Nickel-Bred by Patricia Gilkerson Page B

that won’t be
excitable and dump you.”
    “Yeah,” she said. “No dumping! Here’s one.
Ten year old paint gelding, experienced rider. What’s a
gelding?”
    “It’s a boy horse that can’t make babies. But
you don’t want that one.”
    “Why not? I like paints.”
    “’ Experienced rider’ means it’s a
tricky horse to handle. Keep looking.”
    We scanned the cards.
    “Here! Look, Adds! Twelve year old gelding
free to a good home. Kid safe.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “That means it’s old enough to be calm and a
safe ride even for a little kid.”
    “But I’m fifteen.”
    “So?” I said. “Even better. If a little kid
can ride it, then so can you.” I tore the ad off the bulletin board
and jammed it in my shorts pocket. We would have to check this one
out. We found Sue, said goodbye, and headed home.
     

Chapter Three
    ~ A Free Horse ~
     
    The next
morning, I slipped out of the house quietly, while Mom was talking
on the phone. I knew from the giggling that she was talking to Sam
Applegate, Miss Julie’s son. I didn’t want to interrupt. Mom was
pretty cool with me coming and going from the house since getting
Dotty, but I didn’t want her to ask me where I was going this
time.
    Addie and I met up in her backyard, as
scheduled. To go check out the free horse, we would have to ride
our bikes because the address was three miles out of town. We could
have walked, but I was in a rush to get there and see the horse. I
had called the owner, who said he would be there all morning and we
should stop by any time before noon.
    As the sun beat down, we pedaled our way out
of Serendipity Springs and through the rolling hills and red dirt
of Western Kentucky. It was pretty poor farming country, not like
the bluegrass part of the state with the big horse farms. It was a
long ride and on the way, we talked about next summer when we could
get our driver’s licenses and not have to walk or ride bikes
everywhere.
    At the top of a long hill that wore us both
out, we found the driveway. Addie gave a whoop and I gave a sigh
and caught my breath. We turned in and carefully rode down a twisty
gravel lane, being careful not to turn our wheels and crash our
bikes. Neither one of us had worn our helmets.
    We pedaled up to a seedy house next to a
tumbled-down barn. In a small pen by the barn was a freckled gray
horse chewing some weeds. It looked at us with interest as we
parked our bikes in the shade of a maple tree and walked over to
it.
    “He looks big,” said Addie.
    “Yeah, but he has a sweet face,” I said,
mentally measuring him. “He’s probably 15 hands.” The animal came
over to the fence and sniffed at us. The long whiskers on his
muzzle tickled my hand as I reached out to pat his small, velvety
nose.
    “Hands?”
    “A hand is 4 inches, see? Like how wide
across your hand is? Okay, a grown-up hand. You measure at their
withers, where their neck meets their shoulders. From there to the
ground. Fifteen hands is a good sized horse, and he looks taller
because he holds his head high. He’s got a pretty face, doesn’t
he?”
    “How would I get up on him?”
    “You use a wooden box or something. It’s not
hard. I’ll help you.”
    A scarecrow of a man walked across the yard
from the house. He was possibly the skinniest man I’d ever seen,
and what little hair he had was pulled back in a gray ponytail. He
was about my dad’s age, wearing a dirty orange tank top and
jeans.
    “Hey, ladies,” said the man.
    “Hi, mister, we’re here to look at the free
horse. I called earlier. Is this him?” I said.
    “Yeah, this is him. I thought you were older
on the phone.”
    “Well, I’m not, but I’m still interested in
the horse. Why are you getting rid of him?”
    “He was my mother’s horse. I’ve had him since
she passed last year, but I can’t afford to keep him anymore.”
    “So you’re giving him away?” I asked.
    The man rubbed his face and I got a big whiff
of cigarette smoke and