Lauraine Snelling (3 page)

“How could anyone starve him like this?” JJ, short for Janice and known for her fiery Latino temper, asked. “Why not just sell him?”

“I think he was left in a stall, and maybe they forgot him,” Maggie answered, stroking the horse’s nose.

“They oughta be shot.” JJ used a cloth to stroke the horse’s neck. “He has hives so bad he can’t even be brushed.” This from a woman so high on crack she’d once shot her boyfriend when he brought home the wrong-sized serving of fries from McDonald’s.

Two weeks later the stronger and more easily handled horses were let loose in the paddocks, some alone while others had progressed to tolerating other horses nearby, forming a small herd. The inmates gathered at the fence for their daily lecture at the usual spot when it wasn’t held in the large area at the far end of the barn.

“Okay, ladies, here’s your quiz for today.” Mr. James handed a paper with the outline of a horse to each of them as they sat on the grass. “Take out your pencils and fill it in, no cheating. Soon as you are finished, hand it to me and go about your chores.”

While there were the normal groans, no one said much until Brandy asked, “Does spelling count? How do you spell ‘withers’?”

Mr. James ignored the giggles. Brandy asked the same question every quiz.

“How come we can’t have multiple choice?” Kool Kat got another chuckle. The girls were all in good form this day. The cool breeze helped.

Finished long before the others, Maggie lifted her face to feel both the sun and the breeze. Watching the grazing horses was about as close to freedom as she could get now, but soon she’d be living without bars. She turned her head at the sound of a truck shifting down and watched it haul a trailer along the drive to the horse barn.

“Were we expecting a new horse today?” she asked as she stood and handed in her paper.

The trailer shook from the hooves pounding inside. “Not that I know of.” Mr. James studied the vehicle. “Collect the rest of the papers, would you?” He handed hers back to her and headed toward the driveway.

“What’s happening?” JJ asked.

Maggie shrugged as she accepted several of the papers, and the women leaned against the fence, watching the show.

“He be a mean one.” Kool Kat handed in her paper.

“Hey, Mr. Creston, make sure the number one stall has clean bedding,” Mr. James called from the side of the truck. “Water and hay too.”

A scream from the trailer made the hair on the back of Maggie’s neck stand on end. She figured her eyes were as round as the others’.

“That from the horse?” Brandy asked, moving closer to Maggie as if seeking safety.

Maggie nodded, the scream still echoing in her mind. She’d never heard a horse make a noise like that.

“Who gets that horse? Not me,” Brandy whispered.

The tailgate sent up dust puffs as it hit the dirt, and the trailer rocked from the force within.

“Bring him out easy,” Mr. James ordered.

“This horse don’t do easy.” One of the haulers backed out of the trailer. “Ya better get two ropes on him.” More scuffle as the other man tried to do as he was told. A string of profanity announced his feelings about the horse.

“Okay, I’ve got him.”

The blood bay horse backed out of the trailer in a rush, dragging the two handlers with him. When his front feet hit the dirt, he reared, slashing the air with both front hooves. One of the men ducked and shouted at the other. “Tighten up on your rope before he kills me.”

“Bring him over to that open door.” Mr. James pointed to the open barn door.

“Right, like we can lead him anywhere.” The horse reared again and came down teeth bared, lunging at one of the men. “Tighten up, I said.”

“I am.”

“I ain’t takin’ that horse, no way.” Kool Kat hugged the fence. “I’ll go back to the yard afore that.”

Once near the barn, the horse headed for the open stall door, dragging the men behind him. When he stormed in, Mr. James slammed both the top and bottom halves shut. A frenzy of hooves pounding the walls rewarded his quick action.

“I’ll get your ropes back to you after he calms down.”

“Good luck. Only one solution for that one . . . a fast bullet.” The two men climbed back in the truck and drove off. The horse screamed again, his hooves thundering on the stall walls. The crack of wood told of the power of his kicks.

Mr. James settled his straw wide-brimmed hat tighter on his head and glanced down at the paper one of the men had given him. “Sounds like Breaking Free is trying to do just that. If we can’t get him under control, he’ll have to be put down. He could put the whole Thoroughbred program in jeopardy.” He looked at each of the dumbstruck women. “Stall one is off limits, you understand?”

TWO

D
ad, it’s time.”

Gil Winters looked up from the contracts he was trying to catch up on to see his son waiting in the doorway to his home office. Not already. He glanced at his watch. “Give me five minutes, okay?”

“But Dad, we’ll be late.”

With a sigh, Gil slicked back the lock of hair that no matter how much gel he applied always fell forward. His son’s hair did the same. Their matching hazel eyes with long lashes, the envy of most women, were further proof of their relationship. Maria would take Eddie, all he had to do was ask. Maria had been their housekeeper since he’d married and taken over the care of the baby boy when Sandra, his ex-wife, couldn’t accept a less than perfect baby. Spina bifida definitely came under the heading of imperfect.

He knew he had promised to take Eddie to the therapeutic riding school. Had promised himself he’d use this activity to get closer to his son, hoping he wasn’t too late. But somebody has to earn the money here, he reminded himself, though grateful as always he was in a position to be able to take time away from business when necessary.

He heard the retreating squeak of his son’s wheelchair, one of the wheels needed oiling. He shoved his cordovan leather chair back. “No, Eddie, don’t leave. I’m coming.” Grabbing his keys and billfold from the tray on the ebony credenza where he always left them, he followed Eddie out the double doors and down the ramp. Rust and orange marigolds lined both sides of the redwood ramp, another example of Maria’s devotion to their stucco home. She never believed the hired gardeners took care of the flower beds as well as she could.

While Eddie couldn’t walk, in spite of several surgeries that promised miracles and didn’t deliver, he propelled his own wheelchair rather than using an electric one. At ten, he certainly had a mind of his own. While his legs failed to function, his facile brain amazed his father at times.

Gil clicked the key ring that raised the back door of the modified van and lowered the lift for Eddie to roll on to. Here he did need his father’s help. Gil pushed the wheelchair in, locked the wheels in place, and handed his son the seat belt. “You have your helmet?”

“Of course.” Eddie pointed to the box where he kept his riding equipment. Gloves, helmet, and safety belt. Eddie always put his things away.

Knowing he’d earned the silent treatment, Gil got in the front seat, latched his own seat belt, and started the car. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he watched his son. A worried look at being late eclipsed the usual grin. To Eddie, being late was almost as bad as not showing up. They had driven out of the gated housing development before Eddie relented.

“Dad?”

“What?”

“Can we buy a horse?”

“Sorry, bud, but we’ve no room for a horse.”

“We could stable one at the Rescue Ranch.”

Gil let out a sigh. He’d been afraid this was coming. “But who’d take care of it? Horses take a lot of care.”

“They have people that do that, and I can do some of the things. I could feed and water him.”

“I think you need to learn a bit more and then we’ll see.” He knew he was copping out on the issue but at these riding classes, his son was protected. People who were trained in assisting therapeutic riding worked with Eddie. Have a horse of his own—was Eddie nuts?

But Gil couldn’t say that. Not when he was the one who always told Eddie he could do anything he wanted, if he wanted to bad enough. Gil turned on to the highway, thinking he should keep his mouth shut. His words tended to come back to haunt him.

When they drove under the tree trunk posts and carved beamed entry to Rescue Ranch, he glanced back again to watch his son. The smile had returned and Eddie leaned slightly forward, staring out the side window at the horses grazing in a green pasture. Green because they were irrigated. Here in Southern California if the land wasn’t irrigated, it was brown—or gold as the pundits tried to convince residents and tourists alike.

If they bought a horse and boarded it out here, either he or Maria would spend half of their life at the ranch because that was what Eddie would want to do. Nearly two years they’d been coming out here. So much for letting Eddie ride with the hopes he’d learn from it and go on to something else. He parked the van in the shade of a huge cottonwood tree and opened the rear door.

Eddie had already leaned down and unsnapped the locks on the wheels, spinning his chair to go down the ramp, riding helmet in place. As he propelled himself toward the incline made for those in wheelchairs to get up on the mounting block, he shouted greetings to the instructor and laughed when someone called him dynamo.

Gil choked back the “be careful.” No wonder Maria had been encouraging him to take his son to his riding lessons. She’d told him there had been big changes, but he’d only half-listened. When she got so upset with him that she switched to Spanish, he knew he’d better come. She was right.

One of the men lifted Eddie up into the saddle, and they buckled him in. Then with a guard on each side, but no one leading, Eddie clucked the horse forward. While they had placed his feet into the stirrups, there was no muscle tone to guide the horse or help in balance.

Gil knew that. But with the special saddle and a well-trained horse, his son was basically riding alone. He heard someone come up beside him but didn’t take his gaze from the action in the arena.

“Good to see you, Mr. Winters.”

He glanced to the side where a dark-haired woman wearing sunglasses also watched his son. What was her name? Starting with A, he skimmed through the alphabet, hoping that would trigger his memory, an old trick he’d learned years ago. He’d met her before. Carolyn, no, Carly, that was it. With a small sigh of relief he answered, “Good to see you, Carly.”

Her quick smile told him she was impressed he remembered her name. “He is doing well.”

“I can see that. If you had told me—what’s it been? eighteen months ago?—that he’d ride by himself, I’d not have believed you.”

“I did tell you that, and you’re right, you didn’t believe me. Eddie is one of the most tenacious students we have. When you tell him something, he doesn’t quit until he can do it. He often quotes you, you know?”

He wished she’d take off her glasses so he could see her eyes. But then, he’d have to remove his. Dark glasses were a necessity in Southern California, besides being a fashion statement. His noncommittal “hmm” made her snort.

“He said you always tell him he can do whatever he wants if he is willing to give it all he has.”

“I never want him to think of himself as a cripple.”

“Or handicapped?”

“Or disabled or whatever word is PC at the moment. Somehow you can find a way to do most anything.”

“Other than walk?”

“True, but I keep hoping that with all the medical advances, he’ll even be able to do that someday. He can manage for a time on crutches, but the wheelchair is more flexible.”

“And faster.”

“And we all know Eddie likes faster.”

“He’d like to enter in a horse show that’s coming up.”

“Is that possible, I mean, is there a class for . . . for . . . ?”

“Kids with special needs?”

He stared from his dark glasses into hers. “Are you encouraging him to do that? I mean, there he wouldn’t have his two guards.”

“Aides. I don’t think he’s quite ready, but I’m not saying no.”

She should say no, he might fall and get hurt. No, he was the father,
he
should say no. Gil swallowed, blew out a puff, and sighed. Should and could were two entirely separate things. “What horse would he ride?”

“The one he is on. To ease your concern, the show is held here as a fund-raiser, and we encourage our students to enter.”

“I see.” He turned to look at her, noticing for the first time that she was an attractive woman. “If there is any way you can discourage this for now, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

She laughed. “We have some of our horses voice trained for riders like Eddie who haven’t the leg power. It doesn’t take a lot of time to train a horse to voice commands.”

“I see.”
And you’re telling me this why?

“He wants his own horse too.” She slipped the words in under his resolve, like a stiletto between the ribs.

“I know, he told me that. But you don’t understand. We live in a gated community that has limited yard space and strict regulations. Even dogs require special dispensation if they will be outside much.”

The tilt of her head told him what she thought of his excuse. “We have room for another horse here.”

“Right. Then I might as well move in too. Coming out here twice a week for lessons is one thing, driving out every day or even two times a day to take care of a horse is beyond the time I have available.”
And besides, I have a life too. I work and I . . . work.

“I see.” Her tone indicated she didn’t.

I’m sure you don’t. Being a single parent and running my own corporation. . . .
Gil caught himself up short. Whining doesn’t become anyone. At least he hadn’t said anything out loud. He turned his attention back to his son. The aides had dropped back when Eddie ordered the horse to trot.

Carly turned, a slight smile curving her lips. “If you should ever decide to buy a horse for Eddie, I’d be happy to assist you. In the meantime, good to see you again.” She held out her hand, forcing him to shake it.

“Thank you, for the offer.”
Right, good manners, but lady it’ll be a cold day in that hot spot before I buy a horse.
“And thanks for all you do for Eddie. This is an amazing place.”