If Wishes Were Horses (8 page)

Mercy shook her head. “After everything you've told me, I think I'll go home and lick my wounds. I could use a drink, and tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

Ram placed one hand on Mercy's shoulder. She was shaking a bit, and her tears had come again.
Better to leave her alone,
he thought. Before walking away, he again lent her his handkerchief.

This time, Mercy took it without looking at him.

D
ISH IT UP, GIRL!”
Celia Ward exclaimed. “I didn't come all the way over here just to drink your bad coffee! So what's Wyatt Blaine
really
like? Inquiring minds want to know!”

Before answering, Gabby watched her freshly poured creamer create burgeoning clouds in her coffee. She knew that Celia was only kidding about her coffee-brewing skills, but the inquisitive redhead was right about one thing. She had not come to Gabby's town house simply to share a good cup of java.

In truth she wasn't sure how much she wanted to tell Celia. Part of Gabby ached to tell her everything, if for no other reason than to confide in a close female friend. But another part of her psyche wanted to keep the memories of this morning all to herself. She wanted to lock them away in her heart, where no one could find them and set them free. What she didn't know was why. It
was confusing, and she couldn't recall ever feeling this way.

She took her first sip of the strong coffee then sat back in her chair. In the end she decided that if she couldn't share her feelings with Celia, she couldn't share them with anyone.

Gabby sighed and looked into Celia's eyes. “I wanted Trevor to personally thank Wyatt for his generosity,” she answered. “God, Celia, I nearly died of embarrassment when we had to run across the parking lot to catch him. And I never expected him to invite us to brunch. He knows the owners of Chez Paul, and he can get a table there anytime he wants one.”

Celia took another sip of Gabby's coffee. It was hot and good. As she put down her cup, the look in her eyes said that Gabby wasn't going to get off the hook that easily.

“You told me all
that
over the phone,” she snapped. “I want all the details, and I want them now.”

Despite her reluctance, Gabby laughed. It seemed like forever since she had laughed so freely. For the first time in ages she sensed that her world was starting to brighten, and the welcome change in her was not lost on the ever watchful Celia.

“Come on!” Celia pressed. “There
must
be more to it than that. Just look at you. You're positively glowing.”

Before Celia arrived, Gabby had handed Trevor some money and given him permission to ride his bike over to Boca Towne Mall. She wanted to speak freely with Celia. Glad that the two of them were alone, Gabby gave Celia a contented look.

At forty-five, Celia remained an attractive woman. She loved coffee and practically lived on the stuff, the caffeine boost always heightening her well-known sense of urgency. Her snoopy per
sonality was famous among the Jefferson High School staff. She was not a malicious gossip, but she loved being on the “inside of things,” as she put it.

“It isn't what people
say
about you that matters,” she often warned. “It's what they
whisper.
” And Celia's whisperings carried more weight than most.

She, too, was unmarried, and that commonality had drawn the two women closer. Because her ex-husband was a successful Boca estate planner, the divorce judge had seen fit to award Celia enough funds to meet her obligations for some time to come. Still, with two children in college, she carried a heavy financial burden. She had been working as Roy Marshall's assistant for nearly twelve years. The job granted her good medical and retirement benefits that would be difficult to equal elsewhere, so when her divorce became final she had decided to stay on.

“What about
him
?” Celia pressed. “I've seen Wyatt only once. It was just after his wife and son died. He came into Marshall's office to formally remove Danny from the school rolls. I'm ashamed to say it, but even during those dark days he was very striking. Ah, the strong, silent type! They set my heart to fluttering every time. Sometimes a woman gets to wondering where all the real men have gone, and then—bam! You unexpectedly see one, and you realize that they might not be extinct after all.”

Gabby laughed again. “I know what you mean! But he seems impossibly difficult to get to know. Call me a sucker for lost causes, but there's something about that man that keeps revisiting me. It's confusing…”

“No, it isn't,” Celia countered.

“What do you mean?”

“You're smitten with him,” Celia answered.

“I am not!” Gabby exclaimed.

“Are, too!” Celia answered, laughing.

“Stop acting like the girls in my tenth-grade history class!” Gabby retorted. “I know my feelings!”

“Do you?”

“Yes! No! Oh, hell, I don't know…”

“Well, there's always the practical side of things to consider,” Celia said cryptically.

Deciding to let Gabby ponder that last comment, Celia stood and poured another cup of coffee. She then rummaged unabashedly through Gabby's cabinets until she found an unopened bag of cookies, which she promptly ripped open.

Gabby scowled at her. “What are you talking about?”

“The
other
side of Wyatt Blaine,” Celia answered as she arranged some pecan sandies on a plate. “You know—the
money
side. You can't honestly tell me that you haven't thought about it.”

“No, I haven't.”

“Then maybe you should.”

“It isn't like that,” Gabby protested.

Celia returned to the table. She took a discerning bite from a sandie, followed by another sip of coffee.

“You meet a rich, attractive man you're obviously drawn to, and you have the gall to sit there and tell me that his money never occurred to you?” she asked. “Did you suddenly become a saint or something? I'm afraid that you're going to have to explain that one, girlfriend. Last time I checked, you and Trevor weren't living on easy street.”

“I'm not after him for his money,” Gabby protested.

Celia smiled. “Okay, then why
are
you after him? Personally speaking, I can think of one reason that has nothing to do with his wallet.”

“That's not what I mean,” Gabby insisted. “I'm not
after
him at all.”

“Are you sure?” Celia asked.

“It's not like that,” Gabby said. “Yes, he's wealthy. And I know that it might sound weird, but his money doesn't matter to me.”

Celia snorted out a short laugh. “Sure.”

“It's true,” Gabby said. “Wyatt isn't showy, and he doesn't talk about money. He's not trying to impress anyone. As far as I can tell, his one true love seems to be the ranch.”

Celia drummed her fingertips on the tabletop. “Hmmm…he sounds like Sir Galahad in cowboy clothes.”

“Not really,” Gabby said. “Wyatt isn't trying to save anyone.”

“What about the troubled teens in his New Beginnings Program? He's trying to save
them
, isn't he?”

“Perhaps in his own way, I suppose…,” Gabby answered.

With that the two women sat in silence for a while, enjoying their coffee. The easy quiet reminded Gabby of something her mother had once told her.
If you can remain comfortable in another's company without feeling the need to speak, you've found a good friend indeed.

Soon Celia had another thought. “I wonder what the ranch is like,” she mused.

Gabby shook her head. “I have no idea. I've never visited a horse ranch, so I don't know what to expect. All I know is that the mansion has more than fifty rooms.”

Celia nearly choked on her coffee.
“Fifty rooms? Jesus
…
”
Soon her sly look returned. “Maybe I can give you a leg up on that,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

Celia stood and crooked an index finger at Gabby. “Follow me,” she said.

Without further ado, she led Gabby into the living room. She sat down at the writing table that held Gabby's personal computer.

“May I?” Celia asked.

Finally understanding, Gabby smiled. “Use ‘Flying B Ranch,'” she suggested.

“And I'll add ‘Florida,'” Celia replied, “just to make sure.”

Celia typed in the words then hit Go. Soon a list appeared. She clicked on the entry designated as the “Flying B Official Site.” What the two women saw was impressive.

Celia beamed. “And there you have it. Your own private tour of the Flying B.”

Celia stood so that Gabby could sit down before the screen.

Gabby was impressed. The Web site had been professionally and meticulously crafted. The Flying B had an elegant, Old South look that she immediately found alluring.

“It's amazing…,” she breathed.

Celia smiled. “Did you expect anything less? At least now you won't wander around the place with your jaw hanging open, like the mere peasant you are.”

Gabby laughed and poked Celia in the ribs. “Shut
up
!” she shouted.

Celia looked at her watch. “I should go so that you can pursue your new voyeuristic tendencies in private. Come and walk me out. There's something I want to tell you before I leave.”

Gabby followed Celia to the door. When Celia turned to face her, the mischievous look in Celia's eyes was gone.

“What is it?” Gabby asked.

Celia took Gabby's hands in hers. “Now listen to me, Gabbs,” she said earnestly. “I've been around the barn more times than you, no pun intended! Maybe you really are this naive, and you don't realize it. Or maybe you do know it, but you don't want to admit it. Either way, you care about that man.”

Gabby didn't know what to say so she remained quiet, waiting for Celia's other shoe to drop.

“What I'm trying to say is that you must be careful,” Celia said. “Wyatt Blaine isn't like other men you've known. From what you tell me, this one's charming
without
premeditation. That kind of man can get a girl into far more trouble than any classic womanizer who ever lived. But a smart girl like you already knows these things.”

“Then what is it?” Gabby asked.

“Just because you put Jason behind you, you can't assume that Wyatt has done the same with Krista. You've been holding on to your love for a long time, Gabbs. When you finally release it, be sure that you give it to the right man.”

Celia smiled and gave Gabby a peck on the cheek. “Time for me to go,” she said. “I hope that I haven't said too much.”

Gabby smiled. “Never,” she said.

“Good,” Celia answered. “I'll see you at school tomorrow. And until then, remember: it's not what people say about you that matters—”

“It's what they
whisper,
” Gabby replied.

“That's my girl,” Celia answered.

O
N RISING FROM
bed and walking to the balcony, Wyatt heard a horse whinny, and the unmistakable smells of fresh grain and loose hay rose to tease his nostrils. Like usual, the familiar old banty rooster that had for so long owed his existence to Ram's protection was haughtily marching to and fro as if he owned the place. The rooster suddenly flapped his wings and let out a brash cry, as if to inform everyone that it was high time to awaken and start work. It was Monday morning, and the first day of Krista's revived New Beginnings Program.

That old rooster and Ram are kindred spirits,
Wyatt decided sleepily.
They each like to push people around while crowing about it at the same time. Maybe that's why Ram won't let Aunt Lou ring the old bird's neck and put him into a pot.

After shaving and showering, Wyatt donned a fresh pair of
jeans and a worn black work shirt. Then he pulled on his boots and grabbed his battered black Stetson. As he made his way toward the foyer, the welcoming smells of Aunt Lou's cooking became stronger.

Like Ram's “fried-chicken Sundays,” daily breakfast was a tradition at the Flying B. Ram insisted that breakfast be served strictly between 7:00
A.M.
and 8:00
A.M.
each morning. At 8:00
A.M.
sharp, whatever remained of the food was cleared away by Aunt Lou and fed to hungry ranch hands. If you snooze, you lose, Ram was fond of saying. The same was also true for dinner, which was at 7:00
P.M.
Everyone was on his or her own for lunch. When he was younger, Wyatt had chafed against the rigidity of this tradition. But now that he had grown older, he had come to actually enjoy it.

Breakfast was always served buffet style in the formal dining room. That suited Aunt Lou just fine, because she could arrange the food on the sideboard and let everyone help himself. Most days, Ram, Wyatt, Aunt Lou, and Big John breakfasted together. Although Mercy had an open invitation to breakfast and dinner, she usually ate in her cottage while poring over vet manuals.

Wyatt entered the dining room and looked around. This room had been one of his late mother's favorites, and she had taken particular care in its decoration. Since the day of her death, Ram had insisted that it remain unchanged.

The room was long and finished in dark hardwoods. Befitting the Blaine family heritage, paintings of old English hunting scenes hung on the walls. Several open pairs of French doors lined the entire west side, allowing the morning sunshine to come
streaming in, and a cooling breeze to stir the lace curtains. At the near end of the room, a huge portrait of Phoebe Blaine hung above the mahogany sideboard on which breakfast was always served.

During his youth, Wyatt had often wondered why Ram insisted that everyone gather here each morning and evening. As the years passed, Wyatt gained a greater appreciation for not only the dining room's loveliness but also for what it meant to his father. He now understood that because his mother had lavished so much love and attention on this room, Ram gathered his “family” here in honor of her memory.

“It's high time you got here,” Ram said as he sat shielded behind his morning newspaper. “Hurry up and eat something. I heard your stomach complaining from as far away as the staircase. Hurt the dogs' sensitive ears, it did!”

Wyatt snorted out a short laugh. “Fine, Dad, and you?”

Aunt Lou also laughed. Big John was seated between his wife and Ram at the near end of the table. Although Ram and Lou had finished their breakfasts, Big John still ate hungrily. So few people sitting at a mahogany dining table that could accommodate twenty-two always looked a bit strange, but Wyatt was accustomed to it. Butch and Sundance lounged at their master's feet on the polished hardwood floor. When Butch saw Wyatt, he thumped his tail happily.

Wyatt gave the Beauregards a smile. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey back to you,” Aunt Lou answered. The red-and-white-checkered dress that she seemed to continually wear was covered in the front by a white apron. An onyx crucifix hung from a silver chain around her neck, its revered symbolism lost somewhere
between her ample breasts. Still eating, Big John nodded, smiling.

Among his many other opinions, Ram was notorious for his hatred of what he called “fake food.” His list of transgressors was long and included such supposedly horrid items as margarine, skim milk, and artificially colored egg whites, to name but a few. Moreover, he considered such blasphemies as tofu, soy, and any meal labeled “vegetarian,” to be culinary heresy. He fervently claimed that all such culinary abominations tasted largely like wallpaper paste and couldn't possibly be good for anyone, so he forbade Aunt Lou to stock them. Because Lou shared the same view, Ram's orders were enthusiastically obeyed.

Wyatt sat at the table, a plate filled with bacon and scrambled eggs in one hand, and a cup of steaming coffee in the other. Butch thumped his tail again then quickly sat up, eagerly hoping for a handout.

“How's your breakfast?” Ram asked, his face still ensconced behind the Boca newspaper.

“Good, as always,” Wyatt answered.

“Well, it isn't Bloody Marys and eggs Benedict from Chez Paul, but it'll have to do,” Ram answered slyly.

Wyatt stopped his forkful of eggs halfway between his plate and his mouth.
Jesus,
he thought.
How does he find out about these things?
For several moments Wyatt considered taking his plate out onto the pool patio, but finally decided to face the music.
Might as well get this over with…

Ram smiled and lowered his newspaper. Its folds were clean and crisp because Aunt Lou ironed each one before giving it to him. Franklin-style reading glasses lay perched near the end of his
longish nose. After folding the paper and removing his glasses, he lit his first cigarette of the day then drew a crystal ashtray nearer.

“It seems that bumping into the Powers woman has become something of a habit with you,” Ram said. “Why do you suppose that is?”

“So you heard about yesterday morning,” Wyatt said.

“Yep.”

Wyatt took another sip of coffee. “How'd you manage that?”

“You're forgetting something,” Ram answered. “I know
everybody
in that town.”

“Except for Gabby and Trevor, it would seem,” Wyatt countered. “Well, don't worry. You'll get to meet them this afternoon.”

“Who's Gabby Powers?” Big John asked.

Wyatt paused again. Word about Gabby's and Trevor's connection to the Blaines would get out soon enough, he realized.
What the hell,
he thought.
I might as well come clean now, rather than later. But I'll leave it up to the instigator.

“You can tell them,” Wyatt said to Ram.

Ram gave his son a questioning look. “You sure?”

“Why not?” Wyatt asked. “That's why you brought it up, right?”

“I guess it is,” Ram answered.

For the next few minutes, Ram explained the situation to Big John and Aunt Lou. When Ram finished, he sat back in his chair and stubbed out his cigarette.

Lou placed one hand on Wyatt's. “You're doing a good thing, Mr. Wyatt,” she said softly. “I can only imagine how hard this will be for you. Two weeks ago I told you that Krista would be proud
of you. Now I think that goes double. She would gladly have welcomed Gabby and Trevor to the Flying B, I just know it.”

Wyatt tried to summon a smile. “Thanks, Aunt Lou. I hope you're right.”

“She is this time,” Big John teased. “Lord knows that my old girl ain't right very often, but she's got this one pegged.”

“Hush, fool!” Aunt Lou exclaimed.

“What time do the two psychologists arrive?” Ram asked Wyatt.

Glad for the chance to talk about something else, Wyatt perked up a little. “They're due at three. The parents and the teens are due by four.”

Wyatt turned to look at Aunt Lou. “Are you sure you'll have everything ready?” he asked.

“You betcha,” she answered. “Soon after they arrive, I'll have a nice spread all laid out by the pool.”

Suddenly Lou's expression turned protective, and she glared at Big John. “You'd best warn all your stinky ranch hands to stay away from my food!” she warned. “It's for the guests! If any of your manure managers come near my cooking, I'll swat them with a broom!” Big John just laughed.

A sudden concern struck Wyatt. “Will the three house girls be enough help?” he asked Lou. He had been so preoccupied with everything else that he had forgotten to ask her until now.

“Don't worry your head none,” Aunt Lou answered. “We've been through this before, you know. Just like when Krista ran the show, we'll get it all done. It won't be fancy, but it'll be good.”

Wyatt hoped so, and he trusted Lou. But this was the first time that the New Beginnings Program would be conducted
without Krista's guidance, and he could imagine lots that might go wrong—especially with Gabby and Trevor suddenly added to the mix.

“I've got something to show you, Mr. Wyatt,” Big John announced proudly.

Wyatt pushed away his plate. “What is it?” he asked. B.J. shoved his chair back. Knowing full well that it would rile Lou's ire up, he raised both feet and brazenly set them on top of the table. Ram and Wyatt laughed. Angry beyond words, Lou fumed in silence.

“So what do you think?” B.J. asked.

Wyatt stared at B.J.'s new boots, made from the skin of one of the alligators he had shot. They were immaculate and had yet to see any barn time. The boots were beautiful things, expertly crafted and dyed light gray. Wyatt smiled appreciatively.

“Nice,” he said. “Who did the work?”

“An old-time shoe and boot maker friend of mine in Boca,” B.J. answered. “I saved his dog's life once. The mutt was hardly worth the effort, but one good turn deserves another. The dog's dead now. And by the look of him, I don't think the boot maker's gonna last long either!”

Wyatt laughed. “What about the other skin? Do you still have it?”

“Course,” B.J. answered. “I wouldn't get rid of something that valuable. Why? You got a use for it?”

Wyatt thought for a moment. “Maybe. I'll let you know.”

Ram again looked at Wyatt. “Who are you using as equestrian instructors this time?” he asked.

“Mercy and Jim Mason,” Wyatt answered.

“Good choices,” Ram said. “Where did you find the psychologists?”

“I was able to rehire the same ones from when Krista ran things,” Wyatt answered. “When they heard that I was reinstating the program, they were happy to participate again.”

Just then the grandfather clock on the other side of the dining room chimed eight times. It always announced when breakfast was officially over, and Ram liked that it did the task for him. As if on cue, the dogs stood and stretched.

With that, Wyatt and B.J. left the house to go about their work. Ram strode to the sideboard and poured another cup of coffee. When Aunt Lou rose from the table, she gave him a stern look.

“Breakfast is over, old man,” she said. “Your famous grandfather clock just said so. Breakin' your own rules, are you?”

Ram chuckled. “They're mine to break, aren't they?”

Aunt Lou paused for a moment before starting to clear away the breakfast things. When she again looked at Ram, her expression had softened.

“Will Mr. Wyatt be okay today?” she asked.

Ram sighed. “Hard to say, Lou. But I sure am interested in meeting this woman who's got him so unsettled. I haven't seen him like this since he met Krista.”