She was trying to make up for spilling my secrets to Austin. I didn’t feel like being nice yet.

“No, that’s all right.’’ I sighed. “I don’t really feel much like eating.’’

That was a lie. It’d take much more than a shredded tent and a tiff with Austin to put me off my feed.

“I’ll take your crackers, Mama,’’ Maddie said.

“I wasn’t offering them to you, Maddie. Who knows how many calories are in these things!’’

I thought that was mean, since Mama knows Maddie is sensitive about her size. I always tell her if she really wants to lose some weight, she should spend more time walking the track at Himmarshee High and less time at the Pork Pit restaurant.

Marty handed Maddie two crackers from her pack.

“What’s gotten into you and Mama, Mace?’’ Marty asked. “Y’all are acting crazier than sprayed roaches.’’

Mama glanced at me. I got busy trying to get a tangle out of Val’s mane.

“Well?’’ Marty asked again.

Never one to embrace a silence, Mama blurted, “I accidentally became friends with Trey’s ex this morning.’’

I glared at her. “Austin pumped Mama for all kinds of information. Which we all know is easy to do, since that particular well never goes dry.’’

“Are you saying I talk too much, Mace?’’

“Mama, if talk was money, you’d be a millionaire.’’

Smiling in anticipation, Maddie draped an arm across her horse’s saddle. She leaned on the animal to get comfortable, in case Mama and I really got to arguing.

Marty, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to flee.

“Now, let’s not fight,’’ she fretted. “We’re here to enjoy ourselves. Remember the last time we all rode the Cracker Trail together? It was the year before Daddy died. Mace, you and I were too little to ride the whole way, so we sat in a mule wagon on two bales of hay. Remember?’’

Of course I did. And I could tell my sisters and Mama were thinking back, too, from the far-away expressions in their eyes.

“Okay,’’ I finally said. “Marty’s right. Let’s call a truce. We’re here to have fun, aren’t we?’’

I didn’t know that fun would soon be in short supply.

___

An hour out from our lunch stop, the sun beat on our backs. The horses kicked up dust. Many of the riders, including me, looked like train robbers with our neckerchiefs up over our faces. We didn’t plan to loot the Cattle Rustler drive-thru on SR 64, though. The bandanas were to keep dirt and stirred-up pollen from trampled plants and grasses out of our mouths and noses.

I was by myself again on the trail. Maddie was in front; Marty somewhere behind. Mama was off in the middle, probably revealing dark family secrets to a stranger. Between the hot sun, Val’s rolling walk, and the rhythmic sound of a hundred horses’ hooves, I was about to doze off.

At least I was until I spotted Carlos riding in front of me. I’d know him anywhere, with that broad back and the cowlick that curled on his neck, just below his hat. I remembered tracing that circle of hair one night as I cuddled behind him in his bed.

Better not to think about that now.

I closed a bit of distance between us, moving to where I could watch Carlos, but he wouldn’t see me. He leaned in his saddle to the right, his head cocked toward the rider by his side. She was small, thin-shouldered, and delicate. She reached a hand up to adjust her cowboy hat, and a copper-colored tendril of hair fell down her back.

Belle Bramble. How perfect: Carlos has a need to take care of somebody. Doc Abel said Belle is fragile, and needs taking care of. I backed off, and let them move well ahead of me. But just seeing them was enough to send my imagination into overdrive. I pictured her crying into his chest; her tiny body trembling in his strong arms. I imagined him stroking that fiery-colored hair. I played out their wedding day in my head, complete with a black tux and boutonniere for him, and her in a diamond-encrusted, size two gown. Just as I was picturing the two of them shopping together for baby clothes, I heard a whip crack. It seemed awfully close.

Val stayed steady. But the loud retort snapped me out of my jealous daydream. I noticed that we’d drifted too close to the adjacent highway while I wasn’t paying attention. A stream of traffic flowed by. Logging trucks moved cypress. Locals drove pickups. Lost tourists in rental cars tried to find Disney World.

I started to ease Val back onto the grassy swale, but another horse moved up beside us, blocking our way. Just as I turned my stiff neck to see who rode so near, the whip cracked again. I felt a rush of air behind me as the leather tip connected with Val’s sensitive flank.

And then everything happened really fast.

Val lurched beneath me and skittered to the side, metal shoes scraping asphalt. I leaned over, searching for the reins I’d dropped when the whip hit. My fingertips clutched them, then missed, then grabbed the reins again. As I raised my head, I realized we were in trouble.

Val galloped down the middle of the highway. From the oncoming lane, a semi-truck hauling oranges bore down on us, headlights flashing a frantic rhythm.

brrraapp! brraapp! brraapp!

The horn on the orange truck blasted. Air brakes hissed. Riders screamed, “Watch out! Watch out!’’

You know how they say your whole life flashes in front of your eyes in the final seconds before you die? Well, mine didn’t. I saw the glint of the sun on the truck’s chrome trim. I smelled the oranges in the back. And then I got a quick mental picture of what a mess it would be if the driver hit us, jackknifed his rig, and spilled 45,000 pounds of citrus across State Road 64.

I didn’t want to be roadkill in a sea of orange juice. My instincts kicked in. I knew exactly what to do.

I crouched low over Val’s neck, keeping my hand in contact with the sensitive spot just where her mane ends. “Whoa, girl.’’ My voice was low, and as calm as I could make it. “Easy, Val.’’

With a tight rein, I threw my whole upper body into turning her to the left. Well-trained and responsive, she wanted to go where the reins and the weight of my body were telling her to. But her shoes were slick against the pavement. Her left front leg slid out. She stumbled. I prayed. She recovered; and we cut to the left in the nick of time. The orange hauler veered right, passing so close that I could see the terror in his eyes and read his name embroidered in dark thread on his light blue work shirt. Juan.

Now, Val and I were safely on the grass swale, across the highway from the rest of the ride. Val slowed, first to a trot, and then to a walk. My heart pounded. My lungs felt like they couldn’t get enough air. Looking at the reins looped around my fingers, I saw my hands were shaking. My legs in the stirrups felt like boiled spaghetti.

Before I could dismount to check on Val’s condition, a clatter of hooves came across the road. The outrider who’d given us the lecture about cow whips moved toward me, his face dark with fear and fury. Mama and Marty rode on either side of him. Maddie wasn’t with them. It had all happened so quickly, she must have been too far up the line to even realize I was in danger. Carlos wasn’t there, either. Had he been so taken with Belle that he didn’t even register the drama unfolding behind him?

And, speaking of drama, the fourth rider hurrying across the highway was Austin. Except for two cherry-colored splotches of blush-on, her face was ghostly white. Her lower lip quivered. A cow whip dangled from her right hand.