If Wishes Were Horses (7 page)

“Let me guess,” he said. “James Dean, right? Red Windbreaker and all.”

Gabby nodded. “Straight out of
Rebel Without a Cause.
And kudos on your powers of observation. Most people don't connect Trevor's appearance with the actor. Instead they think that my son is just some throwback greaser-in-training.”

Wyatt couldn't help but laugh. “Well, I don't mind his look. All he's missing is a cute girlfriend in a poodle skirt and a vintage Porsche! And speaking of clothes, did you buy him a Western hat and a pair of boots? It might sound silly to you, but he really will need them.”

Gabby took another sip of her Bloody Mary. It was a bit spicy, just the way she liked it.

“It was a struggle,” she answered. “The only way I got him to agree was to convince him that James Dean sometimes wore Western clothes. That was his principal's idea.”

Wyatt nodded. “I know Roy,” he said. “He's a smart man.”

“And just why do the kids need boots and hats?” Gabby asked. “I don't know anything about horses, but it seems to me that a person could ride while wearing almost any getup, right?”

Wyatt shook his head. “The hat will protect his head and face from the sun, and keep the sweat out of his eyes. The heels
on the boots will help keep his feet planted in the stirrups. And make sure that the boots are his only footwear while he's at the ranch. Trust me, that's how you'll want it.”

“Why?” Gabby asked again. She feared she was starting to sound like a pest, but she was becoming genuinely interested.

“Because part of Trevor's equestrian training will be mucking out stalls,” Wyatt answered, “and you don't want him dirtying every pair of shoes he owns! It's part of the overall therapy process. Nothing takes the starch out of a hard-nosed teenager like an hour or two of shoveling that stuff. I did plenty of it when I was his age. And like Trevor, I had my share of undeserved swagger.”

Gabby smiled. She had difficulty envisioning the well-dressed lawyer sitting across from her as ever having had to shovel out horse stalls. She also began wondering what Wyatt would look like in Western-style clothes. He seemed the type of man who could wear whatever he wanted to and get away with it. Then she thought about Trevor again. After everything her son had put her through, she had to admit that the image of her own little James Dean shoveling horse manure possessed a certain appeal.

She was just getting to know Wyatt, and before coming here today she had silently vowed not to mention the fatal car crash that had so tragically entangled their lives. Even so, there was something she thought Wyatt deserved to know, something she had neglected to tell him during their meeting with Reverend Jacobson. The longer she sat across the table from him, the greater her need to admit it became.

Her omission had haunted her ever since Wyatt agreed to
accept Trevor into the New Beginnings Program. As the past week had gone by, she worried more and more that had Wyatt known, he might have refused her request. Even now, she didn't know whether her silence had been accidental or intentional.

Worse, she feared that if she told him, he might decide he had been doubly tricked and angrily rescind his offer. But if there was one virtue Gabby Powers steadfastly refused to compromise, it was her honesty. And if she was going to risk telling Wyatt, it needed to be done before Trevor returned to the table. As she tried to prepare herself for his response, Gabby took a deep breath.

“There's something I need to say before Trevor comes back,” she said. “It's important to me that you hear it. I should have told you about it that day in Reverend Jacobson's office, but I was so happy that you gave us your permission, I could hardly think of anything else. I can only hope that you will take it in the spirit in which it is given.”

Wyatt took a final pull on his Bloody Mary then called the waiter over and ordered another one. Gabby declined. Wyatt gave her a stern look.

“It's about the car crash, isn't it?” he asked.

“How did you know?”

“You've got the same somber look on your face that you had back in Jacobson's office,” Wyatt answered. Then he stared down at his drink for a time.

“That crash is the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room,” he finally added. “I suppose that it always will be. But you've come this far, so you might as well get all your cards on the table for good.”

Hoping that she was about to do the right thing, Gabby nodded.

“Trevor believes it was Krista who caused the crash, rather than his father,” she said. “I've tried and tried to tell him the truth, but he won't have any of it. He even refuses to read the newspaper clippings or the police report. Jason was everything to him, and in his eyes, his father could do no wrong. Roy believes that's why he imitates James Dean—he's looking for a male role model who died young in a tragic car crash, just like his father. Without Jason in his life, he's searching for an identity. But it goes even deeper than that, Wyatt. In Trevor's warped view of things, he not only holds Krista responsible for Jason's death but your entire family as well.”

Wyatt sat back in his chair, thinking. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“I'm simply at my wits' end with him, and before you agreed to enroll him in your program, I was getting desperate,” Gabby added. “Your kindness was the only thing that kept him from being expelled six days ago! I can only hope that after hearing this, you'll still allow him to participate. There's a lot of good in him, Wyatt, I just know it. But he needs this program right now. I might as well also tell you that I'm scared to death of horses, and I almost didn't agree to this.”

Wyatt's face became emotionless, impossible to read. Gabby held her breath as she waited for his answer.

“First you surprise me in Jacobson's office, and now you tell me all this?” he asked. “It's a lot to absorb.”

“Then perhaps it was best that it came in bits and pieces,” Gabby offered.

To Gabby's surprise, Wyatt's tone hadn't sounded angry. Even so, she sensed that what little warmth was growing between them had suddenly chilled.

“Do you really believe that being around my family is what Trevor needs right now?” Wyatt asked. “How on earth is that going to help him?”

“I think that your program is
exactly
what he needs,” Gabby said. “If he spends time on the ranch and sees that the Blaines are normal, maybe he'll accept reality. I'm no psychologist, Wyatt. But if there's a chance that it might work, Trevor needs to try it.”

As Gabby held her breath, Wyatt sat in stony silence. He took another long slug of his drink. When he set the glass back down, it landed hard.

“Is there anything else you haven't told me?” Wyatt asked. “Because if there is—”

“No, I swear it.”

“Then my answer remains the same,” he said. “I still believe that I made the right decision, because this is about Trevor, not you and me. But if I find out that you're hiding anything else—”

“Oh, Wyatt, thank you!” Gabby interjected. “I promise that you won't be sorry!”

Forgetting herself for a moment, she touched his hand. Unsure of how to respond, Wyatt simply let it happen. The two scarred souls who were so inescapably linked by their mutual sense of loss sat quietly for a time, looking into each other's eyes and not knowing what to say. Just then Gabby saw Trevor coming back, and she pulled her hand away.

Trevor returned to the table with a plateful of pancakes,
bacon, and sausage, all of it drowning in maple syrup. Like most boys his age, he was a food destroyer of the highest order. Oblivious to the meaningful conversation he had just quelled, he started gobbling down his brunch.

Wyatt looked across the table at Gabby. “I think he has the right idea,” he said. “Shall we?”

Gabby nodded. “I'm starved.”

After making their way through the buffet line, Gabby and Wyatt returned to the table. Everyone ate in silence for a time then Wyatt politely asked Gabby about herself. She gave him a quick thumbnail sketch, and he reciprocated. Although Trevor's quiet moodiness had returned, Wyatt considered the boy's presence a blessing. So long as he was there, there would be no more talk of the car crash, or of why he needed the therapy program. Wyatt used the opportunity to talk a bit about his father.

Gabby smiled. “Ram sounds like quite a character.”

Wyatt swallowed another bite of his eggs Benedict before answering. “You have no idea! You'll meet him tomorrow. He's heard about you and Trevor, and he's eager to meet you. And when it comes to interesting characters, Big John and Aunt Lou aren't far behind. You'll like them, too. They live in the big house with me and Ram.”

“The ‘big house'?” Gabby asked. “You make it sound like a prison.”

Wyatt smiled. “I don't mean to. It's just that it's, well, big. There are more than fifty rooms.”

“Are you serious?”
Gabby asked.

Wyatt nodded.

“Who takes care of it all?”

“The ranch hands do the landscaping, painting, and so on,” Wyatt answered. “Aunt Lou does all the cooking and oversees a few maids who clean and do the laundry and such.”

“Someone else to do all the housework,” Gabby said wistfully. “A girl can only dream.”

“Is it hard to ride a horse?” Trevor asked.

“It's like anything else,” Wyatt answered. “Some people learn quickly, and others struggle. The trick is to become one with the animal, and to let him do all the work.”

“What kind of horses do you raise on the ranch?” Gabby asked.

“American quarter horses,” Wyatt answered. “They're Ram's favorites. They're very fast and highly adaptable to all sorts of tasks. Sometimes for fun we barrel-race them.”

Again the three of them ate quietly. After devouring a second plateful of food, Trevor had finally reached his limit. The look on his face told Gabby that he had more than fulfilled his promise to her, and he wanted to get away from the adults for a while.

“Can I go outside?” he asked. “I want to look at some of the shops.”

Gabby nodded. “Sure, but aren't you forgetting something?”

Trevor stood from his chair and looked at Wyatt. “Thank you for brunch…Wyatt,” he said.

“You're welcome,” Wyatt answered. “I'll see you tomorrow. And don't forget to wear your boots and hat.”

Trevor's pinched expression returned for a moment, then he rummaged up another unconvincing smile. “I won't,” he
answered. Without further ado, he made his way to the door and out onto the plaza.

Wyatt took another sip of coffee. “He certainly
seems
normal enough,” he offered.

Gabby snorted out a short laugh. “He wasn't too bad. But you haven't seen the real Trevor.”

With Wyatt and Gabby alone once more, the awkward silence returned.

“I want to thank you again,” she said. “If there's any way I can make it up to you…”

Wyatt shook his head. “Let's just hope that Trevor benefits from the program. It might be harder for him because of how he feels about my family, so we'll just have to wait and see. I'm no great judge of kids, but you're right about one thing.”

“What's that?” she asked.

“I see a lot of good in him, too,” Wyatt answered.

It was suddenly hard for Gabby to fight back tears, but she managed. After collecting her purse and clearing her throat, she stood. Wyatt stood with her.

“I'd best be going,” she said, “before my young hoodlum knocks over one of the stores.”

“Call me if he does,” Wyatt answered. “You'll need a good lawyer.”

Gabby smiled. “Until tomorrow, then.”

“Until tomorrow,” he answered.

Wyatt remained standing as he watched Gabby leave the restaurant. Her stride was unconsciously seductive, causing several men to turn their heads as she went by. Only then did Wyatt sit
back down at the table. To his surprise, for the first time since starting to come here for Sunday brunch some five years ago, he felt completely alone in a sea of people.

After ordering another coffee, he signed the check. For some reason, he didn't feel like leaving. Perhaps he simply didn't want to risk bumping into Gabby and Trevor again, because he might find it awkward. Whatever the cause, he stayed for a while and nursed his coffee in silence.

As the time passed, Gabby remained in Wyatt's thoughts. She had courage, that one. She could easily have hidden Trevor's feelings about Wyatt's family. Instead she had chosen to be honest, regardless of the possible consequences. And there was something else that Wyatt admired about her. Unlike some women Wyatt had met, she hadn't appeared interested in his wealth. For now, at least, it seemed that she valued a man's self-worth more than his net worth.

But there was much more to Gabby Powers than her courage and her honesty. Only moments ago, he'd told Gabby that this was all about Trevor. But with each passing day, he feared that it had more to do with Gabby than he was willing to admit.

For better or for worse, she had unexpectedly entered his life. She was the only woman in the last five years he had felt truly interested in, but with whom he couldn't allow himself to become entangled. After finishing his coffee, Wyatt rubbed his face with his hands.

“Christ,” he muttered to himself. “Of all the women in all the world…”

T
HE SONOGRAM CONFIRMS
a colt, Mr. Ram,” Big John announced happily. “It's gonna be a boy.”

As if in answer to Big John's statement, the pregnant gray mare named Sadie whinnied then shook her mane and halter. After resting his forearms on top of the open-stall Dutch door, Ram again looked toward the prized broodmare.

Sadie was one of the Flying B's finest. She had been bred several times before, and each time she had “taken” and delivered without incident. Serviced ten months ago by one of the Flying B's best studs, Sadie would give birth soon. The resulting foal would be very valuable to the ranch.

Even so, the impending newborn was less important to Ram than his mother. For Ram, the mare formally registered as Sadie of the Flying B, was more than just another of the ranch's many
quarter horses. Sadie had the perfect lines, refined head, and broad chest that were such highly prized characteristics among her breed. Sadie was Ram's favorite, and he would be desolate if he lost her. As she snuffled and swished her longish gray tail, he smiled. Opening the stall door, he walked in.

“Are you sure?” he asked Big John.

Big John nodded. “No doubt about it.” From within his worn overalls he fished out a copy of the sonogram and handed it over.

“How soon, you figure?” Ram asked.

“She's getting heavy,” Big John answered. “Seven more weeks, I'd say. Maybe eight.”

After examining the sonogram, Ram walked up to Sadie and stroked her head. He squatted down and looked at her underside. Big John was right. Like all the ranch's pregnant mares, Sadie had recently been trucked to a Boca veterinary hospital where precautionary sonograms had been taken.

“Is there anything else we can do for her?” Ram asked.

“After she gives birth, start her on a wet bran mash,” a female voice called out from the other side of the stall door. “Use two-thirds regular grain and a third wheat bran. It'll keep her from getting colicky.”

Ram and Big John turned to see a woman standing in the corridor. She opened the stall door and walked in.

“How long have you been standing there?” Ram asked.

“Long enough to hear you old men blathering to each other,” she answered.

Mercedes Lawson was one of Ram's ablest ranch hands. Although she had never been formally trained, some said that
she knew as much about caring for horses as Big John. Ram had often suggested that she attend college and then vet school, but she always argued that Big John was a far better teacher than any “mealymouthed professor.” The more that Mercedes learned about horses, the more Ram decided that she was right.

Like Big John and Aunt Lou, Mercedes had started working at the Flying B while she was young. When she'd answered an employment ad that Ram had placed in the Boca paper, she was eighteen years old and fresh out of the Florida foster-care system. Some said that experience had left her with a chip on her shoulder that she carried to this day.

More out of pity than any notion that she might actually succeed, Ram offered her a job. When Big John informed Ram that she was secretly sleeping in the hayloft at night because she had nowhere else to go, Ram allowed her to stay in one of the four guest cottages near the barn. That had been seventeen years ago, and what had started as a temporary lodging arrangement had eventually become permanent. By this time, Ram judged her lodging to be part of her pay, and, as with Aunt Lou and Big John, he considered her a family member in everything but name.

Mercy, as she was called, soon became a good ranch hand, hungering for more knowledge and responsibility. She shadowed Big John day and night, soaking up every bit of wisdom she could. The rest of her impressive education came from Big John's vet manuals that she read during her spare time, and often the lights in her cottage burned into the wee hours of the morning. Most of the ranch hands thought it was crazy for an attractive woman to spend her nights that way, but every one of them respected her
knowledge. Ram liked Mercy immensely, but she could be difficult to manage. As he watched her approach, he smiled.

The quintessential tomboy, Mercy was on the short side, with an attractive figure and medium length, dirty blond hair that was perpetually woven into two braids. Her eyes were light blue, her lips pouting and full. A smattering of freckles had survived her youth, their wayward scattering always turning a bit darker during summertime. On the rare occasions when Mercy chose to wear a dress and do something more creative with her hair, the transformation could be spectacular.

As usual she was wearing snug jeans, a wide leather belt with a silver buckle, and a denim work shirt. Her scuffed boots were made of black lizard hide. She had rolled up her shirtsleeves, and an old Stetson dangled down her back from a leather string lying across her throat. Soiled work gloves covered her hands. She looked dirty and tired, like she had just finished some disagreeable chore. Walking nearer, she pulled off her gloves and stuffed them into the back pockets of her jeans.

Ram looked at her curiously. “Where the hell have you been? I haven't seen hide nor hair of you all day.”

“I just got back with some of the boys,” she answered. “It was my turn to help ride fence.”

“I've told you a thousand times you don't have to do that,” Ram said. “It's tough enough work for a man, let alone a woman.”

Mercy laughed. “But I want to do it! The day that I can't hold my own around here will be the day that I leave.”

Ram shot a quick glance at Big John. Big John had no easy answer, so he simply grinned. Ram sighed and shook his head.
Sometimes Mercy was about as easy to handle as a coiled-up Florida rattlesnake.

“She's right about the bran mash, boss,” Big John said.

“Anything else?” Ram asked.

“We should also start her on a probiotic, to make sure that she provides enough milk for the new foal,” Big John answered. “And we'll give her some daily exercise in a corral of her own. Aside from that, it's nature's job. When Sadie's time comes, she'll let us know.”

Ram turned toward Mercy. “Are you staying or going?” he asked.

“Going,” she said. “I gotta wash all this Florida off me.”

Ram nodded. “Walk with me. I want to talk to you about something.”

Mercy accompanied him out of the barn and into the late-afternoon sunshine. She didn't know where they were going, nor did she particularly care. But her interest was finally piqued when Ram escorted her to the Blaine family cemetery.

When Ram opened the gate, its hinges sounded a familiar creaking. After beckoning Mercy to enter the cemetery with him, he led her to a stone bench where they sat down.

“Why did you bring me here?” Mercy asked.

“I like this place,” Ram said. “It's peaceful, and no one else will hear what I have to say.”

Mercy gave Ram a curious look. “What's on your mind?” she asked.

Ram pointed toward two gravestones. They were neatly tended and surrounded with colorful flower beds. The stone
markers belonged to Krista and Danny, something Mercy knew as well as Ram.

“You loved them, didn't you?” Ram asked.

“Course I did,” Mercy answered. “Why in hell would you ask me such a thing?”

“Because I need a favor from you, and it's one that you will probably find hard to grant,” Ram answered.

“What is it?” Mercy asked.

Ram turned and looked Mercy straight in the eye. “Wyatt's program starts tomorrow,” he said, “and this place will be full of brooding teenagers and anxious parents. You know what that's like, from when Krista ran the show. But Krista is gone, and the program is Wyatt's baby now.”

“I already know all that,” Mercy answered.

“Yeah,” Ram answered, “but you don't know about one of the teens and his mother. I don't want your famous sense of righteous indignation to upset Wyatt's apple cart. I want this boy and his mother to be treated the same as all the others. It was Wyatt's decision to allow him into the program, and we're all going to respect his wishes.”

“What in God's name are you talking about?” Mercy demanded. “Why would I treat one of the kids differently? You're not making much sense.” Mercy smiled and elbowed him in the ribs. “You're not having another of your senior moments, are you?”

Ram smiled back. Mercy was one of the few people in the world who could joke about his illness and get away with it.

“No,” he answered. “Just now I have total clarity.”

“Okay,” Mercy said. “So who's this special boy I'll be teaching?”

“His name is Trevor Powers,” Ram answered. “It seems that he's something of a hard case. He has a unique history with the Blaine family that will only make things more difficult. And by that I mean difficult for
all
of us, not just for him and his mother.”

Something about the boy's name tugged at Mercy's memory, but she couldn't place it so she let it go. “So what's the problem?”

“I'll put it in a nutshell for you,” Ram answered. “Trevor's father was Jason Powers, the drunk driver who killed Krista and Danny.”

Mercy was thunderstruck. She remained uncharacteristically quiet for a time, trying to absorb Ram's jarring revelation.

“Why in Christ's name would Wyatt agree to that?” she finally asked. “Having that boy and his mother at the ranch will be nothing but trouble.”

“It wasn't Wyatt's idea, I assure you,” Ram answered. “He got roped into it by our preacher, James Jacobson. But you wouldn't know who he is, what with you being a heathen and all.”

Mercy had to agree with Ram on that one. She was far from the churchgoing type, and everyone at the ranch knew it. She much preferred a poker table and cigar smoke to a church pew and incense any day.

“So why single me out to tell me this?” she asked.

“I want you to treat the Powers woman and her boy with respect,” Ram said. “And as for why you might not, well, I think you know. You're in love with Wyatt, aren't you?” As if a great weight had been lifted from the old man's shoulders, he sighed.

“There, I finally said it,” he breathed. “It took four years, but I finally got it out. I might be old and my brain riddled with Alzheimer's, but I still don't miss much. You've been in love with
Wyatt for a long time. I know you, Mercy, nearly as well as you know yourself. You're one of the most overly protective creatures on the planet, especially where Wyatt is concerned. I tell you these things because you mustn't get your back up when the Powerses arrive. Things'll be hard enough around here without you pecking away at Gabrielle and her boy because of Jason's mistake. And we both know that you're not above it.”

Like Mercy, Ram could be agonizingly blunt. Although she was accustomed to his directness, his words affected her greatly. Ram was right. She did love Wyatt, but until this moment she believed that only she and Wyatt knew.

Four years ago Mercy had foolishly blurted out her feelings to Wyatt, on the night of the annual Flying B ball. To make matters worse, she had had far too much to drink and made a pass at him. The only silver lining was that by then all the guests had gone home, leaving her and Wyatt very much alone when she poured out her heart to him.

Wyatt had been kind, but firm. He did not feel the same, he told her. After drunkenly stumbling back to her cottage, she'd cried until dawn—not only because of Wyatt's answer but also because she had made such a damned fool of herself.

They hadn't spoken of it since. To Mercy's great relief, Wyatt's brotherly attitude toward her remained unchanged. But Mercy had been devastated by Wyatt's answer. Even now, she tried to repress her feelings whenever Wyatt was near, but she doubted that she was very convincing.

She brushed away a tear, something few people aside from Wyatt had ever seen her do. Ram produced a handkerchief for her. Mercy sighed and dabbed at her eyes.

“You were right about telling me here,” she said. “I wouldn't want any of the other hands to see me like this.”

“You're human, just like everybody else,” Ram said. “Even though you don't like to think so.”

Mercy's gaze became searching. “Did Wyatt tell you?”

Ram shook his head. “He's too much of a gentleman for that. Besides, you know Wyatt. The man explains his feelings about as much as a fish.”

“So how did you guess?” she asked.

Before answering, Ram plucked a blade of grass and chewed it thoughtfully. “You could call it fatherly intuition, I suppose. You both probably thought that you could hide it, but not from me.”

“Is Wyatt aware that you know?”

Ram shook his head. “Nope. And it's gonna stay that way. If you tell him, I'll have you shoveling manure twenty-four-seven.”

Mercy sighed and returned Ram's handkerchief. “So I've been found out…”

Ram crossed his legs. “Yep. This means a lot to me, Mercy. I want Wyatt's program to go smoothly. Even after all this time he seems to have no real life outside the ranch, and I worry that his revival of Krista's program might only make him retreat inward even more. But he's a grown man, and he wants to do this thing. So can I rely on you to behave yourself? All of that shoveling aside, that is?”

Mercy tried to smile. “I'll try. But if that woman or her son crosses me, or if they disrespect you or Wyatt in any way, then all bets are off. Even with you.”

Ram hoped that he had gotten his point across, but he couldn't be sure. Mercy was the most stubborn person he had ever known. He would just have to wait and see how all this shook out. But one thing was certain. Things were about to get damned interesting around here.

Ram stood and looked around. The sun was starting to set, and it was almost time for his nightly porch visit. After a moment, he looked down at Mercy.

“Would you like to have dinner in the big house tonight with me and the family?” he asked. “It's fried-chicken Sunday.”