The Trouble With Angels Page 0,23

riding classes. That was what Maureen had agreed to, but as she replaced the receiver she realized she barely knew one end of a horse from the other. What she could find to approve or disapprove would fit on the head of a thumbtack.

Karen arrived home an hour later. She burst into the front door and demanded, "What's for dinner?"

"What do you want?"

"Steak and lobster."

"Well, you're getting spaghetti."

"I like spaghetti."

"With green beans and a tossed salad."

Karen shook her head in a way that made Maureen want to laugh. "Mom, you're ruining a perfectly good dinner with all that green stuff again."

"I thought we'd take a drive tomorrow," she announced casually as Karen set the table.

"That sounds like fun. Where do you want to go?" Karen stuffed bread sticks into a water glass and carried it over to their place settings.

Maureen hesitated, wondering how much she should say. She had the funny feeling she was traipsing around a pool of quicksand - one wrong step and she'd be stuck for life.

"I don't want you to get your hopes up. We're just going to check out this place and see if we can fit riding lessons into our budget."

Karen went stock still. "Riding lessons?" she whispered with such rapture, one would think she'd stepped through the gates of heaven to walk on streets of pure gold. "On a real, live horse?"

"Yes, but - " Maureen wasn't allowed to finish. Karen flew across the kitchen at breakneck speed and threw her arms around her mother's waist with such ferocity that it nearly toppled Maureen.

"Oh, Mom! You're the most wonderful mother in the whole world. Riding lessons! Do I get to pick which horse I get to ride? Where is this place? How did you find out about it?"

"Settle down, sweetheart. One question at a time."

Maureen couldn't remember when her daughter had been more animated. She asked a dozen questions at least that many times until Maureen was thoroughly sick of the subject.

Karen went to bed without an argument and was up the next morning at the crack of dawn.

"Mom, Mom, wake up!"

Maureen managed to raise one apathetic eyelid to find her daughter standing next to her mattress, fully dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Her hair was combed and her teeth brushed. The newspaper was tucked in one hand, and her other sported a steaming cup of coffee.

"What...time...is...it?" Maureen didn't lift her head from the pillow, and the question came out slurred and pathetic sounding.

"Five-thirty."

Maureen groaned. "Honey, even the horses are still asleep."

"But they won't be by the time we arrive. Come on, Mom, it's a beautiful day. Rise and shine." The twelve-year-old set the frightfully thick newspaper and coffee on the nightstand. Before Maureen had time to prepare herself, Karen leaped on the bed, buckling the mattress.

"How long have you been up?" Maureen wanted to know.

"Since three-thirty. I couldn't sleep," Karen explained, tossing her arms into the air. "I tried and tried, but every time I closed my eyes all I could think about was learning to ride, and sleeping was impossible."

"All right." Maureen could see she was fighting a losing battle, although she refused to show up on Thom Nichols's back step before the sun rose. "Give me a few minutes to wake up." She struggled into a sitting position and pulled the hair away from her face.

"I can cook us breakfast. What would you like?"

Maureen shook her head. "Just coffee for now, thanks."

That Karen managed to get her out of bed, dressed, and fed before seven on a Sunday morning was little short of a miracle as far as Maureen was concerned. The last time she'd been up this early on a weekend, she'd been nursing Karen.

By sheer force of will she was able to hold her daughter off until nine, but it demanded every trick she had up the sleeve of motherhood.

Using the detailed directions Thom had given her, Maureen easily found her way to Nichols's Riding Stables. The sprawling adobe building was set back from the corral, which housed five or six horses.

Karen was out of the car and racing toward the corral as fast as her legs would carry her by the time Maureen had parked. Before she could so much as object, Karen had stepped onto the bottom rung of the fence and had folded her arms over a post as if she were born to be a buckaroo. By the time Maureen caught up with her, Karen was rooted to the spot, a look of