The Riding Master

by Alexandrea Weis

  She browsed his stern blue eyes, wondering what she had found so damned attractive about the man all those years ago. Sure he was good-looking, with his strong, angular features and well-toned body, but now his looks seemed so generic, like all the other polished and presentable businessmen she had encountered over the years. There was nothing alluring about him anymore. His stoic features held none of the fascination that had captivated her when they first met.

  “You doing okay, Rayne?”

  She defensively folded her arms over her chest, not wanting to buy into his concern. She knew better. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “You need any money? You know I always told you if you needed anything to come to me. I’ll take care of you.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m doing all right.”

  “How’s Bob?”

  This time her smile was genuine, happy that he had at least remembered her horse’s name. “Trent is the new riding master at the stables, and he wants me to get him ready for a show in another month. Looks like I’m going to start showing sooner than I expected.”

  His eyes grew a little colder. “Is Trent good to you? Does he take care of you? You need to be taken care of, Rayne. You know you were never any good at being on your own.”

  She fidgeted slightly, tucking her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. The condescending tone of his voice was more than she could bear. Rayne could not remember a time when he did not speak to her in such a manner. “I’ve been on my own for a year, Foster. And Trent is…a good friend, that’s all.” She curled her hands into fists inside the pockets of her jeans. “How’s Connie?” she posed, eager to change the subject.

  He rolled his eyes. “She wants to redecorate the entire house.”

  Rayne gently laughed. “You hate redecorating.”

  “Yeah, I know. But everything I think of as comfortable, she calls old-fashioned.” He searched the hallway, his lips drawn together in a contemplative frown. “I think the problem is I may be a little too old-fashioned for Connie.”

  “I thought you two were happy,” she offered, not sure what else to say.

  “So did I, for a while.” His eyes returned to her. “Nowadays I find myself missing how comfortable we were together. You always understood me.”

  Rayne pushed away from the wall and held up her head, knowing what Foster was doing. An expert at manipulation, he had for years made her believe that she was the only one for him. But experience had taught her to distrust his words and actions. “I’m beginning to think I never understood you at all,” she admitted, and turned toward the door.

  “I’m still the same man you knew. Nothing has changed.”

  She put her hand on the silver door handle of her mother’s exam room and thought of Trent. “Everything has changed, Foster. I’m different. I…I should get back to Mother.”

  “You look good, Rayne.”

  A pang of past regret raked across her heart. “Good-bye, Foster,” she uttered and rushed in the door.

  Rayne halted just inside the room, pushing down all the unwanted memories of Foster welling up in her mind. This meeting had been easier than the ones before, but still difficult for her. She debated if it would ever get better.

  Trent’s seductive laughter tore her away from her troubles, and recollections of their time together earlier that morning soothed her frazzled nerves.

  “Raynie, where did you get this one?” Estelle happily called to her. “I like him.”

  Rayne moved toward the bed, curiously noting her mother’s flirtatious smile.

  “I was just telling your mother about some of the people at the stables,” Trent explained, winking at her.

  “He’s funny.” Estelle’s blue eyes flashed with approval, something Rayne had never seen before. “He’s not too bad on the eyes, either. He’s the one you mentioned on the phone the other night, isn’t he? Are you two sleeping together yet?”

  There it was, Rayne silently admonished. Just when she let her guard down, Estelle found a way to humiliate her. “Mother, please. We’re not sleeping together. We’re friends.”

  “You told your mother about me?” The hope was evident in Trent’s voice.

  “So you are sleeping with him.” Estelle sat up in the bed, grinning excitedly. “How long has this been going on?”

  “That’s none of—” Not wanting to give Estelle any more ammunition, Rayne hastily muttered, “Never mind. Tell me what happened last night.”

  Estelle lowered her eyes to the bed sheets and then twisted a small section in her fingers. “I fell, that’s all.”

  “After how many drinks, Estelle?” Rayne loudly interrogated.

  Trent took a step back from the bed. “I’ll wait outside while you two talk.” He shot Rayne a reproachful look, and then turned for the door.

  After he had left the exam room, Rayne stared at her mother’s frail figure in the bed. The dark circles beneath her eyes made the blue inside them stand out, and for a split second Rayne saw Jaime; the adorable little sister that everyone had pampered and treated like a china doll because she was so small and fragile.

  “You embarrassed him, Raynie. You shouldn’t have done that. He seems like a nice guy.”

  With no more need for restraint, Rayne’s anger came pouring out of her. “Why on earth did you call Foster, Mother?” She threw her hands up. “Do you know what it’s like to come to the hospital and find my ex here with you?”

  “I couldn’t get you, and the only other number I had was his,” Estelle whined. “I knew you two stayed friendly, so I gave him a call.”

  “What about 911?” Rayne hollered.

  “I wasn’t serious enough for that,” Estelle balked with a wave of her hand.

  “But you felt it was serious enough to call my ex-husband!”

  Estelle punched her fist into the bed. “Don’t you dare shout at me.”

  “Why not?” Rayne stormed up her mother’s side. “The only time you listen to me is when I shout, Estelle!”

  A knock at the door made Rayne wheel around in time to see a very tall man with thinning gray hair and thick glasses entering the room. Wearing a long white coat, blue tie, and gray slacks, he appeared to be the epitome of a doctor, even down to the sunken look of fatigue in his small brown eyes. Lumbering into the room with a friendly smile, he carried a blue binder under his arm.

  “Are you Mrs. Masterson’s daughter?”

  Rayne stepped forward. “I’m Rayne Greer.”

  He extended a thick hand to Rayne. “Dr. Clifton. I’m the ER physician attendin’ to your mother,” he announced in a deep Texas drawl.

  “He’s the one who wants to do more tests on me,” Estelle griped from the bed.

  “Well, Mrs. Masterson, your liver enzymes are worrisome, along with your blood counts and recent weight loss,” Dr. Clifton defended. “We need to find out what’s goin’ on with you.”

  “Weight loss?” Rayne stared at her mother. “What weight loss?”

  Dr. Clifton opened his blue binder. “Your mother reported that she’s lost ten pounds over the past few weeks.”

  “It’s because I don’t have any money for food,” Estelle bellyached.

  “You have money, Mother. You just spend it on scotch.”

  Dr. Clifton cleared his throat as he gleaned the paperwork in the binder. “She’s also pretty anemic, her liver functions aren’t too good, and her other blood levels are pretty troublin’.”

  “It’s all because of the drinking, right? She drinks too much.”

  “So she told me.” Dr. Clifton closed his binder. “I think we should see how extensive the damage is first. I’ve ordered a consult with an internist on the staff here. He can run some more tests and give you a more definitive diagnosis. I think she should make an appointment as soon as possible.”

  Estelle sulked in her bed. “I don’t need another doctor. I like Dr. Emerit.”

  Rayne’s eyes veered from her pouting mother to the doctor. “That’s her internist. She’s
been with him for years. I can call him and schedule an appointment.”

  Dr. Clifton’s dark eyes registered with understanding. “If I can have a word with you outside, Ms. Greer.” He walked to the room door and opened it, waiting for Rayne to join him.

  Estelle folded her arms and sulked in her bed like a spoiled child. “I’m the patient here. Shouldn’t someone talk to me?”

  “Enough, Mother.” Rayne went to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  After Rayne and Dr. Clifton were safely in the hallway, he turned to her, looking grave.

  “Ms. Greer, I don’t need to tell you that the drinkin’ has done extensive damage to her liver. How advanced the cirrhosis is needs to be determined to decide what course of treatment to take, but whether your mother will be compliant with that treatment…well, I’ve got my doubts.”

  Rayne saw Trent coming down the hall. “She won’t be compliant. That is pretty much guaranteed.”

  Dr. Clifton hugged the binder to his chest. “She can be medicated to avoid any profound problems, but I think you’ve got no other options right now. She needs to get into a rehab program.”

  “She’s been in several, Dr. Clifton. None have helped.”

  “I understand, Ms. Greer, but please consider it. I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t strongly advise that she get some kind of help for her drinkin’.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Rayne avowed. “She might listen to Dr. Emerit. She always listens to him, for a little while anyway.”

  Trent walked up to her, carrying a white paper cup of coffee. “I’m sure you can probably use this.”

  Rayne motioned to Dr. Clifton. “Trent, this is Dr. Clifton.”

  They two men exchanged nods.

  Trent examined Rayne’s somber face. “So what’s the verdict?”

  Rayne took the coffee cup from his hand. “Dr. Clifton wants her to get some more tests. I’ll set up an appointment with her internist on Monday and go from there.”

  “Is she ready to go home?” Trent asked, moving to Rayne’s side.

  “Just let me finish up the paperwork.” Dr. Clifton lowered the binder from his chest, gripping it in one hand. “I’ll have the nurse come in and give you directions for keepin’ her wound clean, and then you can take her on home.”

  Rayne took a sip from the coffee. “Should someone stay with her tonight?”

  “That’s up to you, Ms. Greer,” Dr. Clifton replied in his thick accent. “The injury was just a slight cut that didn’t require stitches. I think she was scared more than hurt because she didn’t remember fallin’ down. But the amnesia was a result of the alcohol in her system, and not the head injury. Her alcohol levels were still pretty high when we drew her blood.”

  Rayne sucked in a breath, quieting her outrage. “Thank you, Dr. Clifton.”

  Dr. Clifton patted her shoulder. “Good luck to you, Ms. Greer.”

  While silently cursing her mother for putting her in this situation yet again, Rayne watched the long legs of Dr. Clifton stroll away.

  Trent rested a reassuring arm about her waist. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve been here many times before.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  Rayne stared into his warm gray eyes and then gave him an encouraging smile. “Thank you for just being here. I know this is a lot to take in with my ex and my mother, but I—”

  “Rayne, I don’t care about your ex-husband or your mother; I care about you. Now tell me what can I do to help you?”

  She tenderly kissed his cheek, touched by his offer. It had been a long time since she had shared her burdens with anyone. “You’ve already helped.”

  He looked to the exam room door. “I’ll wait out here until you are ready to take her home.”

  “Perhaps you should just bring us back to my house. I can get my car from your place and then take her home.”

  “No way.” Trent dismissed the suggestion with a stern glare. “We’ll take her home. I can leave you at her place, then go to the stables. When you’re ready, I’ll pick you up.”

  “Trent, my mother lives in Highland Park. That’s an hour away from the stables. I can’t ask you to drive back and—”

  “Rayne, stop arguing with me,” he insisted, cutting her off. “We’ll take her home.”

  “You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”

  He kissed her cheek and took the coffee from her hand. “It all depends on your vantage point, baby.”

  She sighed and eyed the watch on his wrist. “I should call Rebecca. I’ve got a lesson in a little over an hour.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” He set the coffee cup on a nearby medicine cart. “After I drop you off at your mother’s, I can go to the stables and take over your lessons for you.”

  “That’s just perfect. My students are never going to forgive me. You’re the Marquis De Sade of riding instructors.” She swerved to the exam room door.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her to him. “You don’t have to be brave with me, Rayne. I know this is killing you.”

  “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not being brave.” She patted his thick chest, relishing the firm muscles beneath his T-shirt. “Estelle and I have never had a great relationship, so when she has setbacks like this….” She shook her head and dropped her hand from his chest. “Setbacks? Who am I kidding? Her entire life has been one big setback. She’s been drinking for so long…she’ll never give it up.”

  “Do you have any idea why she drinks?”

  Rayne took in the busy ER hallway around them. Everywhere people were going in and out of exam rooms, phones were ringing, voices were humming in the background, and occasionally the sounds of papers shuffling, or a mechanical beeping would float by.

  “I think she drinks to forget her past.” Rayne wrapped her arms about her body. “She was once the darling of Dallas society. My grandfather owned two meatpacking houses and was keen on marrying her off to a man who could help continue the family business. But my mother met my father at a college fraternity party, and after that…all my grandfather’s plans went out the window. They eloped and settled in New Orleans, where my dad started a law practice. Mother used to say she gave up everything for my father, but I think it was the other way around. Dad worshipped the ground she walked on until the day he died.”

  “Is that why you two don’t get along? Because of your father?”

  “That list of reasons is way too long and too sordid to get into.” Rayne dropped her arms to her sides. “Suffice it to say, when I was growing up my mother stayed out of my life, and I’ve always tried to stay out of hers.”

  Trent knitted his dark brows. “But what about your riding? All the horse shows you competed in? Surely she—”

  “She never attended any of my shows,” Rayne interrupted. “Not a single one. My mother believed my riding was…foolish. No matter how successful I was in the show ring, she was always disappointed in me. Still is.”

  “I can’t believe Estelle is disappointed in you, Rayne. I think maybe she’s just too stubborn to admit how she feels. Kind of like you.” Trent gripped her shoulders. “But there’s always a chance to fix things between the two of you.”

  “There’s nothing to fix.” Rayne’s back stiffened. “We’re so broken that even God couldn’t fix us.”

  “No one is beyond hope. Not people, horses…or mothers.”

  She opened the exam room door, hardening her resolve against his encouragement. “Don’t even go there, Trent. I gave up on hoping for any kind of relationship with my mother a long time ago.”

  “But it’s never too late to try again. Sometimes if you just give someone a chance, they might surprise you.”

  Rayne gazed into his keen eyes and knew he was talking about more than just her mother. She longed to give him that chance, but past heartbreaks had taught her that looking to another for strength only led to deeper torment. Wanting to spare him further
insights into her warped psyche, she rested her hand on his forearm and forced a pretty smile on her face…the kind men always preferred.

  “I appreciate that. Perhaps someday I might heed your advice…but not today.”

  She turned away and slipped inside the door. The past was done, and she had more pressing matters to attend to. For Rayne, looking ahead in some ways was just as painful as looking back. Sometimes she did not know what was worse; the regret over past mistakes, or the worry over mistakes yet to come.

  Chapter 13

  Estelle’s home was nestled in the opulent neighborhood of Highland Park, close to the campus of Southern Methodist University. With green, manicured lawns, bright gardens bursting with colorful flowers, and palatial mansions, the premium real estate in this section of Dallas was considered by many to be a necessity when entering the ranks of the city’s social scene.

  Trent eased his car up to a stunning French Provincial home tucked behind an overgrown lawn cluttered with unkempt gardens of tall juniper trees, red azalea bushes, and gardenias.

  “There’s a side entrance.” Rayne pointed to a small cement road that meandered through the overgrowth in front of the property.

  “Estelle, you have quite a place,” Trent commented as the car drew closer to the impressive structure.

  Four huge, white colonial windows with stylized cornices on top, and ten-foot high double front doors that were carved with long swirls and stained in a very dark birch, accentuated the façade of the home.

  “My father bought it when I was in high school,” Estelle recounted from the back seat. “When my parents died, they left everything to me. I used to have lovely gardens in front, but they got to be too much. It costs a small fortune to keep this place going.”

  “A small fortune you don’t have,” Rayne piped in as the front of the house passed before her passenger window. “I’ve told you a million times to sell it.”

  Estelle clucked disapprovingly. “And live where, Raynie, with you?”

  “You could get something smaller that you could afford with the money you would make unloading this place,” Rayne suggested with an equally contentious tone.