Here to Stay (4 page)

Luke parted his lips but then sank back against the cushions without speaking.

“I’m it, Luke! What if I get hit by a bus or die of cancer? Who’ll take care of you? Our grandparents don’t give a damn about us. You need to get your head on straight and start acting like an adult instead of a spoiled brat!”

“You haven’t seen
brat
yet, and you aren’t going to die. You’re only nine years older than me. Don’t be melodramatic, and give me back my headset.”

“I’m not finished! Just because I’m only twenty-eight is no guarantee I’ll be around forever. It’s not just about a job. It’s about your being able to do simple things, like make a sandwich! If something happens to me, what will you do, sit here and starve?”

Luke groped for the headset. “Stop it,” she grated. “Will you please listen to me?”

“All I hear is white noise.” He made a lucky grab and wrested the headphones away from her. “Leave me alone, I said.”

Mandy trembled so violently, her legs almost buckled. Luke put the headphones back on and turned up the volume so far that she feared the mirror behind the sofa might crack. “If you don’t stop that, you’ll end up deaf!” she yelled, but Luke couldn’t hear her. His closed eyes, crossed arms, and hunched shoulders signaled total shutout.

Scalding tears pooled in Mandy’s eyes. From dawn until well after midnight, she devoted nearly every minute of her day to Luke—helping him shave and dress, cooking, doing laundry, cleaning, and then working long hours as a medical transcriptionist in the tiny bedroom she’d converted into an office. And this was the gratitude she got?

Whirling away, she cut through the dining room to the adjoining kitchen. When she reached the chipped sink, she curled her fingers over the edge of the counter and stared out the window at the huge backyard, which was fenced and perfect for a dog. Her brother was such a blockhead. She hated to see him wasting his life this way.

Her knuckles throbbed from the force of her grip on the Formica, the ache in her temples had shifted behind her eyes, and her chest felt as if it might explode.
Take deep breaths. Don’t let him get to you
. It was easier said than done.

Mandy blinked and took in the view of the yard, which always calmed and soothed her. One of her passions was gardening, and seeing the tidy flower beds under a thick crust of snow filled her with a sense of accomplishment. The peony she’d planted last spring was trimmed close to the ground now. She hoped it would snuggle under the icy white and push up fresh green shoots again next summer.

Central Oregon was experiencing a cold snap, the temperatures so low that the air sparkled. Condensation blurred the window glass. Her gaze shifted to the tiny pots on the windowsill. Hopefully the cold seeping through the pane wouldn’t stunt the growth of her starts: marigolds, pansies, baby’s breath, pink carnations, and chrysanthemums. She wanted them to be large and ready to bloom by June, when it would be safe to transplant them into the flower beds and patio planters. It was her dream to get a degree in horticulture and one day own a plant nursery, but for now all she could do was pore over gardening books and pretend she was an expert, yet another frustration in her life.

Before long, it would be Valentine’s Day. With a fingertip, she drew a heart in the moisture on the glass, wishing the holiday were today. She could make fudge and applesauce bread. The smell of loaves hot from the oven made her feel festive.

My fault
. She always came back to that after a quarrel with her brother. It didn’t ease her conscience to remember that she’d been a child herself when she’d been raising Luke and only twenty-one when she’d finally gotten custody. Her brother had been her responsibility, and she’d made countless mistakes, end of story. Now he was a mess, and unless she could get through to him, he would remain a mess.

She wouldn’t think about it now. She needed to focus instead on salvaging the rest of the evening. She had no applesauce for bread, but chocolate-chip cookies would fill the house with lovely smells. Even better, Luke would be forced to call a truce if he wanted some. Not that he’d give in that easily. Unlike her, he was a brilliant strategist when it came to cold war.

Each evening before dinner, Mandy treated herself to an hour of television, her program of choice the local five-o’clock news. She wouldn’t forgo that today because Luke was in a snit. She made a cup of hot chocolate dotted with marshmallows, filled a dessert plate with cookies, and went to the living room. After lowering the blinds, she snuggled under a throw at her end of the couch. Holding the mug close to her chin, she breathed in the sweet scent, enjoying that almost as much as the drink itself. It gave her a wicked satisfaction to bite into one of the cookies when she knew Luke smelled them. Well, he could either politely ask for some or do without.

Grabbing the remote, she turned on the TV. Luke’s sulky expression told her he was still pouting. Tough. This was her only downtime, and she would
not
let him ruin it. A talk show was ending, and the drone of voices soothed her. She waited through several commercials for the news to come on. She didn’t care that much about what was happening in her hometown of Crystal Falls. It was the ritual she needed. Vegetating for an hour restored her energy before she started dinner.

Sometimes Luke listened to the news, but today he was bent on maintaining the frigid silence. Good. Attending college was important, and the longer he stewed about it, the better her chance of impressing that upon him. As if he read her mind, Luke wadded a candy wrapper and sent it flying with a flick of his finger. Mandy knew he did it to tick her off. Well, for all she cared, he could throw papers as far as the dining room. She’d just vacuum them up in the morning like she always did.

Another wrapper went flying. This one struck the television, which she knew was accidental. Luke couldn’t see to take aim. She tapped a toe on the cushion. He was
such
an ingrate sometimes. As if she didn’t have enough work to do?

“I have to use the toilet,” he informed her.

Luke had perfect timing; she’d give him that. The news was starting. She hit the record button. No matter what, she would enjoy her hour of TV. If he played the interruption game, he’d get a late dinner. She wasn’t hungry yet because she’d eaten cookies. Luke, on the other hand, couldn’t even heat up a can of soup to tide him over.

Having that thought made Mandy feel terrible. She had no idea what it was like to be blind. It was wrong for her to have so little sympathy. Still, it was absurd that she had to guide him through this small house to the bathroom.

While Luke went inside to do his business, Mandy remained near the closed door, waiting to lead him back to the sofa. Seconds later when Luke emerged, he said, “I think I missed the bowl when I peed.”

His faint smirk announced that he’d done it on purpose.
Fine
. She’d have to clean it up, making dinner even later. Saying nothing, she led him back to the living room, got him situated on the couch, and then went to get rags and disinfectant.

It was twenty after five before she could sit down again. Luke scowled, but she ignored him. He put his headphones back on and cranked up the volume until the sound reached her. She responded by turning up the television.

Setting thoughts of Luke aside, Mandy focused on the screen to see a cowboy leading a tiny palomino horse along a sidewalk in downtown Crystal Falls, only a half mile from her house. He didn’t seem thrilled to be caught on camera, but when he tipped his black Stetson low over his eyes and quickened his pace, the news team hurried to keep up. The animal wore a harness with a handle that lifted over its back and a looped leash attached just below the chin. Interest piqued, Mandy curled both hands around the now-cold mug and shifted to get more comfortable.

A slender blonde wearing an expensive-looking gray trench coat announced, “This is Zach Harrigan, a renowned local quarter horse trainer.”

Mandy recognized the name. The Harrigans were well-known, not only in Crystal Falls but all across the nation, for breeding and training world-class cutting champions.

“Mr. Harrigan has been spotted here on Main with this tiny horse at about the same time each afternoon for nearly a week,” the reporter continued. “That sparked our interest, so we did some investigating. To our delight, we’ve discovered that he has recently embarked upon an incredible journey: training a guide horse for the blind.”

Guide horse? Mandy jerked upright. Shooting a glance at her brother, she snatched the remote, thumbed down the volume, and leaned closer to the set.

“Recently is right.” The cowboy, clearly annoyed, just kept walking. “Rosebud’s in the early training stages, not yet ready to be in the public eye. Why not wait until she’s trained to feature her on the news? The future of guide horses is on the line.”

The blonde scurried to keep pace. “Can you tell us about the training process?”

Harrigan tugged his hat lower and declined to comment. The reporter stepped in front of him, leaving him no choice but to halt or cannon into her on-camera.

“Please, Mr. Harrigan. Surely you understand what a novelty this is. People have seen you working with Rosebud. We’re curious, not here to catch her making a mistake. We merely hope to educate the public about these wonderful horses, the assistance they offer sight-impaired individuals, and the fact that the Department of Justice and the ADA might ban them as service animals.” The reporter smiled into the camera. “For viewers who don’t know, ADA is an acronym for the Americans with Disabilities Act, and the Department of Justice is the agency that deals with enforcing it.”

“You’ve done your homework,” Harrigan observed.

“Yes, and by running this footage, we may inspire the public to begin writing letters in support of guide horses to the ADA and the Department of Justice.”

Tension easing from his shoulders, the cowboy turned toward the camera. Though the brim of his hat shadowed the upper planes of his face, Mandy could see that he had jet-black hair, a sun-burnished complexion, a strong jaw, and a firm but mobile mouth. From his broad shoulders down, he was pure cowboy, trim but well muscled, dressed simply in a blue work shirt, faded jeans, and dusty riding boots. He wore no jacket. Maybe, Mandy decided, working outside so much had made him immune to the cold.

He settled a hand on the little horse’s head. “Letters of support for mini guide horses would be much appreciated.”

“How many blind people have guide horses?” the reporter asked.

“At present, only a few, but those who do are undoubtedly worried about losing them.”

The blonde frowned. “What happens to the minis if their owners can’t keep them?”

Harrigan shrugged. “It may be difficult to find good homes for them. Minis are cute, and some people might be willing to adopt one, not comprehending the responsibility they’d be assuming. After the new wears off, the animal often ends up being neglected. Visit some mini-horse rescue sites online. You’ll find lots of horror stories.”

“Do you believe guide horses might be banned?” the woman asked.

“It’s possible.” Harrigan looked dead into the camera. “Apparently, when horses were added to the list of service animals, there were no training standards or
enforced
size restrictions. Note that I emphasize the word
enforced
. If restrictions are in place, some people ignore them, and nothing is being done to stop that. That jeopardizes the status of true mini horses as service animals and may even call into question the legitimacy of other assistance animals.”

The newswoman pressed the mike closer to Harrigan’s face. “Examples?”

“I’m not qualified to make judgments on specific incidents. Check them out online.” He flashed a crooked grin that warmed Mandy’s skin. He had dark brown eyes that could melt ice. “I’m just here to train a tiny horse, not take on Washington, D.C. I do hope the agencies involved don’t impose a blanket ruling against all horses because a handful of people have abused the situation. It would be a huge step in the wrong direction, because mini horses—true minis—can be fabulous assistance animals.” He patted the mini’s head. “My focus is to train Rosebud to be a bulletproof guide animal. I’ll leave the controversy to others.”

“If others wish to write letters to the appropriate agencies, is there any advice you might give them?” the newswoman pressed.

Harrigan frowned. “Know the facts and be aware of any abuses of the law. Knowledge is power.”

The reporter tipped her head in question. “Despite the controversy, have any prospective buyers been in contact with you about Rosebud yet?”

“Quite a few,” Harrigan replied. “I’ve been in touch with two guide horse trainers, and word travels fast. Judging by all the interest, I’m confident Rosebud will have a prospective home long before her training is over.”

Mandy tore her eyes from the screen to flash a glance at Luke. He was still absorbed in his music. For once, she was grateful.

“Do you know what the status of guide horses is right now?” the blonde asked.

“For now, the ADA regulations state that any animal trained to mitigate a disability is recognized as a service animal, so horses are still sanctioned to go anywhere people go.” The cowboy gestured with a jerk of his hand. “Let’s just hope any amendments to the current status are imposed judiciously by fair-minded individuals.”

Mandy wriggled to the edge of the cushion to get closer to the screen. The reporter switched the mike from her right hand to her left. “You’ve taken on a big challenge. How did you prepare yourself to train Rosebud, Mr. Harrigan?”

“I’ve been training horses most of my life. I also worked for two years with a guide dog trainer to learn what blind people need a service animal to do.”

The reporter settled a solemn gaze on the mini. “It appears you’re doing a marvelous job. I saw Rosebud lead you around a planter and signal you to step up at a curb. Watching her is fascinating. She seems as accomplished as any guide dog. What else must she learn?”