nickered to them as they approached.
“They’re hoping we found food,” chuckled Abby.
From the stall at the back of the shed came a deep, booming neigh and the crash of a hind hoof on the wall. “Dancer!” called Hilary. “Don’t be so impatient.”
Three horses, two riders, and one coyote set off toward home. Miraculously, the sun was starting to peek out of the drifting clouds, causing the whole wet world to twinkle and shine. There was a vivid rainbow, its colours enhanced by the angle of the sun as it dipped lower in the western sky. The girls rode quietly for a time, taking in the beauty around them.
“Are you riding much?” Hilary asked.
“Maybe three, four times a week. Moonie likes to go out hacking, and I’ve started training Leggy.”
“She’s two now?”
“Just.”
“What are you doing with her?”
“I’ve taught her to lunge on the line both ways, and she’s picking up voice commands. Walk, trot, canter, and whoa. She’s smart.”
“Are you driving her?”
“I’m just starting. Mr. Pierson helps me. He swears it’s the best way to train them. He likes it better than lunging because there’s no chance of damaging her joints.”
“By the circling, you mean? Stressing her knees and hocks?”
“Uh huh,” Abby nodded. “I attach a lunge line to each side of her halter and run them through her tied-up stirrups. Then I walk behind her, and Mr. Pierson walks at her head. I steer her with the lines, and he makes sure she doesn’t get confused. Soon, I’ll do it on my own.”
“When are you going to get up on her?”
“I’ve already laid across the saddle with Mr. Pierson leading. Mr. Pierson wants to be sure that she’s not going to buck before I sit up on her. And once she understands about being ridden, we’ll leave her until she’s three before working her every day. He keeps telling me there’s no rush, but I get impatient.”
Hilary laughed. “I know what you mean. You’re lucky to have Mr. Pierson helping you.”
Abby nodded vigorously. “He’s the best. He helped me train Moonie.” She patted the mare’s neck.
“The Piersons must be getting old.”
“Close to eighty, I think. But neither one is slowing down much.” Abby considered this. “Well, Mr. Pierson’s got arthritis, but he says that’s life.”
The little entourage moved companionably across the terrain. They followed the old deer path through the lower meadows and up the hill toward the high field. The Wicks had kept sheep there until the coyotes ran the foxes out of their dens and took over the area. Foxes rarely go after healthy lambs, but coyotes find them tempting when the rodent and rabbit populations get scarce. They finally became enough of a problem to force the sale of the remaining sheep.
Abby noticed Cody sniffing the air and looking around carefully. He’d best stay close, she thought. Cody was trespassing. He’d be an easy target for a family of wild coyotes intent on defending their territory. Especially now, when the pups were young. Also, Abby had heard that old leg-hold traps were sometimes still found up here.
“Hilary, can I ask you a question?” Abby asked.
“Sure. Fire away.”
“How’s Sandy? It’s none of my business, so please . . .”
Hilary laughed. “He’s fine. And we’re still engaged. Is that what you meant?”
“Yes. I’m glad. You seem so perfect together.”
They rode along in silence, each thinking her own thoughts. After a while, Hilary spoke.
“Have you ever thought of showing?” she asked.
“Show jumping?” Abby was surprised. “Not really.”
“Why? You’re a natural. It wouldn’t take much to teach you how to get around the ring. It’s timing and getting into the jumps right. It’d be fun for you. A challenge.”
“Moonie’s never done it. She’s only done cross-country, but I know she could learn.”
“How about Dancer?”
“Dancer?” Abby stared at Hilary. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“No. I wouldn’t joke about something like this, and I wouldn’t ask just anybody.” Hilary looked at Abby, hoping that the younger girl would be interested. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. My mother called me last Thursday, scared out of her wits because Dancer jumped the big stone wall. That’s why I came home this weekend, in the middle of exams and everything. I really think he’s bored, and if you’re willing and have the time, you could be the solution to the problem. Do you want to try?”
“For sure you’re not joking?” Abby croaked.
“No, Abby, I’m not.” Hilary smiled broadly. “First let’s see if you get along, that’s important, and then we’ll talk about it. Can you come over tomorrow morning around ten?”
Abby couldn’t speak. She could only nod.
Samuel Owens had his second crystal tumbler of Scotch at his side as he searched the landscape with his binoculars. As he looked, he made mental notes of the land he would purchase to complete his view. The Casey land, of course. This will be fun, he thought. Testing his charm on a lady, especially a beautiful and vulnerable lady, would be a thrill.
The small dump of a place next door was an embarrassment. He’d look after that tomorrow. It was only an acre, and the woman living in the shack with her cats would be easy pickings. Hardly worth his time.
And the Wick farm. He could clearly see the high field. Only a part of it, mind you, but his goal was clear. He would own every piece of land along Saddle Creek that he could see from any window in his house. It had become his mantra.
The Wick farm had been for sale, he knew. Owens wondered if it was still on the market. If it was, he’d snap it up cheap. That was another call for the morning.
He found himself looking for Dancer again.
Owens put his binoculars down with a jerk. He must forget about Dancer; that piece of no-good trash in a horse suit! He scowled. He couldn’t waste time imagining the wretched animal all over the place, running through the woods, then up on the Wick’s high field just moments ago with two other horses. He had better things to do!
He hadn’t thought of Dancer in a long time. Perhaps coming home had restimulated that obsession. He decided to take action. He would concentrate on his new goals, not his old goals. He would not wait another minute. He would visit Helena Casey this evening, and put Dancer completely out of his head.
“Walter!” he hollered, ringing the bell. “Walter, get out my grey flannel pants, the yellow paisley ascot, and
