Lauraine Snelling (14 page)

I was hoping for something in the large pony size
. Gil now knew, from Eddie’s continual outpouring of horse info, that four inches equals a hand, the measurement used to calculate the size of a horse. A pony was usually under fourteen hands. Smaller sounded better in this case. But a Thoroughbred! He’d stood next to one when he attended the horse races at Santa Anita, a major track near Pasadena. The horses had not looked friendly and cozy like the one he pictured for his son to ride. They looked determined and high-spirited and—huge. In this case, handled by inmates. He wasn’t sure having his tax dollars going toward inmates playing with horses set well with him. Those people were dangerous.

“Besides, if we go to the open house, we’d be helping a good cause.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, you can sponsor a horse there? It says in the article.” He wheeled around to Gil’s side.

“Eddie, it’s at a prison.”

“Girl prisoners, Dad. Not guys. Just girls.” His son’s tone was so matter-of-fact, Gil felt like a redneck, but it didn’t change his mind. Girl prisoners stole things, lied, took drugs, and sometimes even killed people.

“Besides, you speak in prisons. You said you were trying to help.”

Gil couldn’t bear to look at his son. What could he say other than that things shifted when his son might be involved?

Gil glanced through the article again. Had his son memorized the whole thing?

“I just thought maybe we could do that sponsor thing. I’d put in half of my allowance.”

“I thought you were saving for a saddle.”

“I am but this seems more important.”

Bonnie woofed at the door so Eddie let her out. “They have rescues for bassets too. You know, like that group who has that Web site where I read about bassets.”

“We’re not getting another dog.”

“They have a foster program where you take in a dog until they find a forever home for it.”

“No, we’re not getting another dog. Bonnie is plenty of dog for us.”

“We should probably go to one of their events some time too. They have one over in Acton.”

Gil stared at his son. Was this what Maria listened to day in and day out? He knew his son was not hard of hearing. Hard of listening at times was probably the more accurate diagnosis. Maybe that’s why he and Bonnie got along so well. They both had an inside track on stubborn.

Eddie let Bonnie back in and returned to his dad. “You know . . .”

Gil knew he was about to get his own words back at him.

“You say we need to be generous to show our gratitude for all that we have.”

“And your idea of being generous is to adopt horses and dogs?”

“Well, let’s say choose to support.”

Sometimes Gil had a hard time remembering that his son was only eleven years old. His reasoning power could sway a superior court judge, let alone his father.

Gil looked at the dates on the article again. “Eddie, I’m just not comfortable exposing you to people who’ve broken the law and been incarcerated. I’m sorry. Find another place for us to go.”

That afternoon when he took Eddie to Rescue Ranch for his riding lesson, he wandered over to where Carly was working with a new student, this time an adult. The process was always tailored to the client’s special needs. At least it was easier helping a child mount the first time.

“Good to see you.” Her smile would melt a glacier. Nodding to one of her assistants to take over, she motioned Gil to walk with her. “I need to get over to the other arena to watch a new volunteer. You ever thought of volunteering out here?”

“To be honest with you, no. But let me know when you need money.”

“You already give plenty of that. I just thought it might help you to keep up with Eddie.”

He ignored her comment but returned her smile. “What do you know about the Thoroughbred Retirement Foundation?”

“Quite a bit actually. We have one of their horses here. I hear they put in a new facility up at the Los Lomas Women’s Prison. And they are having an open house on Sunday.” Her lovely face darkened into a frown. “Although I’m not sure of the wisdom of that.”

“My thoughts exactly. Eddie thinks if they’re girl prisoners they’re harmless. You really have a retired Thoroughbred here, working with handicapped kids . . . people? A former racehorse?” He added that to clarify his mind more than hers. No way were he and Eddie going to the prison to see inmates . . . er, horses.

“Yes, his real name was High On Life, we call him Dandy. Easier for the clients to say. He’s a real favorite. Eddie’s on him now.”

“What?!” Gil shook his head. “You’re letting my son ride a racehorse?”

Placing a slim hand on his sleeve, her wide smile spread across her face. “Relax, Gil. He’s been retrained. We’re very thorough about our training, you know that.”

“Still . . .”

“Horses have great affinity for people with special needs, they sense far more than we realize.”

“Eddie is determined to go to the prison for their open house on Sunday.”

“Like I said, the Thoroughbred program is excellent. I’m not sure I would take my child—if I had one—there. I’ll find you a good horse for Eddie, Gil. It just takes time.”

Gil chuckled and nodded. “I’ll let you know how it goes. Eddie is bound and determined that we will join up to support one of the horses that can be a pasture ornament.”

“They’d be better than a lawn mower.”

“I don’t mean to bring one home, just send money and go visit it occasionally.”

She gave him a raised eyebrow look and waved at someone who’d called her name. “See you later.”

He watched her walk away. The evening she spent at their house had been a real pleasure, so why hadn’t he called her back and set up a real date?

FIFTEEN

S
unday morning.
The
Sunday morning.

Maggie woke with enough butterflies to lift her right out the window. The open house started at one. They’d finished painting the barn yesterday, the fences the day before. Halved whiskey barrels filled with blooming plants brought color to the place, and this morning a tent would be set up for the refreshments and tables and chairs. Now all they needed were guests. And for the horses to behave. And for DC to disappear into a poof of smoke, never to return.

The woman had escalated her sneak attacks on Maggie, and Maggie could do nothing about it. She refused to tell Kool Kat. DC wouldn’t let Kool Kat stop her again; in fact, she would be clever enough to implicate Kool Kat and banish her from the program. Maggie’s friend—and she guessed she truly was now—had progressed too far for defeat. Maggie had been tripped, backhanded with a hoe, slammed into hay bales, had her tools hidden, and once she’d come upon DC messing with Breaking Free’s stall door. Everything happened below Mr. James’ radar. If the other women knew, they were keeping their mouths shut for their own safety.

She bailed out of bed, wishing she could head right for the barn. Horses needed bathing and grooming and all the stalls needed to be cleaned out. They had several empty stalls now that more of the horses were well enough to be out in the pasture.

After returning from the showers, with no DC present, Maggie sat on her bed, sliding her hand under the mattress for the reassurance of Charlie’s photo. She’d be riding in front of the guests. There would be men, women, and perhaps children around. How would Breaking Free handle all the excitement? Five other horses would be shown on leads. Since press releases had been sent to a lot of the media, there might be cameras and microphones there too.

Her fingers slipped deeper under the mattress, not feeling the paper yet. Her mind catalogued all the things that could go wrong. If only she’d gotten a decent hair cut. Or bought some makeup. A silly, girl thought.
Don’t be stupid
, she chided herself.
They’re not looking at you; they’ll be looking at your horse. If they come
. Would they come to a prison? Yes, some people would, if only to see the girl felons on horseback. She forced her attention back to Breaking Free. He’ll catch everyone’s attention.
And besides
, she reminded herself,
your riding helmet will cover your hair
.

Finally her fingers found paper . . . lots of paper. A rush of terror filled her lungs as she sprang off her bed and shoved the mattress to the floor. Laying on the steel platform of the bed were dozens of tiny pieces of Charlie. She reached for her keys. When had she left her room unlocked?

“You all right?” Kool Kat asked when they stood in line for breakfast.

The hot, red fog in Maggie’s brain finally allowed her friend’s question entrance. Maggie started to blow it off, but for some unknown reason said, “I have enough butterflies chasing each other to make me dizzy.”

“Me too. Thought I was goin’ to be sick.” Kool Kat shook her head real slow. “This is near as bad as standing in court for sentencing.”

They picked up their trays and found a table. “I din’t hardly sleep last night. What if someone adopts Dancer? What if they don’t? Never thought I’d be sad to say good-bye to a horse. ’Course I never dreamed I’d know a horse enough to say good-bye or hello either. My mom think this the biggest joke ever.”

“You’ve done a good job with the horses.”

“Thanks.”

“We always braided the horses for show day. I have to braid Freebee’s mane and tail. Don’t know if I remember how. Weave ribbons into the mane, but since we don’t have ribbon, I’ll have to do without.” She recognized she was speaking in disjointed bits and pieces but couldn’t seem to gather her mind enough to make sense. Charlie, her one contact with her son was gone.

“I can braid real good if you want help.”

Maggie glanced at the intricate braids that festooned Kool Kat’s head. “It’s different than braiding human hair.”

“You telling Kool Kat she don’t know braidin’?”

The morning shift flew by as everyone hurried to finish their chores and make sure their charges looked their best. The tent was up with the tables and chairs under its canopy. The caterer would finish setting up while the inmates were at lunch. Since only four of the inmates would be permitted to attend the open house, a security issue decided by the warden, several of those confined to the facility grumbled on the way back for head count and lunch.

“Don’t worry, if there’s any food left, you’ll get to enjoy it during feed time,” Mr. James promised.

The open house was going to be held from one to three so there would be time to feed the horses before the women had to be back for head count and dinner.

The thought of being around people from the outside sent Maggie’s insides into a high dive. What if they looked at her like she was a freak? Had she become a freak? Would she remember how to be polite? Say the right words?

When had Gil stopped being the man in charge? The dad was supposed to put the kibosh on things, and when he did they stayed kiboshed. He pulled out of their driveway, checking both directions.

“We’re going to be late,” Eddie declared.

“No we’re not. It’s an open house. People come and go as they please.” Prisoners. He was taking his son into a den of prisoners. Gil wished he had insisted Maria come along, but she had asked if she could go visit her sister. Since she so seldom asked for anything, what could he say? Not that Maria could defend Eddie against a prisoner. The picture of their short Maria with a death grip on a monster woman made an interesting thought. If Eddie were threatened, you’d be wise to bet Maria could fight off an inmate. A dozen inmates.
Get a grip, Gil.
He sighed. An hour later he said, “Read me the directions again, please.”

“You turn off at the Los Lomas exit.”

“Okay, last sign said that was two miles ahead. Good, there’s the exit.”

“Turn right on highway forty-six and go for three miles. The prison will be on the right side of the road. It says there is a sign.”

“It’s difficult to miss a prison, son.”

“Minimum security, Dad,” Eddie reminded him, like he’d been reminding him since the day of the newspaper ad. Somehow on the Internet Eddie had found out what kinds of prisoners were incarcerated at Los Lomas. He’d listed them in detail to Gil. Gil knew Eddie meant to reassure him. It didn’t.

“The article said there would be signs to the open house.”

Gil exited and began watching for the next turn. He jerked a look at Eddie. “Okay, quick review. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t go off with anyone. Stay near me.”

“Yes, Dad.” Eddie sounded infinitely patient.

“And it’s to sponsor a Thoroughbred, not adopt one. Got it?”

“Got it, Dad.” More long-suffering sighs.

“I know you know, just checking.” He followed a couple of cars to a field marked off for parking where a uniformed correctional officer directed people to the proper spaces. Gil thought about all those movies where the convicts drop a guard or two, exchange the officers’ uniforms for their prison garb, and escape into the woods. After parking where instructed, Gil pushed the buttons so Eddie could exit the van.

“You need help?” the officer asked.

“Thanks, but we have it.” Gil helped Eddie navigate over a stretch of bumpy dirt and dried grass, then let him go when he was rolling free. Unless he asked, Eddie hated someone pushing his chair.

They joined the people following each other into the tent, Eddie staring around as if to memorize everything he saw.

“Welcome to the Thoroughbred Retirement Foundation’s open house here at Los Lomas,” a woman, who appeared to still be in high school until they drew closer where Gil could see slight lines on her face, welcomed each of the visitors. Wearing khaki pants and a cotton sweater wasn’t prison garb but still the question teased him. Was she an inmate or not? Surely those serving the food weren’t—or were they? “This is the first time we’ve had a site at a women’s correctional facility. Would you please sign our guest book?”

Gil glanced at her name badge. Bethany. “Thank you, we’ll be glad to sign. I’m Gil Winters, and this is my son, Eddie.”

“Hi Eddie, welcome.”

“Hi, are you an inmate?”

Gil flinched and gave Bethany an apologetic look. Another rule to be firmly applied.