One Brave Summer (Quartz Creek Ranch) Read online

  “Ma Etty said that Cupcake plays soccer,” Leila said, finding a place at the table. “Will you show me later?”

  “Absolutely,” said Madison. “It’s a total kick in the pants.”

  The kitchen was filling up with kids.

  One was a beefy white kid named Bryce who sported spiked blond hair and wore jeans and a plaid shirt. He grunted, cut in front of Paley, and fixed himself two ginormous sandwiches with every kind of meat.

  Another girl stood behind Paley in the sandwich line. She had dark skin and sparkly eyes and was dressed in fancy riding clothes like Leila. “Hi, I’m Sundee. I like your braid.”

  Paley’s hand went to her hair. She usually wore a thick braid to keep her hair out of her way. “Thanks.”

  Sundee made herself a cheese sandwich. “I’m vegetarian,” she explained when she caught Paley watching. Behind Sundee, another boy with lots of freckles and a mop of curly brown hair stepped up to assemble his lunch. His face was red and sweaty.

  Paley found a seat and ate her sandwich in silence, studying the other kids. The girls seemed nice enough, but both were good riders. You could just tell from their clothes. In-game, they’d be archers, Paley decided. Leila looked like she’d be a crack shot.

  Ma Etty clinked a fork against her glass of lemonade. The buzz of conversation around the big table quieted. “You’ve probably noticed,” Ma Etty began, “that we’ve got a new face at the table.” She smiled broadly at Paley, who ducked her chin as every head turned her way. “Paley wasn’t able to make it last night for introductions, so how ’bout a quick repeat? Let’s go around the table and say our names and one thing we like to do for fun. Mr. Bridle, you’re first.”

  The tall, old man ran his fingers through his graying hair. “I’m Willard Bridle.” His voice was low and liquid. “And currently I’m interested in genealogy, Paiute ancestry on my grandmother’s side, in particular.” He was Elder Mage for sure.

  “That sounds fun,” Bryce muttered.

  “My name is Cameron,” said the sweaty-faced boy. “I like dirt bikes and books with sword-fighting and stuff.” Paley could totally see him as a blacksmith’s apprentice, pounding out blades in front of a fiery forge.

  Bryce smirked.

  “Hey, I’m a reader too,” said a blond, middle-aged guy sitting next to Cameron. “I’m Paul, the ranch manager. I write cowboy poetry.” He grinned at Paley and pretended to tip an imaginary hat. Leila liked to play Frisbee with her dog. Sundee collected rocks. Madison’s favorite thing to do was swim.

  When it was Paley’s turn, she said, “I like to play Dragonfyre.”

  Bryce laughed out loud. “That game is so gay.” Paley wished she could stomp him flat, cave troll style.

  Ma Etty touched his shoulder. “All right, Bryce, we don’t use that word as an insult here.”

  He twitched away from her hand. “Whatever.”

  “Paley, you’ll have to tell me about that game when we’ve got some free time,” said Ma Etty. Paley bit her lip and nodded. “Bryce,” Ma Etty continued as if nothing had happened, “what do you like to do for fun?”

  He rolled his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. Paley edged her chair away from him. What a bully. If he played Dragonfyre, he’d probably run around torching villages for fun.

  “I like remote-control airplanes, and I’m on the swim team.”

  Paley gave him a second look, surprised. If she’d thought about it, Paley might have expected him to say football or wrestling. Remote-control anything was cool.

  Madison gave him the thumbs up. “Swimmers unite!”

  He didn’t exactly smile back, but his scowl faded.

  “Excellent,” said Ma Etty. “And welcome, Paley. We are super-glad you’re here. I stand by two things, which I said last night, and I’m saying again. Number one: Everyone starts fresh at Quartz Creek Ranch. And number two: Horses make everything better.”

  “Hear, hear!” said Paul with gusto, and Madison clapped.

  Paley chewed her sandwich in silence. According to her parents, moving to Denver had been a “fresh start” and a “new opportunity.” In reality, it had turned out to be a disaster, and she didn’t expect much more from the summer. But then she thought of Prince and the way he raced across the pasture, and a flush of anticipation filled her.

  Maybe, just maybe, it would be okay.

  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

  After lunch, Ma Etty assigned chores. Sundee and Leila went to the garden to pull weeds. Cameron and Bryce had dish duty. Mr. Bridle and Paul were going to the feed store in town.

  “As for you, Paley,” said Ma Etty, over the clamor of Bryce slamming utensils in the dishwasher, “you get to spend some quality time with Prince.”

  “How come she doesn’t have chores?” Bryce complained.

  “Here at the ranch I try to make sure everyone ends up doing what they need to do,” said Ma Etty.

  “And I need dishes?”

  “You do if you want to eat again tonight.”

  Bryce was still grumbling when Ma Etty handed Paley two sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper and sent her out to the barn. “These are for Fletch, our other trainer. He missed lunch.”

  Paley pulled on her boots and walked around the house. She stopped to watch a fluffy yellow hen and a scrappy red one play tug-of-war with a worm.

  “Ma Etty calls that red one Hot Tamale because she’s so feisty,” said a tall, black teenager about the same color as her. “Howdy. I’m Fletch.” He touched the brim of his cowboy hat. “Welcome to QCR.”

  He stuck out his hand, and Paley shook it, trying not to gape at his muscled arms. He was handsome, in a sad-eyed kind of way.

  “Here’s your lunch.”

  “Great, thanks. Let’s get you set up grooming Prince before I eat.” He gestured Paley into the dim interior of the barn. Hay dust tickled Paley’s nose, and birds rustled in the rafters. “Tack room’s in here.”

  She followed Fletch into a room full of horse stuff—saddles, ropes, bridles, brushes, and other things she didn’t recognize. It smelled like leather and oil and horse.

  “Find a helmet that fits.” He pointed to a rack on one wall. “You don’t need it this afternoon, but you might as well be prepared for tomorrow. We have lessons every morning, then ranch chores after lunch. After that you’ve got free time.”

  Paley tried on several helmets, found one that seemed right, and clipped the helmet strap under her chin.

  “Do you wear a helmet?” she asked Fletch.

  “When I’m bronc riding, I do. It looks dorky. But concussion? No, thank you.” He checked the fit on her helmet, made a few adjustments, and then nodded his approval.

  “I didn’t know there were black cowboys,” she said.

  “You mean you’ve never heard of George Fletcher?” The trainer shook his head like she’d said that she had never heard of the moon.

  Paley shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry.”

  “Well, you should look him up,” he said, handing her a red plastic tote with a handle in the middle and compartments on either side for a variety of combs, brushes, and picks. “I borrowed my nickname from George Fletcher. The guy was an extraordinary horseman. Rode saddle broncs. They called him the People’s Champion.”

  He put a couple of scoops of sweet-smelling grain into a bucket and led Paley to an empty stall. The nameplate on the door said Prince in big letters. “Leave the grooming tote, hang your helmet on that hook, and grab his lead rope and halter,” he said. “We’ll go get Prince out of the pasture.”

  Paley took the thick red rope and halter and followed Fletch outside.

  “The great thing about horses,” he continued, “is that they don’t care about the color of your skin or how expensive your riding boots are. They respond to what’s in here.” Fletch patted his chest right over his heart. “Confidence. Conviction. Courage. That’s what Mr. Bridle always says.”

  Great. Paley was pretty sure she’d come up empty on all three, but
she plodded after Fletch. At the pasture gate, he stopped and shook the bucket. All the horses stopped grazing to look at him. Up on the hill, Prince high-stepped and held his head to the sky.

  “What a show-off,” said Fletch, but he was smiling as he watched the horse prance this way and that. The mares couldn’t decide who was more interesting, the trainer with the grain or Prince. Paley imagined Prince in armor, stamping the ground with his hooves. If the Blue Elf had a horse like that, she could conquer anything.

  Suddenly, the magnificent horse raised his head and looked straight at her. Straight into her. A burst of energy surged through Paley as if there were a shimmering golden thread that connected them. The Elder Mage spoke of such things, of the way two beings could be entwined. It was the highest form of magic.

  Paley’s heart leaped.

  This was her horse for the next six weeks.

  His name was Prince.

  Chapter Three

  “Are you okay?” Fletch asked, touching her shoulder.

  In an instant the electric feeling was gone, and she was regular old Paley Dixon once again.

  “Yeah,” she said, “I’m fine. Now what?”

  Fletch grinned. “It’s horse time.”

  When they were twenty feet away from Prince, the horse turned toward them.

  “Hello, Your Majesty,” said Paley.

  As if he understood, the big black horse tossed his head so that his mane whipped around, movie star style.

  Paley couldn’t help laughing. “He thinks he’s all that, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, he does,” said Fletch, holding out the bucket so that Prince could nibble grain.

  Up close, Prince was even bigger than Paley had realized. Her head barely came up to his back. When she stroked his nose, she’d never felt anything softer. His coat was black velvet and his mane glistened.

  “Let him smell the halter,” said Fletch. She held it up, and the big horse sniffed more delicately than she thought possible. “Good,” the trainer continued. “Now slide it up over his nose. The buckle clasps by his cheek.”

  Paley had to stand on tiptoes to get the halter adjusted properly. When she was done, Fletch had her attach the lead rope under Prince’s chin. She held it while Fletch opened the gate.

  As they waited, Prince snuffled and nudged her shoulder with his nose.

  “What’s he doing?” Paley asked.

  “He’s checking you out,” said Fletch. “Everything you do around a horse tells him about you. The way you breathe. The way you walk. The way you feel. He knows.”

  Paley ran her hand down the length of Prince’s neck.

  What a horse! If she could ride him . . . if he would let her . . . on his back, she would be way more like the Blue Elf than a cave troll. It would be like Dragonfyre—but real! She could hardly keep from squealing.

  Fletch led Prince into the aisle of the barn. “These are cross-ties,” he said, indicating short ropes attached to eyebolts on either side of the aisle. “They clip on either side of Prince’s halter. You do the left one.”

  Once Prince was secure, Fletch held out a round brush with stiff rubber bristles. “This is a curry comb. Make small circles to dislodge dirt and hair.” He demonstrated on Prince’s shoulder. “I’ll get you a mounting block so you can reach his back.”

  When he returned with the small step-stool, Paley was already working her way down Prince’s neck.

  “You’re doing great. He likes that. After the curry comb, use the brush with the stiff bristles to sweep away the dirt. I’m going to muck out Sawbones’s stall.”

  “Is that your horse?”

  “Well, the Bridles own him, but yeah, he’s mine.” Fletch smiled so wide that even his eyes didn’t look sad anymore.

  Paley went back to grooming Prince. She made sure to get out every chunk of mud and all the loose hairs. It was mesmerizing to brush him. Paley snuffled at Prince, an experiment in talking horse. He snuffled back. She leaned into Prince and closed her eyes as she swept the brush down his gleaming flank. She could imagine the two of them galloping across the Misery Marshes. She’d lean low on his neck, velvet cloak streaming out behind her. When the roar of the goblin army rose behind them, she’d rise up in the stirrups, fit an arrow to her bow, and—

  “What the heck are you doing?”

  The question from out of nowhere startled Paley, and she nearly fell off the mounting block. Prince sidestepped and came up tight against one of the cross-ties. Paley caught her balance and stared at the girl she’d first met in the kitchen.

  “Sorry,” Leila said, tilting her head to one side like she was trying to figure Paley out. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

  “I thought you were weeding,” said Paley.

  Leila’s nose crinkled, making the smattering of freckles across her face dance. “We did the tomatoes. Smell my hands.” Her palm was smudged with pollen. Paley leaned closer. The spicy, fresh smell of crushed tomato leaves filled her nose. “Sundee is picking some for dinner. Fresh mozzarella, basil, and tomato salad. Yum! Anyway,” Leila continued, “I thought you might be doing horse yoga or horse massage or something kooky.”

  “Horse massage?” Paley asked.

  “Yeah. Ma Etty says it’s a thing.” The girl wiped her hands on her spotless jodhpurs, leaving a green smear. “If my mom knew how woo-woo this place is, she’d flip. She’s an anesthesiologist. Very serious. About everything. Want help?”

  Not really, thought Paley, but she held out the grooming tote.

  Leila took a brush with extra-soft bristles and began to work loose the dried mud on Prince’s legs. Paley watched her squatting there next to those huge hooves. It looked scary, but the girl seemed as at home with Prince as Paley felt playing Dragonfyre, like it was in her blood.

  “He’s a gorgeous horse,” said the girl. “What’s his name?”

  “Prince.”

  The girl smiled at her.

  “Do people really massage horses?” Paley asked.

  Leila shrugged. “Apparently. Can I braid his mane?”

  Oh man. This was getting worse and worse. She’d probably make him look totally dorky. “I guess so,” said Paley, reaching for a comb she could use on Prince’s tail.

  She gathered the thick black hair of his tail in one hand and tugged the comb through the snarls. Immediately Prince shifted his feet and twisted toward her.

  “Don’t stand right behind him,” Leila said. Paley dropped the tail and jumped away like she’d been bitten. “He can’t see you,” Leila explained, in a voice that made it clear Paley should have known that. “He’s got a blind spot directly in front and directly behind.”

  “He’s blind?” Paley couldn’t believe something was wrong with her perfect horse.

  Leila quirked one eyebrow up at her. “He’s not blind. That’s just how horse eyes work. They see to the sides, not straight ahead.”

  “Oh.”

  Leila dropped the strand of mane she had and walked to the back of Prince, running one hand all along his body. “When I do this, he knows I’m here.” She stood to one side, swept his tail into her hand, and held it out from his body to comb through it. “See? It’s easy.”

  Paley scuffed her boot along the dusty floor. Yeah, she could see it was easy—for Leila. The last thing Paley wanted was to look stupid in front of this girl who knew everything about horses. She took back the comb. By the time she’d finished getting the knots out, Leila had worked some crazy magic on Prince’s mane, which now looked like a series of perfect little roses.

  Fletch returned from the far end of the barn pushing a wheelbarrow full of manure. “Better get Prince back in his stall, girls.”

  “Get his lead rope, and I’ll get the stall door,” said Leila, tossing the combs and brushes back in the grooming tote.

  Paley fidgeted with the thick red rope in her hands. Prince looked askance at her, like he knew she didn’t have a clue what she was doing. Paley sidled up to his left side, but Prince turned his head a
way. Paley tried the other side. Same problem. The cross-ties held Prince in place, but he seemed to sense her nervousness, sidestepping against the ropes.

  “Don’t dance around him,” Leila said.

  Paley’s face turned hot, and she was breaking out in a sweat. The golden thread connecting her and Prince had vanished. Or maybe it had never been there at all. How was she supposed to get this horse into a stall if she couldn’t even get him to stand still long enough to clip on the rope?

  “Take a step back, Paley.” Fletch tilted the now-empty wheelbarrow up against the barn wall and walked over to Prince. “Steady there,” he said, stroking the horse’s neck.

  His ears pricked forward, and Paley could feel the change in him immediately. With deft hands, Fletch clasped the lead rope to Prince’s halter and unclipped the cross-ties. “Remember, he feels what you feel and will respond to your confidence.”

  In spite of the stuffy heat of the barn, Paley felt like ice water was trickling down her back. She couldn’t do this.

  She just couldn’t.

  But the trainer put the lead rope in her sweaty hand.

  Prince went shifty, his head swinging from Fletch to Leila and back to Paley.

  “Come on,” Paley said, walking forward and tugging on the rope. Prince didn’t move. “Come on,” she repeated.

  “Click your tongue at him,” Leila suggested. But when Paley tried it, the sound came out slobbery instead of clicky. Leila demonstrated, and Prince fixed his eyes on her.

  Paley tried again and tugged on Prince. Nothing.

  Leila started to offer more advice, but Fletch silenced her. “Paley can do this.” To Paley, he said, “Hold the lead a little closer to his nose. Don’t look at him. Look the direction you want to go.”

  Paley stared at the opening of the stall, willing Prince to walk in there, praying for some connection between them.

  Nothing.

  She held out the rope to Fletch. “I can’t.”

  Instead of taking over, Fletch stood next to her and wrapped his hand around hers on the lead rope. He made a low clucking sound and nudged Paley forward. Prince followed like a dream. Right into the stall. Fletch unclipped the lead, closed the door, and looped the rope on a hook by Prince’s stall.