Free Rodeo Rocky by Jenny Oldfield Page B

foal?” He was still checking figures in his head, not concentrating on the high kicks and wobbles, the dancing and prancing of the youngster. “You choose,” he told Kirstie absentmindedly, then walked on.
    Just then, the little horse tried out a kick with her back legs. She churned up a cloud of dust in the sandy pen. The dust got into her nose, she shook her head and sneezed.
    “Pepper,” Kirstie decided with a broad grin. “From now on, that’s her name!”
    “
All
the horses can stay!” she told Lisa the next morning.
    While Matt and Sandy were busy with the usual Sunday transfer of guests from the ranch to Denver Airport, the girls had decided to ride out along Meltwater Trail to Miners’ Ridge. It was a chance for a quiet, peaceful trek without having to think about visitors or stick closely to the trails.
    “For a while back there, I was afraid things weren’t working out,” Kirstie confessed. They’d reached the ridge, with Dead Man’s Canyon below and a track up through the ponderosa pines to Lisa’s grandfather’s trailer park. Rocky took the ridge without faltering, despite the steep drop to one side. He looked keenly at the grassed-over mounds of waste rock from the old gold mine, decided they were OK, and walked steadily on. Not even the rush of water over the rocks and the loud, foaming cascade into the canyon put him off as Kirstie led the way.
    “I knew Rocky would make the grade!” Lisa said cheerfully. “Thanks to you, of course!”
    “And to Charlie.” Kirstie reminded her of the young wrangler’s help. She breathed deeply and relaxed in the saddle as they left the ridge behind. “How about visiting your grandpa?” she suggested.
    “Sure.” Lisa brought Lucky up alongside Rocky, and for a while they walked without talking. Their silence brought out the mule deer from the bushes and long, dry grass which grew on the open slopes. The slender, large-eared deer wandered by in groups of five or six, the cautious doe leading her fawns and year-old young to better grazing land below the ridge.
    “Lennie made Matt’s day yesterday,” Kirstie told Lisa once they reached the more level, broader track that led to Lone Elm. “He’s sending some people from the trailer park to the ranch. Matt’s had dollar signs in his eyes all morning!”
    Lisa grinned. “I heard that. Grandpa says the Santos family drove all the way from New Jersey in a big RV to take their vacation in the Rockies. But I guess they’ve had it up to here with roughing it. Now they want a week in a nice cabin with a fireplace and a porch and someone to do the cooking and the dishes!”
    “That sounds good to me, too!” Kirstie laughed. Up ahead, she could already see the entrance to the trailer park, and beyond that the neat, log-built reception building nestled under the tall, solitary elm tree from which the park took its name.
    “Hey, that could be Jerry Santos and company moving out right now!” Lisa spotted a high-sided, silver motor home parked by the side of the office. It gleamed in the sunlight: a giant vehicle decked out with big steel fenders, ladders up to the roof, windows with fancy blinds. In the cab sat a woman and three small kids, and down by the office door stood a man in T-shirt and shorts. “Let’s go see!”
    Quick off the mark, Lucky broke into a trot and then a lope along the smooth track. Less eager to break the peaceful spell of their mountain ride, Kirstie held Rocky back for a few seconds. She saw more deer and stopped to watch a buck rub his beautiful antlers against a pine tree, listening to the scrape and hollow rattle of horn against bark. In the undergrowth behind, a young, pale brown doe with huge, dark eyes darted from bush to bush.
    Glancing ahead, Kirstie saw that Lisa and Lucky had already reached the entrance to the trailer park. She decided to give Lisa time to say hello to her grandpa before she caught up to them. But then she frowned. The fair-haired man in shorts was