The Seacrest by Aaron Lazar Read Free Book Online

then.”
    Her dark eye danced. “Okay. We’ll tell him then.”
    “See you tomorrow?”
    “I’ll try,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Same time, same place?”
    “Yes,” I yelled, watching her pedal away.
    She rose high above the seat, her pretty legs pumping up and down slowly, strenuously, as she got her speed up. I couldn’t help but notice her cute behind. Heart shaped, it followed the rhythm of her legs and its up-and-down motion made me weak. I almost lost it, but finally calmed my body down, and turned my bike in the direction of home.
     

Chapter 11
    July 13 th , 2013
     
    The blinding sun winked off the windows of The Seacrest and burned my bare back. Sweating, I leaned on my shovel and dug deep into the sandy soil. I’d wanted to move some of the cultivated raspberries to a section over by the west end of the property for a while now, and Rudy had given me permission a few days ago.
    I wiped my forehead with an old blue bandana hanging from my pocket.
    Libby rode up behind me on Serendipity, her favorite mare in the stable.
    “What the hell are you doing?” she said with a scowl. “It’s ninety degrees out here.”
    I turned to see her astride Dippy bareback, with just a snaffle bit in the goofy horse’s mouth. I wondered about the wisdom of this. She usually needed a curb and a saddle wasn’t a bad idea on the shying-queen of all the horses in the barn. If a tissue flitted by on the grass, she’d jump sideways, often dislodging her rider. Like she’d done that day I’d been weed wacking out in the paddock.
    “I could ask you the same thing,” I said, eyeing her setup. “Where’s your saddle and curb bit?”
    She shrugged. “It’s so hot, I figured she’d be too tired to act up.”
    The horse stood still, and her head actually drooped a little. “You might be right,” I chuckled. “Look at her.”
    “I’m just going for a ride along the beach. Wanna come? Popeye needs exercise. He’s getting fat.”
    She surprised me with this one. I did exercise the horses off and on when I’d caught up with my usual chores, but never with Libby. She’d never asked before.
    “Um…” I surveyed the ground around me. The sun beat mercilessly on my brow. With a sudden impulse, I stabbed the shovel into the dirt and turned back to her. “Okay. I’ll help you out this time.”
    “Really?” She raised one eyebrow. “Don’t do me any favors, Finn.”
    “Sorry.” I flashed an apologetic smile. “Didn’t mean anything by it. Back in a sec.”
    I left my tools outside, figuring I’d finish up the job in the evening when it wasn’t so danged hot.
    The barn was cool inside, and Popeye—half Percheron/half Pinto—gazed at me from his stall. He was getting a little chunky. “Come on boy,” I said, opening the stall door and clipping a lead to his halter. “We’re going to the beach.”
    He seemed excited, shaking his massive head and pushing eagerly into the bit. I decided to ride bareback, too. If we got wet in the surf, it could ruin the saddles. I’d saddle soap the bridles when we got back. After brushing him and smoothing his shiny brown and white pinto-patterned coat with a soft rag, I led him out into the heat. I drank from the hose before jumping on his back to join Libby, who rested with Dippy under the shade of a tall oak.
    “Ready?” she asked, clicking to her mare.
    “All set,” I said, urging Popeye to her side.
    The Vanderhorns’ property was extensive. The cedar-shingled mansion overlooked the sea, and for three whole miles, their private beach stretched invitingly over the top of the dunes in the distance. We followed the trail down to the beach, heading for the water.
    A fresh breeze ruffled the horses’ manes and tails. I glanced sideways at Libby, whose dark pigtails flopped up and down on her shoulders when we trotted. She sat tall on Dippy’s back, almost regal looking. She seemed so connected with her horse; they were practically one entity. When the mare