Galloping Gold Read online

Then the horses were spreading out, but some slammed into trees and each other.

  It was an unpredictable herd, just as Tyson had said, and she heard shouts over the pounding hooves. What were they saying?

  “Loose horse!”

  Sugarfoot. She hadn’t given a thought to the gelding and what he must be feeling. Head held high, body tense between her knees, he was elated. For a fleeting second, so was she. And then a riderless horse crashed into her and she was falling, with someone’s words—Ann’s? Tyson’s?—playing in her mind: If you get thrown at the start, you’ll never see him again, so stick on, no matter what you do!

  And she would have, if a bald-faced, Clydesdale-sized bay hadn’t plowed into Biggy Nuff, sending the pony into Sugarfoot’s right flank.

  “Loose horse!”

  The words were still ringing in Darby’s ears when she hit the ground.

  At least I’m at home here, she thought giddily—facedown in the dirt. I’ve fallen way too much to be a real horse charmer like Jonah.

  She’d managed to get up on her hands and knees and she was yelling, “Shug!” when a flea-bitten gray horse jumped over her. She had time to cover her head, but that meant she didn’t see if Ann’s gelding slowed at the sound of his name.

  Don’t be at the start. Darby sent the Potters’ insurance man a desperate message, hoping the day was weird enough that her order would reach him and keep him from seeing the mess she was in.

  Because it wasn’t Sugarfoot’s fault.

  Wrapped in a haze of dust with hooves all around, Darby crouched, covering her ears, shutting her eyes, thinking, This is the meaning of chaos.

  “Hey! You blew it!”

  The voice was Tyson’s. Darby opened her eyes enough to see a flash of hibiscus red as he ran past.

  “I’ll keep going until I see you and Shug bearing down on me.”

  Change of plan. Just like that, the first minute of the race had turned their entire strategy upside down. All because she’d fallen from the horse she’d been trying to show off as a well-mannered mount.

  She thought of flopping back down in the dirt, just giving up, but Tyson turned and looked over his shoulder at her through the dust.

  Darby imagined him shouting, “Get up, you moron!,” but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, just like a real teammate, he grinned, flashed her a shaka sign, and ran on.

  Darby bolted to her feet and started running and there—right there!—was Sugarfoot. Frolicking in the midst of the stampede of riderless horses, he was having too great a time to run very far or fast.

  She lengthened her stride. Eyes set on the galloping herd, she pumped her arms and called on every muscle to catch up. All around her there was laughter, swearing, and groans. She wasn’t the only rider who’d been dumped or the only one sprinting after her excited mount.

  She coughed against the dust. This was why the experienced runners and riders wore bandannas over their noses and mouths.

  She stepped on a pair of fallen sunglasses, but she was close enough to the horses now that rocks flying up from hooves hit her, peppering her shins.

  She smelled greenery trampled by horses that veered off into the foliage to explore, but Sugarfoot didn’t follow them. By now he knew the rain forest, and he loped on ahead.

  The trail narrowed and the trees closed in again and suddenly the gold-and-white horse ran out of sight.

  Rain forest flanked the path, offering cool shade, and she knew a mile had passed since the starter’s flag had fallen.

  She pushed back despair with the thought that Sugarfoot was probably just ahead.

  She passed a few tied horses. A bay with a rainbow of ribbons in his mane and tail was being hand-held for this first exchange and so was a gray Arab with purple pompons on her small saddle and a grease pencil heart drawn on one hip.

  Everything had worked just as Luke had said it would, Darby realized. No runners, including her, wasted time by slowing, searching for the right horse among wrong ones.

  Around her, riders were becoming runners, but her team didn’t have a rider!

  Darby ran faster.

  Ann! There she was, just as she’d promised. But she was running out onto the course to catch Sugarfoot! Oh my gosh, her parents would kill her, Darby thought, or me. But Ann had caught her horse and she was already leading him back under the big ohia tree.

  Almost there, Darby watched as Ann kept her arms extended, holding Sugarfoot’s reins on each side of the bit.

  A celebration rocked in Darby’s chest as she headed for the caramel-and-white coated paint with Pele-red handprints on each flank.

  As if he recognized her footsteps, Sugarfoot looked back and whinnied at the sight of her, urging her to hurry up.

  Ann’s red curls felt crispy as they brushed Darby’s cheek, and Ann talked a mile a minute as she turned the stirrup for Darby’s foot.

  “Tyson’s already gone by. He was the first of the runners. He told me what happened, but he said you were okay.”

  Darby only realized she was mounting slowly, listening, when Ann boosted her into the saddle.

  “Thanks,” she said, settling herself, and when she looked down, she saw that Ann had tears in her eyes.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” Ann said, and then, just as her father had, she grabbed the cheek pieces of Sugarfoot’s bridle and kissed his nose. “And you, too.”

  That was a dangerous thing to do. Sugarfoot was so excited by the horses running by, he could have pulled away or tossed his head, breaking Ann’s nose. Darby would have scolded her friend, but she couldn’t. Her chest hurt and she was out of breath.

  Ann stepped back, clearing the way for Sugarfoot to join the passing herd. As soon as Darby lifted the reins, the palomino paint was off, and then he was loping smoothly, accelerating into a gallop, surging forward, trying to lead the herd!

  “You go, Shug!” Darby yelled, and the horse lined out in a full run.

  A mile later, Darby felt the gelding shift from a head-flattened run to a more collected gait. And then they began passing more horses tied to trees.

  It seemed like she’d been riding forever. Had she missed Tyson? Should she turn back?

  There! Tyson ran at the front of the pack, ahead by at least ten horse lengths.

  What do I do now? she thought wildly, but her memory told her to pass him and spot a good place to stop.

  She’d barely dismounted and started to tie Sugarfoot when Tyson was coming at her.

  Dark face flushed, arms and legs churning, he might have bowled Darby over if Sugarfoot hadn’t shied.

  “Go! Go! Go, now!” Tyson was shouting.

  Darby didn’t know where he got the breath, but while she was wondering he kept yelling, “Gogogogo” an annoying number of times.

  Finally, he broke her trance with a push and she jogged away from him.

  I hope he remembers to lengthen the stirrups, Darby thought.

  Afoot, she noticed horses standing in clouds of steam from their own body heat. Sleek flanks moved in and out. Nostrils flared wide open, showing red inside. Eyes flashed with excitement as they stared down the trail, looking for their next rider.

  Tyson and Sugarfoot loped past, and though Tyson looked scared, his stirrup leathers weren’t flapping and he appeared secure in the saddle.

  After five miles, the single herd thinned out and groups of two or three horses formed.

  The riders and runners around Darby seemed pensive. Just like her, they were remembering the course map and planning for what lay ahead.

  She spotted a rider pounding something metal into the ground. An artificial tie. She remembered Dr. Luke saying that horses had to be tied to something already on the course—a tree, an old broken gate, a hiking trail signpost—but you couldn’t bring along your own.

  As she glared at the guy and hoped he got caught, Darby tripped.

  Watch where you’re putting your feet, she reminded herself. And then she settled into what Tyson called the “zone,” reciting his
chant to herself: The only barrier is in my brain.

  She felt hypnotized until Sugarfoot picked her out of a crowd of runners, whinnied in greeting, then turned to face the direction they’d be riding.

  Tyson was nowhere in sight, but she and Sugarfoot took care of each other.

  I love this, Darby thought.

  Minutes later, they reached the race’s midway point and the vet check.

  Cricket was all business as she examined Sugarfoot, checking his pulse and respiration. And then Dr. Luke was beside her, looking into Sugarfoot’s eyes.

  “Hydration’s fine. Is he showing any signs of fatigue or sickness? Lameness?” he asked Darby.

  “Nothing like that,” Darby said, and then, when Sugarfoot leaned against the reins, watching Samba leave the checkpoint, she added, “Just impatience, maybe.”

  “We can fix that,” Dr. Luke said. “You’re good to go.”

  Before she turned to another horse, Cricket flashed a shaka sign.

  Darby didn’t know how it happened, but Tyson was the one riding Sugarfoot when the finish line came into sight, and as far as she could tell, he was in second place.

  Her heavy legs moved her feet. Right, left, right. She tried to conserve energy by not swinging her arms. She ignored the sudden slap of her hair breaking free of its ponytail to cover her neck and back.

  She expected Tyson to holler at her as another team passed the finish line, but when she finally reached Tyson and Sugarfoot, he wore a half smile.

  Glancing around to see that no one else was near them, Tyson held tight to the saddle horn and reached down to grab Darby’s hand.

  Together he, Darby, and Sugarfoot crossed the finish line to take fourth place.

  The postrace party was in full swing by the time Darby and Ann had cooled out Sugarfoot, showered, and changed clothes.

  Darby’s hair hung damp down her back and now, besides the layers of fragrant leis encircling her neck, Darby wore a red, white, and blue halter dress her mother had brought for her and insisted that she wear. It was cooler than jeans, but as she licked off mustard that had gotten on her nose from sampling a soy dog, and held a piece of her Dad’s pizza in one hand and a glass of papaya-pineapple punch in the other, she had the feeling it might not be so cute by the end of the day.

  For a minute Darby was alone, breathing the sweetness of pikake flowers as she gazed at the celebration.

  The first thing she noticed was Kit and Cricket, who were watching the band set up. Then she saw Aunt Babe and Tutu, strolling in long white muumuus across the grass. Kimo stood beside his father as the old man showed off the stump of a finger he’d lost roping bulls to a fascinated Carrie, who still led her pony Biggy.

  Then Darby saw her mother. In a shocking pink blouse and white jeans, she walked with her dad around the frame of the new house.

  As a child, Darby had hoped her parents would get back together. She realized that wasn’t about to happen, but she still loved seeing them at ease with one another. They were both happy in their new lives. That was enough. And it had been amazingly nice of them to set up this surprise.

  At the sound of laughter, Darby looked toward the concrete pad where Dr. Luke was barbecuing. Nearby, his sisters—who’d come in second on Samba—flirted with volunteer firefighters, coaxing them to eat and make donations to the earthquake repair fund.

  Suddenly Ann was beside her, whispering, “What’s up, do you think?”

  “Huh?” Darby asked, but then she saw Kimo leading Tyson by the arm.

  Megan sidled up next to Ann. Pretending to hide from anyone who’d give her more work, she said, “I’m off duty. Fill me in.”

  Megan nodded in the direction in which they were staring.

  Kimo and Tyson had almost reached George and Gemma Mookini.

  “This is gonna be interesting,” Ann said.

  “But it shouldn’t be,” Darby insisted. “After all, they’re his parents.”

  “They should all just enjoy the party,” Megan agreed.

  And celebrate Tyson’s success, Darby thought.

  After all, that’s what Jonah and Kit, Cade and all the best riders did with horses. They gave them credit for what they did right. That must work with people, too.

  But there was George Mookini, standing with his arms crossed and feet spread apart like some kind of chieftain. And Gemma stood behind him, craning her neck to one side so that she could see Tyson.

  Darby was a little embarrassed that she, Megan, and Ann were standing close enough to hear, but that didn’t keep them from eavesdropping.

  “Have your say,” George Mookini told Tyson.

  For a second Tyson didn’t look up at his father, and Darby wanted to run over and shake him. With his voice aimed down at the ground like that, his parents wouldn’t be able to hear him no matter what he said.

  But then he looked right at them.

  “I’m gonna quit messing up,” Tyson said.

  “I’ve heard that before,” George said, but his dismissive gesture stopped in midair when Tyson answered back.

  “No, you haven’t. I’ve said I’d try not to mess up. Now I’m telling you I won’t.”

  When Tyson crossed his arms, too, Darby wanted to applaud.

  “Give me another chance, yeah?”

  George looked at Gemma. Her shiny bowl-cut hair made a blur of nods.

  “If your ancestors forgave you enough to let you finish that”—he gestured toward the hills of the racecourse—“with your life, we must do the same.”

  Gemma lifted a maile lei from her neck and placed it over her son’s shoulders.

  “Thank the ancestors and your friends for showing you a new way,” Gemma said, kissing him on each cheek. “And for showing me how silly I’ve been, threatening such nice people with a lawsuit.”

  “I was right, wasn’t I?” Tyson teased his mother. “That horse isn’t mean.”

  “Just goofy, like the girl said,” Gemma joked back.

  When Gemma Mookini closed her husband and son in one gigantic hug, the girls moved away.

  “Fantastic!” Megan celebrated by taking off one of her own leis, whirling it around her head like a lasso, then dropping it over Ann’s wild red curls. “One down, and only the insurance guy to go.”

  “Not even,” Ann said, grinning.

  She reached into her pocket, pulled out a white business card, and reverently smoothed down one bent corner.

  MELVIN XAVIER BORDER, EQUINE SPECIALIST, it read, followed by a bunch of phone and fax numbers underneath.

  “He said we passed the ‘Border’ check,” Ann said with delight. “He watched the whole race, and he sure looked like it. He had grass stains all over and he’d ripped out the elbow of his shirt. He’s still coming by tomorrow, but just for fun!”

  The girls whirled in a spontaneous ring-around-the-rosy.

  “Mekana!” Jonah’s voice snapped them to a stop, but he was smiling.

  And he was holding Aunty Cathy’s hand.

  “Y-yes?” Megan stuttered, clearly as surprised as Ann and Darby.

  “For an aunt, you’re not acting in a very dignified manner,” Jonah said.

  “An ant?” Megan asked. She turned to Ann and Darby, arms wide in a gesture of bewilderment.

  “I’m guessing my father means an aunt,” Ellen said, coming up with Tutu to stand behind Darby.

  Her mother had pronounced the word ont, and Darby was beginning to blame her confusion on the exertion of the ride when her mother asked, “You two are getting married, yeah?”

  Her grandfather and Aunty Cathy looked at each other, and then, like two teenagers, they nodded.

  “Isn’t that perfect!” Ann shouted.

  “I’ll be your aunt instead of your sis,” Megan laughed. “And Mom, I can’t believe it!”

  “But you approve?” Aunty Cathy asked, blushing.

  “Of course!” Megan said.

  “And you?” Jonah asked gruffly, looking at his daughter and mother.

  �
�Oh, Jonah, you always do what you want,” Ellen said, shaking her head. “But this is one of your better headstrong decisions.”

  Tutu walked close to her son. He bent for her kiss. Next, she pressed frail hands to his cheeks.

  “I named you for the man who left the whale’s belly for a second chance,” Tutu said. “I know you’ll make the best of this one.”

  And then she kissed Aunty Cathy, too.

  The whooping and hugging lasted for nearly an hour. Every time the laughter tapered off, someone else would hear the news and pass it on.

  Darby felt tender and bruised from her fall and all the hugs that followed.

  And, she admitted to herself, she kept thinking about Hoku. What did it mean that she was no longer a tomboy mare? That she’d chosen Kanaka Luna for her mate?

  Grinning like he was host of the party, her father approached and Darby smiled back, despite her worry.

  “You like it here,” he said.

  “So much, Daddy!” Darby answered.

  “Too bad for me,” he said, shrugging. “But your mother tells me it’s not this island paradise that’s hooked you.”

  “It’s Hoku,” Darby told him. “Come see her with me!”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” her father joked.

  Leaving the crowd, the food, and the swaying notes of slack-key guitars behind, Darby and her father walked past Sun House toward the downhill path.

  Neither of them spoke, but Darby felt proud when her father caught his breath at the beauty of the emerald pasturelands.

  This was her heritage, her home, and there was her horse.

  Before Darby called out, Hoku saw her.

  As one, Hoku and Luna threw up their heads and neighed.

  Darby gathered her black hair atop her head and Hoku answered their secret signal.

  “She’s magnificent.”

  Darby nodded, eyes and heart full as the flame-gold sorrel came to her.

  But Luna used his body as a barricade. Ears back and eyes narrowed, the stallion arched his neck and pranced toward the fence, standing firm between Hoku and Darby.

  “Show-off,” her father said.

  Luna rose in a half-rear, blowing a high-pitched reprimand and pawing the air.

  Hoku walked around him.