The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

as Cody stared, another pair of eyes stared at Cody.

      Abby tacked up Dancer in the Hogscroft barn, singing softly under her breath.

      She had found the script, as promised, on the kitchen table. Abby had quickly gone through it as she gobbled up a snack, reading her lines out loud, and skimming the rest. It was a good script, Abby thought. Lots of action, bad guys, good guys, pathos, and a satisfying resolution. Joy had also left Abby a meaty sandwich for her dinner, with chocolate milk, a banana, and cookies separately wrapped up.

      Dancer had become a cherished friend, she thought as she threw the saddle over the saddle pad and tightened the girth. He watched for her each day. She swore he’d tack himself up if he could.

      “I’ve got sunshi-ine, on a cloudy day-ay. When it’s cold out-si-i-ide, I’ve got the month of May-ay . . .”

      Abby still could not get over it. She, Abby Malone, would be showing Dancer, the one and only Dancer, in a week and two days. Not just showing him, either. She’d be showing him in the Grand Invitational, against some of Canada’s top riders. She didn’t want to think of it. She’d get more nervous.

      But what could go wrong? Abby wondered, fitting the bridle over Dancer’s head. She had the best horse in the world. No other came close.

      “Stop!” Abby chastised herself aloud. “That’s such bad luck!” She rapped on the wooden stall door. “Knock on wood. Everything can go wrong! And at the same time, too. I could forget the course, I could panic and screw up Dancer’s timing, Dancer could go lame. Anything might happen.” Abby touched wood again. “Please, please, please let bad things not happen.”

      Today was a jumping day, and Abby was pleased when she led the muscular stallion into the paddock. The ground was neither too wet nor too dry. Just right. She’d already set up the jumps according to Hilary’s diagram, and Abby hopped onto Dancer’s back with a sense of cheerful anticipation.

      Cody continued to watch the Bad Man’s den. He saw him load the trunk of his moving machine. There were two big brown boxes and a digging tool.

      The coyote was curious. He sensed that whatever this human was up to was not good. He waited.

      Another creature waited nearby, attending carefully to the direction of the wind. Soon, he was joined by another of his species, then another. All eyes were on Cody.

      Dancer’s training session had gone remarkably well, so Abby left well enough alone, brushed the horse down, and biked the few minutes over to the theatre.

      She was early. Nobody else had arrived, and Abby had the place to herself. She nervously opened the door into the dressing rooms under the stage and felt around for the light switch. It was to the right of the door. She cautiously turned on the lights and looked around.

      There was a big open area in the middle. The cement floor was painted a rosy purple. There were vending machines at the end where you could get coffee, tea, or the most delicious-smelling hot chocolate.

      On her right was a light-blue painted dressing table as long as the wall. There was a mirror above, with lights completely surrounding it. Green chairs were tucked under the table every three feet, all the way down the wall. Abby counted fifteen chairs.

      On the yellow wall to her left was a series of six open doors, all different colours. Peeking into the first one, Abby reasoned that up to four people could occupy each room, based on the four chairs under the dressing table.

      Abby hugged herself in sheer delight. She did a little dance of joy in the middle of the big room, then plunked herself down at the far end of the long table and opened her packed dinner. She searched for some change in her pocket, and jumped up again to get hot chocolate to drink with dinner.

      As she waited for the machine to fill her cup, her eyes settled on a purple door to the left of the long dressing table. Where did it go? With hot chocolate in hand, Abby opened the door. Of course! The orchestra pit! This is how the musicians would get into the section below the seats in front of the stage. Very clever, she thought, closing the door.

      Sitting down again, Abby bit into the sandwich that Joy had made for her. Joy made the best food, Abby concluded. Even a lowly sandwich became a work of art in her hands. Thick slabs of fresh, five-grain, buttered bread held thinly sliced cucumbers and tomatoes, with multiple thin slices of pastrami. Joy had spread mayonnaise on one side and Dijon mustard on the other, and sprinkled it liberally with freshly ground pepper. Abby took another bite. De-licious.

      As she ate, she looked more closely at her surroundings. On the ceiling, right in the centre of the spacious hall, she noticed a large cut-out door. She contemplated what it could be. Perhaps a trap door, where an actor could either appear or disappear from the stage? She’d ask Joy.

      The smell of the theatre was the best thing, Abby thought. She’d noticed it the day of the storm, and even though the theatre had been completely renovated since then, the smell remained. Greasepaint, dusty costumes, new stage sets, excitement. It was a living, breathing smell. It energized her. She loved just being here.

      Abby flicked on the lights around her section of the long dressing table. She looked at herself as she chewed. Nice nose. Funny hairline. Freckles. Stark, unsettling green eyes.

      Am I pretty? Not bad, but certainly not gorgeous. Abby finished her mouthful and wiped away the mayonnaise. She pouted, going for the model look she envied in the fashion magazines. Abby pulled her silky blond hair out of its elastic band and fluffed it up with her fingers. She struck a pose. Any better?

      She turned around quickly.

      “Hello?” she called loudly. “Hello? Is anybody there?”

      Was it her imagination? Was somebody watching? She swore she’d heard a chuckle, but nobody was there.

      Minutes passed. Raising her eyebrows at her own wild imagination, Abby finished her banana and started on the cookies. The chocolate milk was gone and, now that it had cooled sufficiently, she sipped the hot chocolate. Wow. It tasted as good as it smelled.

      “Aren’t you going to save me some?” asked a voice. Abby twirled around in a flash, knocking down her green chair as she stood.

      “Who’s that?”

      “Ambrose.”

      Ambrose? Abby thought hard. The ghost? Was he talking to me?

      “Yes, the ghost. I’m talking to you.”

      “No!” gasped Abby. “I don’t believe it!”

      Abby heard a deep sigh. “It’s a problem. If people can’t see something, they don’t believe it exists, possibly because they’re afraid.”

      “No. Not quite,” said Abby, pretending to be calm. Am I really talking to a ghost? “I’m far more worried about a nasty person creeping up on me pretending to be a ghost. I’m all alone here. I hope you understand. I’m not challenging your reality, I’m checking for my own safety.”

      Ambrose Brown took his time responding. “I accept that.”

      “Good. So you are a real ghost?”

      “Yes.”

      Wow. “May I ask where you are right now? So I can look at you and not somewhere else, and also to confirm that you are indeed a ghost?”

      Casually leaning on the hot chocolate machine, right hand on his hip, Ambrose Brown became visible in degrees. First as a fog-like apparition, then filling in until he looked, for all the world, like a human being.

      A handsome human being. He was of medium height and medium build. He was fit and trim, with a shock of blond hair rakishly hanging over his left eye. With his sparkling blue eyes and mischievous grin his face resembled an elf, or more precisely, a leprechaun.

      His well-shaped athletic legs were clad in dark green tights. His long thin feet wore dark green, pointed slipper-like ankle-boots. A green tunic in a slightly lighter shade covered his body, and on his