Meanwhile, Vicky intends to train
horses. Does her dream job mean she can’t spend time with her
boyfriend before he leaves for college? Horse camp brings in much
needed income to the McElroy’s Shamrock Stable, so how can a
talented athlete like Sierra tell her family she wants to join the
high school basketball and soccer teams at their training camps
instead of teaching little beginners again?
After a stunning performance in
the spring musical, will Dani ever be able to let her glory-hungry
parents know she’d rather be at the barn this summer, not on stage
in a theatrical company in Oregon? Catch rider, CeCe worries she
won’t be ‘emancipated’ and allowed to remain with the people
who offered her a ‘real’ home but are her new friends too busy to
help when she needs them most?
It’s a drama-rama summer at
Shamrock Stable. What will the five of them do to stay together and
ensure each girl’s dreams come true?
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SNEAK PEEK
PART
ONE ~ APRIL 2019
Chapter
One
Robin
Marysville,
Washington
Wednesday,
April 17th ~ 5:30 pm
Chores done, I offered
my rescue horse, Twaziem one last carrot. He considered it for less than a heartbeat
before he did the ‘crunch, munch, gone’ routine. Okay, so he wasn’t the bay
skeleton I’d saved from starvation last September, but he still had food
issues. Maybe, I should sign him up for a horsey shrink, not that his sessions
with my older sister, Felicia when she was home on spring break from Washington
State University did him much good.
He didn’t like it
when she tried braiding his mane the way she did her humongous Appaloosa’s
although she’d fed Twaz horse cookies from the feedstore the whole time. Twaz
preferred the chunks of organic apples my boyfriend, Bill Petrie brought even
if it meant he had to earn them by doing the horsey stretches the massage
therapist taught us. She said Twaz needed to build up his muscle tone and
flexibility if I wanted to ride him this summer. I didn’t.
I
hadn’t rescued him because I wanted to ride him. I just wasn’t leaving him to
starve to death. I didn’t make a secret of the fact that I only brought him
here to teach my horse-crazy family a lesson when they decided I should follow
our Gibson tradition of choosing purebred horses on our sixteenth birthdays.
Not
me. I wanted the presidential blue classic 1968 Mustang I’d dreamed about
forever. I’d even talked the owner of the vintage car lot down to fifteen
thousand cash, but my parents totally didn’t understand my passion for old
Fords. Luckily, Bill did. He gave me the hulk of one for Christmas, a
frog-green body without an engine or tranny. I’d been restoring it for the past
four months and figured I’d be driving it this summer.
I’d painted it
over spring break, going for the shade of deep blue I preferred. Luckily, it
went well with the saddle brown and white interior. When I’d saved Twaziem, I
warned him I wasn’t into horses like everybody else who lived here. I wasn’t a
‘keeper’ kind of person. He’d be moving onto a good home when I found him the
perfect owner. I’d use the money I got for him to finish fixing up my car. Next
on the list was tires and those were super spendy.
My best friend,
Vicky told me to be prepared to give the cash to my dad who paid ‘beaucoup’
bucks to return Twaziem to reasonable horse status. Dad might claim to want
repayment for the veterinarian, the chiropractor, the massage therapist, the
farrier, the trainer and the unending feed if or when I sold Twaz, but I could
talk around my father. I wasn’t his spoiled rotten youngest daughter for
nothing.
Blonde,
brown-eyed, five feet, six with a great figure, I made friends easily, and I insured
everyone wanted to hang out with me. Of course, I had an ulterior motive. People
who say they don’t have agendas are lying. I don’t. Truth may hurt. Too bad,
too sad. Get over it. If somebody doesn’t want me to use him or her, then walk
away.
My
dad, the accountant who tracked down every cent and my mom who aided and
abetted him in his penny-pinching ways only allowed me a certain number of
animals. It meant I needed to find homes for any extra dogs, cats, rabbits,
hamsters, ducks, snakes, sheep, goats – well, that was the idea and I did the
‘go along to get along’ dance. I’d done it for years, so my friends knew if I
started the charm routine, I was hunting a home for something with paws, claws,
hooves or webbed feet.
All
cowboy in jeans, boots and a western shirt, Jack came up behind me. Twazeim
promptly glared at my tall, dark-haired older brother, stomped his hooves and
pinned back tulip-shaped Arabian ears. “Wow, he still hates me, and it’s been
seven months. I’d think I’d get credit for feeding him and mucking his stall on
a regular basis.”
“I do it most of the time.”
“Yeah, but who do you think picks up the
slack when you have practice or a track meet? I don’t feed the rest of the
critters and skip him. Come on, Princess Robin. Dad will freak if we’re not on
time for dinner since the tax season ended and he’s not burning the midnight
oil anymore.”
“I’ll be right there.” I took the carrot he
handed me and held it out to my horse. “Here, you big baby. It doesn’t have
Jack cooties, so you can eat it.”
Twaziem tossed his brown head with a shake
of his black forelock, eying the long, skinny carrot suspiciously. He sniffed
at it one more time, then gobbled it up when I started to take a step down the
barn aisle toward Jack’s off the track Thoroughbred. Nitro wasn’t one of my
faves, but he didn’t bully my horse when the two of them were out in the
pasture together. I had to give him that much credit even if I thought it was
too bad Jack hadn’t brought home a ‘real’ horse when he and Dad did the
sixteenth birthday, male bonding trip.
Two gold and white collies met us on the
way to the house. They must have had doggie business to take care of since the
mom, Lassie usually hung out in the barn with me and her youngest son, six-month
old Zorro always kept us company too. They knew the rules about staying in the mudroom,
an inside back porch area during meals. I gave them each a beef chew stick,
homemade treats from my friend, Dani who lived in an exclusive gated community
with one of Lassie’s daughters.
Another rescue. I’d found Lassie and her
litter of tiny puppies at a cross-country meet last fall. Zorro was still here,
but his brothers and sisters had gone to homes with the closest members of my
posse, Vicky, Sierra, and Dani. The other two were with members of my track
team. I had a feeling that CeCe, a ‘catch rider’ at Salmon Pond Stable might take
the last of the pups once she settled into a permanent home, but that was still
up in the air since my older sister also loved him dearly. Sooner or later, CeCe
would share what she wanted with me and if it wasn’t a half-grown puppy, I’d
keep her on my list of potential adopters.
In the kitchen, Mom turned from the counter
when she heard us. I smelled meat, tomato sauce and cheese. Yum, it was lasagna
night which meant she’d stuffed a frozen casserole in the oven because she
never had time to make it from scratch and my control-freak father hated it
when she served supper later than six pm.
I
suspected she’d been conditioning her Arabian for one of their extra-long
competitive trail rides, but I didn’t need to ask since she wore cowgirl
clothes, faded blue jeans, a western shirt and laced up Ropers. She’d tied back
her strawberry blonde hair and a smile lit up the bright blue eyes. “Wash up first.
Finish the salad and set the table for me, Jack. Robin, your cats are giving me
the heebie-jeebies tonight. Feed them in the pantry please, then get your dad.
He’s in the study.”
“Why? Didn’t he file all the taxes for his
clients by midnight?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean all of the
e-filing went through.” Mom swung back around and began cutting into the
lasagna again. “He spent most of the day on the phone with the IRS and now he’s
re-sending the forms they claim not to have received.” She heaved a huge sigh.
“It’s the same every year.”
I didn’t say they should plan for electronic
snafus. I had in previous years and been lectured for my crappy attitude too
many times. It was the same every April, August and October when the deadlines
fell due. Dad would send in all the paperwork, then battle with the government
to accept the forms without penalizing his clients and the other agents who
worked for him. He said it was why he got the ‘big bucks’, but personally I
thought he enjoyed the challenges.
Mom
claimed his hang-up about everything starting and ending on time was just a
personality flaw and nothing to get in a dither about. Of course, she was the
one who said no animals, no TV, no IPODs or cell phones at the table. We had to
talk to each other like civilized people or she’d make us wish we had. I lived
with two total control freaks for parents and Felicia and Jack were pretty much
the same way.
While
we ate, Mom talked about the upcoming endurance trail rides she planned to
compete in this summer. She and her purebred Arabian mare, Singer usually
topped out at fifty miles in a day. I knew all the details about them covering
the ground in twelve hours and successfully passing the various vet checks at
each and every event. I’d certainly heard them often enough. Even if they were
considered one day contests, they weren’t really. Mom and our neighbor, Linda
generally hauled out the Friday morning, spent most of the weekend wherever the
ride would take place and hauled the horses home on Sunday or Monday.
Jack
went off about the gaming competitions. He’d already been accepted to
Washington State University for the fall semester and intended to take Nitro
with him. If they scored highly enough at the various gymkhanas, he’d be able
to join the western equestrian team at college. He was a valued football and
basketball player at our private high school, but he only played for fun.
Although he didn’t say it a lot, we knew his passion was for his art classes
and then for writing poetry.
He’d
had his share of offers to play ball at different universities, not just in
Washington State, but turned down all of them. He was going to W.S.U. to study
business and then applying to the law school in nearby Moscow, Idaho. He and my
B.F.F., Vicky had plans to eventually open their own stable after college, but
my brother was super smart about everything he did. He’d said everybody thought
horse people had ‘deep pockets’, were extremely rich and would try to take away
what they had. His law degree would protect him and Vicky.
After
Jack finished, it was Dad’s turn. He shared his own plans of team roping on his
Quarter horse, Buster. I liked the big solid horse. He was quiet in the barn,
always looking for extra hay in the manger or crumb of grain in his bucket, but
he went from zero to zoom when he saw the calves in the arena.
Finally,
they all looked at me. I reminded them that I had a track meet on Friday
afternoon, work on Saturday at the car lot in Marysville and would shadow Dr.
Larry, the premier veterinarian from Equine Nation on Sunday after church when
he went on emergency calls. That took care of my business.
Mom
and Dad shared a glance, then she said, “Rocky was here to work with Twaziem
today. He’s turning three this month.”
“If
you think I’m throwing him a birthday party, get over it,” I said. “I’m not
Sierra who makes everyone come to the barn and sing to her horse on New Year’s
Day before we can have cake and ice-cream. Twaz isn’t the sentimental sort and
neither am I.”
“Sierra’s
great. She helped Bill and me hide your car at Shamrock Stable last Christmas,”
Jack said, “and I know Tom assures everyone she walks on water.”
“Okay,
so she’s a real hero who helped save Twaz when he had colic a few months ago.
I’ll tell her that she has to hostess a party for him and I love all of you,
but this family is way too gaga about their horses.”
Another
long look between my parents before Mom said she’d order in a cake from the
local bakery, chocolate with custard filling and there’d be chocolate ice-cream
in the freezer for the two-legged guests, but I’d be in charge of the organic
carrots and apples for my horse as well as the other four-legged wonders in the
barn.
“Rocky
brought the summer camp applications I wanted.” Mom pinned me with a steady,
blue gaze. “We need to discuss which weeks you’ll be at Shamrock Stable this
year.”
“No
way!” I nearly dropped my fork on the table. “I helped set up a peer-counselor
program for her tween students so I wouldn’t have to go there to help with
Pee-Pee camp.”
“It’s
Pee-Wee camp.” Dad leaned back in his chair. “Be specific, Robbie.”
“I
am. I spend all day taking the little piddlers back and forth to the bathroom.
They always ‘have to go potty’ when it’s time to brush their ponies, clean the
hooves, lead the ponies around the ring. The only time the kids don’t ‘have to’
use the toilet is at snack time when I barely get to drink water because I’m
watching them to be sure they eat their sandwiches before their goodies.”
“I
thought the little kids only came for a few hours in the morning or afternoon.”
Jack barely hid his smirk. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not that bad, is it?”
“It’s
worse. Yes, the first bunch leave at noon, but before I can finish my lunch, I
have to ‘meet and greet’ the afternoon group. And of course, the first thing
they have to do is ‘go potty’ before they can even put on their helmets.”
“All
right then.” Mom pushed her plate far enough away to fold her hands on the
table. “We’ll sign you up for the weeks in June, July and early August when
Shamrock isn’t offering Pee-Wee Camp.”
“Hello!
Are you even listening at all? I’m not going there this year. Brenna says
she’ll increase my hours at the Mustang Corral. She’ll let me do the tune-ups
and oil changes on the cars she buys. I’ll be able to get ‘real’ tires for my
car, new ones at Les Schwab, not have to go to the salvage yard for
pull-offs.”
“For
safety, new tires are a must,” Dad said. “I agree with you, Robbie.”
“Great.
I’m glad somebody’s finally hearing me.”
Dad
held up his hand. “Here’s the deal. I’ll put good tires on your Mustang, but
you’re going to Shamrock for at least six weeks this summer. You need to build
your skills so you can ride Twaziem and stay on him. Young horses make mistakes
and falling off him isn’t an option.”
“Dad’s
right,” Jack agreed. “If you teach him that people, go ‘splat’, he’ll figure
that’s what you want, and he’ll dump you six ways from Sunday all the time.”
Tears
burned and I shoved back from the table. “You people never freaking listen. I
told you on my birthday that I didn’t want a horse and you all ganged up on me
until I brought one home. Now, you think you’re making me ride him. And it’s
not happening!”
**Don’t miss the rest of the
series!**
Shannon
Kennedy lives and works at her family business, a riding stable in
Washington State. Teaching kids to ride and know about horses since
1967, she finds in many cases, she's taught three generations of
families. Her life experiences span adventures from dealing cards in
a casino, attending graduate school to get her master's in teaching
degree, being a middle and high school teacher, and serving in the
Army Reserve - all leading to her second career as a published
author. She recently retired from teaching school and plans to write
more books for Fire & Ice YA, the Stewart Falls Cheerleaders
realistic fiction series and the Shamrock Stable series about teen
girls and their horses. Visit her at her
website, www.shannonkennedybooks.com to
learn about her books.
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