Hay Fever Read Free Page B

parents.”
    “Don’t you see?” Stevie answered. “That’s where
we
come in. It’ll be up to The Saddle Club to bring in every single prospective wife we can think of. Then Max can choose one—with our advice, of course.”
    Carole and Lisa nodded. It hadn’t occurred to them that Max might pick out some completely unsuitable bride, but it
was
a possibility. And they all knew from being around horses how important good bloodlines, temperament, and conformation were in breeding the perfect offspring. If Max found some undesirable woman and married her, The Saddle Club would be stuck with her and her progeny for as long as they—not to mention their children—rode at Pine Hollow.
    “Good thing we’re getting involved now,” Carole said.
    “Without us Max might find some awful woman to marry—or forget about marriage altogether,” Lisa said.
    “I’m sure he’ll thank us at the end,” Stevie predicted. She whipped a stub of a pencil out of her jeans pocket and began to scrawl on a napkin. After a few minutes she pushed the napkin toward Carole and Lisa. “Anything I should add?” she asked.
    They looked at the list. It read:
Mrs. Max must be: (1) horsey (or at least very interested in learning about horses), (2) friendly, especially toward Max’s students, (3) interestedin helping Max out around the barn, (4) in good health, (5) smart, (6) beautiful
.
    “Sounds perfect to me,” Carole said.
    “That definitely sums up the perfect wife for him,” Lisa agreed. “I just hope we’ll meet some women who fit the description.”
    “Don’t worry—there’ll be tons of them,” Stevie assured her confidently. “Oh, good, here’s dinner.” She licked her lips with anticipation as the waitress set a huge brownie sundae down in front of her.
    “If you were my kid and ate that for dinner, I’d take away your allowance,” the waitress announced.
    “Yeah, well, you see, my mom—” Stevie began. Then she stopped suddenly and stared at the waitress. She was tall, lanky, had good balance (from carrying trays of sundaes), and a healthy glow to her skin. Friendly, they could work on. Putting a super-friendly smile on her face, she looked up at the waitress sweetly. “Would you mind turning around?” she asked.
    The waitress looked surprised at the sudden change in subject. “What is this? Some kinda mind game?” she asked suspiciously.
    Stevie shook her head. “Oh, no. What I meant to ask you was, are you married?”
    “What’s it to you?” the waitress shot back.
    “Do you like to ride horses?” she asked.
    “Are you giving me the third degree?” the waitressasked. “Sure, I like to ride. I’ve only been twice in my life, though.”
    “Oh, that’s okay,” Stevie said. She made an effort to make her voice sound casual. “So how would you like to come to a nice, old-fashioned Fourth of July picnic at the stables where we ride?”
    The waitress laughed. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got to work. That’s one of our biggest days here.”
    Stevie’s face fell. “Oh, well.” She sighed. “Back to the drawing board.”
    The waitress gave her a funny look, left the check on the table, and turned to go back to the counter. Watching her walk away, Stevie sighed again. “Too bad. I have a feeling Max would appreciate her sense of humor.”

N ORMALLY L ISA BARELY noticed when her mother invited friends or co-workers over for dinner. Mrs. Atwood worked part-time at the local mall as a hand model. That meant when the salesmen needed a picture of a salad on a plate, Mrs. Atwood’s hands would be the ones pouring the dressing onto the lettuce—or stirring the stew or putting a casserole into the oven. A couple of times she had brought a lonely food photographer or kitchen-wares salesman home for a good, hot meal.
    But tonight, when Lisa sat down at the table for dinner opposite the guest, her jaw dropped.
    “Lisa, dear, this is Tiffani, one of the new models at Paris Chic.”
    In a daze Lisa