If Wishes Were Horses (14 page)

“Here's what's going to happen,” Wyatt said. “If you can't sleep, we'll ask your neurologist to prescribe something else for you. So that you don't ‘forget' anymore, Aunt Lou will bring your new medication to breakfast each morning and we'll all watch you take it.”

Ram sighed again. He had been outfoxed, a rare occurrence. Even if he protested, Wyatt would ensure that he took his medicine every day. Despite his defeat, he had to admire the way that Wyatt had outmaneuvered him. Sometimes he forgot what a good lawyer his younger son was.

“All right,” he said. “The verdict is in. But I reserve my right to appeal the sentence. You know what the doctor said. The meds won't keep me from forgetting—they only slow down the process.”

Wyatt smiled. “That's okay, Dad,” he answered. “But you don't have to like your medicine. You just have to take it.”

Wyatt removed one pill from the bottle and held it out. Ram grudgingly swallowed it with some lukewarm coffee.

“Thank you,” Wyatt said.

“We all thank you,” Mercy added.

“That's right,” Big John added with a grin. “Besides, there's always plenty of barbed-wire fence that needs fixing. We don't need to be repairing paddocks, too.”

“Very funny,” Ram said. “Now then, if it's okay with all my jailers, I'm going to take my newspaper and coffee and retreat to my study. And I think I'll take Butch and Sundance with me this
time. They seem to be the only ones around here who aren't trying to run my life.”

Ram collected his glasses and newspaper then went to the sideboard and poured a fresh cup of coffee. With the ever faithful dogs in tow, he trudged off toward his study. When Ram was out of sight, Wyatt looked at Aunt Lou and nodded gratefully.

As he went, Ram shook his head. His experiment had failed. He had in fact been purposely ignoring his medication. Yes, it interfered with his sleep. But more important, he saw it as much a crutch as a help, and Ram had always loathed the idea of not functioning on his own.

Instead, this latest adventure of his had nearly killed him, and had injured one of the Flying B's most valuable horses. Worse, Wyatt had found out, and there could be no going back now. He took a deep breath and shook his head.

Times are changing,
he thought.
Even for me…

T
REVOR WAS BORED
to death.
I hate these sessions,
he thought. He stole a quick glance at the grandfather clock.
Ten more minutes, and then I get to ride again. But it'll seem more like ten hours…

Four full weeks of New Beginnings had passed. Seven other teens and the group's psychotherapist sat with Trevor at one end of the massive dining room table. Eight more enrollees and their therapist were holding their own session down the hall in the big-house library, while the rest of the teens took their equestrian training.

Leaning back in his chair, Trevor crossed one boot over the top of the other. He then turned and looked at Sally Hendricks, who always sat beside him during these sessions. They hadn't known each other before joining New Beginnings. During the
first day's orientation at the ranch, they learned that they attended the same school, and that Sally took one of Gabby's history classes. From that knowledge, a friendship had sprung up between them.

Sally was a tall girl, Trevor's age, with long, dark hair, and a bright mind. Like Trevor, Sally had been slipping academically. The further her grades fell, the more distant she became from her family and her usual circle of friends. Of even greater worry to her parents was that Sally had started wearing Goth-style clothing and makeup, and had become part of that odd clique.

But since entering the New Beginnings program, she seemed somewhat happier and more outgoing. Her grades had improved a bit, and she spent less time with the Goth kids. Although she hadn't totally abandoned that culture, she now wore less of the getup that went along with it.

When Sally glanced back at Trevor, he crossed his eyes and abruptly stuck out his tongue. Sally giggled and unintentionally interrupted Jasmine Andrews, the black teen who was speaking.

Jasmine always had definite opinions and no problem expressing them. Horses were a lot like boys, Jasmine was insisting. It was impossible to manage a horse, she said, and managing boys was no easier. After smirking at Trevor, she added that maybe it was because boys were as dumb as horses.

Knowing full well who the troublemaker was, the psychotherapist cast her gaze Trevor's way. Always the professional, she made sure that her expression was judgment free. Nonetheless, it spoke volumes.

Her name was Clarissa James, and all of the teens were required to call her “Dr. James.” Trevor obliged, but whenever she
crossed his mind the name “sourpuss” popped up so vividly that he had to make a concentrated effort not to actually blurt it out. As Dr. James laced her fingers together on the table, she fixed her stare solely on him.

“Was there something you wanted to share with the group, Trevor?” she asked.

Trevor stared down at the shiny tabletop. Sally giggled again, this time at Trevor's expense.

“Uh…not really,” Trevor answered.

He stole another glance at the grandfather clock. Eight minutes left. He could endure anything for eight minutes, he decided, including the laserlike stare of Dr. James.

“Well, perhaps you could share your viewpoint on what Jasmine was just saying,” Dr. James suggested.

“What was that?” Trevor asked.

“About how it's so hard to control a horse, silly,” Jasmine chimed in. “Don't you ever listen?”

“Oh yeah, that,” Trevor answered. “You're wrong—it's not that hard.”

“Well…?” Dr. James asked.

Trevor thought for a moment before again looking across the table at Jasmine. “It's your fault, not the horse's,” he said with authority.

“Would you care to explain that?” Dr. James asked.

“I've seen the way you ride,” Trevor said to Jasmine. “You're terrible at it. When your horse doesn't do what you want, you just sit there and yell at him. That's not how it works. Do you think that he's going to answer you back or something? Jesus…”

Several of the teens laughed, but Dr. James was not amused. She certainly didn't condone Trevor's bad language. But so long as Trevor didn't use it too harshly against someone else, she had decided to tolerate it because the overall therapy process was far more important to Trevor than trying to correct a single bad habit.

“Those last comments of yours were interesting, Trevor,” Dr. James said. “Would you like to explain them further? Perhaps you could apply that same reasoning to how we interact with people. Besides, what's so strange about talking to animals? We do it all the time with our pets, right? Jasmine is no different.”

“But people talk,” Trevor answered. “We can tell them what we want.”

“Of course,” Dr. James answered back. “But what if all the talking in the world doesn't convince someone of your needs? Or what if the other person is deaf? What would you do then?”

Trevor thought for a moment. “Then I'd have to
show
him what I wanted,” he answered. “But I'd be patient.”

Dr. James resisted an impulse to literally beam at Trevor. “Very good,” she said. “Just like you do when you're learning to ride a horse, right? You move the reins left or right to give the horse direction, or you pull them back to make him stop. And it's all done without the spoken word. It might be a cliché, but sometimes actions truly are louder than words.”

Trevor looked at Jasmine. “See?” he asked. “Horses are more like people than you think.”

Just then the grandfather clock chimed, ending the session. Soon the teens were heading for the main barn by way of the din
ing room's French doors. After grabbing their hats from the table, Trevor and Sally also started to go.

“Trevor?” Dr. James called out. “Please wait. I need to speak with you.”

Trevor groaned. He wanted nothing more than to start the day's equestrian training. But for some unknown reason he would now have to stay behind with “sourpuss.” After trudging back to the table, he morosely reclaimed his seat.

To Trevor's surprise, Dr. James remained quiet. Soon the other therapist and two of his teens entered the room, causing Trevor to become even more curious. To his dismay, the other kids seemed as confused as he.

The other therapist's name was Jim Weston. A bald-headed man with a thick mustache, he was often kidded about how much he resembled Dr. Phil. Trevor didn't know him well, but he seemed nice enough. The two teens were Sean Baker and Tina Brooke. Trevor knew Tina slightly. She was a freckle-faced blonde, and one of the prettiest girls in New Beginnings. Sean was a tall, lanky kid with dark hair.

Clarissa smiled at Jim. “These two?” she asked.

Jim smiled back at her. “Yes,” he said.

Clarissa nodded, then she motioned toward Trevor. “I have just this one,” she said cryptically. Then she smiled and shook her head. “He's ready, but heaven help us!”

Trevor was about to ask what was going on when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Soon Wyatt and Ram walked in and sat at the table. For some mysterious reason, they seemed particularly pleased to see him sitting there with the two others.
Trevor looked pleadingly at Ram for answers, but the old man only winked.

“Is this all of them?” Wyatt asked Clarissa.

Clarissa nodded. “At first I wasn't sure about Trevor, but lately he's made some excellent progress.”

“What's going on?” Trevor asked Wyatt.

“You three have been chosen to begin a higher level of equestrian training,” Wyatt answered. “Barrel racing, to be exact. It's a Flying B tradition. At this stage in the program, the therapists and equestrian coaches are asked to select some teens who have progressed far enough in both areas to take up the challenge. A few more have also been chosen from the alternate group. Everyone's parents have given their permission. You'll be training in the larger ring, while all the other teens continue their more traditional riding lessons in the other one.”

Wyatt looked at each teen in turn. “So what do you think?” he asked. “Are you interested? Or would you prefer to stay behind with the others and stick with walking, trotting, and cantering?”

Overcome with joy, Trevor leaped from his chair. During his time at the ranch he had learned what barrel racing was, and he had seen Mercy perform the maneuvers a few times. He had watched with awe as she charged her horse into the ring, around the barrels, and then thundered out again, all in about fifteen seconds or so. But never in his wildest dreams did he think that he'd get the chance to learn. He positively beamed at Wyatt.

“You bet your ass I would!” he shouted, causing Dr. James to sigh and resignedly shake her head.

Wyatt looked at Sean and Tina. “And you two?” he asked.

After they both heartily agreed, Ram leaned across the table and raised his bushy eyebrows up and down. “Then we might as well get this party started,” he said. “Let's go.”

As Dr. James watched them leave through the French doors, Jim turned and looked at her. “Did the Blaines pressure you to include Trevor in this?” he asked. “I know how fond they've become of that kid.”

Clarissa shook her head. “They know it would have been unethical. And besides, the amazing truth is that Trevor's ready. That last exchange between him and Jasmine cinched it for me. Must be that his riding instructor thinks he's ready, too.”

She again looked out toward the barn. Ram, Wyatt, and the three teens were at last walking inside. Then she laughed and shook her head.

“He's a caution, that one,” she said, half to herself. “But he's also a charmer.”

Jim smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “And so was James Dean.”

W
HILE TREVOR TOOK
his first barrel-racing lesson, Gabby glanced around the busy game room. Most of the other parents were also there, waiting for their teens to finish so they could take them home.

At first Gabby wasn't sure about allowing Trevor to participate in the racing instruction. But Wyatt had assured her that it would be all right, and so she had agreed. Despite Wyatt's promise, she decided not to go and watch because she knew it would be too stressful for her. Just the same, she hoped that Trevor would do well.

In for a penny, in for a pound,
she thought.

Gabby relaxed in her chair and took a moment to look around the room. She knew most of the other parents by now. She couldn't go so far as to say that the ice had truly been broken.
But it was at least melting a bit, and she hoped that with time she would be able to count the other parents as friends. Deciding to stretch her legs, she left the game room and headed toward the foyer, the crossroads of the great house.

Gabby had been hugely impressed by this mansion the moment she first saw it, and she was dying to see more of it. She would do some innocent exploring, she decided. She was of course already familiar with the great foyer, the dining room, the kitchen, and the game room. But there remained several hallways leading off from the foyer that she had yet to investigate. Wondering what she might find, she chose one and started on her way.

She soon passed a sitting room, its ornate French doors lying open as if inviting her to come inside. The dark hardwood floor was immaculate, and partly covered with tasteful oriental rugs. The exquisite furniture had certainly been crafted during an earlier, more elegant era. Like in the formal dining room, here, too, hung a lovely oil portrait of Phoebe Blaine.

She passed several more rooms, each of which also boasted French doors. There was a library, a music room, and a room whose walls displayed equestrian antiques and old photos that had presumably been saved from the ranch's earlier days. After savoring the bygone atmosphere for several moments, she continued her journey.

Soon another door loomed on her left, this one made from solid oak. The door was slightly ajar, but not enough for her to see inside. A brass key protruded from the keyhole.

Her curiosity mounting, Gabby entered the room, leaving the door open. The door hinges squeaked slightly as she let herself in.
She had fully expected it to be much like the others. But to her surprise, she had been wrong.

This room was rather dark and somber. A large bay window was in the far wall. Each of the other three walls was nearly covered with black-and-white photographs, all of them encased in matching pewter frames of varying sizes. Her curiosity growing, Gabby ventured farther into the room.

A large desk and a swivel desk chair sat before the bay window. On the marble window ledge were several leather-covered photo albums. In the nearby right-hand corner there stood a coat rack that held an English-style riding hat, a pair of riding gloves, and a leather crop. As she looked longer, Gabby realized that everything was coated in a fine layer of dust.

Gabby quietly approached the desk. On it lay a collection of fountain pens in a wooden-and-glass case, an old PC, a desk pad, and several more framed, black-and-white photos. On the desktop pad was a five-year-old day planner, its pages opened to the anniversary of the terrible car crash that had entwined her and Trevor with the Blaines. Covered in a fine layer of dust, the time and date of Wyatt's tragic birthday party was noted there in red fountain-pen ink.

On reading the day planner, a possibility occurred to her.
Is this Wyatt's office?
she wondered.
But if it is, then why isn't it cleaner?

She went to the window and picked up one of the photo albums. After blowing off the dust, she opened it to see pictures of Wyatt, Danny, Krista, Ram, and other people of the Flying B during earlier, happier days. Eager to see more, she started to turn
the page. Just then she heard the door hinges creak again.

“What do you think you're doing?” a male voice asked.

Gabby knew immediately who it was. She slowly turned and gazed into Wyatt's eyes. His face held an odd expression. To her relief, she couldn't call it anger. Rather, it was an odd mixture of sadness and remembrance.

Wyatt purposefully crossed the room. Reaching out, he took the photo album from Gabby's hands.

“What do you want here?” he asked, so softly that she barely heard the words.

Unsure of how to answer, Gabby took a deep breath. “I'm sorry if I ventured somewhere that I shouldn't have,” she offered. “I was out exploring, and the door was open. I never meant to intrude.”

Wyatt slowly closed the album then carefully returned it to the exact place from which it had come. Without speaking, he turned and looked out the window. Unsure of what to say or do, Gabby simply stood there beside him, waiting. As the deafening silence continued, the dusty room and its treasured memorabilia seemed to start crowding in on her.

When her eyes again fell on the coat rack holding the riding things, this time she understood. The hat and gloves were too small to belong to a man, she now realized, and so they must have been Krista's. This room was her office, her private place whenever she and Wyatt visited the ranch.

Gabby sighed and closed her eyes. “Wyatt, I'm sorry,” she said. “Until this very moment I didn't realize that this room had been Krista's.”

“Yes,” Wyatt answered quietly, his eyes still gazing out the
window, his voice cracking with emotion. “And as you can see, she was a wonderful photographer. It was a great passion for her. But if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone just now.”

“Of course,” Gabby answered. She wanted to reach out and touch him before going, but decided not to. Saying nothing more, she crossed the room and shut the door.

 

“WHOA, THERE, YOUNG LADY,”
Ram said. “Why the long face?”

Ram was sauntering down the hall, approaching Gabby as she made her way back to where she hoped the world would make sense again. Ram saw that Gabby was upset, and he purposely blocked her path. Taking her hands in his, he tried his best to smile at her.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

Gabby sighed. “I was walking around the house,” she answered. “This place is so lovely—I just wanted to see more of it. But I went into a room that I shouldn't have, and Wyatt found me there.”

Ram understood at once. “Come with me,” he said. “We need to talk.”

He escorted Gabby back to the foyer and then out onto the broad porch. The sun was just starting to set, and for the first time since coming to the ranch, she was truly glad to be out of the house. Ram led her to the same wicker table and chairs where they had first gotten to know each other.

After they sat down, Ram looked compassionately into Gabby's eyes. “It was Krista's study, wasn't it?” he asked.

Gabby nodded.

Ram sighed and shook his head. For several moments he gazed out across the grounds, collecting his thoughts.

“You know,” he said, “Wyatt and Aunt Lou are always criticizing me about my office being off-limits to everyone. But that room you just came from is the
true
inner sanctum in this place. To the best of my knowledge, no one but you and Wyatt has set foot in there since the day of the crash. Right or wrong, that's how Wyatt wants it. I wouldn't go so far as to call it a shrine, but it's damned close. I've tried and tried to get him to pack up all of Krista's things and let some new life return to that room, but he won't hear of it. It's his personal time machine, I guess.”

Gabby nodded. “To a lesser degree, I can understand his feelings. I have a box containing some of Jason's things in my bedroom at home, and truthfully, if I walked into the room and saw someone handling them, I'd be upset, too.”

Ram again looked out across the ranch that he so loved. “You know,” he said, “death's leftovers can be mixed blessings. The possessions that our loved ones leave behind can sometimes seem as alive as those who once owned them. Maybe that's because they're all that's left to us. But sometimes those same keepsakes can become too coveted.”

Gabby nodded. “You're right. Although Wyatt and I were the only two people in the room, it felt pretty crowded.”

“I know, dear,” Ram said quietly. “Believe me, I know.”