SmartGirl Internet presents...

Mom opened the door and got out of the truck. She slammed the door. Emma groaned silently. Vanessa was steaming, and Emma was in for a yelled-to-get-the-point-across lecture.

Mom went into the house first--luckily. About five minutes later she came back out to search the stable. Then, Vanessa saw Emma. She seemed to soften, like butter in the microwave.

"Emma," she said softly. "Oh, Emma." She walked very slowly over to Emma and stroked her daughter's hair. "Emma, do you have any idea how much I've worried about you?"

Emma chuckled nervously. "Is that a question, or is it just asked as a question so I do know?"

Vanessa laughed. "You have a point. Emma..." Vanessa paused, thinking what to say next. "Emma, if you weren't safe and sound at home, you would be in so much trouble right now."

"No offense, Mom, but I kinda figured that."

Mom grinned. "Well, I'm going to drop the charges for your crime." Vanessa pretended to turn to the judge. After all, she was a lawyer. "Your Honor, will you please drop all charges as the defendant sees fit?" Both young women laughed.

"I love you, Mom."

"I know, Emma. I know."

Emma noted everything she could before going in. The cedar wood stalls were finely polished, as usual. The horses greeted her, also as usual. Jaguar Racer, Juliet, Ellie, Rico--they were all there. But Taps wasn't. Emma rushed over to her stall. Of course, stupid, she told herself. Taps would be at the vet, without question.

Emma hesitantly peered into the stall which had held the foal's corpse. It was still there. Maggots had eaten through most of the sheet and were digging in the flesh. Emma began to shoo them away, but the stench... oh, the stench!

Emma's head spun. She quickly wheeled out of the stable, knowing what was going to happen. Emma leaned over and vomited over the side of the wheelchair.

Emma wiped her mouth. She went back into the stable, feeling better. She patted the horses in turn. Ellie pinned her ears in fright. "Oh, stop that," Emma scolded gently. "You aren't afraid of me, and you know it." Then Emma remembered that ever since Ellie had been tangled in barbed wire, she'd been afraid of large metal.

Ignoring that, Emma pet Rico's smooth black forelock. "Hey, boy," she said softly. Rico snorted gently into her hand. Emma giggled. It felt good to have horse breath on her fingers again, lingering around her fingertips until the wind called it away. Emma sighed with contentment.

Then, apparently wanting to end the peaceful moment, there was a crunch of gravel. Emma rolled her eyes and looked up. Who would visit now? But what Emma saw was the too familiar blue Ford truck.

Emma was, of course, eventually found. Luckily, it was the nurse. Unluckily, the nurse told Vanessa that Emma had escaped therapy. Emma lay in the bed again as Vanessa lectured her. Emma interrupted with a lecture of her own:

"Mom! I am thirteen years old. You cannot keep lecturing me like I'm a five-year-old! I told Annalissa everything that happened to me. Yes, I told her about Taps getting sick and having her foal. Yes, I told her about seeing Taps' baby dead. And yes, I told her about Taps falling on me." Emma's voice grew louder by the moment. Tears again trickled down Emma's cheeks, and more burned at the back of her throat, but it was a normal feeling now. "Mom, you have to stop jumping to conclusions," Emma shouted. "I hate you!"

Emma saw that Vanessa was crying, too, but she didn't care anymore. What she cared about was going home. Emma shot down the hallway, dodging medical instrument carts and people and out the front doors. It was drizzling. "Oh, perfect traveling weather," Emma muttered. "Matches my mood, too. Isn't that nice?"

Emma was grateful that she didn't have to cross the highway. She was home in about twenty minutes, since she zoomed most of the time. Home looked as though nothing had changed since the day Emma had been injured. The lasagna dishes were still in the sink, and a few more were on the table. Going upstairs, Emma's bedcovers were folded back at one corner, the splash of purple that she loved now seeming sad and lonely... but Emma flopped onto it anyway. The tears had dried up by now, or so Emma thought.

She pondered for a while. If the dishes hadn't been touched since the accident, Mom must really care about her. Emma welled up a little, but brushed the tears away as though they were flies. Then, becoming strong, Emma went to her fear place: the stable.

Emma stared defiantly at Annalissa, the fluttery mental therapist. "Hello, Emma," Annalissa said cheerily. "How are you?

"Hi. Fine," Emma snapped.

Annalissa wrung her hands and cleared her throat. "Well, anyway. Emma, how do you feel about not being able to walk?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Oh, where do I begin?" Emma said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let's see: crippled. Vegetablized. Lame. Weak--"

Annalissa cut Emma off with an impudent sigh. "Emma, we both know that's not what I meant. Let's see..." Annalissa flipped through a packet of papers. "Hmm. Well, Emma, what do you enjoy doing with your horse?"

Emma looked away, feeling uncomfortable but pretending to just be bored. "Nothing now, obviously. But before this," Emma added quickly, seeing Annalissa's reddening face, "we used to take long rides together and compete. Well, before she had her foal. And her foal," Emma swallowed the quickly rising lump in her throat. "She and her foal got sick." Emma's voice was now shaky and soft. "They were almost better, but then I got detention, and when I finally got to go home and eat dinner, the foal was... the foal was dead." Tears rapidly slid down Emma's cheeks. "Then I passed out. And my horse fell on me." Emma's hand flew to her mouth in surprise. She had promised never to tell anyone that, ever!

Crying, Emma wheeled out of therapy, down the hall, and into a closet in her room. No one will look here, she thought. Emma closed the door and left the light off, or else Vanessa or Annalissa would be sure to see it. With no way to stop, Emma kept crying.

"Now stre-e-e-e-etch!"

Emma rolled her eyes but reached forward towards her bare feet. She had to ignore the searing pain in her hips. She'd already tried saying, "It hurts too much!" The therapist had looked heavenward desperately and sighed, "That's what therapy's for, dear."

A tear squeezed oh-so-slowly out of Emma's right eye. Not because of the pain...well, that was part of it, but mostly because she hated the therapist and especially therapy altogether.

Ding! Ding! Ding! A tinkling little bell tolled, sounding the switch from physical therapy to mental therapy. Emma gulped. Her friend Andrea Swim had gone to mental therapy after a suicide attempt. Later, Andrea told of talking about why she'd tried to commit suicide, and worse, letting her guard down and crying. All Emma could concentrate on was that black, dark doorway, looming closer and closer.

Emma was only pretending to listen as the head therapist made her welcome speech. Parts of it wafted in and out of Emma's ears: "...Glad you're here..." Oh, sure you are, Emma thought bitterly. You scowled at me within my first thirty seconds here! "...to be expected of you..." Blah, blah, blah. "...our schedule is quite intense..." Yeah. Intense pain and boredom.

Emma tuned out completely and found herself wandering towards memories. Memories, to be exact, of her and Taps. One image particularly stuck in her head. She held Taps' head in her hands and held up a blue ribbon from the nationals. Or had Mom just taken the ribbon for the picture? She wasn't sure, but she knew that in her heart, she loved her horse.

And those memories of hers really hurt.

Emma struggled to move out of the navy blue wheelchair, but that stupid pelvis of hers wouldn't let her. "Mom--" Emma began. Vanessa cut her off with a glare.

"Emma Marie Racker! You are going to therapy whether you like it or not. I don't want to hear any more on the subject!"

Emma pouted in her wheelchair as Mom pushed her quickly down the hall, lecturing her all the way. "Emma, I don't see why you're pouting. Look at that little boy." Emma rolled her eyes, but looked through an open door across the hall.

A small boy, probably not more than four or five years old, was sitting on a roll-away hospital bed, vomiting. From the chemotherapy tools Emma and Vanessa saw, they knew he had cancer.

"Mommy?" A woman rushed to the boy's side.

"Yes, Andrew? Is the chemotherapy making you upset?"

"Naw, just my tummy. I'm not sad. The che- chem- chemathepary is s'posed to make me better, right, Mommy?"

The woman looked her son tenderly. "Yes, Andrew. It should make you better."

Emma only just not realized a tear was slipping down her cheek. She brushed it away before her mother saw. Or had she? Emma shook her head. Never mind that.

The Rackers arrived at the door. A sign, obviously colored by children, said: THERAPY - PLEASE COME IN! Emma snorted. Yeah, sooo exciting. Vanessa opened the large door. About a dozen children ran to meet her. Emma yelled, "Get away from me!" They all did, but a few started sniffling. From the stern look the therapy teacher gave her, Emma was already set on one thing: therapy was not the place for her. As Vanessa Racker had said, not now, not ever.

Emma stared at her mother in shock. “W-what?” she stammered. “Mom, that means I can’t—“

Mom cut her off with a slow, grave nod. “I know. You can’t ride anymore, Emma. Not now, and maybe not ever.” Mom clapped her hand over her mouth. Neither girl knew why Vanessa had said what she had said. “Emma, I—“

Emma closed her eyes. “I’m tired, Mom. I need to rest.” Although her eyes were still closed, Emma could feel Mom’s eyes burning a hole in her.

“Fine,” Mom said curtly. Emma heard her get up and go out.

Alone again, Emma tried to twist in order to cry into her pillow, because dragging it out from behind her would probably hurt too much. But sharp pain shot through her pelvis. “Ow!” Emma cried loudly. She started to cry.

A nurse came in, startled by Emma’s loud cry. “Are you alright, Emma?” Emma glared at the nurse and folded her arms – carefully, because of her ribs.

“I was fine, before my stupid horse fell on me.”

“Oh, sweetie,” the nurse said gently, striding to Emma’s bedside. “You and I both know that your horse isn’t stupid. Now, listen—“

“What’s her name, then?” Emma interrupted icily.

“Shackle Taps, of course. I remember when you two won the nationals. You were such a good pair—“ “Stop saying that!” Emma shouted. “I know we were! Were. But now I’ll never ride again. And it’s all my idiot horse’s fault!” Emma rolled over, sobbing. The nurse didn’t try to comfort her.

“This is beyond me,” she murmured softly. Quietly, out the door she went to arrange therapy with Emma’s mother. And Emma cried on.

Emma restrained herself from forking down the lasagna, French bread, and corn on the cob. She really wanted to see Taps, but she also wanted to enjoy her gourmet Italian food. So, she ate first, then bolted outside, leaving her mother to eat alone.

Taps was standing with her head thrust outside the door. Emma ran to Taps. “Oh, Taps!” Emma cried into the familiar, warm bay neck. “I missed you so much!” Emma cried tears of joy. Quickly she remembered the foal.

Emma peeked into the next stall and gasped sharply. There wasn’t a living body in it. There was a dead one, covered by a sheet. Emma slapped her hand over her mouth, her head whirling. She clenched the stall partition to steady herself.

Why hadn’t Mom told her that Taps’ foal – her foal -- their foal – was dead? Emma had no time to cry. When she passed out, it was a lucky thing the floor was padded with straw. The last sound Emma heard was the sick sound—and feeling—of Taps collapsing on top of her.

A few hours later, Emma’s eyes were stuck tight. She tried to pry them open, but was halted by the excruciating pain in her ribs.

Emma forced her eyes open. White. Why was everything white? It hit Emma as hard as Taps’ fall on her: she was in the hospital. Emma tried to speak, but all that came out was a small squeak. Glancing to the side of the bed, she saw her Mom.

Emma tried to get her Mom’s attention, and managed to whisper a single word: “Mom.”

Mom’s head shot up. “Emma! You’re finally awake!”

Emma had never seen Mom smile so big before. The smile faded. “Mom…” Emma struggled to sit up. “OW!”

Emma flopped back on the bed in pain, and Mom scooted her chair closer. “Stay still, honey. Taps broke a rib and…” Mom looked down, afraid to say the rest. Emma shot daggers with her eyes.

“Mom, tell me or I will get up and make you. Emma felt like laughing, but made her face dead serious.

“Emma,” said Mom gently. “You couldn’t get up if you wanted to.” “What do you mean?” Emma cried. “Tell me now!”

Mom closed her eyes. “Emma, Taps crushed your pelvis. You may never be able to walk again.”

Emma tried to focus on the last few words of her essay. Hoping it would be good enough, she started to sprint out the door—then remembered why she had been in the room for an hour and a half in the first place and settled for walking as fast as she could.

Once outside, Emma found it very chilly. Wrapping her arms around her thin, wiry frame, she sprinted home at last.

Mom was already making lasagna, and its scent wafted into Emma’s nose. Mmm! Emma thought. There was almost nothing better than the smell of fresh-baked lasagna. Mom strode over to Emma and hugged her warmly.

“I called the school. So you really did have detention?”

“Yeah, isn’t it stupid?” Emma laughed.

“Well, you should have known better. But yes.”

“Moooom!”

“Alright, alright,” Mom giggled. “Emma, what do you say: tomorrow we’ll have an all-girl day! Saturday morning we’ll sleep in, then we’ll watch a movie with French Toast and bacon. Then we can do nails, swap stories, the works.”

“Oh, Mom! That sounds SWEET!”

“I thought you’d like it. Now c’mon and eat before your lasagna gets cold.”

Unfortunately, the Rackers’ girl day never came.

Emma was angry with Chloe for telling the whole school bus that Taps had her foal. She didn’t exactly know why—but for some odd reason, she was. She refused to talk to Chloe at lunch and both were hurt. English, Social Studies, and Algebra were a blur as Emma waited doggedly for the three o’clock bell. She so badly wanted to get home to Taps, who was almost better. She and Mom had decided to drop the search for the poisoner until the recovering horses were stable.

Finally, in Algebra at 3:10, the bell buzzed long, resounding buzz. It ricocheted in Emma’s chest, but she hardly took any notice. She shoved her Algebra textbook and homework—plus all her late assignments—into her soft purple messenger bag and shot out the door.

“Emma Racker!” a voice thundered from behind. Emma squealed her sneakers on the tile floor as she wheeled around to see Mr. Carter standing there, obviously frustrated.

“Yes, Mr. Carter?” Emma asked in her sweetest it-wasn’t-me voice.

“Here. Now.” Emma hesitantly walked a few steps forward.

“Y—yes, sir?” Emma could hardly keep her voice from trembling.

“Come with me, Emma,” Mr. Carter said sternly. Emma’s stomach dropped down, down, down through the floor and through the center of the Earth. Detention.

Emma should have known better. After all, hadn’t she been told not to run in the halls since kindergarten? Mr. Carter briskly walked Emma to a room that had the label DETENTION written on a brass plaque above the door. With dismay, Emma saw that the room was empty. She dejectedly plopped down in an empty desk.

Mr. Carter glowered at her from behind his thick-lensed, wire-rimmed glasses. “You are to stay in this room until you write a two-hundred word essay on why it is disrespectful, irresponsible, and unsafe to run in the halls!”

Before he slammed the door, Emma said hastily, “Mr. Carter, may I call my mother and tell her I’ll be late coming home?”

Mr. Carter sighed, “Make it quick. One minute tops.” Then, his face disappeared and the door slammed, still quivering.

Emma punched in the numbers. It rang four times. Emma was about to hang up when Mom’s flustered voice breathlessly answered, “Hello? Hello?”

“Hi, Mom,” said Emma quickly. “I’m going to be late getting home. For some stupid reason, I have detention for running in the hall until I—“

“Emma Marie Racker! Running? Really? Someone gave you detention for running? I don’t believe you for one minute. Who is this boy? Or maybe—“

“Mom, stop!” Emma cried. “No, there is NOT a boy, and it was Mr. Carter that gave me detention. I have to write a 200-word essay about running and then I will be home!” Emma hung up feeling terrible.

She started to write. “Running In The Halls,” but didn’t get very far before her pencil broke. Impatiently, she sharpened it to write some more. Then, at the most inconvenient time possible, she had a brain freeze. She couldn’t think of a thing to write. Putting her head in her hands, she sighed. School really stinks.

Obviously, Emma had skipped school, and Emma's mother was determined to put a stop to that. But not till the horses were better, which would be hopefully not long. Taps was well enough to stand and eat while the foal could only stand for a short while, but their recovery was zooming by. Emma had stopped shutting herself in her room, and didn't spend every second at the barn, but she visited often and, for once, got some fitful sleep.

One day, the school bus pulled up, and Emma was ready. She bravely strode toward the bus, the gravel crunching under her feet. She stepped onto the bus and sat down on the cold, soft leather of the front seat. A few stops later, her friend Chloe Weller got on the bus and sat down next to Emma. She gave Emma a warm hug. "I'm sorry, Emma," she said gently. About Taps getting pregnant."

Emma hadn't seen or heard from Chloe since her outburst at the sleepover. Emma breathed in deeply. "Chloe, she's not pregnant anymore." Chloe gasped.

"You gave her an abortion?! Emma, how could you be so cruel?" Chloe's eyes teared up. Emma glowered at Chloe.

"Chloe, she had her foal." Chloe's eyes opened VERY wide.

"Taps had her foal?!" Chloe shrieked, loud enough for everyone to hear. Emma slapped her forehead.

"Yes, Chloe," she said through gritted teeth. "And now that little secret is out for everyone to hear."

Emma was very worried about Taps and the foal that Emma had decided to name Fast Tapper—if she lived, that is. Emma was very, very tired. She had dark circles under her eyes and even slept in the stall next to Taps—if you could call jumping up at every rustling of the straw sleeping. Emma was wearing herself down. Both she and her mother knew that, but Emma didn't care anymore.

One night, Emma collapsed heavily on the straw. Even though Emma protested, Vanessa Racker carried her up to the house and to her bed. Emma had not felt such utter bliss in days! The mattress seemed to suck her in, and Emma fell asleep in less than thirty seconds. That night, before Mom turned in, she went in to Emma's room and began stroking her face. Emma's face was framed by her dark blonde hair, and although closed, Emma's eyes almost seemed to sparkle.

Emma, instead of spending every second at the barn, shut herself in her room doing the obvious: crying. She caught up on sleep, but now instead of dark circles under her eyes, they were red and puffy. Emma screamed into a pillow and hurled it across the room, only to retrieve it and cry into it. Emma threw herself onto her bed, ready to sleep. Sleep didn't come.

Instead, she found herself thinking, dry-eyed, of her victory days with Taps. She remembered the tingling sensation when the Nationals judge called her name. She remembered being popular at school—until Taps became pregnant. She remembered Taps' fluent gallop across the pasture—until she was poisoned so she couldn't even take a jerky step. And then, she began to think about her father.

Will Racker had been a good man. He loved God, and he loved horses. Emma couldn't relate right then. She had sick horses, and she was mad at God. Will had brown eyes and light caramel hair before he shaved his head to be in the Armed Forces. That's how he died: a bullet shot him in the leg, and he never came back. A week later, they got the news that he had been shot and the news that he had died. Emma didn't want to think about it, and fresh tears streamed down her puffy face. When, oh when, would it all be over? If it wasn't soon, Emma's time was short too.

Emma woke up to her mother gazing intensely at her. Somehow, Emma had ended up in her bed. It had never felt so heavenly! But the mattress felt like wood when she remembered... "Taps!" Emma blurted out. "Are she and her foal OK?"

"Shh, baby," Mom said gently. "She's resting. And you should be too."

Emma sat up defiantly. "You're not answering me," Emma said warily. "Is Taps OK?" Mom wet her lips to speak, but Emma didn't want to hear it in words. Emma ran down to the barn. Taps had to be OK!

Emma arrived at Taps' stall. Taps was laying down. The horse glanced at her owner tenderly, but didn't even try to get up. Dr. Ferrari had spent the night to monitor the horses, and dismissed Emma. Emma wouldn't know the bad news until later.

Taps grunted, kicked her stomach, and lay down. Emma held in a squeal, but then sobered when she remembered: it was too early! Emma bolted out of the stall to watch.

"Emma," Mom warned. Emma ignored her mother and squatted by the stall partition. Taps groaned. A gush of purple-blue fluid gushed onto the floor. Emma gasped. There was no stopping the premature foal now. Emma started crying. Taps pushed strongly and then gave just as strong of a groan. Taps pushed again, weakly, and the foal's hooves slowly slithered out of her body. Emma was crying still. She ran to her mother and buried her face in her mother's sweater.

"Emma, hold yourself together," Mom said gently. Emma looked up, then quickly away. The foal was barely a little way out yet, and Taps' coat was already black from sweat. Emma was crying louder than Taps herself! Emma lunged for the stall door, but Mom cried, "Emma! Control yourself!" Emma burst into sobs and unwillingly kept watching.

Taps was finished birthing the foal and pushed to release the afterbirth, but neither mare nor foal attempted to stand. Emma, still sobbing, ran away from the birthing barn, and collapsed in Taps' paddock. When Mom found her, Emma was teary eyed, but fast asleep.

Emma skipped school the next day--this time, her mother knew about it. Taps kept groaning and lying down, and Emma was afraid that Taps would go into labor soon... but she never was.

The next week, on Thursday, Taps was restless and uncomfortable. Emma tried to stop her horse's restless pacing, but Taps broke away. Taps broke into a nervous sweat. Emma got nervous, too. "Mom?" Emma called. "I think taps is in labor!"

"What?" Mom cried, rushing from Rico's stall to Taps'. "She can't be in labor. It's not time yet!"

"I'm calling Dr. Ferrari," Emma said abruptly. Mom tried to hold Emma back, but Emma broke free and lunged for the phone. It rang just as she picked it up. "Hello? Oh, hi Dr. Ferrari. I'm fine, how are you? ... Well, unfortunately, Taps isn't that great... we think she's in labor. ... Yeah, I was shocked, too. ... You'll come right away? Thanks, Dr. Ferrari." Click.

"Mom!" Emma called. "Dr. Ferrari's on his way. How's Taps?"

Mom shook her head in dismay. "She keeps biting her side, and contractions are coming--I can see them--but she's not comfortable, so she may be delaying the birth and the need to push." Taps craned her neck and bit her side again. She groaned in pain. Emma clung to the stall door, mentally noting Taps' every action, until Dr. Ferrari finally strode in.

"What's happening here?" Dr. Ferrari asked immediately. Emma jumped on the opportunity.

"She's biting her side, and she hasn't been reacting to the anti-poison, and she's sweating and pacing, and--" Dr. Ferrari cut Emma off with an uncomfortable laugh.

"Emma, except for the poison, those symptoms are all natural signs of birth. Now, down to business. Has she been straining to push? Lying down? Grunting?"

Emma shook her head. "It's like she doesn't want to push at all."

"It's an early labor. Very dangerous," Dr. Ferrari said gravely. "Now give Taps some space. She might not push if she's feeling disturbed."

So Dr. Ferrari, Mom, and Emma squatted in the empty stall beside Taps and settled down to watch the show begin.

Emma and Mom looked around in Taps' stall once Bryson began walking her again. Emma gave a cry of joy. "Mom, look!" she cried. "It's a couple of oleander leaves!"

"I'm afraid you're right, Emma. Do you know how serious this is?"

Emma nodded, then burst into fluent tears. "Mom, is Taps' baby going to die?"

"Not if we can help it," Mom said fiercely.

Emma looked up at Mom with her wide brown eyes. For some reason, Mom was always prettiest when she was determined. Her jaw stood out, her stunningly blonde hair got in her face, and her blue eyes shot fire. Emma tried to smile, but again failed. Mom told Emma, "Come with me, sweetie. We're going to the store for some anti-poison tablets. Then we're going to get the bottom of this."

Emma breathlessly arrived at the barn. "What's wrong, Mom?" Emma asked frantically. "Is Taps' foal going to die?"

"I hope not, Emma, but--" Mom cut off.

Emma heard Taps' familiar whinny and spun on her heel. Taps half-reared and rolled her eyes. Emma rushed to her precious horse's side, trying to soothe her. "Shh, girl; it's OK," Emma whispered. "Hush no, calm down." If Taps heard Emma, she ignored her. Taps craned her neck and tried to nip Emma's side, but Bryson the groom gently pulled Taps' head away.

Emma looked at Mom pleadingly. "Have you called the vet?" she asked anxiously.

"Of course!" Mom answered indignantly, but seeing Emma's hurt expression, she quickly said, "That's OK, Emma. I know you're worried."

Emma attempted a weak smile, but it ended up looking like a toddler's straight line.

The vet soon arrived and skillfully examined Taps. "I'd say it's either colic or poison," Dr. Ferrari concluded.

“It's colic, then," Mom said quickly. "It's got to be a relapse. She just had it a few months ago!"

Dr. Ferrari was thoughtful. "It wasn't colic, Vanessa. Remember?" Dr. Ferrari said gently. "She was pregnant."

Mom rolled her eyes. "How can I forget?" Back then, Emma had been so upset to find out that Taps was pregnant that she had taken Taps and run away, but she came back in realization of what she had done. But now, with the conclusion that this time it was poison, Emma knew it was what someone else had done that was putting Taps in real danger.

Emma Racker let herself into Shackle Taps' stall. Emma lived on Racker Recuperation Ranch, a place for abandoned and abused horses. About ten months ago, one of their stallions, Jaguar Racer, had been accidentally bred with Taps, resulting in her becoming pregnant. Emma was devastated, but decided against an abortion. She loved foals, anyway, and Taps was a purebreed, almost guaranteed to birth a nice foal with Racer's Andalusian blood.

Emma stroked Taps' neck and back, then bent over to feel Taps' stomach. Emma delightedly felt a bump against Taps' belly. It wouldn't be long now. Taps was already eleven months pregnant, which is the maximum to which most horses are pregnant. Emma was giddy with glee that Taps was due in just two weeks! Emma was virtually oblivious to anything that could happen. Emma was tempted to ride Taps, but fought the urge. It would be too risky now, and Taps could lose the foal.

Emma instead left the stall, grabbed a saddle and bridle from the tack room, and tacked up the Percheron filly, Ellie. Ellie pranced nervously, but Emma ignored it. It was nothing, she was sure. Ellie was naturally skittish and so probably was not the best idea for a trail ride, but Emma didn't mind in the slightest.

She picked up her walkie talkie from the office desk. "Mom, I'm going over the Masterpiece Meadows on Ellie," she said.

It only took a moment for Mom's voice to come over the radio: "No, Emma, you're not."

"What?" Emma said, startled.

"Emma, untack Ellie and get down here. Taps isn't in labor -- but something's wrong with her. Stat!" Emma heard. Emma put down the walkie talkie, untackled Ellie in record timing, and raced down to the barn, her heart thudding. No, no, no!

Hey readers –

I'm so glad you're reading my stories on SmartGirl. I am writing the sequel to Horse Whisperer now, because I left you guys hanging at the end. Many people commented, asking for a sequel, and I thought it was a good idea, so here it is! I want to thank Camille (author of Beyond the Barn) and Tia (author of The Call of War) for supporting me in this story and encouraging a sequel. Happy reading!

-- Marissa

Emma Racker hopped off the school bus and ran toward the paddocks of Racker Recuperation Farm, a place for abandoned and abused horses. Her bay Arabian, Shackle Taps, galloped up to the white rail fence to greet her happily. Emma smiled and stroked her nose, then grabbed a handful of mane and mounted her bareback. The two flew across the paddock as one - until Taps spooked at a brush rabbit darting across the field. She bucked, and despite Emma's tight hold, Emma catapulted over her neck. THUD - Emma tasted blood as she bit her tongue. Gritting her teeth, Emma straightened and set out to look for Taps. This was going to be a long afternoon.

Emma had been searching for more than an hour now, and she was fed up. Two years ago, Taps had been shy. If you touched her head--or even got close!--she panicked. But Taps was over that now. Wasn't she? Emma hoped so.

Emma checked the paddock gate once more. There weren't any signs of escape or struggle, and there wasn't any splintered wood, either. Then it dawned on her. "Holy cow! She jumped that huge, 5-foot paddock gate!" Then Emma realized, "She is 4-years-old, and already 17.3 hands high."

Emma shook her head, once again concentrating on finding her well-loved horse. She wondered aloud, "Maybe somebody found her around the farm." She dearly wished so. Emma went up to the barn to see and also to comfort herself. The first horse Emma saw in the barn was Ellie. Ellie had been named by Emma. At the time, Emma was working on a comic strip called Ellie the Elephant, so that's what Emma decided to call the gray Percheron filly, only 2 years old and still skittish. Emma gave Ellie a gentle stroke and went to another horse.

Rico was next, a 5-year-old sandy gelding with a black dorsal stripe and black stockings. He was confiscated from an abusive past owner, and still had a healing black and brown bruise, which Emma checked on. Rico was sandy like a beach, which is how he got his name.

After Rico was Juliet. She was a milk white Lipizzaner mare, barely 8 years old last May. She was abandoned in a grimy, windowless shed with little water--and none of it clean--and no food. The pretty mare was shocked and refused to eat even a bran mash with carrots and apples. Emma thought Juliet was majestic, like a storybook character, so she called her Juliet.

Emma suddenly heard a shrill whinny. She knew that whinny! Just behind her, Taps wheeled on her back legs, then tried to bite her own side. Emma's mouth turned into an O when she took in the scene. It was colic for sure! But it would have to wait. Charbonna, a thoroughbred mare, was pregnant and due to foal at any moment. She was being closely monitored.

Emma jogged down to the birthing barn, but there was no crowd of people gathered around the swollen-bellied mare. Emma gave Charbonna a pat and checked to make sure the mare wasn't going into labor already. Her tail muscles were very relaxed, which meant that she was in labor, and going to give birth any minute! With a groan, Charbonna slumped onto the straw beneath her. Emma saw a sudden gush of fluid. Charbonna's water had broken. She knew it was time. Emma glanced around. She was by herself, but she knew what to do. Emma let herself into the wide foaling stall and settled herself close to Charbonna's head. Charbonna cried out in pain, and her muscles rippled with contractions. Then her abdomen and ribs stiffened as she pushed reluctantly. Emma did her absolute best dividing herself between delivering the foal, wiping her hands on her now disgusting jeans, and trying unsuccessfully to comfort Charbonna.

Charbonna pushed again, a bit more willingly, and the foal's forelegs and head burst out of her body. Charbonna tried to crane her neck to look at the precious foal that was causing her so much pain. Finally, after 45 minutes, Charbonna groaned and stiffened once more, pushing hard. The foal slid out of Charbonna's behind. She pushed again, twice, three times, to make sure the afterbirth was out of her, too. Emma ran to the foaling barn's supply room and snatched up a few towels. She rushed back and caressed the foal with towels, drying the foal off. Emma encouraged the foal to stand up. He began slurping colostrum from Charbonna's udder. Emma smiled at the perfect pair, then ran off to the main barn to check on her priceless horse, Shackle Taps.

Bryson, the groom, was leading Taps around to keep her from rolling. He noticed Emma first, then her incredibly dirty jeans. His eyes widened. "Charbonna foaled?"

"Yeah, both are fine. White colt. Handsome guy! How's Taps?" Emma asked impatiently.

"Dr. Ferrari is on his way. She might have a life or--" Bryson cut off, but Emma knew what he would say. A life or death case. Emma anxiously settled to wait for the doctor. Soon, Dr. Ferrari arrived, ready to examine Shackle Taps.

A while later, Dr. Ferrari diagnosed Taps with only gas colic. She would be fine if she relieved herself soon. Emma threw her arms around her precious mare. "Oh, Taps!" she cried. "I love you so much! Get well... and go to the bathroom!"

After Dr. Ferrari left, Emma went up to the house to cool off. She poured herself a glass of lemonade raspberry tea from the fridge and went upstairs to her room. She set her tea on a coaster and admired her ribbons--a combination of patriotic red, white, and blue--and her trophies, in bronze, silver, and gold. Emma was proud of her trophy from the nationals of dressage a year ago. She had won it with Taps. Taps had a tough mouth for a mare and responded to sharp dressage signals such as doing a piaffe. Emma sighed, smiling. Those victories were happy days.

Emma came back to reality as Mom called up the staircase, "Emma, honey! Dinner's ready!" Emma's heart lurched with a wave of grief. Her father had always called Emma down to dinner, but not anymore. Emma had long since stopped trying to deny the facts. Her dad was dead, gone, finished. He had been killed in a car accident a few months ago. Aside from her little sister dying as soon as Mom had her, it was Emma's only tragic loss.

Emma trudged downstairs. Even her favorite smell of fresh rolls and pork roast with Italian dressing didn't cheer her up. Mom came over and put her arm around Emma's slumped shoulders. "What's wrong, honey?" she asked.

Emma shook her head. "Just thinking about Dad." Mom's eyes watered up, and tears threatened to spill over. Emma shrugged off her mother's arm. She sat down and said silent grace for her food. Her mother did the same. Dinner over the solid oak table was a silent meal. Emma didn't speak, nor her mother. The only noise was the scraping of forks against plates, and a little chewing.

Mom was the first to speak. "Your birthday's next week, Emma. Who do you want at your party?"

"Chloe and Jacie would be OK, I guess. Chloe watches Flicka over and over, and Jacie has her own horse," Emma shrugged.

Mom chuckled. "Good thing you have your locker decorated with horses, or people would get you both confused!" Finally, Emma laughed. The rest of the meal was a chatty one, full of Emma's oh-so-sweet laughter that her mother loved to hear.

Emma's cheeks bulged as she blew up a green balloon. Mom sighed. "Okay, Emma," she said. "That's enough for now. You've already blown up eighteen!"

“Very true," Emma grinned.

The doorbell rang. Emma heaved herself up from the living room carpet and opened the door to find Jacie standing there. Jacie smiled. "Hi, Emma!" she said cheerfully. "Where is everybody?"

"It's just you, Chloe, and me," Emma answered.

"Oh." Jacie seemed a little disappointed at such a small party, and her small smile was forced.

Emma had just escorted Jacie to her room when the doorbell rang again. Emma answered it, and it was Chloe. Chloe was a petite girl, and she had heartbreaking blue eyes, almost white hair, and was the most popular - but nicest - girl in school. Emma took her to her room, too, where Jacie had discovered Emma's new 20 Questions Ball. Jacie groaned and hit the pillow. "Oh, come on!" she fretted. "How did it beat me? I was thinking of a walrus. Who guesses a walrus?"

Chloe giggled. "Apparently the 20 Questions Ball guesses a walrus, Jacie," she said.

Emma laughed out loud. "Nice comeback, Clo."

"Hey, Emma?" Jacie said. "When are we eating lunch?"

"Mom put some veggie pizza in the oven right before you guys got here, so in a couple minutes, we'll eat," Emma replied.

Chloe made a face. "Gross!" she said. "Can I have a sandwich instead?"

Emma grinned again. "Oh, did I forget to mention that Mom's making cheese and sausage, too?"

Jacie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

"Sooo..." Emma said. "What are we gonna do until then?"

Jacie blurted out "dance!" just as Chloe yelled, "Listen to Taylor Swift!" Emma's brain clicked, making sense of the two ideas.

"Let's dance to Taylor Swift!" she cried. And so, for the next 30 minutes, they did.

Emma and Chloe flopped on the couch, exhausted, but Jacie still danced on, going strong. Her dark brown curls bounced every which way. Finally, after a couple more minutes, she joined the two tired girls.

"Man, I'm pooped!" Jacie said, panting and wiping the sweat from her forehead.

"Josie! Chloe! Emma!" Mom called from the kitchen. "Lunchtime!"

The trio rambled into the kitchen for pizza. Chloe scooped a piece of sausage onto her plate. Emma and Jacie stuck with cheese, while Mom attacked the veggie. When most of the pizza was gone, the girls were shocked to see Emma's mom bring out a chocolate ice cream cake, adorned beautifully with thirteen candles. Emma gasped in delight. The candles danced and shivered, as if they were dancing at a winter party. Emma blew out all 13 in one blow - and they leapt up again! Puzzled, Emma blew them out again.

"They're trick candles, Emma," Mom laughed.

Emma giggled. "Mooom!" The cake quickly disappeared, and the girls filled the afternoon with talking, board games, Twister, and just plain fun.

It was now evening at the Racker Ranch, and Chloe and Jacie were arranging their sleeping bags in Emma's room. Jacie's bag was a soft lavender, while Chloe's was a neon orange. Emma's blue bedspread varied the mix even more. Jacie sighed, tired.

"So what now?" Jacie asked Emma.

Emma smiled slyly. In a spooky voice, she said, "You vill soon see, Madam Jacie; you vill soon see." Then, laughing, Emma said, "Well, actually I don't know. How 'bout a movie?"

"Yeah!" Chloe shouted.

"Sounds good," added Jacie agreeably.

Emma said, "And you know something else? No movie is complete without...

"Popcorn!" all the girls yelled in unison.

Emma tramped downstairs, followed by her friends, to put some Perfect Pop popcorn in the microwave. After the BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! of the microwave alerted them that the popcorn was ready, Emma poured it into bowls. Emma also poured root beer, the trio's favorite soda, into glasses and took the snacks into the living room.

"OK, guys," Emma said, clearing her throat for attention. "What movie should we watch?"

Chloe wanted to watch Prince Caspian from the Chronicles of Narnia, while Jacie insisted on Flicka. Eventually, they agreed to watch Shrek 3. For the next hour, the girls' eyes were absolutely glued to the screen -- until Mom rushed in from the barn with exciting and horrifying news...!

"Emma, I know how important Shackle Taps is to you," she said slowly. Emma nodded.

"More than anything else," Mom continued. "This is going to be a real shock."

Emma groaned. "What? Tell me, or I'll go crazy!" her voice rose with each word. Mom bent close.

"Emma, Shackle Taps can't compete this year or next year," said Mom. Emma's eyes widened--much wider than she'd ever thought possible. "Shackle Taps is pregnant," Mom finished.

"What?" Emma screeched. "How--how did this happen? I never let her out unsupervised! I--"

"Emma," Mom interrupted quietly. "You're scaring your friends."

But Emma continued, barreling on like a semi. "Whose fault is this? She's only 4! This could ruin her life!" Emma broke out in an angry sweat. She rushed from the house to the barn, her mother trying to halt her from behind. All the horses greeted Emma, but at the moment, she only cared about the one that belonged to her.

"Emma Marie Racker!" Emma heard, and flinched. Translation for 'Emma Marie Racker' was 'you're in trouble, young lady!' But Emma didn't care. She let herself into Taps' stall. Taps greeted her as if nothing had changed. but Emma was aware that everything had. Taps was so young, and foaling at an early age could wreck her life. Mom was outside the stall, and she was NOT happy.

"Let Taps be an example for you, Emma," Mom said coolly. "She's the one pregnant, and she's more calm than you are!"

Emma gave Mom a teary glare, not caring if she was making sense anymore. "You think I wanted this to happen?" Emma said hotly. She forced her tone low so she wouldn't scare her precious horse. "Well, think again." Then, Emma flew past her mother and into her room. Emma flipped off the light and flung herself into bed. There, missing her dad and her competition horse, she cried herself to sleep, leaving her mom to explain everything to her astonished friends.

Emma shut the door behind her. "Hi, Mom," she said cheerfully. Mom didn't smile.

"So, Emma. Was it nice to skip school today?" Mom asked. Emma knew her cover was blown, but she tried to look genuinely surprised.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, pretending to be innocent.

Mom sighed. "Emma, I'm not blind, you know. Why else would you shove your breakfast down your throat and be out the door so quickly? You hate school."

Emma flinched. "Okay, fine," she admitted ruefully, but seeing her mother's angry expression, she blurted out, "But I only wanted to be with Taps!"

Mom glared at Emma icily. "Then I guess you're grounded from the barn. Two weeks, no Taps." Emma began to protest, but realized there wasn't much hope. She ran out to the barn anyway.

"The no-barn can start tomorrow!" Emma shouted to her mother.

Emma sobbed into Taps' soft, warm neck. "You're pretty much the only friend I have left," Emma cried. Then it dawned on her. "Shackle Taps," Emma said fiercely. "We're going to run away."

Emma spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in silence. She served herself some cold spaghetti, not bothering to heat it up. Emma waited, edgy and anxious, until Mom said tentatively, "Time for bed, Emma."

Emma started to rush upstairs, then called over her shoulder, "Mom, what time are you going to bed?"

"Probably eleven to eleven thirty. Why?" Emma's mother said suspiciously.

"Oh, just wondering." Emma ran upstairs, taking them two at a time. She tore her duffel bag out of her closet and stuffed in a sweatshirt, a few stashed containers of food, a few bottles of water, a pair of socks, and a pen and paper to write down important stuff. Emma glanced at the clock. It was 10:12. She only had an hour before the decision that could possibly change her life forever.

***

AN HOUR LATER

Emma heard Mom coming up the stairs. She shoved the bag under her bed, switched off the light, and leapt in bed. Mom didn't check in to Emma's room. Emma heard Mom's door shut with a dry click. Emma seized the moment. She ran out the front door.

Taps had just nodded off. Emma quickly saddled and bridled her, then leaving her in the stall, sprinted to the tack room. Emma loaded up with apples, carrots, sugar cubes, a dandy brush, a hoof pick, a folded up horse blanket, and finally, despite her anger towards the foal, a few towels and a foal halter. Oh, and now that she thought about it - another halter for Taps. Emma stuffed the new items in the duffel, slung it over her shoulder, mounted Taps, and galloped off into the moonlight, bidding home a last goodbye.

Emma squinted hard a road sign. It read, "Reynolds - 3 miles." Emma stroked Taps' warm and very sweaty neck. "Take me a little farther, girl, please," Emma pleaded. "Just a little further!"

Taps doggedly trotted on, finally reaching Reynolds. This was Emma's plan: she would sleep for about an hour, then wake up to the sound of the clanging city clock, similar to Big Ben. Emma got off Taps and led her to the clock. Taps pricked her ears and practically dragged Emma to a small stream nearby and drank thirstily. Emma drank, too, then fed Taps an apple and ate part of the container of pork roast.

Emma sleepily led Taps back to the clock, which had just chimed one o'clock in the morning. Emma buckled the horse blanket around herself -- Taps wouldn't need it -- and slept. Unfortunately, much longer than intended.

Emma awoke with a start. With dismay, she saw that it was 3:15. Emma quickly unfastened the blanket, refolded it, and shoved it back into the duffel. She mounted Taps and cantered to the road leading out of Reynolds.

A car whizzed by and Taps bolted into the shadows of the woods. Emma soothed her gently, then braced herself as a police cruiser, siren whining, shot after the car. The car screeched to a deafening halt. Emma saw with horror that the car was her own - a navy blue Chevy.

Emma rode closer to hear the conversation.

"Ma'am, you were going ninety miles an hour," said the officer.

Emma heard her mother respond, "Please, officer. I'm looking for my daughter, Emma Racker. She ran away. Have you seen her?" Emma saw her mother hand the officer a photo.

"I'm sorry to say I haven't," said the officer. "I'll keep my eyes peeled, but I'm also sorry to say that I'll have to write you a ticket."

"I know," said Mom.

Emma started to cry, and she realized she had made a very grave mistake. So, swallowing her sobs, she galloped back to the place she called home.

Emma put Taps in her stall, gave her an apple and a handful of carrots, and left. The light in the kitchen still burned, so Emma peeked inside. Mom sat at the kitchen table sobbing. Emma couldn't bear to watch her cry. She took a deep breath and opened the front door.

Mom didn't stir. "I was so stupid to ground her from the barn!" Emma heard Mom say. "Now look where it's gotten me!"

"Mom," Emma said softly. Mom lifted her tear-streaked face. Seeing Emma, her runny eyes widened. She flew to Emma and hugged her so tight, Emma couldn't breathe. Mom was breathing in great, sobbing gasps.

"No punishment," Mom sobbed. "Emma, you're home."