The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

completely supported by John Bains and Milo Murski. They carried her out, one at each side. She was covered in dirt, with her eyes, mouth, and nose black with mud. Her hair held clumps of earth where the blood from the blow to her head had hardened.

      Abby’s hands flew to her mouth. She stumbled backward, then turned and ran to the cruiser. She got in and sat quietly. An ambulance pulled up and stopped at the roadside. Its engine idled while two men took a stretcher out of the back and hurried into the woods.

      The moment Hilary James got the message from her stepfather, Rory, she called Sandy. He’d also talked to his father, and within an hour they were on the last flight of the day from Montreal to Toronto.

      “She was buried alive, Sandy. It must have been horrible.”

      “My dad’s been with her the whole time, Hilary,” Sandy said reassuringly. “He says there are no broken bones, no internal injuries, only bruising and a slight concussion. She’s going to be fine.”

      “I know, Sandy. You keep telling me that, but until I see her myself, I’m going to worry. That’s just the way I am.”

      “And that’s just the way I like you. I only wish I could make you feel better.”

      “I feel better having you with me. Thanks for coming.”

      Sandy smiled. “Dad’s meeting us at the airport, and we’ll go straight up to the Orangeville hospital.”

      “Can’t he stay with Mom? We could take a taxi.”

      “You know my dad. He insisted. He said your mom needed a break from him anyway.”

      “Well someone should stay with her tonight. She’ll have nightmares, I’m sure of it. I’ll ask the doctor to have a cot brought in for me. I can’t leave her alone.”

      “So the worm has turned.”

      “What do you mean by that?”

      “That the child is now mothering the mother.”

      “I guess that’s true.” Hilary thought about it for a minute then asked, “Did you talk to your dad about Dancer’s condition?”

      “Not much. I know nothing you don’t know.”

      “Well, I’ll feel better after I see him, too. Dr. Masters told me he’ll be okay, but a crack on the head like that could be serious if it gets infected.”

      “If Dr. Masters says he’ll be okay, he’ll be okay. He’s known Dancer a long time. Now, try to get a little rest. It’s going to be a long night.”

      Hilary rested her head on Sandy’s strong shoulder. Not for the first time, she felt lucky to have him in her life.

      10

      YOUNG LOVE

      FRIDAY MORNING, ABBY AWOKE long before the alarm rang. It was five o’clock. She had barely slept. There was too much on her mind. She leaned across her bed and opened the drapes a little to check on the weather. Just as she thought. It was still raining. Ugh. Maybe Joy could drive her to school today.

      Christine had come home from the hospital the day before. They’d kept her in only one night, with Hilary sleeping on a cot beside her. Christine was tired and bruised, and her ribs were sore, but she was in great shape for a woman who’d been knocked out and buried in dirt. Joy had gone to visit her Wednesday night and arrived back at her bedside early Thursday morning. Joy told Abby that Christine had survived because of the way she fell. When she was knocked out, she’d slumped forward into a ball and had somehow managed to create a pocket of air. Abby didn’t want to imagine if Christine had died. Indirectly, it would’ve been her fault. Christine had gone to see if Samuel Owens needed medical assistance because Abby was too frightened to look down the hole after Dancer had kicked him in. Abby pulled the covers over her head. Too horrible.

      She sighed, resigned to dragging herself out of her warm bed in one hour to work with Leggy. She tried to fall asleep again.

      It was difficult to get excited about training Leggy when the ground was muddy. Abby could make the case that it was even dangerous, but she knew better. There was always something to do, and keeping to the daily schedule was almost as important as the training itself. She could groom Leggy and tack her up and walk her up and down the road, practise loading in the horse-trailer, or teach her to back up or to yield to each side.

      Sam had virtually ignored her yesterday. Abby was more confused than ever. They had a date tonight, didn’t they? Or was it a date? Sam had said he wanted to talk to her. He didn’t call it a date. Why should Abby call it a date? Maybe she should just phone Sam and cancel. Abby rolled over. Count sheep, you idiot, she told herself. It’s way too early.

      Dancer looked better Thursday than Wednesday, and Abby felt hopeful that he’d look better again today. With Hilary home for the weekend, Abby wasn’t sure how much she’d be needed, but she planned to go to Hogscroft directly after school to offer help in any way. She might as well forget about the Invitational, even though Christine had registered her. There was no way Dancer would be sound and fit in just five weeks. Abby calculated three weeks minimum for recovery, then at least a month to regain his muscle tone. She was sorely disappointed.

      She turned onto her belly in an effort to shut down her thoughts.

      Moonie wasn’t her normal, perky, willing self. Abby had meant to ask Alan Masters about her, but so much else had been going on. She made a mental note to call him. Moonie and Leggy needed their rabies shots and worming medicine, anyway. Until Moonie got a checkup, Abby didn’t want to ride her.

      Everyone at school was talking about the auditions. Was Abby the only one who hadn’t been there? The roles would be posted on the library bulletin board on Monday, but already people were sure they’d snagged the lead, or positive they’d embarrassed themselves terribly. Lucy went on and on about Ambrose Brown. He was now her personal ghost. He had appeared as a sign that stardom was beckoning, and vaporized as soon as he knew she’d got the message. Lucy was even talking about holding a seance. Abby smiled under the covers.

      Mr. Owens was another matter. Abby shuddered, thinking that he made her old nemesis, Colonel Kenneth Bradley, look almost angelic. Well, not quite, but this man was looney-tunes. What could he possibly get out of trapping a horse or trying to shoot it? Was it all about trespassing? Abby didn’t know how to read it, she only knew that he gave her the creeps. More than the creeps. He made her mad. Furious. The man was making people afraid. You never knew what he’d do next, and you couldn’t prove his involvement anyway.

      She’d never get back to sleep now. With a huge effort, she threw the covers off and leapt out of bed. She pulled on her old sweatsuit and hurried downstairs. Not even pausing for orange juice, Abby shrugged into her rain slicker and stepped into her boots. She might as well wake Leggy and get her morning training out of the way. Then she would reward herself with oatmeal porridge with raisins and brown sugar, and a soak in the tub before school.

      Dawn was trying to break in spite of the thick cloud cover as Abby opened the gate and walked through the paddock. She entered the shed with the lead rope in hand. “Leggy, wake up. Time for work.”

      Three horses lifted their heads. One with a large white bandage.

      “Dancer! What are you doing here?” Abby was amazed.

      Moonie, Leggy, and Dancer stood companionably in the shed, for all the world like they were stable mates.

      “What am I going to do with you?”

      Dancer saved her the trouble of having to do anything. He nodded his head, snorted, and trotted away. Abby watched as he sailed over the four-rail fence and casually disappeared up the road to Hogscroft.

      “Yeesus Murphy,” she muttered. “I guess he’s feeling better.” Moonie and Leggy stood with her as the sky lightened, all mesmerized by this unusual horse.

      The school day passed without incident. Along with her lack of sleep and the constant drizzle outside, other factors added