Crown Prince Read Free

unlucky rider over his head. He also tended to be slow and lazy, which was fine for beginners, but not for the more demanding work Jack O’Brien expected of the students in his classes.
    Sarah had felt badly for Paige in their class the week before. With Quarry a little off, Paige was forced to ride Gray Fox, and he’d been especially difficult, repeatedly breaking from canter back to trot. This was a switch for Paige, because her own horse, Quarry, was a Thoroughbred, sensitive and quick. The farm owners, Mr. and Mrs. DeWitt, had been watching the lesson that day, too. Paige had been embarrassed when Jack had to repeatedly remind her to insist Gray Fox be more forward.
    â€œThanks, Lindsay,” Sarah replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. “I only hope he won’t be as stubborn as he was last week. He was a real jerk for Paige.”
    â€œPaige is riding Quarry today. But you’d better scurry along. I expect Jack will be back from his schooling session soon.”
    Sarah rushed to the tack room to pick up a saddle and the bridle with the martingale strap Gray Fox always wore to keep him from throwing his head in the air. Stepping inside, she was immediately aware of the strong aroma of saddle soap and leather as she scanned the bridles hanging on the pine paneled wall. On the bottom row she spotted Gray Fox’s bridle with the fat snaffle bit and the martingale attached to the noseband. Grabbing it off the hook, she turned to the racks on the opposite wall and picked up the all-purpose saddle and pad she’d used on Gray Fox before. It was good for both flatwork and jumping, and fit him well.
    Sarah started for the door with the tack over her arm, but hesitated by the wall cabinet. Jack’s words came back to her:
Better to have a crop and not need it, than to need it and not have it.
She pulled a sturdy black crop off the rack, stuck it in her tote bag, and hurried out the door. Sarah was glad she had brought her spurs—with Gray Fox, they’d probably be needed. She quickened her pace down the aisle. After riding at Brookmeade almost two years, she knew where every horse’s stall was located in the big barn, and she headed for the back side where most of the school horses were stabled. She noticed the barn was unusually quiet, which meant Tim and Paige were already warming up in the ring. She hurried even faster.
    The place seemed deserted except for the DeWitts’ two Jack Russell terriers, Taco and Spin, who came running to meet her. There was no sign of Mrs. DeWitt near her mare’s stall, but if the terriers were around, she couldn’t be far away. The brown-and-white dogs were excited to see Sarah and wanted to play, their short tails whipping furiously.
    When Sarah stopped by Gray Fox’s stall and placed the saddle on a collapsible saddle rack pulled out from the wall, Spin jumped up on her leg, asking to be petted. She nudged him aside. “No time right now, Spin.” Not giving up easily, both dogs persisted in jumping up, fully expecting their usual playtime with Sarah. “No!” She spoke sharply, and then was sorry to see the terriers turn and start back down the aisle, Taco with his head low, dejected, and Spin almost slinking away. But it couldn’t be helped. She’d make it up to them later.
    Sarah rummaged through the wooden box of grooming tools by the door to pick out a hoof pick, curry comb, mane comb, and a stiff brush before sliding the stall door partly open and easing inside. Gray Fox was standing on the far side of his stall near the window with his eyes half closed, his tail lazily swishing off the occasional fly. He turned his almost white head to gaze at her nonchalantly.
    â€œCome on, boy. No more dreaming. Time to go to work.” She offered the horse a carrot before attaching a stall tie to his halter. She quickly picked the packed bedding and manure out of his hooves before currying and brushing his flea-bitten gray