any other horse, Evie. Ride any of the others, but No Justice? He’s finished.” Les continued along the aisle with Thymetofly, shaking his head. The grooms began to bring in horses from their morning turnout, and the barn became filled with chatter and the clatter of shod hooves. The quiet moments that Evie and Kazzam had shared were over.
Evie unclipped the cross-ties from his halter and led Kazzam to his stall. If he was going to get his mash, she’d have to do it before anybody asked questions. Each horse had a special diet for its particular workload, and nobody tampered with the feed schedule. Of course, nobody knew Kazzam had been in a race, either.
She hurried into the feed room and mixed a scoop of bran with hot water and stirred in some sweet feed and extra molasses, with carrots as a bonus. When nobody was looking she sidled into Kazzam’s stall and dumped it into his bowl.
Kazzam had it half finished when a menacing voice startled her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Her father. She looked up at the tall, neatly dressed, dark-haired man with chiselled features. His eyes squinted into slits. She remembered Chiquita and the whip and put herself between her father and Kazzam.
Grayson Gibb was a man who smiled with his mouth but not his eyes. In spite of his imposing manner, he had a high-pitched voice. When angry, he didn’t yell, he whispered and sort of growled. Like Clint Eastwood, or Christopher Walken with a hint of Willem Dafoe from the old movies. It was downright frightening.
He wasn’t smiling now. “Les told me you were here. Get out of that stall this minute.”
“Hi, Dad,” said Evie. She tried to appear calm.
“I said get out. Are you deaf?”
Deaf again. Evie suppressed a nervous giggle as she stepped out of the stall. She stood in front of Kazzam’s feed bowl to hide the mash from her father’s prying eyes.
“Wipe that stupid grin off your face.”
She forced herself to meet his eyes.
“You’ve defied my orders. Never, ever, go near this animal again.”
“I know, Dad. I’m sorry. But he’s gentle with me.”
“Just who do you think you are?” Grayson Gibb glared down at her from his full height. His whispery, yet harsh voice echoed through the stables. “You think you have the magic touch? That you’re better than all my grooms and jockeys?” He sneered at her and turned on his heel. “Get out of my sight.”
Evie stood still, listening to her father’s retreating footsteps. Her stomach ached as if she’d been punched.
Kazzam nickered. She put her hand through the bars and rubbed his forehead. “Get a good rest, boy. You deserve it.”
Evie walked out of the stable with her eyes down. All the staff had heard her father’s demeaning words.
She slouched up the winding walkway to the big house, downcast. The white colonial mansion with its gracious verandas had been built on a gentle rise to catch the sun from east to west. The lawns and gardens were immaculate, with large shade trees — maples, for which Maple Mills was named — adding grace and coolness to the wide expanses of green. It was welcoming and hospitable, belying the nature of the family that lived within its walls. At least that’s what Evie thought.
Now she had another worry besides her father finding out about the race. She’d defied his direct orders to stay away from Kazzam, and she’d been caught. Would he take it out on the horse, like he did Chiquita, to make his point?
Just last February one of the young racehorses had refused to get on the old trailer used to teach them how to load. Evie and a young groom had tried every trick in the book, from patience to bribery to subtle urging with a broom. Grayson showed up and told them to get it done. Evie replied that it would take a little more time. Grayson was not pleased.
They were horrified to see Grayson winch the horse to the tractor with ropes and haul him up by brute force. The horse broke his leg and had to be destroyed. It turned out that the trailer had an unstable floor, which is why the poor animal had balked. None of this bothered Grayson. Nobody was allowed to question his orders.
Self-doubt filled her mind. Was she going about this in the right way? Should she just confront her father and tell him that she wanted to find her mother? But why risk making him madder? He hated the mere mention of Angela’s name. He’d never even shown Evie pictures of her.
No. She would have to find out for herself. Fifteen hundred and eighty dollars would more than do it. Evie began to smile a little at the thought. And the sight of those three men in bright racing silks with their mouths wide open as mighty little Kazzam sped past! Evie found herself chuckling aloud at the memory.
“Why so happy, carrot-head?”
Evie spun to look directly into the face of her stepsister, Beatrice. The girl was standing in the shade of a lilac bush. Evie would’ve walked right by had she not spoken.
Beatrice was twelve, dark-haired, delicate, and graceful. Everything she did, she did perfectly. She’d won the gold medal in her first gymnastics competition. As soon as she’d begun dance classes, her instructor had asked her to be one of the background dancers in a television show. In the family, it was understood that she was perfect. It had been that way since the day she’d arrived.
Suddenly self-conscious, Evie slumped. She was five-foot-six and Beatrice was barely five feet tall. She felt too tall around her. And too clumsy. And too freckly and too red-haired. “Happy? I was just thinking about something.”
“Must’ve been funny.” Beatrice sat on the stone bench beside the path and held out a toasted whole-wheat bagel slathered with cream cheese. “I don’t want this. Do you?”
Evie was suddenly ravenous. She’d been up since five that morning and hadn’t eaten since the muffin and banana she’d grabbed on her way out the door. “Yes! Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Beatrice sniffed. “It’s my second. Sella’s trying to fatten me up.”
“Happy to help,” said Evie as she took a big bite and sat down beside her. “Thanks. I’m really hungry.”
“She keeps pushing food at me. I’m just naturally thin.” Beatrice crossed her legs and bounced a foot as she flicked a piece of dust off her pink cotton sundress. “Where were you all morning, anyway?”
“Out riding. Why?”
“You missed my synchronized swimming recital. Mommy’s mad.”
Evie stopped chewing and wiped her mouth on her sweaty arm. “Was that today? I’m sorry, Beebee!”
Beatrice rose from the bench and stretched like a Siamese cat. “No big deal.”
“Were you fabulous?”
“Everybody said so.”
“I wish I’d seen you swim.”
“I thought you missed it on purpose.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because
