Nothing But Horses Read online

  Nothing But Horses

  Shamrock Stable #3

  by Shannon Kennedy

  Published by

  Fire and Ice

  A Young Adult Imprint of Melange Books, LLC

  White Bear Lake, MN 55110

  www.fireandiceya.com

  Nothing But Horses, Copyright 2014 Shannon Kennedy

  ISBN: 978-1-61235-972-4

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Design by Lynsee Lauritsen

  Table of Contents

  "Nothing But Horses"

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  About the Author

  Previews

  Nothing But Horses is dedicated to “Nevada” a real Morgan-Belgian-Quarterhorse born on New Year’s Day. He loves long, skinny carrots and the people who bring them to the barn for him. His mischief and antics over the past sixteen years helped inspire this story, but to fit the purposes of the book, I made him a year younger.

  NOTHING BUT HORSES

  by Shannon Kennedy

  If the going gets tough, wannabe cowboys exit stage left, according to Sierra McElroy. Because her family owns the local riding stable, her old life was nothing but horses. Now, Sierra has a new car (new to her), a new puppy, a new school, a new coach, and a new basketball team.

  However, she's brought her same old patterns into this new life.

  She still doesn't have any patience for stupid people who are a waste of time, space and oxygen. In order to take over Shamrock Stable someday, does Sierra need to learn to tolerate these people who make her crazy?

  Chapter One

  Shamrock Stable, Washington

  Sunday, December 15th, 4:00 pm

  Christmas was ten days away and my plan to save some of our horses from being sold to wanta-be cowgirls and cowboys was in full swing. With my Deck the Stalls contest going strong, the stable looked more festive with each passing hour. Our riding students had signed up for extra lessons so they could choose their favorite horses and proceeded to turn the place into a holiday wonderland. Santa would love it here. I had strung gold and silver tinsel garlands along the beams in the barn. Soon each stall would have its own theme. The dollar store was undoubtedly turning a profit this year thanks to all the people I’d sent there to buy decorations. I’d seen stall doors covered with wrapping paper or plastic tablecloths or even door mats. I’d noticed a few place mats too. Lots of red and green plastic ribbon, bows, Santa pics—there wasn’t any limit to the imagination.

  We’d judge the contest when my grandparents arrived so they could help decide which stall door looked the best. Our traditional Shamrock Stable Christmas Party on horseback happened next Sunday. We’d announce the winners then and they would receive halters, or lead-lines, or brushes, or riding lessons. Top prizes were scholarships to horse day camp next summer.

  I was in the middle of helping Dani, one of our nicest boarders decorate her stall door for the stable contest. Blonde, petite, she was a fashion statement in riding pants, muck boots and a light purple, fleece jacket. Her Quarterhorse mare had abandoned us for the outside paddock, adjacent to the stall when Dani ran out of long, skinny carrots. That left the two of us to fit the old-time cardboard fireplace to the outside of the door. I’d barely reloaded my staple gun when Jack and Bill showed up with Harry, the blond surfer dude that Dani had just started dating. “Hey guys,” I said.

  “We need your help,” Jack, a dark-haired football jock, told me. “And Dani, this is hush-hush. No telling my sister, the Christmas snoop or Vicky who will pass the word. We’re counting on Sierra to do the ‘what happens at Shamrock, stays at Shamrock’ routine so we can make our holiday arrangements.”

  I nodded. “You got it. Robin and Vick are my friends, but business is business. What can I sell you?”

  Dani giggled, sounding like a typical blonde bubble-head. “I’m so telling Robin what you called her. And then I’m getting you in trouble with Vicky. She’s not just your girlfriend, Jack, she’s Robin’s B.F.F.”

  “They know.” Bill ran a hand through his chestnut hair and looked at me hopefully. “Sierra, do you have an extra barn around here that we can borrow or rent just till Christmas Eve?”

  “Why?” I asked. “What’s it for? What are you guys up to?”

  “We need to hide a ‘68 Mustang,” Harry told me. “Someone tried to sell my sister this loser hardtop. She didn’t go for it because it’s a major mess. It would take us way too much time to bring it back so we could sell it at the car lot, but by the time Robin fixes it up, the car could be amazing.”

  “My folks won’t let me keep it at our house because my older brother already has three dead cars in the yard,” Bill said. “And I can’t put it anywhere at Jack’s or Robin will see it, but I have to move it today or lose the deal.”

  “Bring it here,” I said. “We’ll put it in the garage. Robin never goes there. None of the students do when they come for lessons. Mom and I usually park the Ranger up by the house.”

  “Are you sure?” Jack gave me a steady dark-eyed look. “We could use the carport.”

  “No, we can’t. Grandpa always parks his motorhome there. He and Grandma will be here this Wednesday night. Grandma’s taking me to see Stewart Falls Academy, and a couple other private schools on Thursday.”

  “No way.” Dani finished taping up red holiday stockings to the mantel of the fireplace, then began stapling up gold tinsel garland to the doorframe. “We want you at Lincoln High, not somewhere else. You’d love our school and I’m not just saying that because you know all of us.”

  “You’re right. I would love it,” I said, “but I’m so sick of being messed with at Mount Pilchuck that I could scream. I wanted to go out for basketball, but practice times just suck, and if I miss one, I get benched. I went through enough of that crap during the soccer season. It’s not worth the hassle to deal with it one more time. I’m not staying there regardless of which private school I have to attend.”

  “I get that, but we still want you with us,” Dani said.

  “I’ll ask Grandma if she knows anyone at Lincoln,” I said. “It could happen. She taught high school for years and she still connects with a ton of other teachers and principals.”

  Chores done and customers gone a couple hours later, I headed into the house. Dani had spent most of the afternoon sharing the benefits of Lincoln High, as if I didn’t already know. Most of my friends had transferred there once Washingt
on State released the basic skills in Reading, Math and Science test scores. Mount Pilchuck’s continued to plummet while Lincoln’s, Stewart Falls Academy and Centennial Mid-High elevated to the top in the local area.

  I found Mom on the landline in the kitchen. I always felt like a giant in comparison to her. We both had red hair and green eyes, but she barely topped five feet in her Ropers, while I was five feet eight in my socks. She said I got my height from my father, a guy I barely remembered. He’d gotten lost on the journey to find himself back when I was three. I hadn’t seen or heard from him in the last thirteen years. As for child support, Mom hadn’t received any of that either.

  Mom hastily said, “Here she is now, Robin. I’ll let you girls talk.”

  “Okay, what are you two up to now?” I asked my friend as soon as I took the receiver. “This is getting spooky.”

  “No, it’s not,” Robin said, “It’s Christmas, not Halloween. Of course there are secrets. Everything isn’t about you. It’s about me because I’m blonde and gorgeous.”

  “Want to bet? What’s up?”

  “Not much. I just called to chat and see if you’d tell me why my brother had to come to Shamrock today with his friends.”

  I opted for the party line Jack gave me when the guys dropped off the beat-up Mustang. “He wanted to buy a gift certificate for Vicky so she can do a discounted version of the pre-owner package. And guys travel in gangs when they shop, just like we did on Black Friday.”

  “My big brother is so cute when he does the boyfriend thing. Want to guess what else she’s getting?”

  “How can I?” I pulled over a chair and sat down next to the kitchen extension. “You tell me. What’s her other present?”

  “The blue merle collie pup from that litter I rescued. They’re nearly old enough for homes and Dad says I can only keep two puppies and the mom,” Robin said. “I tried telling him with the cows, chickens, horses and everything else around here, he shouldn’t notice my fleet of dogs, but he didn’t go for it. Anyway, Vicky’s mother actually paid me twenty bucks for the merle so I’d save him for Vick until Christmas.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes, way. Vicky’s little brother wanted a laundry list of everything the puppy will need. He and the other kids are rounding up the gifts to put under the tree. It’ll be her best holiday ever.”

  “Christmas is all about love,” I said. “It’s amazing where you find it.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  We talked a while longer but Robin didn’t give me any hints of why she really called or what she’d been talking about on the phone with my mother. When I went into the living room, I found Mom and my seven-year-old half-sister, Autumn, cuddled up on the couch watching the cartoon version of the Grinch stealing Christmas. They looked so loving that I joined them, dropping into one of the recliners.

  Just as the song started, our riding instructor Meredith came in the door, followed by Dave Yardley, the local animal control cop in regular clothes. A silver-haired, fifty-something, horsy know-it-all, Meredith glowered at the three of us. Then, she pulled a long garland of tiny fake red apples out of her coat pocket. “Look what I found on Dream’s stall door. I told you this stupid contest wouldn’t work. We’ll be lucky if we don’t have a bunch of dead horses by Christmas.”

  “Not Dream.” One tear slid down Autumn’s cheek, followed by a second, then a third, before she turned her face into Mom’s sweatshirt. “Not my pony. She’s smart. She knows the difference between decoration and real.”

  “I’ll bet she does.” Dave snagged the ornaments from Meredith. “Why don’t you come help me hang them around the top of her stall, up where your sister put the tinsel? Then, Dream won’t make a mistake in the middle of the night when she wants a snack. Next time I come, I’ll bring a bag of apples just for her, but you’ll have to get your big sister to help you chop them up.”

  “And I’ll write Meredith’s check. It’s a long drive home to Seattle for her.” Mom hit pause on the remote. “We can finish the movie when you two get back. Sierra, go make some popcorn please.”

  “You got it.” I watched Dave pick up my sister and carry her out the door so she wouldn’t have to put on her muck boots. Last time that Grandma and I talked, I told her about Mom’s latest flirt. Grandma called him a nice guy and said that he’d always been majorly decent. Even if I didn’t say so, I had to agree.

  I eyed Meredith. Didn’t she ever get tired of being a witch? Hadn’t she done enough when she told Autumn not to bother decorating her pony’s door for the contest? I mean, come on. What kind of person gets pleasure out of picking on a seven-year-old? Mom had run interference when my little sister decided if she couldn’t participate, then she and her Shetland would help judge the competition. Mom had said there would be a special category for the owners, staff and interns, which totally made Autumn happy. Of course, she threatened to beat all of us, but I could deal with that.

  “You know, we weren’t thinking about the holidays and being fair to you, Merry,” I said.

  She glared at me. “I hate nicknames.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, flicking a quick glance at Mom. “Anyway, we think you should have a bonus and the rest of the year off. We’ll see you in January.”

  “Or February, if that’s better for you,” Mom said, going to her desk in the corner of the room and opening up the farm checkbook. “It will be crazy around here with the new pre-owner program starting up, Sierra at a new school, and me dating Dave. You may need some time to adjust.”

  “We will.” At a look from Mom, I headed for the kitchen to make popcorn and pour sodas.

  A short time later, I returned to the living room with treats, passing around the drinks and putting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table where everyone could reach it. Dave was in the other recliner, Mom and Autumn had the couch, and Meredith was long gone. The only Grinch was the one on the TV. Dave put away his cell phone. “Pizza’s on the way, ladies.”

  * * * *

  Marysville, Washington

  Tuesday, December 17th, 5:30 pm

  I’d had high hopes that my at-risk teen group meeting would be canceled because the holiday was so close, but Mrs. Claus, as I referred to my therapist, had insisted we meet tonight. She said that people tended to have a lot of baggage round Christmas, and it didn’t all come in Santa’s sleigh. A couple months ago, she and my mom had decided I needed to deal with my anger issues and the fact that I thought most guys were dirtbags. Make that lazy, lying, cheating dirtbags and it came pretty close to what I still believed.

  Mom might think this was helping me learn to handle life. Frankly, I thought it was a wonderful way to get out of the barn once a week. Much as I loved our horses, it was great to have a night free from mucking, watering, and feeding. The work was always harder in the winter when they stayed inside 24/7.

  When I walked into the conference room, the latest Shamrock Stable intern, Vicky got up from her chair. She handed me a cup of spiced cider. Her makeup was light tonight. She didn’t look as if she’d spent a lot of time chasing after her step-sibs today. I was glad that things were getting better for her. “You look good.”

  “Thanks. Mom’s still helping around the house and I’m starting to have a life.” Vicky hesitated. “It’s my turn to ask for help from the group. Will you be straight up with me?”

  “I’m always straight with everyone,” I said, giving her a solid onceover. She wore the new jeans and the sweater Jack’s mom bought her. “It’s how I win enemies and influence rivals. Besides, you helped me organize my barn contest so I wouldn’t have to help Mom sell horses. You should know by now that I’ll do whatever you need.”

  Vicky grinned appreciatively. “Do you remember what Robin’s dad says about tact?”

  “What?” I liked John Gibson. He was a good accountant and he was nearly as blunt as I was. He’d helped me when I wanted to raise prices before the holidays. “He’s amazing.”

  “Yeah, well he l
oves quoting Winston Churchill who said that ‘tact is the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that they look forward to the trip.’ I’m just saying you could opt for a bit of subtlety, Sierra.”

  “It sounds like too much trouble,” I said. “I’ll just offer driving directions to Hades so people who are a waste of time, space, and oxygen don’t get lost.”

  Vicky laughed and shook her head. I drank my cider. The meeting was as boring as always when the other six teens arrived. I endured the weekly whining and sniveling about how everybody was abused or mistreated by life. Of course, this week there was a lot more griping because they all had holiday baggage to share.

  Personally, I had to agree even if I wasn’t stupid enough to share my feelings. Christmas generally sucked since that was when my mother’s latest boy-toy or flavor of the month acted out. However, this year was different. Dave didn’t bring any drama with him to the barn or the house. He jumped in and helped with whatever we were doing, whether it was mucking stalls or setting the table for dinner.

  The other thing that was different tonight was the Lincoln High newspaper Vicky passed around. One of the reporters had created an expose of her life. There were two pages of pics that showed her babysitting her younger half-sibs, buying groceries, hanging laundry and basically showing her daily existence in all its sucky glory.

  She wasn’t mad about the photos. She was angry because the writer hadn’t included any details about what she accomplished as the new Sophomore Class Prez. The group brainstormed a few ideas, most of which centered on complaining to the ‘powers that be’ at Lincoln High. Mrs. Claus, as I called her, because she was round, jolly and white-haired sat and listened like it was all new and not the same old tripe. I yawned. This was majorly boring. “What if you do a guest commentary, Vicky?”