Blue Moon by Marilyn Halvorson Page A

young quarter horse that I could train myself and make into a champion barrel horse. Buying a colt would mean it would be three or four years before I could actually race him. I hated waiting that long, but I didn’t have a choice. If you watched your chance you could get a good colt for the money I had. A trained barrel horse, ready to go, would cost a few thousand.
    So how had I set out to buy a colt with a future and wound up with a sour, beat-up, old mare that obviously had a past? I’d askedmyself that question a lot of times in the last few minutes, but I still wasn’t sure of the answer.
    I should have realized from the start that the blue roan mare was a meat horse. If I hadn’t known by the way she looked, I should have known by who was bidding on her. There were a couple of crafty old guys who always hung around the sales, picking up the horses that had hit the end of the trail. They bought for the meat packers and they were always on the lookout for a chance to buy cheap. Much as I hated the thought of any horse ending up that way, I knew it was a fact of life. I guess it was better than the horses being left to starve. Better than getting so old and crippled they got down and couldn’t get up.
    So why couldn’t I have just left things alone and let nature take its course? Why did I have to go and buy this mare? It might have been her color that did it. When I was a little kid I had a picture book called
Lady, the Little Blue Mare
. It was about a blueroan horse and I read it until the cover fell off. Ever since, I’d wanted a horse that color more than anything else in the world. But blue roans are about as common as honest politicians. I guess I went a little crazy when I came across a blue roan I could actually own. Or maybe the real reason I bought her was because she was a rebel. I liked the way she held her head up. The way she fought back when she was pushed around.
    While one half of my mind was thinking about that, the other half was counting out the money. “Six hundred, six hundred and twenty, six hundred and forty, six hundred and sixty, six hundred and eighty,” I counted out loud. Suddenly I stopped. That was my last twenty I’d just tossed on the pile. I dug in my pocket for the other twenty I knew was there. Nothing but a well-worn Kleenex. I checked the other pocket. Empty as my kid sister’s head. I checked the pockets of my jean jacket. Lint and two gum wrappers.
    The clerk cleared his throat. “Another ten dollars, miss.”
    â€œI know, I know,” I muttered, shooting him a dirty look. “Don’t get your shirt in a knot. It’s here somewhere.” I made another panic-stricken tour of my pockets. That twenty dollars was not here anywhere. I could hear the people in the lineup behind me shuffling their feet.
    â€œMiss,” the clerk said firmly, “either you’ve got the money or you haven’t. If you’re short on cash, why don’t you write a check for the last ten?”
    â€œBecause I don’t have any money left in the bank,” I muttered. “But I did have the cash. I know I did.”
    â€œWell,” the clerk said wearily, “you don’t now. Step aside and let these other people go ahead. I’ll give you half an hour to come up with the cash or we’ll have to resell the horse.”
    Resell the horse? Let him resell the horse and I’d be off the hook. I’d have my $690.00 and I wouldn’t be stuck with that sorry excuse for an animal. I should have jumped right up and kissed that old clerk onhis tobacco-stained mustache. But, oh no, not me. Right then and there I bristled up like a cornered cat and glared at him. “You will not resell that horse. I bought her fair and square and I’ll get you your lousy ten bucks. You can count on it!”

Chapter Two
    Okay, now, I told myself. This is not a problem. Just find somebody you know and ask them to lend you ten