SUMMER OF THE SPOTTED HORSE

WHERE’S MY DAD?

Sixteen-year-old Samantha Kelly was ticked. In fact, she couldn’t remember when she had ever been more ticked in her life, except maybe last week when she’d seen Kevin Murray out riding with Tiffany Miller – the same Kevin Murray who was supposed to be her boyfriend. Forget about that. I’m going to be much too busy working my horse at the racetrack this summer to think about boys anyway.

With a huge sigh of relief, she glimpsed the top of a Ferris wheel through an avenue of oak trees on her right. At last, her destination was in sight.

“You’d think that after I suffer through a boring, nine-hour bus ride from San Bernardino, someone would at least meet me at the station,” she grumbled as the taxi stopped in front of the horsemen’s gate at the fairgrounds in Pleasanton.

Sliding out of the back seat, she fished a crumpled five-dollar bill from the pocket of her Levi jacket and handed it to the driver. Her backpack slipped down her arm, and she hiked it back up onto her shoulder with a groan. It had seemed a whole lot lighter earlier in the day.

“You want some change, little lady?” the cab driver asked pleasantly as he handed her a battered paisley suitcase. She found his cheerful voice especially irritating, and the gloomy gray skies did nothing to brighten her mood.

“Keep it,” she grouched, grabbing the bag and storming off toward the gate. Her conscience made her turn back to apologize, but the driver had already left. “Oh, man,” she mumbled under her breath, more frustrated than ever.

“Hey, Sam, welcome back,” said the friendly gate guard as she walked quickly past him and flashed her racetrack I.D. “Your dad’s trailer is in his regular spot over on row three.”

“Thanks, Dewey,” said Samantha, giving him a half-hearted smile and stuffing the card unceremoniously into her back pocket.

As she started for the horsemen’s RV park, the guard called after her. “But he ain’t there.”

“What?” The girl slammed to a halt, pushed the brim of her baseball cap up and turned toward the guard, her hand on her hip. At this point, she’d just about had it.

“Well, where the heck is he, anyway?”

“Hold on there, missy,” he scolded. “Don’t go getting all mad at me.”

“Sorry, Dewey. I’m just really tired, and I thought he’d be at the bus station. That’s all.”

“Well, your dad got hisself in some trouble over the weekend,” the guard offered. He seemed embarrassed to have to give her this news. “No one’s seen him since.” 

“Is Uncle Jack here?” the girl asked with new concern in her voice.

“Yeah, far as I know,” was the reply. Samantha thanked him and turned back toward the RV park, wondering just what was going on.

  As she expected, the backside was pretty much deserted since most of the horsemen were over at the racetrack this time of day. In fact, she didn’t see a soul until an old cowboy with a gray beard waved his cane briefly at her from down the gravel drive. He was wearing dark glasses, and she didn’t recognize him, but she waved back politely as she watched him limp away. Wonder who that was? And why the shades on such a cloudy day? She shrugged and continued toward her father’s space. Must be one of Dad’s old buddies I haven’t seen for awhile.

Her mood brightened somewhat, and she walked a little faster when she spotted her best racetrack friend, Tracy Wilson, up ahead. The girl was sitting at the picnic table in front of her family’s motor home, polishing a leather halter with neats-foot oil. Well, at least somebody I know is here.

“Hey, Trace,” Samantha called. She hadn’t seen Tracy since racing season ended last October and the trainers and their families had gone home for the winter. Tracy had been her summer best friend since they were ten, and she was anxious to compare notes about what had happened to each of them over the winter. They had e-mailed each other from time to time, but it wasn’t the same as good old-fashioned side-by-side girl talk. She walked faster.

“Hi, Sam,” the girl answered cheerfully. “Good to see you.” Then her expression turned suddenly serious.  She put the halter down and looked up as Samantha approached. “Actually, I’m kind of surprised to see you back, what with the trouble and all.”

 Samantha was just about to ask her about the “trouble” when Tracy’s mother appeared at the door.

“Tracy! Inside now!” Mrs. Wilson commanded. Tracy