Horse-Sitters by Bonnie Bryant Page A

Enough to buy practically anything she wanted. She could get a new saddle for Belle to match her new bridle, and maybe a new bicycle for herself … or better yet, a moped.
    “A moped,” Stevie murmured, not realizing until too late that she was speaking aloud.
    “What?” Alex asked. “Did you say a moped? What does that have to do with Michael’s baseball team?”
    “Sorry,” Stevie muttered, her face turning red. “I was thinking about something else.”
    “Apparently,” Mr. Lake commented.
    Chad grinned. “I know what she was thinking about,” he teased. “She was daydreaming about all the things she’s going to buy when she’s a rich and famous horse-sitter.”
    “Hey, when you’re rich, would you buy me a yacht, Stevie?” Alex asked.
    “I could use a new pair of basketball shoes,” Chad put in.
    “Me too,” Michael cried. “And if you’re getting a moped, I want one, too.”
    Stevie opened her mouth to respond, but then she closed it again without saying a word.
    “Stevie? Are you okay?” Mrs. Lake asked, looking concerned.
    “Sure,” Stevie said wearily. “I’m just too tired to fight with these bozos right now.”
    Mr. and Mrs. Lake traded glances. “Stevie, why don’t you go get started on that homework,” Mr. Lake suggested. “I’ll clear the table tonight.”
    * * *
    A T THE SAME TIME , Lisa was sitting at the dinner table with her parents, telling them all about The Saddle Club Horse-Sitting Service. Mr. Atwood had been out of town on a business trip, and Mrs. Atwood had gone out to dinner with friends the evening before, so this was the first time they were hearing exactly how much work Lisa and her friends were doing.
    “You mean you three girls are caring for nine horses all by yourselves?” Mrs. Atwood exclaimed, sounding horrified.
    “It’s not that big a deal, Mom,” Lisa said quickly. The last thing she wanted to do was get her mother all worked up. Mrs. Atwood had never really understood why her daughter liked to spend so much time at the stable, and she was always trying to convince her to take up a more ladylike hobby, like needlepoint or violin.
    “It certainly sounds like a big deal to me,” Mrs. Atwood protested. “I mean, it seems rather odd that we’re paying for you to take riding lessons, and yet you end up doing most of the work yourself.”
    “That’s how it works,” Lisa explained patiently. “It would cost a lot more than it does if we didn’t all pitch in and help out with the chores. Anyway, we’re not paying to take care of these horses. Other people are paying us.”
    “Can’t complain about that,” Mr. Atwood put in.
    Mrs. Atwood frowned at him. “I certainly can,” she snapped. “Poor little Lisa is working her fingers to the bone. Darling, why didn’t you tell us you needed money? Perhaps we could talk about raising your allowance a little if you’re that short of cash.”
    “It’s not just about the money, Mom,” Lisa said. “I like doingstable work. So do Carole and Stevie. That’s really why we’re doing it.” She sighed. Explaining things to her parents was always rather tiring, and Lisa was already exhausted. “Like I said, it’s not that big a deal.”
    “Well, if you say so …,” Mrs. Atwood said doubtfully.
    “She just did, didn’t she?” Mr. Atwood said. “Now, why don’t you tell us about your dinner last night? How are Gladys and Evelyn?”
    Lisa sighed again as her mother began describing her evening. It wasn’t that her parents could really do anything about Lisa’s difficult week. She just wished they understood.
    C OLONEL H ANSON WAS a little more understanding than the Atwoods, but not terribly sympathetic.
    “You took on this responsibility knowingly, Carole,” he said, pointing a forkful of chicken at his daughter. “You have to carry through.”
    “I know that, Dad,” Carole said. “I’m not really complaining. Well, maybe I am, but I know we have a job to do and that we have to do