Boy on a Black Horse Read Online Free

where people wore breeches and schooled for shows. Those places are okay, I guess, but I like Topher the Gopher’s stable better. There was a wooden sign up, Agony Acres, but that was just one of Topher’s lame jokes. Nobody really called it that—everybody who rode there just called it the stable. It was just a sort of down-home place in the country, and he was just a sort of sandy-haired guy who loved horses. His wife had left him because she was jealous of the way he loved horses—she wanted him to work a job with regular hours or something. She was named Chris, short for Christina, which was why people called him Topher, because his name was Christopher and it would have been confusing to call him Chris too.
    â€œWhy didn’t she just change her name to Tina?” I asked him once.
    â€œShe didn’t like it.”
    â€œBut you like the name Topher?”
    â€œNot really.” But he grinned. “I got to admit it’s different.” He drawled a little when he talked because he came from Texas or someplace, and he always wore his cowboy hat and boots even though he rode English, and he knew dressage, but he taught all his horses to ground-tie like cow ponies. I liked him a lot.
    Now he didn’t want to be called Chris anymore because it reminded him of Christina. And he didn’t have a wife anymore, but he still had horses, all kinds. He had Arabs, Appaloosas, a big old Belgian mare, a Paso Fino, a white Thoroughbred filly off the track with a blown tendon, a dapple-gray Connemara, Tennessee walkers, quarter horses, and of course Paradiddle, who seemed to be at least part Bashkir Curly. He’d got her at an auction when she was a foal, and, surprise, when she grew up she had curly hair.
    Paradiddle’s name, by the way, means a certain kind of drumbeat. Kind of like the way her hooves sound when she’s trying to keep up with horses that have actual legs instead of caterpillar appendages.
    â€œHi, Topher!” I yelled as soon as I got out of the car, because there he was, leaning on a paddock fence and looking at his new Thoroughbred to see if the tendon was getting any better. “Can I take Paradiddle out for a long ride?”
    â€œSure.” Most of the time Topher saved Paradiddle for me, I guess because he could see we got along. If other people came to ride, he put them on the quarter horses, which were more like what people expected, horsewise. “Is Minda coming? I’ll get Dude.” Dude was the pretty palomino and white pinto Minda usually rode.
    â€œNot today.” She had a dentist appointment. Usually I liked to ride with Minda, but today I had a plan that didn’t include her.
    Liana handed a check out the car window for me to give to Topher. She hardly ever got out of the car at the stable. No reason why. She just didn’t. There were a lot of fun things Lee didn’t do.
    â€œDon’t worry if I’m late,” I told her. I had maybe four hours before dark. It was still daylight saving time for another week or two.
    â€œOkay. Have a good ride. Call me when you need to be picked up.” She drove off.
    Topher didn’t have to help me do anything. The check was a rental fee because he owned Diddle and fed her and took care of her. He wasn’t a gofer really—he had taught me to ride, but now I was on my own. I went down to the pasture and caught Diddle myself, and gave her her carrot and told her what a pretty girl she was, and led her up to the barn. But Topher hung around while I curried her and brushed her, because he was a friend.
    â€œHow’s stuff?” I asked him.
    â€œBetter.” That was what he always said, “better.” Better than what?
    â€œHow’s Red?” That was the white Thoroughbred filly. He called her Red because Thoroughbreds aren’t supposed to be white. Topher had a strange sense of humor.
    â€œBetter. Gonna be fine, just needs a good long rest. By