If Wishes Were Horses (16 page)

D
O YOU THINK
we'll be shoveling manure again today?” Sally Hendricks asked. It was one week later and Monday morning at Jefferson High. Trevor and Sally were walking to their next class.

Trevor laughed. Unlike most teens in the New Beginnings Program, he didn't mind mucking out stalls. To his way of thinking, it beat sitting through the tedious group-therapy sessions. And besides, cleaning stalls meant being close to Sadie. Trevor knew that Sadie would foal soon, and he desperately wanted to be there when her time came.

“We'll probably clean stalls every time,” he answered Sally. “But I like being at the ranch, don't you?”

Sally nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, but I could live without all the shoveling.”

Trevor remembered something Wyatt had told him at the start of the program. “It's all part of the process,” he said, trying to make himself sound knowledgeable. “We gotta take the good with the bad.”

“I know,” Sally answered. “But when I get done, I stink!”

For Trevor, watching Sally change was a bit like looking into a mirror. He, too, was happier. Visiting the ranch had grounded him and given him more confidence. He also realized that life's annoyances didn't anger him quite so much, nor did he take himself so seriously anymore. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he was so eager to leave school and head for the Flying B that he could barely contain himself.

Trevor looked down at Sally's feet and smiled. She, too, had begun wearing her boots to school. They seemed strange companions to her black clothes and brazenly dark eye shadow. With Trevor in his James Dean Windbreaker and Sally in her Goth mode, they made for a decidedly odd couple.

On turning the next corner, Trevor stopped abruptly. Wondering why, Sally also stopped. Tim Richardson and his two buddies stood in the middle of the hall, laughing and holding court. For several moments Trevor stood stock-still, wondering what to do.

He didn't want to risk another fight, but because he was on probation he mustn't be late for class. He and Sally could turn back and take another route, but they probably wouldn't arrive in time. There seemed to be no choice but to walk straight past the dreaded trio and hope for the best. As they started moving again, Sally gave Trevor a worried look.

“You know what'll happen when they see you, right?” she
asked worriedly. “If you get into another fight, you'll get expelled.”

Trevor set his jaw and kept going. “Yeah…,” he said.

“So why go this way?” Sally pleaded. “It's trouble!”

Trevor gave her a hard look. “Because I have to. I can't live like this forever.”

As Sally accompanied Trevor down the hall, she swallowed hard.

Tim saw them coming, and he smiled nastily. He shouted at John and Bill, telling them to look alive. The trio quickly formed a line, blocking Trevor and Sally's way.

“Well, look at what we have here, boys!” Tim exclaimed. “Two manure-shoveling horse retards! And one of them is a Goth slob, to boot! So tell me, Powers, are you and the Goth slob sweet on each other? Don't knock her up! There's no telling what some bastard from the two of you would look like!”

Trevor tried to ignore Tim and lead Sally around the three boys, but the trio quickly blocked their way again. “Leave us alone,” Trevor said quietly.

Tim stepped nearer. “Or what, horse retard? Are you gonna hit me again? Oh, that's right—you can't, or you'll get kicked out of school. Even your mother won't be able to save your ass again!”

A leer appeared on Tim's face, and he edged a bit closer. “By the way,” he said quietly, “your old lady's the best-looking MILF I've ever seen. I wouldn't mind doing her myself.”

Trevor's rage immediately boiled up. In an attempt to keep from hitting Tim, he tightened his right hand around his book strap and slipped his left hand into his trousers pocket. He had forgotten that he was carrying the knife Ram had given him. As
he wrapped his fingers around it, its smooth handle reassured him. Trevor knew better than to pull his knife. But as he stood glaring at Tim, it suddenly reminded him of Ram, and of what Ram had told him that day in the barn.

Never fight in the mud with a pig,
Trevor remembered. The words rang so clearly in his mind that it was as if Ram was standing right beside him.

There are two reasons,
Trevor heard Ram say.
The first reason is that you'll both get dirty. The second is, it makes the Richardson pig happy…

A smile suddenly spread across Trevor's face. “The Richardson pig…,” he said, half to himself.

Tim screwed up his face. “What did you say, horse retard?” he demanded.

Trevor took another good look at Tim. Like Ram had told him to do, he imagined Tim as a pig. And like Ram had predicted, it wasn't difficult to do.

Trevor suddenly laughed. It was a loud, insulting laugh, and it was directed straight at Tim. As Trevor laughed harder, other students started crowding around, wondering what was so funny. Trevor's unexpected laughter confused Tim, and he scowled.

“What's wrong with you, you crazy son of a bitch?” Tim shouted. “Let's get this over with, once and for all!”

Sally's face twisted in fear and she tugged on Trevor's sleeve. “Jesus, Trevor!” she whispered. “Stop laughing! Can't you see that you're only making him madder?”

“I…can't!” Trevor answered.

Trevor turned and looked at Sally. By now he was laughing
so hard he seemed to look through her, rather than at her. When he again confronted Tim his howling became even stronger, causing him to uncaringly drop his books and literally bend over in convulsions.

Sally didn't know why but she also started chuckling at Tim, which only fueled his rage and frustration. Soon her laughter grew louder, nearly rivaling Trevor's.

“The Richardson pig…,” Trevor muttered again, this time laughing so hard that he could barely get the words out. He took his free hand from his pocket then pointed his index finger straight at Tim's nose. “Never…wrestle in the mud…”

Sally had no idea what Trevor was talking about, but it didn't matter. Not only was she laughing hysterically, but it had spread to some of the other students in the quickly growing crowd.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tim demanded again.

Trevor was able to calm himself just long enough to get a few words out. “What the hell is wrong with
you
?” he shot back. He raised his arm again and pointed straight at Tim. “
You're
the one everybody's laughing at!”

Tim's face went red with anger; he looked like he was about to explode. As he took another step forward, he glanced around at the crowd. To everyone's surprise, Tim slowly lowered his fists. Totally stripped of his defenses, he simply stood there looking at Trevor, as if Trevor had suddenly gone mad.

“Jesus Christ!” Bill Memphis shouted at Tim. “Hit the bastard!”

Tim just shook his head. “No…”

“Do it, you pansy!” Bill demanded.

“Why bother?” Tim answered. Trying to save face, he made a throwaway gesture with one hand. “The horse retard isn't worth it. Besides, where's the fun in beating up a crazy person? Come on, let's go.”

As Trevor and Sally watched the trio move away, their laughter finally quieted. Trevor collected his books, and he and Sally started moving again. Sally gave Trevor an incredulous look.

“What just happened back there?” she asked. “And what was that business about ‘the Richardson pig'?”

Trevor smiled and shook his head. “I'll be damned…”

“Huh?” Sally asked.

“It's something that Ram taught me,” Trevor answered.

“
Ram
taught you
that
?” Sally asked incredulously.

Trevor nodded. “I didn't get it at first, but I do now. I'll explain it to you sometime.” Trevor and Sally walked to their next classes: biology for her, and English for him.

Tim Richardson and his gang never bothered either of them again.

L
ATER THAT DAY
as Wyatt walked from the barn to the big house, he passed the several pairs of French doors lining the dining room's west side. Looking through the windows, he smiled.

Eight teens, including Trevor, were seated at one end of the dining table, engaged in their psychotherapy session. A black girl was shouting angrily and pointing an accusatory finger at Dr. James. Because the doors were closed, Wyatt found the girl's voice indecipherable. That was just as well, he realized. If the teens were to benefit from therapy, their privacy was paramount.

Dr. James turned and discreetly rolled her eyes at Wyatt as he went by, causing him to smile.
That isn't a job I'd want,
he thought.

On entering the house he made his way to the game room where most of the parents usually waited. The place was busy and, as he had hoped, Gabby was also there.

During the introductory meeting, Wyatt told the parents that they could avail themselves of refreshments in the game room bar. To make sure they didn't abuse the privilege, Betsy always oversaw things. Gabby sat at the bar's far end, nursing a glass of ginger ale and making small talk with three of the other parents. She was wearing jeans, a white shirt with its sleeves rolled up, and her cowboy boots.

Perfect for what I have in mind,
Wyatt thought. As he approached Gabby, some of the others shot him surreptitious looks.

Wyatt laid his Stetson on the bar. “Hey there,” he said. He tilted his head toward Gabby's glass. “Be careful with that stuff. You still have to drive Trevor home, you know.”

“Hey there yourself,” Gabby answered back with a smile. “Don't worry. I think I can handle it.”

Wyatt laughed. “I have a surprise for you,” he said softly.

Gabby regarded him skeptically. “Why are we whispering?”

“Because it's very hush-hush,” Wyatt answered. “It's all arranged. You're coming with me.”

“Where?”

“You'll see,” he answered.

Gabby's eyes narrowed. “What if I don't want to?”

“You have no choice,” he answered. “Now move it, Powers, or I'll have you shoveling manure instead.”

As Gabby picked up her hat and began following Wyatt from the game room, several of the men watched with curiosity, while some of the wives put their heads closer together and murmured discreetly.

After leaving the house, Wyatt and Gabby headed across the
lawn. Although Gabby was intensely curious, she guessed that it would be pointless to ask. Besides, she relished every moment with Wyatt she could get.

Wyatt led her into an area of the barn that was unfamiliar to her. Because half of the teens were taking equestrian training in the two indoor rings, the barn was relatively quiet. When they entered an open-ended corridor, Gabby stopped dead in her tracks. She gripped Wyatt's arm and looked pleadingly into his eyes.

“Oh, no…,” she whispered.

“Oh
yes
!” he answered. “It's high time you got more involved, and you're not getting out of it!”

Big John stood before them. In his hands he held the reins of two saddled horses, a roan mare and a black gelding.

“Wyatt…,” Gabby protested. “I can't…I just can't! Oh, God!”

“Sure you can,” he answered reassuringly. “You'll see.” Taking Gabby's arm, he walked her toward the waiting horses.

As part of the registration process that first day, Wyatt had asked all the parents if they would be interested in going riding with him sometime over the course of the program. When Krista had been alive this had been her job, and he had decided to keep the tradition. The therapists believed that the rides would help the parents better understand what their kids were experiencing, and it was strongly encouraged.

Most of them had signed up, and about half had already gone with him. Gabby, however, was one of the few who had declined. Wyatt hoped that if Gabby went riding, she, too, might better
understand what Trevor was experiencing here at the ranch. But in a tiny corner of his heart, he realized that he was doing it for selfish reasons as well.

Gabby stared wide-eyed at the two animals. “I didn't sign up for this!” she protested. “I already told you how I feel about horses. I love them, but they scare the hell out of me.”

Wyatt smiled. “We've got young kids riding these very horses,” he said. “Are you going to tell me that you can't?”

Gabby angrily freed her arm from Wyatt's grip. “Goddamnit!” she exclaimed. “I don't want to do this! Why do you think I should have to?”

Wyatt was rather surprised by her outburst. As if requesting advice, he looked at Big John. Deciding that this was no time to add his two cents, B.J. only shrugged his shoulders. Wyatt sighed, wondering how he could convince her.

“There's really nothing to worry about,” he finally answered Gabby. “I'll be with you every step of the way, so to speak.”

“Are you really going to make me do this?” Gabby asked.

Pushing his Stetson back toward the crown of his head, Wyatt sighed again. “Well, I'm not going to pick you up and throw you onto the saddle, if that's what you're worried about,” he said. “But I do think you should better understand what Trevor is experiencing.”

Gabby scowled. “Don't bring Trevor into this,” she growled. “This is about you and me, and you know it.”

Wyatt pursed his lips. “Okay,” he said. “Sorry if you took that the wrong way. But please come, won't you?”

Remaining quiet for a time, she again took in his rugged
good looks, and the lanky, relaxed way he stood before her. As she did, for better or for worse, she felt her resolve slipping.
Maybe it would be okay,
she thought.
After all, most of the other parents are doing it…

“All right,” she finally said, “but just this once. You understand?”

Wyatt smiled. “Loud and clear,” he said. “Now come closer and lift your left foot.”

When Gabby did as Wyatt asked, he gently guided her foot into one stirrup. “Up you go,” he said.

With Wyatt's help she clumsily mounted the black gelding. He was a beautiful thing, with a long mane and tail. His saddle and bridle were tan and scattered with silver studs. The horse danced a bit, causing Gabby to let go with a little shriek and grip the saddle pommel for dear life. As her gelding calmed, Gabby realized that the saddle was actually comfortable. Big John handed her the reins.

“What's his name?” Gabby asked.

“Caesar,” Wyatt answered. “And the mare is named Cleopatra. Or Cleo, for short.”

Gabby snorted out a little laugh. “Cute…,” she said.

After taking Cleo's reins from Big John, Wyatt swung up into the saddle. As he wheeled Cleo around, Gabby noticed that a rifle lay in Wyatt's saddle scabbard.

“It's simple, really,” Wyatt said to Gabby. “When you want to turn him, pull the reins to the left or right. When you want him to go, gently nudge your heels into his sides. To stop, pull back on the reins. There's no need for perfect technique. Caesar's been doing this for a long time.”

“But I haven't,” Gabby answered meekly.

Wyatt laughed then looked down at Big John. “We'll be back in about half an hour,” he said.

“Okay, boss,” John answered. “See you then.”

To help Gabby along, Wyatt grasped Caesar's bridle and guided both horses outside. Once they were free of the barn, Wyatt let go.

“Just do your best to keep Caesar alongside me,” Wyatt said. “I always use him for the parents' rides, so he'll probably stay close anyway.”

As Gabby adjusted to the motion of her horse, she found it surprisingly pleasant. She was struck by how powerful Caesar seemed, carrying her with ease as they traveled along. She had always felt sorry for horses whenever she saw them being forced to carry people on their backs. But today she realized that her weight on Caesar was a mere afterthought.

The farther they went, the more she understood why Trevor liked riding. Wyatt had at least been right about that part of all this, she realized. Keeping to a walk, Wyatt headed them onto the dirt road leading to his lake cabin. The ground was flat, the wind was calm, and the sun was high.

After a time, Gabby looked over at Wyatt. “This isn't so bad, I guess,” she reluctantly admitted.

Wyatt smiled and tipped his hat at her. “Told you so,” he answered.

As they rode they talked pleasantly about Trevor, the ranch, and New Beginnings. The farther they went, the more comfortable Gabby became. She was about to actually ask Wyatt if they could do this again sometime when he pulled Cleo to a stop.

“Just pull back on the reins,” Wyatt said. “We'll rest them a bit before heading back.”

To Gabby's relief, Caesar obediently stopped. He shook his mane and bridle for a moment before finally settling down.

Highly pleased with herself, Gabby beamed at Wyatt and he nodded back his approval. They stayed like that for a time, quietly enjoying the scenery. Insects hummed pleasantly and the wind freshened, cooling them a bit.

Suddenly Caesar lowered his muzzle to the ground and began an unbidden exploration for some tender grass, causing Gabby to stiffen. Then he snuffled and took a couple of unexpected steps to explore some more virgin territory. A terrified look came over Gabby's face.

“What do I do?” she asked urgently.

“It's okay,” Wyatt said. “Just let him go. He won't travel far.”

Gabby let Caesar wander a bit. True to Wyatt's word, he stayed nearby.

Gabby smiled. “You're right,” she said. “I guess that's what comes of being around horses all your life.”

Wyatt was about to answer her when he noticed something. The grass was moving near Caesar's lowered muzzle. Then he glimpsed a familiar pattern, and the breath caught in his lungs. Just as he reached for his gun, the telltale rattling began.

Gabby heard it, too. Frightened out of her wits, she looked helplessly at Wyatt. She was about to scream when the startled diamondback lashed out, jaws wide and deadly fangs glinting in the sun.

Wyatt's rifle roared twice and Caesar reared on his hind legs;
everything happened so quickly that it seemed simultaneous. Gabby fell backward from the horse and tumbled to the grass, hard, then was motionless where she lay. After whinnying fearfully, Caesar thundered away, reins and stirrups flapping wildly.

“Jesus, God, no…,” Wyatt breathed.

He was off Cleo and by Gabby's side in a flash. Reaching out, he gently turned her over. As she looked up at him, her eyes slowly refocused.

“Are you hurt?” Wyatt asked.

“Dunno…,” she whispered thickly.

“Let's see if you can stand,” Wyatt said.

When he helped Gabby to her feet, she winced. For several long moments he held her in his arms, looking searchingly into her eyes. When he finally let her go, he felt a sense of loss touch his heart.

Gabby winced again. “My right wrist…,” she said.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Still dazed, Gabby shook her head. “I don't think so,” she said softly. “Poor Caesar…shouldn't we go after him?”

Wyatt shook his head. “I don't know if Caesar was bitten—it all happened so fast. But you're more important than any goddamned horse. I've got to get you back.”

Wyatt gingerly escorted Gabby to where Cleo stood. But to his surprise, when he tried to help her up onto the saddle, she used her good hand to brusquely push him away. Her terrified expression was gone, and had been replaced by what Wyatt could only describe as a look of deep betrayal.

“If you think that I'm ever going to ride one of your stupid
horses again, you're dead wrong,” she protested. “I knew this was a bad idea, but you just wouldn't listen. I'll
walk
back, if it's all the same to you.”

Wyatt apologetically held up his hands. “But that's silly,” he said, immediately regretting his words. “Uh, what I mean is…you should ride back, because of your wrist.”

“So now I'm
silly,
am I?” Gabby shot back. “Well, my hand might hurt, but my feet are just fine, thank you very much.”

At once she turned and started marching back along the trail, her good hand cradling her injured one. Wyatt just stood there in awkward disbelief, watching her go.

After she had gone about twenty paces, Gabby stopped. Then she let go with an exasperated sigh and turned around to glare at him again. The hugely contrite look on Wyatt's face didn't faze her in the slightest.

“Well, Jesus!” she shouted at him. “Are you coming, or not?”

Wyatt finally snapped out of his daze and jumped on Cleo. After making sure that the rattlesnake was dead, he spurred the mare into a quick trot and caught up with Gabby.

Ten minutes later, he felt so guilty about riding while she stubbornly trod homeward that he finally dismounted and walked alongside her.