Nutmeg Meg: I Was A Teenage Horse Whisperer Romance

By Mattie Fern Worrix

Teenager Shelly Shornborn loves to give riding lessons at her mom's horse barn. When cute Blaze Ryker asks for lessons, Shelly is excited about the possibilities. But she soon begins to wonder why Blaze, the son of the barn's farrier, seems so nervous around horses. And why has her normally sweet mare, Nutmeg Meg, recently turned sour?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mattie Fern Worrix
• Release date: Jul 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201136451

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Copyright Notice

Copyright 2021 Mattie Fern Worrix

All Rights Reserved

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

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Dedication

The world is best viewed through the ears of a horse.

~ spotted on a coffee mug

Chapter 1 - Shelly

I bit off another big chunk of the red licorice and then stuffed the rest in my mouth, so my hands were free to pour the small coffee can of ranch candy into Meg’s wooden hay manger in the corner of her stall. 

She slowly lifted her head from eating, hay donning her nutmeg brown ears, and nickered softly. Then she plunged her long nose back down into the manger and gobbled the rolled oats and molasses mixture. 

Keep this between us, I whispered to her, as I slid my hand up underneath her mane where she’s always nice and warm. She smelled good too—like salt and fir trees. Mom says you’re getting fat.

My mom says that a lot. About many of the horses that board here at Shooting Star Ranch. And last week she mentioned one of the barn cats looked a little chubby. Which is not a good thing—because it might mean another litter of kittens—which is something we definitely don’t need.

Shooting Star Ranch already has plenty of mousers. Over a dozen total, at last count. People are always dumping cats out here in the boondocks.

Yeah, people with bankrupt souls. Or no souls, if you ask me.

The thing is, we try to trap them before they become coyote snacks, and get them into Dr. Jennifer at Zane Vet clinic to be spayed and neutered. But sometimes a mama kitty ends up preggers and soon a whole batch of adorable mewling kittens are discovered in the barn. 

Usually in the dark hayloft nesting among the sweet fragrant grass hay. And they are always so cute my Mama Bear instincts kick in, even though I’m only fourteen, and all I want to do is protect them and keep every single one.

But Mom, always the party pooper, insists we find good homes for them. She did let me keep Earl Gray though, our long-haired gray and white boy, when he was a baby. But that was a long time ago because Earl Gray’s face has grown even grayer.

And believe it or not, my mom, Barb—a name which totally fits my sharp-tongued mother—is probably even worse than me when it comes to being a total softie about animals. 

Horses are her number one pick, of course, but I’m pretty sure cats are a close second.

Sometimes I wish Mom was a softie with me. 

I let out a big cranky sigh.

Yeah. That’s never gonna happen. 

I think I’m the only critter on the planet that she doesn't want to mother. 

We just butt heads. 

She makes comments about my weight too. She doesn’t think I’m getting fat though, like Meg. She says I’m too skinny.

(Which, by the way, hurts just as much as being told you’re fat). Just saying. 

I felt a familiar twinge of pain in my chest. 

And you know what I think? I think people should shut the frick up about the size of people’s (and horse and cat) bodies.

I figure some of us are born short and round like a Shetland pony. And some of us are tall and lanky like a Thoroughbred race horse.

And one of these days, when I finally grow a backbone, or get brave—maybe from a gummy worm sugar buzz, I’m gonna tell her exactly that.

Until then, I keep wondering what my dad would say about all this if he were still alive? He died when I was 3 years old so I barely remember him. I bet he’d stick up for me though. And tell Mom to back off about what I eat and what I weigh.

I reached out and stroked Meg’s brown and white mane as she continued to enjoy her evening treat.

My mom thinks my low blood sugar problem is from not eating enough protein and eating too much junk food. Sweets especially.

Like too many Red Vines. I pulled another piece from my back pocket and tore a chunk off with my teeth and chewed with a vengeance. I smacked so loud Meg pulled her nose out of her manger for a moment and gave me a look.

I giggled and my heart melted. She needs a bang trim but at least I don’t need to worry about the flies hanging around her eyes in the summer heat because she’s finally gotten used to wearing her baby blue fly mask.

I yanked off another chunk of licorice.

Okay, here’s the deal (and I’ve tried to explain this many times to my mom): I get shaky if I don’t eat sugar.

Sometimes I get all sweaty and puny feeling like I’m gonna pass out if I don’t get my trembling hands on something sweet.

And I do try to eat right. Since Mom is alway harping on me to eat protein, to prevent my hypoglycemic attacks, I try to remember to carry cheese sticks with me. Nuts are good too, so, when I remember, I stuff some pistachio nuts or sunflower seeds in a baggie inside my jeans pocket.

The protein does seem to help prevent an attack, but when I’m in the throes of one, Goddess help me. By then I’m desperate for something sweet.

I’ve even eaten some of Meg’s ranch candy before. Okay, more than once I’ve crammed handfuls in my mouth. 

And just FYI: It’s not bad actually. Kinda like eating dry raw breakfast oatmeal.

Hey, I never claimed it’s like eating a fancy breakfast at the Four Seasons, but in a pinch, it helps ward off the low blood sugar shakes. Sometimes when I’m out here working in the barn I have to grab