Free Colt by Nancy Springer Page B

matter of fact I’ve got half a mind to give you the horse outright, since it’s for such a good cause, but I know you’re too dam proud. Once you’ve tried Bonita, if she suits you, just name your price and whatever you say will be okay with me. And send me a few photos of the kid on her.
    The letter was signed “Tick” and was on the stationery of the Ticknor Family Paso Fino Farm. Colt decided that he profoundly liked Mr. Ticknor. He would write Mr. Ticknor a letter before anyone had to tell him to do it.
    â€œWow,” he said. He looked up to pass the letter back to Brad, and found himself facing a camera lens. All the questions he had been going to ask focused into one: the one big question.
    â€œCan I ride her?” he demanded, his voice rocketing out of control. “Today?”
    Everyone was smiling, and he knew the answer was yes—with one condition.
    â€œOnly if I walk beside you, Colt,” Mrs. Reynolds spoke up. “You’re going to have to start from scratch. You’ve let yourself lose all your riding muscle!”
    Half an hour later, after helping to saddle and bridle Bonita and after shedding his leg braces, Colt was on Bonita having his picture taken for Mr. Ticknor. He knew he was wearing a big, undignified grin under his helmet, and he didn’t care. It was the best Christmas ever.
    January and February went by in fast-forward for Colt. He had work to do, and he was happy to do it. Newspapers to rubber-band for Lauri; housework to keep up with; schoolwork (He tried hard to pay attention in school, knowing that if he got behind he would have to spend extra time with homework and tutoring, which was time he would rather spend with Bonita); and exercises. Every day he did exercises to strengthen his back and legs. In the spring, once the weather had warmed up and Mrs. Reynolds felt sure he was strong enough, he would ride Bonita out on the trail.
    Weekly he had lessons on her in the ring. He had to learn to ride all over again. Everything was different with the little Paso Fino.
    â€œWhoa!” he yelled the first time she scooted six feet sideways with him. The motion, though smooth as glass, frightened him breathless.
    â€œYou touched her with your right leg,” Mrs. Reynolds explained. “She’s trained to move away from the slightest pressure. Your legs are getting stronger than they were before, and she thought you wanted her to side-pass.”
    â€œWow,” said Colt. If he had touched Liverwurst accidentally, Liverwurst would have done nothing but twitch as if a fly were itching him.
    â€œIt’s good she’s so sensitive,” Mrs. Reynolds added, “because your signals will never be strong, no matter how much you exercise those legs of yours. You just have to learn how to ride her, that’s all. She’s like a fine-tuned machine.”
    Colt rode Bonita forward. Her side-pass had made him a little nervous, because it felt like being shied with. That was one thing he was afraid of: What might happen if a horse shied with him? Would he be able to stay on? Or would he fall?
    His anxious thoughts affected his hands. Instead of keeping light contact with Bonita’s mouth as he usually did, he tightened up on the reins.
    Bonita surged forward.
    Slick as a cat the little mare glided into a quick, collected, four-beat gait. Colt felt only a faint vibration, as if he were riding in the backseat of a Cadillac, but suddenly the fence posts of the riding ring were whirling past at a speed he had never experienced before. His head and shoulders and back and seat rode steady as the little horse motored along, paca-paca-paca-paca, underneath him. Bonita performed the paso corto with her pretty chin tucked, the white star on her forehead shining straight forward, the silver mane stirring on her arched neck. Colt forgot to be afraid. He felt as if he were flying, skimming the world on wings. He felt weightless. He