Free Eager Star by Dandi Daley Mackall

galloped up, and Nickers shot back her ears. But it was a bluff. The two horses had been getting along.
    Eager Star let me catch him and lead him in to be tacked up. Usually I ride bareback. I love being close enough to the horse to sense what he’s feeling before he moves on it. But Grant would be racing Summer in Western tack. So that’s how I’d train him. Every practice had to count.
    I led Star to the cross-ties, two straps coming from opposite walls of the stallway. They hook onto a horse’s halter for easier grooming. Star stood for me as I reached for the cross-ties. But the minute I hooked his halter, he snorted and pulled back.
    â€œEasy!”
    But he backed up, jerking his head against the ties.
    â€œWhoa!” I reached up and tried to unhook him, wishing I weren’t so short. Finally, I got it. “What’s wrong with you? You can’t be this nervous, Star!”
    Untied, Star stood still while I saddled him. But in the paddock, it took me three tries to mount because he wouldn’t stand still. I laid the reins on Star’s neck. He lunged as if he’d been snakebit.
    Star responded to voice cues, trotting when I called, “Trot.” But his wild trot threatened to break into a canter. I had to pull on his reins more than I liked. Instead of walking like an easygoing Quarter Horse, he pranced like an American Saddlebred. I couldn’t get his gallop down to a canter, much less to the lope I was going for. I had to correct him at every step.
    â€œYou have to get your leads,” I pleaded.
    In a canter, horses reach farther forward with the front and hind legs on one side—left legs in a left lead when cantering counterclockwise, right when going clockwise. Wrong leads make bumpy rides. A cutting horse can’t even get around a barrel if he throws the wrong lead.
    I worked Star until dark. He missed more leads than he got.
    As I cooled him down, I had to wonder if Spider Spidell was right. Maybe Mr. Baines did buy a lemon.
    I felt bad for Eager Star. If I couldn’t get him ready for that race, Mr. Baines would sell him. I felt just as bad for me. Summer and her dad wouldn’t let any of us forget my failure. What if nobody ever trusted me as a horse gentler again?

    I’d promised Barker I’d come over so we could work together on our papers for Pat’s class. I scarfed down Lizzy’s chili for supper and was about to take off when the phone rang.
    Dad got it and held the receiver away from his ear. I recognized the blustery voice on the other end: “Sa-a-ay!”
    Catman’s dad was calling about the business lunch!
    â€œWell, I don’t know,” Dad said. “Next Saturday?” He looked at Lizzy and me as if we’d throw him a lifeline.
    I nodded. “Do it, Dad! Go! You’ll make lots of contacts.”
    He squinted at me. “I guess . . . thanks.” He hung up, not sounding like he meant thanks.
    I explained to Lizzy. “Dad’s going to the Ashland business luncheon!” It felt like our first break since Chubs Baines walked into Pat’s Pets. “Catman’s dad says it’s the first step in getting a good business reputation in Ashland.”
    Dad rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Thought I’d left business meetings in Laramie. I’ve met a couple of those men—I don’t mean Mr. Coolidge. But I wonder if I fit in anymore.”

    Barker waved from the porch swing of a two-story house that looked fixed-up old. White-gold light streamed through the long windows, along with shouts and laughter. Macho, their black-and-tan dog, sat at Barker’s feet, next to Chico, the white Chihuahua. Barker whistled, and the sweetest collie trotted out of the bushes. “Have you met Underdog?”
    The collie thumped its tail when I petted it. Barker took dogs everyone else had given up on and trained them for his five brothers.
    â€œSorry I’m