STORY SO FAR: After dinner, Ben runs into the same cruel, mocking kid who nearly ran him down. But this time the rider introduces himself as Joe Pastore. But that would make him... a ghost.

An accusation

The sweet, grassy, horsey smell of the barn greeted Ben. From either side he heard the munching of horses chewing their hay, and a big box fan on an extension cord droned in the doorway, moving the humid air. One of the cats, almost invisible in the shadows, swished its tail from a rafter. The warmth of the day lingered, pulsing up from the cement floor and making the smells of horse and hay and manure more intense.

Ben paced toward the nearest stall, feeling as though he wanted to cry or smash his fist into something. He hated that kid, whoever he was -- trying to scare him, trying to make him feel like a worthless bum. He couldn't be a ghost. Ghosts didn't exist. He was just a guy with a sick sense of humour. Wasn't he?

The nameplate on the stall door read Candy Cane. A large white head swung upward, trailing wisps of hay. The horse looked at him, munching placidly, its jaws and lips working from side to side.

"Hey, Candy Cane," Ben quavered, pitching his voice the way Rachel had that morning.

The horse looked at him with wide, nonjudging eyes and plucked another mouthful of hay from the floor. Ben scratched the horse's hard forehead between the eyes, and let his gaze wander. The place was filled with a jumble of tools and equipment: ropes drooping from metal rings in the wall, pitchforks and manure shovels lined up next to a wheelbarrow, a pile of sacks stamped in blue with the words Blue Seal Feeds, a water spigot with a bucket hanging from it, a toolbox crammed with stiff brushes and rags and spray bottles. And over it all was the quiet munching of the horses and the hum of the fan. As Ben scratched Candy Cane's forehead, he could feel the horse's facial muscles moving under his fingers with the chewing. The tension and fear and loneliness began to melt from Ben's bones with every crunch of the animal's jaws.

That kid was definitely not a ghost. He was somebody who looked like Joe Pastore and knew it, and for some sick reason he was trying to rattle Ben's cage. But whoever he was, the guy wasn't right. The Brennans were kind and generous. It wasn't an act. Just because there were hateful or cruel people in the world didn't mean everyone was like that. Just because Ben hadn't met a lot of good people in his life didn't mean he couldn't meet some now. Why couldn't the Brennans just be completely decent folks who had always been that way -- even back as far as Mr. Brennan's father trying to give Joe Pastore a hand? It was a warmhearted family that rescued dogs and horses, and now they were rescuing him, even though they'd been burned once before -- literally. Somehow, for some reason, he had been taken out of his dingy, left-behind existence and brought to this peaceful, loving place, where people were friendly and there were animals and good food and adorable, incredible, brave, smart....

"What are you doing?"

Ben stared. It was as if he'd made Rachel appear just by wishing. She was breathless from running, had run so fast she skidded on the extension cord to the fan and righted herself with a quick grab at a stall door. But her expression wasn't the kind he'd been dreaming about. She wasn't smiling. She looked like she was ready to kill somebody, and she kicked the extension cord away from her with an angry scowl.

"What are you doing?" she repeated, her voice hard.

He stepped away from Candy Cane, feeling guilty for no reason at all other than the accusation in Rachel's eyes. He couldn't imagine why she was glaring at him. "Nothing. Petting -- nothing."

"I saw you," she said, her fists clenched by her sides. "I saw you with a cigarette lighter."

If Candy Cane had turned around and kicked Ben in the stomach with both hooves, he couldn't have been more stunned. The lighter? The stupid, dirty, disposable lighter he had picked up without even thinking about it? There was a long, nasty silence.

Rachel drew a deep breath before Ben could think of a thing to say.

"Listen, I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I know who you are, and I know why you're here with my aunt and uncle," Rachel said in a tightly controlled voice.

"But... "

She cut him off with an upheld hand.

"I'm not going to say anything about this, because maybe I'm wrong. But I'm not taking any chances with the horses, understand?"

If you only knew how much I like you! Ben wanted to cry out. You wouldn't do this to me! Please don't do this to me!

Just then, Ben felt a powerful shove from behind. As he stumbled forward and fell to his knees, he realized that Candy Cane had given him a push with his heavy head. Now he crouched on the dusty floor at Rachel's feet, too mortified and ashamed to defend himself. She shrank backward in disgust, and a fresh wave of humiliation flooded Ben's heart. It couldn't get worse than this.

"May I have it, please?"

Stricken, he looked up.

Rachel held out her hand. "The lighter."

Trying to hold back the tears of humiliation that welled in his eyes, Ben dug into his pocket and pulled out the lighter. Hating it, hating his life, he put it into Rachel's outstretched palm.