Dark Horse by Dandi Daley Mackall Page B

it?”
    I laugh. I should have known. Bad jokes must run in the family.
    “‘The horse hooves pound. I hit the ground. We pass a hound who barks a sound.’ That’s from a little children’s book I’m working on.” Popeye’s face turns pink. I think he’s blushing.
    “Sounds good,” I tell him.
    “What’s the best story to tell a runaway horse?” he asks quickly, before I can reach the door.
    I shake my head. “I give, Popeye.”
    “What’s the best story to tell a runaway horse? A tale of whoa !” The answer comes in stereo—from Popeye and from his brother.
    “Still telling those same old jokes, I see,” Bart Coolidge accuses.
    Popeye smiles at me. “This man, as you must know by now, is king of the bad joke.”
    “Sa-a-ay,” Bart begins, “why did the Ferris wheel cross the road?”
    I think Popeye is about to answer when Bart beats him to it. “Because it heard that Smart Bart’s Used Cars is wheel friendly!” He cracks up, laughing so hard he ends in a coughing fit.
    Kat laughs until there are tears in her eyes. Then she stops and runs to the window. She pulls back the cat curtain. “Hank’s coming up the drive.”
    That’s my cue. I slip on my jacket and sneak out while I can.

Fifteen
    Before Hank shuts off the truck’s engine, I’m in the paddock with Nickers. Hank doesn’t see me, or maybe he pretends not to. Fine with me.
    “Hey, Nickers,” I call. Her head springs up, and she’s at attention—neck arched, ears pricked forward. I never get tired of looking at my horse. Watching her stirs something inside of me.
    Nickers prances over, and I wrap my arms around her neck and press my cheek to her soft fur. She nickers without sound, letting me feel the gentle vibration of it in her throat. “I missed you too,” I tell her.
    Around us the farm has taken on a whole different look in the morning light. A few trees still reflect every color of orange, red, yellow, and brown. There’s a musky smell from the damp, fallen leaves in the pasture, but I can smell smoke, too. A breeze blows in chilly air, but it’s still warmer than Ohio.
    I scratch Nickers’s jowl right where she likes it. Her eyelids droop to half-mast with pleasure.
    At the far end of the paddock, on the other side of the fence, Dakota appears, leading a black horse. She walks along the fence until she’s opposite Nickers and me. “Morning,” she calls. She’s wearing jeans and a jean jacket, and I never would have guessed she grew up in Chicago if she hadn’t told me so.
    “Is this Blackfire?” I ask her. The gelding is black as night, without a single white marking. “He’s amazing. Everything you said he was and more.”
    She nods, playing it cool, but her dimples give away how proud she is of that horse. “Blackfire and I finished our ride, but we could go again if you want to ride Nickers.”
    I do. There’s nothing I want more than to take off on Nickers. But I know that’s not why I’m here. “Maybe later,” I finally answer. “I feel like I should take a look at Cleopatra first. Where is she, anyway?”
    “About a mile from here. If you can wait for me to brush Blackfire and take him back to his pasture, I’ll show you where we’ve got Cleo.”
    I get Nickers’s brushes from the trailer, and we groom Blackfire and Nickers right where they are, on opposite sides of the paddock fence.
    “Thanks,” Dakota says, handing back the brushes. “All our brushes burned in the fire. Hank replaced a couple, but I liked the old ones better.”
    “I’m really sorry, Dakota.”
    “Not your fault. Let’s go see Cleo.”
    We tromp through high grass and across ditches and pastures. We’re pretty quiet as we walk along together. Again, I wish Lizzy were here. She’d have Dakota talking a blue streak in no time.
    “So,” Dakota tries, “it must be great to be a senior.”
    “It’s okay,” I answer.
    “Yeah,” she presses. “At least it has to be cool knowing you’re headed for Ohio State