Boy on a Black Horse by Springer Nancy;

Author:Springer, Nancy;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Teen & Tween

CHAPTER

8

“Well,” Topher complained, “if Chav doesn’t want to ride him, I think I will.”

I wasn’t paying much attention because Minda was there and we were laughing and hugging. Nobody from school was watching at the stable, so we didn’t have to pretend to hate each other.

“Did you find out anything?” I asked her when we got done hugging.

“Not yet. But at least I feel like there’s something there to find out. You know how it is when people won’t say anything, but they grin?”

“Like what people?”

“Matt Kain, mostly.”

It figured. “Keep trying?”

“Sure. Now, you tell me. What is it with you and Chav?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Oh, sure. Nothing?”

She had “boyfriend” on her mind, which wasn’t true, but—I would never in a thousand years be able to explain to her what Chav meant to me, even if I knew for sure, which I didn’t yet. “Minda, let’s just ride, okay?”

I went out into the ankle-deep mud hole Topher called a paddock to catch Paradiddle, and Minda had to do the same thing to get Dude, and of course both horses had rolled. They even had mud caked in their ears. They looked so proud of themselves. We used the horse vacuum on them, but it still took us half an hour to clean them off. When we finally got them saddled up and let them out, there was Topher, cowboy hat and all, on Rom.

And Rom was dancing.

Not acting up. Dancing. Like a ballet horse. Minda and I stood gawking, and Topher sat arrow straight in the saddle with his legs down long around the horse, and I never saw his cowboy boots move or his hands move on the double reins, but Rom tucked his chin and arched his neck and strutted in place. Topher shifted balance ever so slightly and Rom waltzed six feet sideways, his front feet crossing over each other. Topher leaned back just a little and the horse pirouetted full circle on his hind feet.

“I just had a hunch.” Topher loosened the rein and Rom stood still, and Topher patted him on his arched neck. “This horse is trained for upper-level dressage,” he said. “He’s like a fine-tuned machine. And he’s a stud. He’s been used for breeding. How the hell …”

He let the words trail away and didn’t say it, but I could have said it for him: How the hell did a horse like that end up roaming the countryside with a Gypsy kid?

“C’mon, Minda,” I muttered, and I turned away to go ride Diddle.

Grandpa came over that evening and accepted coffee and actually took off his tie and laid it beside his place mat. “Well, boy,” he said sourly to Chav across the kitchen table, “you’ll be glad to hear I haven’t been able to find out a damn thing about you.”

Chav just looked back at him, trying to hide what he was feeling, but relief flickered across his face anyway and his chest heaved. I saw.

So did Grandpa, probably. “How am I missing the boat?” he asked, not expecting anybody to answer.

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