-Chapter Two: Horses Have Crushes-

April, 2004

"You'll never guess what I heard today." I plopped into a big leather chair next to my friend Nate and sprawled back into its cushiony depths.

Nate had his nose in a book, and didn't look up. "The Taco Bell on Main Street is closing down?"

"Nope." I dangled a booted foot in the air, the low lamplight of Studio7 reflecting off my silver spurs. "Apparently, right at this very moment, we are living in the end times. Economic, social, and spiritual chaos will lead us into an era of anarchy and destruction. We should make a trip to Wal-Mart and stock up on bottled water and batteries."

Nate turned a page and kept reading, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Where'd you hear that? Oprah?"

"The radio."

"Art Bell?"

"Come on, you know I never listen to those creepy nighttime shows. Ghosts, aliens, conspiracy theories – they give me the chills."

Nate chuckled. "Doesn't anyone read the Bible anymore? The world is just as sinful and corrupt as it was before the flood. And most of the Biblical passages about the end times were referring to the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D." He flipped another page in his book. "Every generation likes to fancy themselves the last one."

"Where's the compassion in that?" I gasped. "What about our children and our children's children and our children's children's children…?"

Nate rolled his eyes, and very nearly lowered his book. "You've got to stop listening to the radio."

"Oh, but then they were interviewing Joel Osteen." I leaned against the armrest and grinned knowingly at Nate. "Did you know his sermons are seen on TV in over one hundred nations around the world?"

The book flew to his lap, and his big brown eyes widened in horror. "You're kidding me, right? There's nothing I despise more in the world than the health and wealth gospel! Do people like Osteen have any idea they are destroying the work of God-fearing missionaries by offering promises of prosperity and wealth to people in third-world countries? Salvation isn't about getting things; it's about giving things up. 'Whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.'"

"Relax, Nate." Laughing, I reached over and ruffled his hair. "I just wanted you to stop studying for a second. What is this – Greek?" I picked up his textbook.

He loosed a sigh and sat back. "Pluperfect verb endings. I have a test tomorrow."

"Don't worry. There's a good chance the end of the world will hit us tonight – and after that no one will care if you can read ancient Koiné Greek or not."

He smiled – an effortless, broad smile – and as always I melted before it. "Thanks for the support," he mocked. "And how was your day?"

"Oh, the usual." I tossed his book back, then sank into my chair and crossed one booted ankle over the other. "Disco broke out of his paddock at six-thirty this morning and it took me an hour to find him. Then Kipling lost a shoe before his workout and Noel wasn't happy. I spent the afternoon tracking down the farrier, who didn't come out until four. I haven't had lunch or dinner, and I'm exhausted. The lesson tonight wore me out."

A disapproving light flickered in Nate's eyes. "You seem pretty chipper for someone who by all accounts should be home in bed by now."

"But it's only eight o'clock, and I have nine hours left before the process repeats itself." Just the thought of getting up tomorrow at five a.m. made me want to curl myself into a ball and weep.

"'One hand full of rest is better than two hands full of labor and striving after wind,'" Nate quoted. "Go home and sleep."

Defiantly I shook my head. "Studio7 refreshes me. Speaking of which, I need an iced tea. Save my seat?"

Nate muttered something under his breath as I heaved myself to my feet and shuffled across the room to the café counter. Studio7 was packed for a Tuesday night, filled wall to wall with chatty, sociable college students and young singles. A jazz band played not-so-softly from the center stage, and two perky girls wearing green aprons stood behind the café counter taking orders for deserts and coffee. Lounge chairs and small tables were scattered throughout the room, most of them occupied. The dim lighting added to the lazy, casual atmosphere and a sense of belonging. It was one of my favorite places in the whole world.

"Would you like some coffee?" Cheyenne Robinson smiled, showing off two rows of perfectly straight white teeth – compliments of her father.

"No thanks. But I'll take an iced tea." I slid onto an empty bar stool.

Cheyenne poured the drink and made the sale. Then, before I had time to flee, she whipped out her spiral notebook and a pen with a tuft of pink fur at the end. I cringed at the sight.

"So," she drawled in her rich Southern accent, "I'm having a birthday party at my apartment next Friday. We're going to decorate T-shirts and watch season one of Gilmore Girls. You're invited."

I hesitated, wondering if I was supposed to accept said invitation. "I'm teaching a lesson Friday night. I won't be home until at least nine."

The girl's eyes grew wide. "Oh, but you can come after. It's a sleepover. It has to be, if we're going to watch all of the episodes."

I stared at her dazedly. "There are twenty-two episodes."

"I know." She smiled.

I stared.

Her smile brightened. "Is that okay?"

"Um…."

"You'll be there, right? Please say you'll be there. It won't be the same without you." She wore that puppy dog look on her face – the one I had never been able to refuse in all our ten years of acquaintance.

"Um…sure. I'll be there." What else could I say?

"Wonderful!" She jotted something down in her notebook. Blond curls bounced against her shoulders. "Thanks, Ally!" She smiled and danced off into the back storage room, humming a tune under her breath.

I took a long drink of my iced tea and tried to put thoughts of a Friday night sleepover out of my mind. Refreshed, I returned to my big leather chair next to Nate. He had his textbook open again and was looking at a very complicated chart of verb endings.

"You're going to make an A on your test," I reminded him.

He smiled at me the way he always did when I teased him about his studies. "I love this class, you know. Language is fascinating when you think about its complexity and how God created it all in an instant."

I pulled my feet up onto the chair and leaned back. "Somehow I missed that in between all the crying, hair-pulling hysteria fits I had over Arabic last year."

"That's because you're too impatient to sit back and appreciate complex things." He studied me for a moment. "And you've got hay in your hair."

"That accounts for it." I laughed, and fished it out.

Nate returned to his studies. I sipped my tea slowly, stealing glances at him now and then for no other reason than I liked looking at him. The band quit for a short break, and the room swelled even louder with voices. I watched the people around me, noting who was talking to whom, and who looked especially happy tonight. My gaze reached the doorway just as a tall, skinny man wearing a Tar Heels baseball hat walked into the studio.

"Pastor Jacob's here," I announced.

Nate looked up, his attention at once riveted on the young pastor. He closed his textbook and plopped it onto the table in front of us. "I've got to talk to him for a minute. I'll be right back."

"Sure." I spun the ice cubes around in my glass and smiled.

Nate hadn't been gone thirty seconds when another young man dropped into his vacated seat and leaned toward me. I nearly choked on an ice cube.

"We missed you at the game last night," Logan said, indicating himself and his trusty sidekick Shane, who stood beside the chair looking bored.

The intrusion slightly dazed me, and it took me a moment to find my tongue. "I meant to come, but my friend needed a babysitter."

"That's too bad. It was tight until the end. We won in overtime, seventy to sixty-eight."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you." He glanced at his broad-shouldered friend Shane, then back to me. "We're playing Winthrop next week – postseason game. Are you going to come?"

"I might. If I have time."

Logan leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "I always play better with an audience. You'd be good luck."

His tone unnerved me, and I didn't know what to say.

"How's the horse riding going?"

I shrugged and swirled my ice cubes. "Good, I suppose."

"What about that wild one who almost broke your finger a few weeks back?"

"Sebastian? Oh, that was an accident. He's not wild at all."

"No?"

"Not a bit. He's all snort and no bite. Sometimes I catch him playing nosies with the barn cat."

"Well!" Logan grinned suggestively. "How about that? Horses have crushes, too."

I frowned at him. Where was he going with this conversation, and why was he interrupting my previously pleasant evening?

"Did I tell you about the horse I rode once at summer camp?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Did I tell you how big he was? His hoof was wider than my spread hand."

I smiled politely.

"He was fast, too. They let me run him through the pastures."

"On your first day?"

He blinked at me. "What?"

"Usually they don't let you gallop horses at summer camp. It's too dangerous."

"Oh." He dismissed my observation with a short laugh. "That was down in Texas. They do things differently there. We just went out and had fun. You wouldn't know, of course. You ride prissy English ponies from Europe and do…what is it you do again?"

"Dressage."

"Right. How much fun can that possibly be compared to racing wild out on the trails?"

"You'd be surprised."

Logan shrugged. "Well, I liked that horse. His name was Charger."

I couldn't think of anything else to say, so we lapsed into silence.

"Come on, let's go." Shane spoke for the first time. "We were supposed to be at the Steakhouse ten minutes ago."

Logan didn't take his eyes off me. "Have any plans for dinner?"

"Um…I was just going to eat at home."

"You should come with us."

I chewed on my lip. "I'm kind of hanging out with Nate tonight. You're in his chair, actually."

At the mention of Nate, Logan's entire expression clouded.

The tension in the air thickened. I longed to get up and run, and had very nearly come up with an excuse to do so when Nate walked into our midst, nonchalant as could be.

"You can have dinner at the Steakhouse if you want," he said. "I really need to get home and study anyway."

My mouth went dry. Sometimes I wished Nate wasn't so accommodating.

"So…will you come?" Logan pressed. "It's on me."

I glanced at Nate. His eyes reassured me that whatever I decided was okay with him.

I turned to Logan. "Thanks, but I'm tired tonight and I think I'd rather go home. Long day at the barn."

Logan's disappointment was palpable, but he gathered himself together in moments and forced a smile. "Maybe another time. Have a good night."

I nodded, and the two big basketball stars sauntered off. Relieved, I glanced up at Nate. "Next time can you please not encourage them?"

"Why not?" He sat down. "They're not so bad."

"Are you forgetting seventh grade? The soccer field?"

"I forgave them a long time ago. I thought you did, too."

"I know, but…" For some reason, I couldn't shake the slight feeling of aversion I had toward them. I tried to be polite, and yet was always left wishing they would leave me alone.

"They make me uncomfortable."

Nate smiled warmly. "Sweet little Ally, that's just because you don't know what to do with all the attention. I think you should give them a chance."

I grunted.

He pulled his textbook off the table and opened it. "Boys like that who are riding the fence between God and the world can learn a lot from a girl like you. You can reach them in ways no one else can."

My cheeks warmed. "I don't see how."

"God will show you."

God will show you. That was Nate's answer for everything. Sometimes it encouraged me, and sometimes it frustrated me. Tonight it simply made me tired.

"So what did you and Pastor Jacob talk about?"

Nate looked up quickly. "That's right, I haven't told you, have I? Pastor Jacob asked me to head up the city outreach program now that Al Johnson is going back to Michigan. What do you think of that?"

"Director of Shine? That's fantastic!"

"I know. I have so many ideas. We're going to help out with the low income kids at the schools and the International students at UNCA. I want to start a program for taking meals and groceries to the elderly. And Ally, I remember once you said it'd be great if we could expand Studio7 and get more young adults to come. I'm already working on the logistics of it…"

Nate rambled on about his plans for Shine. His eyes brightened with enthusiasm, and his voice held that slight tremor of excitement that any normal boy's might after a great ball game or a fantastic date.

I sighed as I watched him talk – for indeed, I was no longer listening but watching – and wondered what it might be like if he was ever that excited about someone else besides God…someone like me.

I laughed inwardly at my own folly. Who was I kidding? The day Nathan McCartney ever looked at me twice without seeing his little friend Ally would be the day I appeared before him as an angel of the Lord.

And we all knew that would never happen.

-ooo-

Matthew 16:25 "For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it…"

Ecclesiastes 4:6 "One hand full of rest…"