The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

      “Yes, it was, but it’s the horse that qualifies in this show. Mousie? What’s wrong? You sound . . . jealous.”

      There was a long pause on the line. Hilary sighed and said, “You’re right. I’m jealous. Isn’t it silly? I can’t believe this. I’m not just a little jealous, I’m a lot jealous. I thought I’d gotten over this, but I obviously haven’t. I guess I secretly liked being the only one who could ride Dancer.”

      “Look, I’ll decline. Let’s forget I ever mentioned it, and honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive, and obviously I—”

      “Wait, Mom. I have to get over this. Do you think Abby could do it?”

      “Why don’t you judge for yourself? Come home this weekend.”

      “When’s the deadline for registration?”

      “Let me check the invitation. It doesn’t say anything about a deadline. It says that replies would be appreciated by May 23. That’s the end of this week.”

      “Mom, why don’t we let Abby decide. Does she come to ride today?”

      “Yes. She should be here any minute.”

      “Ask her what she wants to do, and we’ll go with it.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “I’m sure.”

      “Mousie?”

      “Yes, Mom?”

      “I’m proud of you.”

      Hilary hung up the phone, glad that her mother couldn’t see the tears falling down her cheeks. She wouldn’t be so proud if she knew how much it hurt. She shook her head, unable to put her emotions into words. Rubbing her forehead with her fingers, she started to laugh.

      “What an idiot I am!” she exclaimed to her empty room. “What a silly, ridiculous, jealous idiot! I have to let go, like Gran said, because it’s good for Dancer. Of course Abby can do it.”

      Dancer didn’t come to greet Abby when she rode her bike up the lane. This was interesting. Maybe he was grazing in the back field, Abby speculated. Maybe he didn’t feel like working today.

      She rested her bike at the side of the barn and called for him. “Dancer! Come on! Dancer!” No Dancer. Abby went into the barn and put some grain in a feed bucket. She came out and shook it so he could hear the food rattling.

      “Dancer! Dancer!”

      Hooves thundered toward the barn. Abby smiled to herself. When in doubt, offer food. Horses can never resist food, her father always said.

      Henry, with ears pricked expectantly, wheeled around the fenceline as fast as his overweight body could run, sliding to a halt at her side. Without even bothering to acknowledge her presence, he stuck his nose into the pail and began to eat.

      “Nice to see you, too, Henry, but you’re not going out today. Saturday and Sunday are your days with Lucy. Where’s Dancer?” His noisy crunching was the only response Abby got. “You know, Henry, I’m getting a little worried.”

      Abby fondly patted his forehead and rubbed his ears. She put the bucket on the ground so Henry could finish his snack then ran to the James’ house and knocked on the door.

      “Abby! I was just on the phone with Mousie. We were talking about you.”

      “Really?”

      “Yes. Mousie wants me to ask you if you’d like to enter Dancer in the Grand Invitational. It’s entirely up to you.”

      “Really? That’s super! I mean, really, really great! I’d love to take him! But Mrs. James, do you know where Dancer is?”

      “Is he not in the field?”

      “No. I called him and he didn’t come. Henry did, but there’s no sign of Dancer.”

      “I wouldn’t worry too much, Abby. Dancer sometimes disappears for an hour or so. He always has. Why don’t you get Henry’s tack soaped and oiled. He’ll be back before you know it.”

      “But since I started riding him, he’s always come to meet me.”

      Christine smiled at the concerned young woman. “He’s an unusual fellow, Abby. If he’s not back by the time the tack is done, come and get me and we’ll go looking. Okay?”

      Abby could see that Christine wasn’t worried. “Okay, Mrs. James. Thanks.” She slowly walked to the tack room, the joy of being asked to enter Dancer in the Invitational totally eclipsed by worry. She felt trouble in her bones. And where did Cody go? If there was trouble, Cody would know. Maybe Mrs. James was right. Maybe Dancer would show up and everything would be fine.

      Cody loped along the ridge of Robert Wick’s high field above Saddle Creek. Nose high, he smelled the fear in the air. It was unmistakable. He would find the source. The wind changed direction slightly and Cody veered with it. He was distracted by another scent. Human. Male. From up the hill, and not close. He stopped, and put his nose to the ground. Horse scent. It was the trail of the Good Horse, the horse who’d saved him from the wild coyotes. The horse that his Abby rode at the other place.

      Cody followed the trail, head down, running fast as the path led down into the meadow along the woods. The fear smell was getting stronger, but his ears could pick up no sounds of distress. He ran faster, following the trail and the fear.

      The man scent again. In the air, not close, but not far. The man-den up on the hill. Cody cast a sideways glance and there he was. The man. Outside the man-den covering both his eyes with a black thing, holding it up with his hands. Cody’s ruff went up. A deep growl tickled his throat. Bad Man.

      The man suddenly moved fast. Cody crouched in the long grass and watched. The man dropped the black thing and picked up the long shiny stick that shot fire.

      Cody waited until the man was looking the other way, then ducked into the woods. The man was coming down the hill. Cody tried to understand what was happening. He smelled fear, he smelled the Good Horse, and the Bad Man was coming.

      Cody shot off through the woods, running for safety. He would be out of the trees and onto the road in no time, and off to rejoin Abby at the other place.

      But the scent of fear. There it was again. Very, very strong. Cody stopped running and started to shake. He must help. He spun around and followed the scent. Suddenly, just beyond, he heard a scrambling noise, followed by a series of frantic thrashes.

      His nose and ears brought him to the edge of a deep pit, dug right in the middle of the path through the woods. He looked down.

      The Good Horse!

      9

      THE BEAR PIT

      ABBY DECIDED TO CLEAN all the tack. She hung the dirty leather bridles, girths, and martingales on the hook that hung from the ceiling in the tack room. She put some warm water in a bucket, opened the large container of saddle soap, and took a clean sponge off the shelf.

      Abby took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Please, please, please, let Dancer be all right. And please, please, please, let Cody’s little coyote face peek around the tack room door, proving that everything is as it should be. Cody’s clash with the leg-hold trap and the pack of wild coyotes was too recent. A sense of foreboding grew in Abby’s chest.

      She wet the sponge and rubbed it into the saddle soap, creating a thick lather at the top of the container. With speed that came from long practice, she scrubbed the leather with the soapy sponge, then wiped it thoroughly. After soaping and wiping the bridles and saddles, she threw out the water, rinsed out the sponge, packed up the soap, and opened the big jug of saddle oil.

      Abby could barely contain herself. Her hands were shaking as she soaked the oil rag with neat’s-foot oil and rubbed it into the leather saddles. As she completed each one, she felt more anxious. Cody was not to be seen, and Dancer had not returned.