A Basket of Trouble (3 page)

work shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was talking and gesturing to a group of people. “I’ve got Kyle Mendoza there

leading tours around. He’s a real people person, and a great wrangler and trail guide. And since he’s born and raised here, he knows his Colorado Springs history.”

As if he felt Charley’s gaze on him, Kyle waved at them and

flashed a white-toothed grin before returning his attention to the group in front of him. “That’s our owner and manager, Charley

Gardner,” he said to his rapt audience. “A finer man you’ll never meet. Let’s all give him a wave and yell ‘Hi, Charley.’”

Dutifully, the group turned and greeted Charley.

“See, Kyle’s got them eating out of his hand.” Charley chuckled

and returned the wave. “And he never misses a chance to butter up the boss.”

“Great job, folks!” Kyle turned and set out for the trailer. “Now, let me show you around the place.”

“I’ll introduce you to Kyle later,” Charley said. “But now, I want you to meet my right-hand man. Brought him from Durango with

me.”

He led them into the barn that housed enough stalls for the

twenty horses Charley and Jessica owned and for ten more board-

ers. At the rear were a tack room, feed storage room, and a treatment area for a veterinarian or farrier to work on a horse. They

walked past contented horses munching on green-smelling spring

hay to the tack room.

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A middle-aged Hispanic man sat there on an overturned plas-

tic grain tub. He wore square-toed work boots, a long-sleeved ol-

ive shirt, and a pair of tan jeans liberally marked with stains and frayed at the seams. One hand held leather reins, and his other

held a huge needle strung with thick waxed thread. He stabbed the needle in a rein and pulled the thread through.

“Jorge, I want you to meet someone,” Charley said.

Jorge looked up, stood, laid his sewing repair project on the

tub and turned to them. His legs were bowed as if he was still riding a horse. Permanent squint lines fanned out around his brown

eyes from years of working outdoors in bright sun.

He wiped his hands on his pants. “Hello.”

“This is my sister, Claire, and her husband, Roger Hanover,”

Charley said. “And this is Jorge Alvarez, my very own horse-whis-

perer. If any of my horses develop a health or behavior problem,

Jorge here straightens them right out.”

Jorge smiled and shook both their hands. “Pleased to meet

you,” he said formally, with a slight Mexican accent. “But Charley is too free with his compliments.”

Charley slung an arm around Jorge’s shoulders. “No, I don’t

compliment you enough, my man.” He looked at Claire and Roger.

“Jorge worked for me for six years in Durango, came highly rec-

ommended from a friend who runs a stable in Las Cruces, New

Mexico. I thank God he agreed to come here with me.”

Curious about Jorge’s accent, Claire asked, “Are you from New

Mexico, then?”

“No, I was a
vaquero
in Oaxaca, Mexico before coming to the United States eight years ago to work for Charley’s friend. He

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taught me to speak good English, so I could work with the
touris-tas
.”

“Did you bring your family with you?” Roger asked.

Jorge lowered his head. “No, I have no family.”

“Not for my lack of trying to match him up, though.” Charley

gave Jorge a friendly slap on the back. “I’ll let you get back to work while I show Claire and Roger around.”

After he led them away, he said, “I found a small apartment

for him, and Jessica and I have him over for dinner once a week.

I hope he makes some other friends here. I’d hate for him to be

lonely.”

“Next time I have you and Jessica over, I’ll invite him, too,”

Claire said.

Charley looked surprised. “That’s really nice of you.”

He approached a stall housing a well-muscled brown horse

with a long black mane and tail. The horse came right to him, blew into his hand, and lowered his head for Charley to rub.

“This is Gunpowder, my favorite mount. He’s an American

Quarter Horse gelding. That’s the preferred breed for rodeo com-

petitions, and because of their even temperament, for taking tourists on trail rides, too. Gunpowder here, though, tends to be frisky.

So unless we get a rider who can prove to me that he has a lot of experience, only the wranglers and I ride him.”

“Do you have any stallions here?” Roger asked.

“Oh no, too dangerous. There’s almost nothing that can keep

a stallion from a mare in heat, so I only have geldings and mares.

None of the boarded horses can be stallions either. Gunpowder

still thinks he’s a stud sometimes, though.”

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Charley gave Gunpowder one last pat, then led them back out-

side into the bright sunlight. “You two thirsty?”

Claire felt a trickle of sweat running down the middle of her

back under her T-shirt. “I could use a glass of lemonade.”

While they stood by the food table sipping their drinks, Kyle

came over with three people. “Charley, you’ve met my brother, but I’d like to introduce my parents, Ana and Emilio.” He swept his

hand toward a couple who looked to be in their fifties. Both had

dark hair and eyes and were impeccably dressed in khaki pants

and soft Pima cotton polo shirts.

“Please to meet you.” Charley shook the couple’s hands then

shook the hand of the short young man hovering beside his par-

ents. “And how are you, Petey?”

“Fine!”

Claire realized that Petey was older than his height indicated,

in his late teens or early twenties, and he had the characteristic almond-shaped eyes of someone with Down syndrome. When

Charley introduced Roger and her to Kyle, his parents and Petey,

Petey enthusiastically shook their hands and grinned broadly.

“Petey is one of Jessica’s hippotherapy clients,” Charley ex-

plained to Claire and Roger.

Claire had been curious if Jessica had picked up many horse

therapy clients after the move to Colorado Springs. She was happy to meet one of the people Jessica was helping. She smiled at the

young man. “Do you like to ride horses, Petey?”

He bobbed his head. “Yeah, yeah!”

“Your wife has accomplished some wonderful things with

Petey in just a few sessions,” Ana said to Charley. “His balance is 14

better, and his coordination. He’s even talking more, though most of his new words have to do with horses.”

As if on cue, Petey tugged on Kyle’s shirt and said, “Daisy? Car-

rot?”

“He wants to give his favorite horse, Daisy, a carrot,” Kyle ex-

plained. “I’ll take him to the barn.”

“I’ll go with you,” Emilio said. “I haven’t met Daisy yet.”

As the three walked off, Petey’s hand in Kyle’s, Ana beamed.

“Kyle is so good with his brother. It’s such a comfort to me to

know that when Emilio and I pass on, Kyle will be here to take care of Petey.” She gave a little sigh then turned to Claire and Roger.

“It’s because of Kyle that Petey can come for his horse therapy.”

“He does extra work around here in exchange for the sessions,”

Charley added, “repairs, clearing brush, and such. He’s staying late today to clean up after the opening.”

“Has Jessica gotten many clients?” Claire asked.

“A few,” Charley said. “She hopes to gradually build up more as

the word gets out that a new occupational therapist trained in hippotherapy is in town.”

“I’ve already spread the word in my Down syndrome parents’

group,” Ana said.

“And Jessica has a couple of clients who are kids with autism.

Their parents said they would tell their friends, too,” Charley said.

“Speak of the devil, here she is.”

Jessica exited the trailer with the new horse-boarding clients,

said her goodbyes to them, then came over to give Ana a hug.

“Where’s my boy, Petey?”

“At the barn talking to Daisy,” Ana replied. “I think I will join them. Thank you for inviting us to your opening.”

15

“I’ll see you Tuesday for Petey’s next session,” Jessica said.

Ana smiled. “He’ll be anxious for it, since he’s seeing Daisy to-

day. I hope he can wait two days!” She gave a wave and headed for the barn.

“So you’ve got two businesses up and running here,” Roger

said.

“Only one business,” Jessica replied. “The hippotherapy is a

non-profit. We don’t make any money from it. I only charge cli-

ents for my time and the use of the horse.”

“Ah, I see,” Roger said. “So that makes it more affordable for

people.”

“Some of the families can’t even afford that, though,” Jessica

replied, “so I’ve already applied for a couple of local grants. If I can get some grant money, I can offer scholarships. God knows, I’ve

been there, and I know how a childhood disability can financially strap a family.”

Claire nodded and touched Jessica’s arm. Jessica and Charley

had lost their second child, a daughter, at the age of three to al-pha mannadosis, an incurable genetic disease resulting from miss-

ing an enzyme that breaks down sugar waste-products. Claire was

sure that’s why Jessica subsequently got her degree in occupational therapy, so she could help other sick and disabled children.

Jessica squeezed Claire’s hand, acknowledging the unspoken

offer of comfort, then pressed on. “I also try to keep costs down by using volunteers to lead the horse and walk on either side of it while the client is on the horse.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, most of my volunteers are teenage girls, who aren’t that reliable.”

Claire had an idea, something that might bring her closer to

her brother. “What about me?”

16

Jessica gave a little hop and clapped her hands. “That would be

wonderful, Claire.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been around horses,” Claire said,

“but I took some Western riding lessons when I was a teenager.

Remember, Charley?”

He nodded. “And I remember that fall you took that broke

your arm.”

Claire automatically started rubbing the spot above her wrist.

“I could start you out as a side walker,” Jessica said, “which only takes one training session. Once you’re comfortable with that, you can do some leading. Can you come Tuesday morning to train?

Then you could help with Petey’s session and a couple of others in the afternoon.” Her face fell. “Or will you be too busy making and delivering baskets?”

Claire shook her head. “The poor economy has affected me,

too. I’ve only got a few baskets to make this week, so I can come Tuesday. And remember, Roger and I are coming back tomorrow

morning with our friends Ellen and Dave to take a trail ride.”

“And we’re only charging you for two—Ellen and Dave,” Char-

ley said.

“Oh no, we’re paying customers!” When Charley opened his

mouth to speak, she held up a hand. “No argument. We want to

support your new business here as much as we can. Maybe you

can give us a free ride later, after you’re established.”

Charley frowned, but when Jessica put a hand on his arm, he

exhaled. “Okay.”

Someone came up to Charley to ask a question, so Claire and

Roger headed for the food table to grab some cookies. They chat-

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ted with a few other attendees then decided to head home. After

saying their goodbyes, they walked back out to the parking lot.

While Roger started the car, Claire pursed her lips and sur-

veyed the dwindling attendance at the opening. “I hope Charley

succeeds here. He needs to so much. I’m afraid he’s overextended

himself to get this started.”

Roger backed the car out of the parking spot. “Well, worrying

about it won’t help any. And speaking about overextending, what

possessed you to volunteer for Jessica’s hippotherapy?”

18

two:

terror in the stable

When Roger drove into the Gardner’s Stables parking lot early

the next morning, Claire spied Dave Redding’s car. Dave was the

ex-husband of her best friend Ellen, and the two had been work-

ing on getting back together. The profiles of two heads in the front seat leaned toward each other to share a kiss.

Claire let out a little squeal of delight and squeezed Roger’s

arm. “They just kissed!”

“Doesn’t take much to excite you, does it?” Roger said with a

grin. He pulled into a spot and turned off the ignition.

“I’m just so happy for Ellen and Dave. After all the troubles

they’ve had, it’s good to see them getting back together again.”

“Just like us.”

“No, not like us. We never got divorced—or slept with other

people.”

Roger reached over to tuck a curl of her hair behind her ear.

“You’re right, honey. We never stopped loving each other.”

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And her body had never stopped responding to his touch. She

smiled at him and gave his arm a pat. Then she opened her car

door, too excited about their upcoming ride to sit still.

“C’mon. Time’s a-wasting. Today’s going to be fun!”

She ran over to tap on Ellen’s window, who hopped out of the

car to give Claire a hug and a squeal of her own. They checked

out and commented on each other’s riding ensembles—Western

shirts, jeans, boots. Ellen had even added a red bandana tied jauntily about her neck. The two men stood with hands in their pock-

ets and rolled their eyes.

“And I love your hair,” Claire exclaimed. “You’re not a redhead

anymore. You’re back to your natural brunette.”

Ellen smiled. “Dave likes it better this way.”