to say something else, anything else. How about ‘I want my dinner.’” She reached for the parrot seed on the window ledge behind the African violets.
“What a jerk!” The parrot bounced up and down in ecstasy.
“Keep that up and I’ll bake you into parrot potpie.”
“What a jerk.” The parrot sighed and stuck his beak into the seeds.
“You’re probably right.” Liz sank into the shabby sofa. It definitely needed new springs and new upholstery. She closed her eyes. Unbidden, Mike Whitten’s face loomed up behind her eyelids. She blinked. “Oh, hell,” she said. “That’s just what I need.” She pointed to the parrot. “And you, not one word. You got that?”
“What a jerk,” the parrot replied. This time he sounded as though he meant it.
CHAPTER THREE
THE VAN FROM Edenvale School arrived fifteen minutes late on a cloudless Monday morning. By nine-fifteen the temperature already hovered around eighty-five, but a steady breeze kept the humidity down.
Liz had been up doing her chores since six. When she heard the van, she turned off the water hose and set it down, walked to the front door of the stable and watched as three girls and two boys tumbled out of the van.
No Pat Whitten. Liz gave a sigh that was half relief, half disappointment. She wouldn’t be burdened with the kid, but she also wouldn’t see Mike Whitten. Why on earth she should want to was beyond her. The man was one step short of an ogre. That little Friday trip to his office to present him the syllabus for the camp had more than proved that.
After making such a big deal about the blasted syllabus, Whitten kept them waiting fifteen minutes, then barely glanced at the sheaf of papers Vic handed him. He hadn’t been rude exactly. Just cool. No, dammit. Downright cold. She’d been certain he’d turn them down.
But he hadn’t. He’d called late Friday afternoon to accept their terms without a quibble. Vic had set down the phone carefully, then turned a relieved face to Liz. “At least we can pay the feed bill,” she said.
“Yeah, but can we stand what we have to do to get the money?” Liz answered.
Today would definitely answer that question. Liz lounged against the open door to the stable. The kids formed a ragged line in front of her and eyed her warily. Only then did she introduce herself.
A moment later Aunt Vic and Albert came out of the stable. Liz introduced them to the children and made her first stab at learning the campers’ names.
They stared at Albert’s bulk with awe. The broad grin on his dark face made him look like a ravening wolf. Liz knew he was the gentlest, kindest man alive, but he’d try not to let the kids see that. Not right off, at any rate. He always said he liked to get the good out of folks while they were still scared of him. Unfortunately for Albert, most people caught on very quickly that he was about as scary as an oversize stuffed bear.
“Okay, let’s get started,” Liz said. “Lunch boxes in the fridge. I’ll show you around and give you the ground rules first. Then we can start to sort out who gets which horse.”
As she turned away, Mike Whitten’s Volvo pulled into the driveway. Oh, damn and blast, Liz thought. That’s all I need.
Pat opened the car door and stepped out. The other kids wore ratty jeans and T-shirts. She wore new jodhpurs and shiny brown paddock boots. She carried an equally new black velvet hard hat under her arm.
Two steps from the car Pat clearly realized what the other kids had on, and stopped dead. Liz felt sorry for her. She remembered how important it had been at that age not to be different, not to stand out from her peers.
One of the boys snickered. Pat kept her eyes straight front, but her face flamed.
“Morning, Pat,” Liz said casually. “You’re late.”
Mike Whitten climbed out of the car and answered for his daughter. “I had to take a transatlantic call.” No apology, merely a statement of priorities.
“It might be easier for Pat to be on time if she rode in the van with the others,” Liz said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.
“Unnecessary,” he snapped. “In future we won’t be late.”
“Whatever. Come on, kiddo, join the group. We’re about to take the nickel tour.” She turned to the rest of the group. “Are you with me?”
“When do we get to ride?” the same boy who had snickered at Pat asked. He was a compact towhead who looked younger than the girls.
“You start out on the lunge line.”
“What’s that?” a redheaded girl asked.
“That’s when somebody holds one end of a long rope in the middle of a circle and the horse goes around the outside of the circle attached to the other end of the rope with you on top of it,” a cheerful brunette girl answered. “On top of the horse, that is, not the rope.” She giggled.
“That’s right, uh...?”
“Janey.” The girl smiled smugly. “I know how to ride already. I have a pony at my gram’s in Missouri.”
“Fine. Then you can go first and show the others how it’s done.”
“Oh, no,” Janey groaned. “Not first.”
“First. Okay. Aunt Vic will show you around.”
“What do we call her?” Janey asked. “We can’t call her Aunt Vic.”
“Why not?” Vic said. “Everybody else does. You’ll get used to it.” As she started in the door, she turned to Pat, opened her arm in a gesture of inclusion and smiled at her, “Well, come on, child. Don’t just stand there.”
Pat took a deep breath and followed, keeping a good five feet between her and the rest of the group. She didn’t even glance at Mike.
Mike’s eyes followed her.
“I’m sure you have things to do, Mr. Whitten,” Liz said. No way did she want him hanging around.
“I’ll stay through her riding lesson,” Mike replied.
“That’s not necessary.”
The eyes he turned toward her were icy. “Yes, it is.”
Liz took a deep breath, but it didn’t do an ounce of good. This man hit every hot button she owned. “Mr. Whitten,” she said, trying to keep her voice level, “Edenvale signed a contract with ValleyCresL We’ll fulfill our part, but we can’t do it with you or anybody else breathing down our necks. For heaven’s sake, do you plan to go to college with her?”
“She won’t fall off college and break her neck.”
“She won’t fall off horses either if she’s listening to me and not watching you. There’s really no nice way to put this, Mr. Whitten. You can go alone or take your daughter with you, but you absolutely cannot lurk.”
“Pat is my child, not yours. And my responsibility.”
“Fine. Then take her home with you.” Liz turned to walk into the barn.
He followed, caught her arm and spun her to face him. “Listen, there are special circumstances. Pat’s not like the other kids.”
“In what way?”
He took a deep breath. “I can’t explain, but she isn’t.”
“Fragile bones? Fragile psyche?”
“She’s been ill. She’s fine now, but I...oh, hell.”
“Tell me. If there’s anything I should know...”
“I’ve said too much already. I promised her I wouldn’t tell you or anyone else.”
“The kids don’t know?”
Mike shook his head. “Not even her teachers at school know.”
“What can’t she do? Surely you can see I have to know her limitations.”
“The doctors say she’s perfectly well, completely healthy, but I’m her father. I worry.”
Liz looked into those cold eyes. Didn’t seem so cold when he spoke about his child. “She doesn’t have the stamina to keep up with the other children? Is that it?”
He snorted. “At the moment she has enough stamina to run me ragged. That could change if she got sick. This is not exactly a sterile environment.” He waved a hand at a pair of cats snoozing in a patch of sunlight.
“The rest of the world isn’t sterile either,” she said. “Mr. Whitten, I have several clients who are asthmatics and one who is actually allergic to horses. With medication they manage fine. Is Pat on medication?”
“No. Listen, I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. If Pat finds out I’ve talked to you she’ll kill me. Think of me as being here to worry about her so that you won’t have to.”
“What a truly comforting thought.”
Mike’s heavy jaw tightened. Those eyes of his had gone glacial again.
Liz continued before she lost her nerve. “I have to establish my authority with these kids if I’m going to get anywhere with them. That goes for Pat as well. Oh, hell, let the child have some space, why don’t you? You saw how the other kids treat her. Is that what you want for her? Total isolation?”
“Of course not.”
“Then please go to work, Mr. Whitten. And try not to worry. You can pick her up this afternoon.” He made a sound deep in his throat that sounded to Liz like a pit bull about to attack, then seemed to think better of it.
He turned on his heel. “Her nanny, Mrs. Hannaford, will pick her up. She’ll have identification with her.”
“Oh, really.”
“Surely you wouldn’t release a child to a stranger?”
“No, no, of course not. But the other kids ride in the van.”
He said over his shoulder, “My child will not ride in the van. She will be picked up.” He got into his car and slammed the door so hard that Liz jumped. He dug a six-foot gash in the gravel as he peeled out.
Liz’s heart was pounding. She could almost feel the acid attacking her stomach lining. She’d won this round, but she suspected the man didn’t retreat often. Liz took a deep breath and went back into the barn. She looked down and saw that she was running her fingers over her arm where Whitten had held her. He hadn’t grabbed her hard, but she still felt his fingers on her skin. He had strong hands. She grinned. No doubt they were a hell of a lot softer than hers and a darned sight better manicured.
THE MORNING WAS BUSY, but by ten the campers knew what was expected of them, what they could and could not do. They’d made a passable job of grooming and tacking up one of the beginner horses and the old campaigner pony. Vic and Liz were now ready to take the kids—two at a time—to either end of the arena to lunge.
“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?”
