“I CAN DO it,” Carole said to the empty stall, after Veronica’s footsteps had faded away. “And even more important, I want to do it.”

In a rush, all of her dreams came back to her. For as long as she could remember, her love of horses had been the one thing in Carole’s life that had never changed. With her father in the Marines, she’d spent much of her life moving from one base to another, or living alone with her mother while her father had duty someplace they couldn’t live. Her mother sometimes used to joke that they ought to “take up residence” in a moving van. But Carole hadn’t minded, because wherever they lived, there were always horses.

She’d first learned to ride at the stables on the bases. When the bases didn’t have stables, her parents always found a stable nearby. Then she’d found that taking classes at a private stable was a good way to make friends in a new town. Pine Hollow was the best of all, too. Max always had really good horses and he was a strict but good teacher. Max and his father and grandfather had trained quite a lot of national championship riders—and even a few Olympic riders.

Her whole life, all Carole had ever wanted to do was to ride horses, own them, breed them, train them. And yet, she had been willing to give it all up just because of Cobalt.

Now she knew that she couldn’t give up on her dreams, but maybe it wasn’t going to be so easy to make them come true. After all, she’d just about walked out on Max and Mrs. Reg. Max wouldn’t take just anybody as a student and he required a real devotion from his riders. Carole realized that it was possible Max would tell her she wasn’t welcome.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” she asked herself.

She stood up in the stall and brushed the straw off of her blouse. She was more than a little surprised, when she looked down, to see that she was wearing her breeches and riding boots. With a start, she understood that she’d made up her mind to ride again the moment she’d decided to come to the stable that morning. Without realizing it at all, she’d changed into her riding clothes!

She swept the straw off her breeches, plucked a final strand out of her hair, and peered over the stall door. Until she had talked to Max—and until she’d ridden again and proved to herself that she could still do it with the same commitment—she really didn’t want to talk to anybody or answer anybody’s questions. Fortunately, the coast was clear.

Carole stepped out into the aisle and headed for Max’s office. But as she passed the tack room she saw Mrs. Reg. Mrs. Reg didn’t see her, though. She was entirely too busy retrieving a little black kitten from a rafter in the tack room.

“You get down here, you rascal. How did you get up there?” she demanded furiously. Mrs. Reg stood on a chair and reached for the kitten, but he scampered along the rafter, just out of her reach.

“I’ll give you a hand, Mrs. Reg,” Carole said, stepping into the tack room. “You shouldn’t be standing on a chair with your arthritis,” she added.

“Oh, I wouldn’t, believe me, if I didn’t have to get this little one down. Remember him? This is the cute little newborn kitten you were playing with. Now, he’s a devil—an absolute devil. He’s into everything.”

“Listen, you stay on the chair there, and I’ll shoo him back to you, okay?”

“A devil! That’s what this one is,” Mrs. Reg continued, barely acknowledging Carole’s presence. “Whatever you expect him to do, he doesn’t. Now, you try shooing him, okay?”

Carole moved a tack box under the rafter and climbed up on it. The kitten was trapped between Carole and Mrs. Reg. Eventually, he’d get to one of them.

“Here, kitty,” Mrs. Reg invited.

“Go on! Shoo!” Carole said, hustling the black fur-ball toward Mrs. Reg.

With that, the kitten turned from Mrs. Reg and began walking precisely toward Carole. His little tail waved back and forth to preserve his balance. “You’re right about him,” Carole said. “He does just the opposite of what an ordinary cat would do, doesn’t he?”

“Since the day he was born,” Mrs. Reg agreed.

“Go away, kitty!” Carole said, looking straight into his sky-blue eyes. “Go away!”

She could hear his purring, the magical motor going full tilt. The little kitten stepped off the rafter and onto Carole’s shoulder. Cradling him so that he wouldn’t fall, Carole stepped off the tack box and then helped Mrs. Reg get off her chair.

“Got a name for him yet?” Mrs. Reg asked, picking up their conversation from several weeks ago, just as if no time had passed at all.

“Yeah, I do,” Carole said. She sat down on the tack box and held the kitten on her lap. Within seconds, the black kitten’s purring stopped. He was curled up and sound asleep.

“His name’s Snowball,” Carole told Mrs. Reg.

“Perfect!” Mrs. Reg said, laughing. “He’s so contrary that he’s truly earned a name like that. But there’s a problem with that.”

“What’s that?” Carole asked, stroking the kitten softly.

“Our cats are named after horses. I don’t know of any ‘Snowball.’ ”

“Can’t you make an exception?”

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Reg said. “But I have another solution. If he’s not a stable cat, he doesn’t have to have a stable name. Why don’t you keep him? He’ll be weaned and ready to go to a new home in about two weeks. If you’d like him, ask your dad, okay?”

“Okay,” Carole said. “I’d like that.”

She picked up the sleeping kitten and put him back in the box where he’d been born. All his littermates were awake from their naps and were crawling out of the box.

“I’ll ask Dad tonight,” Carole said, sure that he’d agree. After all, who could resist a little black kitten named Snowball?

“Snowball’s the right name, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Reg said.

Then Carole remembered that she’d once thought she should name the kitten Cobalt. That wouldn’t have been right at all. Cobalt was a great horse, but the kitten deserved his own name. Carole glanced at the clock in the tack room. Only fifteen minutes until class!

“Gotta see Max!” she said. “ ’Bye!”

She ran out of the tack room and headed for Max’s office, skidding to a stop as she neared the door. Then she proceeded to walk calmly. It wouldn’t do to arrive huffing and puffing.

“Can I talk to you, Max?” she asked politely.

“Sure, Carole. Come on in,” he said, smiling warmly. Carole hoped he meant it.

“Max, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to come back—join the class again.”

Max was quiet for a minute. Was he angry with her? Had he filled her spot in the class? Did he have rules about quitters? Was she going to have to find another stable?

“Carole,” he began, “I know what you’ve been through. I know how much you cared for Cobalt and I know how much his death hurt you—as indeed it did all of us. I am very happy to have you back. But class starts in fifteen—” he glanced at his digital watch “—thirteen minutes. Can you get saddled up by then?”

“You bet I can!” she said. “I’ll get Delilah’s saddle and bridle right away.”

“Not Delilah,” Max said.

Carole gulped. If she couldn’t ride Delilah, that must mean that Mr. diAngelo had talked Veronica into letting him buy the horse! That meant that Veronica hadn’t learned anything after all. Would she kill Delilah, too?

“I guess you had to do it,” Carole said dully. She understood that the owner of a stable really had to go along with some of the patrons. After all, Mr. diAngelo owned the bank and he could cause trouble for Max—

“Had to do what?” he asked.

“Had to sell her,” Carole said. “I heard that Mr. diAngelo wanted to buy her for Veronica. I understand that kind of thing happens.” She was trying to be realistic.

“Not to me, it doesn’t,” Max said, surprising her. “I couldn’t sell her now, anyway.”

“Is she sick?” Carole asked, suddenly recalling how oddly Delilah had behaved on the MTO with her mood shifts and unpredictable appetite.

“Not exactly,” Max said evasively.

“Then what, exactly?” Carole said.

“She’s carrying a foal, Carole. She’s due in a couple of months and until then she’ll have rest and pasture time. Nobody rides her and she’s not for sale.”

A foal! That meant there would be a birth at the stable. It could be a beautiful palomino like Delilah—a whole new life coming to Pine Hollow.

“You mean she wasn’t sick on the MTO?”

“Nope, she was just getting ready for motherhood—and sometimes mares act up a bit when their time gets nearer. She’s fine and healthy. So’s the foal so far. Vet says she’ll be delivering at the end of the summer. So, it’s time for her to stop work.”

“That’s wonderful!” Carole sat still in the chair across from Max’s desk, too excited to move, or even to think about class.

“Carole,” Max said gently. She looked up at him. “You haven’t asked the question I was expecting.”

“What’s that?”

“You haven’t asked who the sire of Delilah’s foal is.”

“Okay, who is—” Carole suddenly didn’t have to ask. There was only one stallion at Pine Hollow, only one horse who could have sired a foal. “Cobalt?”

Max smiled and nodded. “See, in a way, he’s going to live on.” Carole was silent, taking in the good news. Suddenly Max was his old businesslike self again. “Breeding a mare is a lot of work, Carole,” he said. “From now on, we’re going to have to watch Delilah carefully. We want a healthy foal. And after it’s born, there’s going to be even more work. We’ll be doing feeding and tending and training—” he paused and looked into Carole’s eyes. “You’ll help, won’t you?”

“Will I!” she said breathlessly. It was a dream come true.

“Okay, if you’re going to help, you’re going to have to be a better rider than you are now. What are you doing just sitting here? Why aren’t you getting ready for class? You’re to ride Diablo from now on, understand?”

“Yes, sir!” she said. She stood up and saluted Max, Marine Corps-style—just like her father taught her.

And then she floated on air back out to the stable. She didn’t have a second to waste before class.