Ghost Horse at Oak Lane Stable (Book 4)
*October, 2023 Release*
ISBN: 979-8-9882964-2-3, $13.95 Paperback
E-ISBN: 979-8-9882964-3-0, $3.99 eBook
Chapter One Sample
My former best friend, Ingrid, still wasn’t talking to me. She didn’t ride with me anymore either. She was down at the far end of Oak Lane Stable’s barn aisle where we kept our horses, giggling and showing off for her new boyfriend, Nathan Friedmann, who I called Nate the Gnat because he was the most annoying guy in the entire high school. Nate must have tagged along to watch her ride in her private, Saturday-morning riding lesson with Claire Ferguson, Oak Lane Stable’s riding teacher.
The mid-June breeze drifted through the open barn doors, announcing Southeastern Wisconsin’s warm start to summer vacation and carrying their silly voices toward me as I groomed Ghost Story, my borrowed-for-the-summer showjumper. I was two crossties up from them. I peeked over occasionally, making sure they didn’t see me when I did, as I rubbed the big, white horse’s coat in circular motions with a rubber curry comb I used to loosen his shedding hair and dusty dirt.
Could Ingrid act more ridiculous around him?
Ingrid unbuckled the leather girth and pulled off the English hunt saddle from her tall, Thoroughbred horse, Go the Distance, who she’d instantly nicknamed Danny Boy when her parents bought him for her last summer because she thought his show name sounded dumb. Ingrid showed Nate how to groom her horse. She handed him the brush and made him run soft strokes across Danny Boy’s glossy, chestnut shoulder.
“Hey, Cassie, look at me!” Nate shouted. “I’m grooming a horse!” He suddenly fumbled the brush, grabbed at it, and missed. The brush’s wooden back clattered against the concrete floor, startling Danny Boy. In one smooth movement, Nate swooped down and scooped up the brush. He peeked at Ingrid through his thick, dark, side-parted bangs, which he flipped out of his face when gave her a silly grin.
I stopped currying Ghost Story’s rump for a few seconds and watched.
Ingrid calmed Danny Boy, snatched the brush away from Nate, and showed him how to really groom a horse. They stood close together and giggled about nothing.
I had to put up with Nate the Gnat all through freshman year and now he’s hanging out at the barn with Ingrid? Is he going to be here all summer?
“That’s great, Nate.” I returned to grooming Ghost.
Maybe Ingrid would say something to me.
She didn’t.
My chest tightened, and my heart shrank. I stopped rubbing Ghost’s white coat and stared at the curry comb I held against his shoulder.
Could Ingrid be any more obvious? How long was she going to act this way toward me? I said I was sorry weeks ago. We’d been friends since grade school. Didn’t that mean anything to her? I guessed she didn’t care anymore.
I flipped the curry comb back into the grooming box and picked out a small, metal comb. I ran it through Ghost Story’s shortened mane before heading around to his rump to comb out the knots in his white tail. My long, brunette braid hung in my face as I bent over to remove the snarls at the end of his tail. I flipped the braid over my back and resumed combing. I frowned.
It had been two months—two months!—since Ingrid had gotten mad at me for hanging out with Mia Hernandez (my now ex-friend from Freshman English Comp), who Ingrid accused of stealing her then-boyfriend, David, back on Valentine’s Day. She called me a traitor when she’d found out Mia and I’d been hanging out together. When was she going to let it go? Would she? My other best friend, Allison, didn’t think Ingrid would if she hadn’t by now.
When I was done with Ghost’s tail, I chose a soft, finishing brush from the others in the grooming box. I picked at the bristles before running the brush over my hand a few times to clean it off. Ghost swished flies with his tail as I smoothed out his white coat with the soft brush. He sneezed once, and then twice.
Mrs. O’Mally, the owner of Oak Lane Stable, let me train on and ride Ghost Story for the summer since my showjumper, NightHawk, stepped on a two-penny nail in the warm-up area before a jump-off class five weeks ago at the Milwaukee Horse Show. He still wasn’t healed enough to ride yet.
I stopped brushing Ghost Story and walked over to NightHawk’s stall, which was right across from where Ghost Story was crosstied. He picked up his head and came over to the iron bars that ran along the tops of all of the twenty-four stall walls and softly nickered to me.
“Hi, boy.” I touched his velvety nose as he searched for a treat. “I’ll take you for a walk when I’m done riding Ghost.” NightHawk turned away from me and dropped his head to eat the last of his morning hay.
It would be some time before I could ride NightHawk. Dad worried that NightHawk wouldn’t recover right from the deep puncture wound, but Dr. Walsh, our vet, and Stan Hoffman, Oak Lane Stable’s manager for the last twenty-seven years, both said there was a good chance he’d be fine.
I went back to grooming Ghost Story for my morning lesson with Allison—if she’d ever get here. Claire was preparing us for the Minnesota Hunter/Jumper Show next week. It would be my first show with Ghost Story, and I could use the practice.
Where was Allison? She was never late for a lesson.