Stagestruck. Shelley Peterson

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      4

      DANCER

      SUNDAY DAWNED WITH a startling freshness. Saturday’s rain had washed away the last traces of winter grime. Each leaf bud, blade of grass, and tree trunk had a clear definition that made the countryside appear to have undergone a massive spring cleaning. The sky was flawlessly blue and robins were singing their joyful song.

      Abby woke much too early, filled with excitement about riding Dancer. She got dressed in her breeches and boots, and went outside swinging her riding cap by the strap. Cody crawled out of his lair under the porch and they stood together against the fence, watching Moonie and Leggy graze in the weak morning sun. Time ticked slowly by. Finally, Abby figured it wasn’t too early to go.

      As a last-minute precaution, she ran inside to get her Tipperary crash vest. Better safe than sorry, she thought. She’d heard too many stories about Dancer’s uncertain temper.

      Abby pedalled her bicycle along the road to Hogscroft, feeling the soft, cool spring air on her face. Her father had wanted to drive her over and watch, but Abby didn’t want any distractions, even her father’s supportive face. Riding Dancer would require all of her concentration. She guessed that Cody would be watching from a secret place, but that was all right.

      She checked her watch as she neared the farm. Nine twenty. She’d still be early, but she wanted a chance to give Dancer the apple in her jacket pocket. Bribery never hurts when it comes to horses.

      Turning up the lane at Hogscroft, Abby got a shock. Just sixty feet in front of her, the mighty Dancer flew over the four-foot split-rail fence, landing in a spray of gravel on the driveway. He stopped dead, then spooked at the sight of Abby on her bike.

      “Whoa, Dancer,” she said. His body was tensed, ready to take flight. Slowly she rested her bike on the ground and pulled the apple from her pocket. “Steady, boy.”

      The surprise in Dancer’s eyes was replaced by wariness. Abby walked slowly toward him, apple offered, eyes down. Humans are predatory animals, and horses are prey, and Abby did not want to appear threatening. Knowing that horses see better peripherally than straight on, she came to his side, not his head.

      Dancer sniffed the apple. He snorted. He pawed the gravel. He seemed to be torn with indecision. Abby tried to understand. Did he not want food from a stranger? Was she making him nervous by doing something wrong? Unsure, Abby continued to hold out the apple. Dancer refused, yet stayed beside her.

      Abby decided to put it down at his feet. He looked at the apple, then at her, and snorted again. He seemed amused. Puzzled, Abby turned to retrieve her bike. This is a very strange horse, she thought. Most horses gobble treats, regardless of who offers them. Abby picked up her bike and looked back at Dancer.

      He was gone. So was the apple. Abby looked around. She’d had her back turned for only a few seconds.

      “This is going to be even more difficult than I thought,” she said to Cody. “I have no idea what’s going on in his head.”

      Abby pushed her bike up the lane and leaned it on the barn wall, keeping an eye on the house. She expected Hilary to come out any minute. Abby wondered what she’d got herself into.

      While she stood there, a big bay head appeared over the fence around the corner of the barn. The large gelding eyed her appraisingly. This person smelled of apple. He sniffed her pocket.

      “You must be Henry. I’m Abby. I’m glad to see you’re a normal horse. I’m so sorry,” she said as she rubbed the long white blaze running down his face. “I only brought one apple, and I gave it to His Highness, the Ungrateful. If I’d known better, I’d have given it to you. At least you’d appreciate it.” Abby liked this horse. He had a kind eye and a calm intelligence. And she thought he looked handsome, too, in a friendly Clydesdale way.

      “I’ll look in the barn for a treat,” she told Henry. “Wait here.” Abby walked into the barn, looking for something she could give him. In the feed room was a huge sack of carrots. Perfect, she thought. Filling her pockets, she went outside. Henry stood, watching her.

      Abby pulled out a carrot and offered it to him. Suddenly, Dancer appeared out of nowhere and bodychecked Henry, pushing him away rudely and snatching the carrot out of Abby’s hand.

      “You greedy pig!” Abby shouted, as soon as she’d recovered her composure. She climbed over the fence, walked to Henry, and gave him two carrots, patting and consoling him.

      Dancer came charging, head down menacingly. Henry bolted away in a hurry, leaving Abby standing alone. She stood her ground, staring directly into Dancer’s eyes. He didn’t slow down. Abby waited until he was three strides away, then she punched her arms out quickly, and yelled, “Whoa!” in a deep, loud, gruff voice. Dancer swerved to the left, missing her by inches. Abby stood with legs shaking, then casually turned and walked to the fence as quickly as she could without appearing to be frightened. She kept Dancer in her sight as she climbed the fence, not trusting him one bit.

      Abby pondered her next move. I should get on my bike and go home, she thought. He’s a stallion. He has a bad reputation. He’s certainly unlike any horse I’ve ever known. Abby was unsure of herself. She wished she’d let her father come. He’d give her good advice. Liam would tell her to leave it alone, to stick with Moonie and Leggy. They were enough of a challenge for anyone.

      Abby nodded sharply. She’d made her decision. She would go to the house and tell Hilary that she’d changed her mind. Hilary would try to convince her otherwise, but Abby would remain firm in her resolve. There was absolutely nothing Hilary could say that could change Abby’s mind, and that was that.

      As she was gathering her courage and rehearsing what she’d say, Dancer sauntered up and touched her shoulder with his nose. “What do you want?” she asked, coldly. Dancer nudged her again. “What?” Abby stayed where she was, unresponsive.

      Dancer tilted his head to the left, then to the right, studying her carefully. He put his nose to her nose and gently sniffed and blew.

      “You say you want to be friends? How do I know you’re not playing with me?” Dancer had just let her know that he was curious, but Abby was not about to forget the scare he’d given her.

      They looked at each other for a couple of minutes, each sizing the other up. Abby searched for the scar on his neck where Samuel Owens had slashed him. It was hardly visible. There was a slight indentation about six inches long, but the hair had grown in and the wound had healed СКАЧАТЬ