If Wishes Were Horses (13 page)

Silence passed between the old man and the boy for a time, as horses occasionally whinnied and the Florida sun started to dip below the western horizon. It was nearly time for Ram's nightly appointment with Butch, Sundance, and Jack Daniel's.

Ram gave Trevor a knowing look. “So what's eating you?” the old man asked.

“What makes you so sure that anything's eating me?” Trevor asked.

“I've raised two boys, and I can tell when something's wrong. So fess up. Maybe I can help.”

With great reluctance, Trevor told Ram about his dustup with Tim Richardson. Ram nodded thoughtfully.

“Horse retards?” he said. “That's a new one.”

“Tell me about it,” Trevor said.

“There's no boy in the world who hasn't been bullied at one time or another,” Ram said. “The question is not whether it will happen to you, but how you deal with it.”

“But I don't
know
how,” Trevor answered. “Except for fighting, that is. I'm pretty good at that. I don't have anybody to talk to about stuff like this. No
man,
at least. I sure as hell can't talk to my mother about it. She'll just tell me to take it and do nothing—especially with Principal Marshall gunning for me.”

“Yeah,” Ram said. “It's been tough on you since the death of your father. Would you like some advice?”

Trevor's expression turned needy. “Yes,” he said quietly.

“Then I'll tell you the same thing I told Wyatt and Morgan when they were being bullied,” Ram said. “It helped them, and it will help you.”

“What is it?” Trevor asked.

“It's simple,” Ram answered. “Never wrestle in the mud with a pig.”

“Huh?”

“Imagine this Richardson kid as a muddy, ornery pig,” Ram said. “From the way you describe him, that shouldn't be too hard, right?”

Trevor laughed. “Right!” he said.

“There are two reasons you should avoid wrestling in the mud with the ‘Richardson pig.' Can you imagine what they are?”

Trevor scowled. “Not really.”

“The first reason,” Ram said, “is that you'll both get dirty.”

“That's true, I guess,” Trevor said. “And the second reason?”

“It makes the Richardson pig happy,” Ram answered.

Trevor didn't fully understand Ram's meaning, but he nodded anyway. “Are you saying that I should
never
fight?” he asked.

Ram shook his head. “No! But I'm not surprised that you're confused. In this day and age, some boys are taught to never fight. That's the worst advice in the world. If you're attacked, you must defend yourself. It's the honorable thing to do. But starting fights isn't.”

“So what about the Richardson pig?” Trevor asked.

“When the time comes, remember what I told you,” Ram answered. “Most likely, you'll understand it then. But never believe the fairy tale that hitting a bully will always make him give up and leave you alone. That's pure crap. Truth is, he might get right back up and beat the hell out of you. So avoid him if you can. But if you must fight, fight to win. Even if he wins, at least you tried to give as good as you got.”

Trevor remained quiet for a time, trying to digest the old man's words. “Understanding this is going to take a while,” he admitted.

“That's okay,” Ram said. “Wyatt and Morgan didn't get it right away either. But they eventually did, and so will you. Don't worry about it. Just remember it when the time comes.”

To Ram's surprise, Trevor tipped his hat to him. This time, he did a more proper job of it. “Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

“You're welcome.”

Just then they heard voices, and they turned to see Gabby and
Wyatt approaching. Night was falling, causing the sky to change from Florida turquoise to deep indigo. Here and there, twinkling stars started puncturing heaven's canopy. As Gabby and Wyatt entered the barn, they smiled.

“We were wondering where you were,” Wyatt said to Trevor. “Did my old man kidnap you?”

“Yeah,” Trevor said. “But that's okay. I learned something today.”

“Time to go, young man,” Gabby said. “Tomorrow's another school day.”

Everyone heard the clip-clop of horse hooves, and they turned to look. Big John was leading Sadie back to her freshly cleaned stall.

“Can I take her?” Trevor asked.

“Sure thing,” Big John said.

He handed Sadie's bridle lead to Trevor. After stroking Sadie's head, Trevor walked her into her stall and closed the door behind him. “Good night, girl,” he said. Sadie poked her gray head out over the stall door and whinnied.

Ram gave Wyatt a sly look that Wyatt didn't fully understand. “What's Aunt Lou cooking for dinner?” Ram asked.

“Pot roast and blueberry pie,” Wyatt answered skeptically. “But my guess is you already knew that.”

“And have all the other teens and parents left the ranch?” Ram asked.

“Yes,” Wyatt said. “But I suspect you knew that, too. Because Trevor has taken on this extra work with Sadie, he and Gabby will probably always be the last ones to leave.” Wyatt raised an
eyebrow. Ram was up to something, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

Ram gave Gabby a smile. “Why don't you and Trevor stay for dinner?” he asked. “Everybody else is gone, so nobody will know but us fellow conspirators. After all, you have to eat.”

Gabby was unsure. “Uh…well…we really shouldn't,” she said. “We wouldn't want to impose.”

“Impose, hell,” Ram answered. “What's the matter? Don't you like Lou's food? If not, then you can march right up to the big house and tell her yourself. I'll buy tickets to that!”

Searching for reassurance, Gabby again looked at Wyatt. “Of course you should stay,” Wyatt said. “Believe me, Aunt Lou always makes enough.”

“Well, I guess that we could,” Gabby said.

Ram clapped his hands together. “Then it's settled! Let's go!”

As Wyatt and Gabby walked out of the barn, Ram held Trevor back. “Let's give them a little breathing room, shall we?” Ram asked.

Trevor wrinkled his brow. “Why? I'm hungry!”

“Oh, I have my reasons,” Ram answered. A few moments later, he started escorting Trevor out of the barn.

“Now then,” Ram said to him. “About that knife I gave you. It has a long and storied past…”

As Ram and Trevor walked across the grass, night fell in earnest.

G
ET UP, MR. WYATT!”
Aunt Lou shouted. “It's Mr. Ram! This time he's really gone crazy! He's gonna kill himself for sure!”

Wasting no time, Aunt Lou grasped the single sheet covering Wyatt's naked body then pulled it off him and onto the floor. Wyatt snarled something unintelligible and instinctively reached for the sheet, but Aunt Lou had been quicker. When Wyatt finally realized that she was glowering down at him, he covered his groin with both hands.

“Jesus Christ, Lou!” he protested sleepily. “What's going on?”

Lou threw a pair of jeans and boots at him. “Get dressed!” she shouted. “And stop wasting time covering yourself! I raised you, for God's sake!”

Wyatt jumped from his bed to quickly pull on the jeans and
boots. When he ran to fetch a shirt, Lou threw up her hands.

“There's no time for that!” she bellowed. “Come on!” Quick as a wink, she bolted from the room.

Wyatt was amazed by how fast the big woman could move. He chased her down the staircase, through the foyer, and onto the front porch. Lou immediately hurried Wyatt across the dew-laden west lawn and toward the white-rail paddocks. When she finally stopped, she raised an arm and pointed.

“
That's
what I'm talking about!” she panted.

As Wyatt looked across the lawn, his jaw dropped. “Son of a bitch…,” he breathed.

Dawn was fast approaching. The Flying B was quiet save for a lone horse and rider, galloping across the dewy west lawn. The horse was a black stallion named King, and Ram sat on top of him. King's shoes had unearthed hundreds of dark gouges in the wet grass, ruining much of it. Ram had equipped King with an English-style saddle and bridle, and he held a leather riding crop in one hand. Wyatt watched in horror as Ram slapped King's haunches with the crop and galloped him straight toward an empty white-railed paddock.

Jesus!
Wyatt thought.
He's going to try to jump it!

Wyatt immediately ran toward the paddock. But Ram saw Wyatt coming, and the old man spurred King on faster. Realizing that he couldn't reach them in time, Wyatt skidded to a stop, nearly tumbling to the grass. To his horror, he could only watch helplessly as Ram drove the stallion forward.

Please, God,
Wyatt thought.
Let them get over it in one piece!

Much to Wyatt's relief, King carried Ram safely over the top
rail and down into the paddock confines. King's shoulders and muzzle were frothy, and the stallion appeared exhausted. There was no telling how many times King had already jumped, but one thing was certain—if Ram ordered King over again, they might not make it.

“Dad!” Wyatt shouted. “Dad, stop! Don't go again!”

Instead of heeding his son, Ram released a piercing rebel yell. He then spurred King into yet another gallop, steering the horse straight toward the far side of the paddock.

Running as fast as he could, Wyatt tried to gauge where King would land—assuming the horse cleared the rails. If King didn't make it over, the result could be disastrous. As King and Ram launched themselves into the air, Wyatt watched with dread.

This time the exhausted horse's front hooves struck the top rail, knocking it to the ground. Mercifully, the blow did little to hinder King's momentum. Barreling through the air, the horse landed shakily on the other side of the paddock rails.

Wyatt held his breath yet again as King skidded on all fours across the wet grass. The stallion and rider finally came to a stop. Wasting no time, Wyatt ran and grabbed King's bridle. Butch and Sundance suddenly appeared and started barking madly, adding to the confusion.

Just then King reared up, and it was all Wyatt could do to keep the stallion from bolting off again. Finally the nervous horse calmed down. In the growing light of day, Wyatt saw that Ram's face was twisted with anger. Ram angrily raised his riding crop.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” he shouted at
Wyatt. “I own this place, and no goddamned ranch hand is going to tell me what to do! Now unhand my horse!”

“Dad!” Wyatt answered. “It's me—Wyatt!”

Ram looked at his son with unseeing eyes. For several moments he just sat on top of King as if trying to decide who Wyatt was. Then his expression softened. He lowered his crop.

“Now climb down, Dad,” Wyatt said. “King needs attention.”

Ram finally did as Wyatt asked. Taking no chances, Wyatt relieved Ram of his crop. Ram rubbed his face with his hands and blankly looked around. For several more minutes he stood there quietly, his confused expression unchanging. Dawn had arrived and from somewhere near the main barn, Ram's old banty rooster crowed.

“Jesus,” Ram finally breathed. “How the hell did I get
here
?” He looked around again then stared into Wyatt's eyes. “And what in Christ's name happened to the lawn?”

“Never mind that,” Wyatt said. “I'll explain it all to you later. Right now, we need to get you into the house. And King's forelegs must be tended to.”

Ram's face screwed up. “What's wrong with King's legs? And where in hell is your shirt? You look like you were raised by wolves!”

“Not now, Dad!” Wyatt said. “I want you and Aunt Lou to go back into the house.”

Ram dismounted and stared incredulously at King's forelegs. Both were cut and bleeding where they'd struck the top rail of the paddock. The wounds weren't serious, but they needed care or they could turn septic. As Ram examined King, Wyatt used the opportunity to take Aunt Lou aside.

“Were you the first one to see him out here?” he asked.

“Must be,” she answered. “I was gettin' up, just like I do every day about this time, when I heard whoopin' and hollerin' coming from the paddocks. I looked out my bedroom window and I saw your father out here, having a grand old time for himself. John was already about his chores, so I came and fetched you first.”

Wyatt nodded. “Take him back to the big house,” he said. “I'll be along after I see to King.”

Just then another thought occurred to Wyatt. “After you get Ram situated, find his prescription bottle and bring it to me,” he said quietly to Lou. “But don't let him know that you're doing it.”

Lou scowled. “What you got in mind?”

“I've got a hunch about something,” Wyatt said. “Now please take him and get going.”

Wyatt and Lou heard voices, and they turned to see Mercy and Big John running toward them. Mercy was still buttoning her shirt.

“What the hell's going on?” Big John shouted.

Wyatt took Big John and Mercy aside. “Ram had another spell,” he said quietly. “He was jumping King back and forth over the paddock rails. The last time, they nearly didn't make it.”

Big John whistled. “In the dark and on slick grass? Christ, it's a wonder that Ram and King aren't all busted up, or worse.”

Wyatt looked at Mercy then back at Big John. “King's forelegs are bleeding,” he said. “The wounds don't look bad, but they need attention.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Big John said.

Mercy walked over to King and took his reins. After examining King's wounds, she looked at Ram. He seemed to recognize her.

“Jesus Christ, Mercy!” Ram exclaimed. “What's everybody so goddamned worried about? Can't a man go for a dawn ride anymore? Back in my day I did this every morning, come rain or shine! Who the hell made you people the boss of me?”

Wyatt walked back to where Ram was standing. “Come along, Dad,” he said. “It won't be long before breakfast.”

“Good!” Ram exclaimed. “For some reason, I'm starving!”

And save for you, we all know why,
Wyatt thought.

While Wyatt and Lou escorted Ram back to the big house, Mercy and Big John led King away. From somewhere near the main barn, Ram's old rooster let go another arrogant cry that seemed to forgive his master's foolishness and welcome him home.

 

“YOU'VE BEEN FOUND OUT,
old man,” Wyatt said.

When Ram didn't answer, Wyatt sighed and leaned back in his chair. He knew that this talk would be difficult, but it was needed. His suspicions had been proved right, and he couldn't allow Ram to keep on fooling everyone—including himself.

It was nearly eight
A.M.
Despite the fracas Ram had caused, Aunt Lou had managed to lay breakfast out on time. Everyone had finished eating and was dawdling over coffee.

Ensconced behind his freshly ironed newspaper, Ram acted for all the world as if his recent misadventure had never happened. Ram sat on Wyatt's left; Big John was on his right. Lou and Mercy sat across from them. Their bellies already full of bacon and sausages, Butch and Sundance sat at Ram's feet, diligently waiting for more.

As Wyatt gave Mercy a deadpan glance, her only response was
to sheepishly look down at the remains of her half-eaten breakfast. Wyatt had told no one of their argument in her cottage, nor had he and Mercy spoken of it since. That suited Wyatt, because he was still angry with her. But in his heart he knew that he would eventually forgive her. After all was said and done, her only indiscretion was to love him, and the gin had done most of the talking. Despite his anger, Wyatt had asked Mercy to join everyone at breakfast. Wyatt was about to confront his father, and he would need all his allies around him.

“I know what you're up to,” Wyatt said to Ram.

When Ram still didn't answer, Wyatt stood and pulled down Ram's crisp newspaper. As Ram removed his glasses, he scowled.

“What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded. “It's bad enough that you interrupted my morning ride. Can't a man enjoy his paper in peace anymore? I can still read, despite what you might think.”

“You didn't answer me,” Wyatt said.

“I didn't hear you,” Ram protested.

Wyatt smirked. “You might be forgetful, but you're not deaf. So I'll put it another way. We're on to you.”

“What are you talking about?” Ram asked. His lawyerly attitude had surfaced, telling everyone that he was ready for a fight.

Wyatt reached into a shirt pocket and produced Ram's Alzheimer's medication. He placed the Aricept bottle on the tabletop for everyone to see.

“That's your medication,” Wyatt said. “Let's call it exhibit A.”

“So what if it is?” Ram asked. “Do you think I can't recognize my own medicine anymore?”

Wyatt picked up the bottle and rattled the pills. “This bottle is
full, but the date on the label says that it was issued four weeks ago. You've gone a full month without your meds and maybe longer. You should've flushed the pills down the toilet so that it looks like you're taking them. You're trying to do without them, aren't you?”

Ram looked away. “I must have forgotten to take them.”

“Every morning for an entire month?” Wyatt asked. “I doubt it. Are you purposely trying to get by with less?”

“Asked and answered, Counselor,” Ram said.

Wyatt sighed. “Permission to treat the witness as hostile?”

Ram only grunted and hunched his shoulders.

“Please, Dad,” Wyatt said. “We need to know. It's in everyone's best interests that you take your meds.”

Ram looked angrily around the table. “What is this, some goddamned intervention? If so, I don't need it!”

“King's scraped forelegs and the wrecked paddock say otherwise,” Wyatt answered. “We'll call them exhibits B and C.”

While Ram considered his options, the only sound was the comforting ticktock of the old grandfather clock. “Opposing counsel is badgering the witness,” he finally said.

“Let's stop the courtroom banter, shall we?” Wyatt asked. “Please tell us, Dad. Are you purposely avoiding your meds?”

Ram folded his arms across his chest. “The stuff kills my appetite.”

“That's horse crap!” Aunt Lou interjected. “You gobble down your artery-clogging food as good as you ever did!”

Ram shot Lou a gruff look. “Okay…so I still eat the same. But the Aricept keeps me awake at night, and that's the truth. An old buzzard like me needs his rest.”

“So instead of telling anyone, you just stopped taking it?” Wyatt protested. “Jesus, Dad, what if everybody thought that way?”

A microsmile passed across Ram's lips. “Then I'd be a damned fool to think any other way, wouldn't I?” he asked.

Wyatt sighed and leaned back in his chair. Sometimes there was just no point in arguing with Ram. On his clear days he was as sharp as a tack, and could make even his ass-backward logic sound reasonable. But this issue was too important to ignore.

“There's more at stake here than your beauty sleep,” Wyatt said. “Suppose King had gone down on that wet grass? You could have killed yourself, and King might have been injured, too. If he had broken a leg, we'd have had to put him down. Not to mention perhaps burying you, and I'm in no hurry to do that. But another stunt like this might change my mind.”

Wyatt leaned closer. “I'm not sure what
your
old hide is worth these days,” he added sternly. “But King is extremely valuable, not to mention the possible loss of his stud fees. And you know damned well that our insurance doesn't cover horses that are injured because of our negligence. Even Blaine and Blaine couldn't get us reimbursed for a stunt like that.”

After another period of tense silence, Ram sighed. “I know all those things
now,
son,” he finally admitted. “But I didn't know them
then
. I didn't know anything, except that I wanted to keep jumping King.”

“I understand that, Dad,” Wyatt said quietly. “That's why things have to change.”

Part of Wyatt's heart felt sad for his father. But when dealing
with Ram, sentiment could easily turn the tables on you.
Time for some tough love,
Wyatt thought.