Lone Star Refuge

by Mae Nunn

  As Buster made sausage patties out of Jimmy Dean sage, thin like Stella preferred them, he heard a knock at the back door.

  “Come in,” he said, and Joiner emerged with Mugsy and Mitzi at his heels.

  “Good morning!”

  “Good morning, yourself!” Buster answered.

  “Can I do anything to help you?”

  “You can set the table,” Buster instructed. Then, motioning with his shoulder because his hands were full, he pointed at the cabinet where the plates were housed.

  *

  WHILE JOINER SET the table, Buster got the gravy going.

  Stella came down looking pretty as a picture in her Wranglers and boots, and she kissed him on the cheek to say good-morning. Buster noticed a hand squeeze between her and Joiner, who seemed happy as a little pup to see her, and who could blame him? Buster imagined every cowboy would like to be in Joiner’s boots right now, living on his place and working side by side with Stella. Yep, Joiner was a lucky man.

  Stella got the butter and jelly out of the refrigerator and made herself a cup of coffee. “Want me to cut up some fruit?”

  “That would be nice. I’ve got strawberries, blueberries, grapes and peaches—all of your favorites. And there are pecans and walnuts to mix in.”

  “Has he always spoiled you like this?” Joiner teased her.

  “’Fraid so.”

  “Well, when I was here,” Buster corrected. He wished he’d been around more when she was younger. He had missed so much. But he was here now, he reminded himself. Like riding broncs, the most important thing was to finish strong. Buster breathed a prayer to God, thanking Him for allowing him to be here on this day that was so important to Stella.

  “Are ya nervous?” he asked as they sat down to eat.

  “Yes.” Stella nodded. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But I am also very ready to get started.” She spread butter on a flaky biscuit and took a bite.

  “I know what you mean. It’s like bein’ in the chute when you’re about to come out of there on a buckin’ bronco.” Buster grinned. But when Joiner closed his eyes as if he was waiting for something to crash, he stopped grinning.

  Stella almost choked. “Pops, what am I going to do with you? Bucking broncos? Really?”

  Buster chuckled. “Well, it is. I can remember being so nervous, my adrenaline pumping, like if I had to wait in that chute another second I might explode.”

  Stella shook her head at him. “Despite the danger involved in your analogy, I must admit it’s probably a similar feeling.”

  Buster winked at Joiner and forked a bite of biscuits and gravy. “If you’re interested, boy, I might be able to get you on a bronco.”

  “Sure!”

  “No one here is getting on a bronco. Pops, are you crazy—”

  “This is delicious,” Joiner said, changing the subject.

  Stella sighed but went along with it. “Yes, it is, Pops. These biscuits are perfection.”

  “You always said nobody else’s measure up.”

  “It’s you who always says that,” Stella pointed her fork in Buster’s direction, scolding him. “But of course, you’re right.”

  He smiled. “And what exactly is your role today, cowboy?” Buster asked Joiner.

  “Whatever Stella says it is.”

  “That’s a darn good answer.”

  Stella said, “I hope you remember what I’ve told you to do, because right now I don’t know that I’ll keep it all straight.”

  Joiner sat up straight as a soldier. He even saluted. “Basically, I’m going to do whatever it takes to make the clients feel safe and secure at all times, and when my help is not needed with clients, I’ll be taking care of the horses.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” said Buster. “And you know I’ll do anything that’s required, Pretty.” He patted Stella’s arm.

  “I’m counting on you both.”

  *

  AFTER BREAKFAST, BUSTER offered to clean up so Stella and Joiner could go on over to the barn to set up. They had a staff meeting at seven thirty and clients would start arriving at eight o’clock. He finished the kitchen as quickly as he could, and then his chores, so he could be there to watch Stella’s dream unfold.

  Buster wobbled over to the stable area as soon as the goats were milked. The first client was there, a boy about six years old. This was the one Stella had talked about; the one whose dad was a big supporter. Buster was a little leery of the Cavenders. He thought they were basically good people, but he was a little suspicious of anybody who had money out the wazoo. Still, when he saw Clint Cavender leaning up against the pipe fence that housed the arena, he lifted his hand in greeting. The young man’s face was strung tight as a new barbed-wire fence.

  “How’s it going there?” Buster leaned on the fence next to Clint.

  “Not bad so far, I think.”

  “That your boy?” Buster nodded in the direction of the little boy who was on Stella’s gentlest horse, just sitting, surrounded by Stella, Joiner and the occupational therapist, Daune.

  “It is.” Clint exhaled. “Sorry, sir.” He stuck out his hand to shake Buster’s gnarled one. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

  Buster’s heart softened. “No need to worry, son. Stella will take good care of your boy.”

  “Oh, I believe that.” Clint bobbed his hand up and down. “This is just…so…new.”

  “It is, but it’s logical, ain’t it? Horses been helping people a long time.”

  The tension in Clint’s face eased a little. “I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  As they talked, Stella began to lead the boy’s horse in a slow motion around the arena. It took forever, it seemed, for the entourage to come near where Buster and Clint were standing. Buster could see that Joiner had a firm grip on the boy on one side, and Daune held him on the other.

  Buster wondered what they hoped to accomplish with this kind of ride. It seemed so simple, so slow. But when they finally drew near, the look on the little boy’s face said it all.

  There were no points of tension anywhere. His mouth was open in a wide grin and his eyes were shining. Buster looked from him to his father. Tears were streaming down Clint’s cheeks.

  *

  THAT FIRST CLIENT, that first moment, was the highlight of the day for Buster. He had listened for months while Stella explained her ideas, supported her vision both in money and work, and encouraged her all the way. But not until he saw that boy on the horse, with his expression of pure joy, did he understand what Stella had known all along. This was a life-changing thing they were doing. And it only made him prouder than he already was of his daughter. He hoped it would make her prouder of herself.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JOINER DRAGGED INTO the RV feeling tired but satisfied. It had been a great day for Star Stables: a full schedule, new clients clamoring for a spot, all of the horses in good shape, and Boss Lady was happy, which made Joiner happy. He warmed at the thought of Stella.

  Leaving his boots at the door, he hung his hat on the hook Buster had left, and stripped off his socks. Tossing his iPhone onto the kitchen counter, he walked across the RV, shedding his sweaty shirt and jeans. They were scuffed with dirt and horse manure, and he had to stuff them into the laundry hamper Alma had left in his room. He hadn’t had time to think about laundry, and the hamper was overflowing.

  The shower was fantastic. He felt like a new man—a clean one—when he finished. After he dried off he headed straight into his bedroom to dress, rather than lounging around with no shirt in a towel or boxers. He’d learned his lesson about that the hard way.

  As all of his jeans were dirty, he put on some sweats and an old UT Polo T-shirt. Then he walked barefoot into the kitchen to find some grub. The leftovers from Hunt’s last catering event, which Gillian had brought by for him, would do nicely.

  He was taking his first bite when his phone started buzzing on the counter. He slid it over to look at it.


  A group text from the Brotherhood read:

  McCarthy Temple: Need tax stuff ASAP.

  Hunt Temple: Dropped ours off last week. You were out so left it with hot new assistant at front desk.

  Cullen Temple: Working on it.

  McCarthy Temple: Just found yours, Hunt. Good thing, too, since it takes the longest. And you’re a married man. Joiner?

  Anyone heard from the prodigal son?

  Hunt Temple: Gillian saw him yesterday.

  Cullen Temple: He was texting with Carrie last night. They’re both reading a book about stars.

  McCarthy Temple: Is it The Fault in Our Stars?

  Cullen Temple: Idk. Maybe. That sounds familiar.

  Hunt Temple: Mac knows the title of a recent novel? No way!

  Joiner decided to enter the conversation. He typed in his message.

  Joiner Temple: You boys having a meeting of the minds? I better jump in and boost the IQ level before my phone blows up.

  McCarthy Temple: The prodigal returns!

  Hunt Temple: Hey, man!

  Cullen Temple: Howdy!

  Joiner Temple: How’s it goin’, Temple bros?

  McCarthy Temple: I need your tax stuff. Yesterday.

  Joiner Temple: Oops! Is it April already?

  McCarthy Temple: I don’t provide free tax services in April.

  Hunt Temple: Is your brain still in Europe?

  Joiner Temple: I’ll get it to you, Mac.

  Cullen Temple: Gotta go. Grading essays. Love you guys. Will get taxes to you soon, Mac.

  Hunt Temple: Fish to fry. Ditto on the love.

  McCarthy Temple: Ok, and ditto.

  Joiner Temple: Mac, my taxes are easy. Basically no income or possessions.

  McCarthy Temple: Just a Horse and His Boy.

  Joiner Temple: I love it when you talk literary.

  McCarthy Temple: Any way you can bring it by tonight?

  Joiner Temple: Your washing machine work?

  McCarthy Temple: Yes. Dryer, too.

  Joiner Temple: See you in a few. And ditto, bros.

  *

  JOINER SLIPPED ON clean socks and running shoes. Then he grabbed the lockbox from the shelf in his closet, pulled the drawstring bag full of clothes out of the clothes hamper and headed to his truck.

  Buster waved at him from the goat pen where he was milking. “Hey, Santy Claus!”

  Joiner chuckled. He was carrying a sack on his back, but Buster was the one who looked like Santa Claus. A Santa Claus with bowed legs. “Hey there!”

  “You had any dinner yet?”

  “Yes, I have, thanks. I’m on my way to my brother’s house to do some laundry.”

  “You’re welcome to use my laundry room anytime you want.” Buster patted Violet on the back.

  “Thank you very much. See ya.” Joiner walked on, but remembered something and turned back toward the older man. “Hey! You hear anything more about that bronc busting you told me about?”

  “No, but I’ve got my ears open. I’ve never seen a man so eager to get his butt whooped by a horse.” Buster chuckled. “Unless maybe it was me.”

  Joiner whispered, albeit loudly, so Buster could still hear him. “You game, even though your daughter will probably skin us?”

  Buster’s eyes darted in the direction of the stable. “I can’t say I’m not concerned about her reaction, but maybe she’ll understand because of the money. It’s all for her.”

  “I hope so. I’ve got to try it anyway or go nuts. All of this caution around the school has me pretty wound up.”

  “I hear ya, man. I hear ya.”

  *

  MAC WAS ON the porch with a cup of hot tea when Joiner drove up to his lake house.

  “Man, don’t let our twin brothers see you drinking that. They think tea’s for girls.”

  “They also think polo is for sissies. That’s why you and I have to stick together.” Mac clapped Joiner on the back.

  “We really didn’t raise those twins to respect their elders.”

  “No. We definitely failed in that regard.” Mac opened the front door. “Come on in. Looks like you better start a load of laundry.”

  Joiner hauled in his bag. He handed the lockbox with his tax information over to Mac, and then went into the laundry room where he started a load of darks.

  “I’m assuming you brought the key to this?” Mac said when Joiner joined him at the kitchen table.

  “Oops.”

  Mac shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  “Just kidding, bro.” Joiner took the key out of his pocket and opened the box. “All that’s in here of value is Pistol’s papers.” He took out the papers for Pistol Gun Pete.

  “That name is so hilarious,” Mac said.

  “It’s a good name for a stud like him.”

  Mac grinned. “So you are going into the horse breeding business?”

  “Yes, once I had the arrangement with Buster, I decided to go for it. I’ve had several people approach me. I’m hopeful that it’s going to be a productive—or reproductive—season.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  Joiner drummed his fingers on the table. “The arrangement I made with Buster is pretty cool. We’re going to bring the mares to the ranch and turn them out to pasture with Pistol for breeding. Like everything with Buster, it’s kind of old-school, but in this case I agree with him because I think it’s best for the horses. More natural.”

  “How do you schedule that? Pistol have a dance card?”

  “Well, a mare has what’s called an estrous cycle that lasts about three weeks. During the first week she’s receptive to a stallion, and she ovulates during the last part of that week.”

  “TMI, bro, TMI.”

  Joiner raised his eyebrows. “You asked.” He continued, “And mares are more fertile in the spring and summer because there’s more daylight. Some mares have a cycle in the fall, but not as many.”

  “So Pistol has to make hay while there’s still daylight.”

  “Or make money. Yeah.”

  “How much money are we talking about, if you don’t mind me asking?” Mac took off his glasses and folded them in his hands.

  “I’m going to breed Pistol for $10,000 a pop.”

  “Whoa, you think you can get that?”

  “Dude, this is why I’ve held on to that horse for dear life. Well, besides the fact that he’s my favorite. But he’s a beast. I’ve already got twenty mares lined up for the season.”

  “Man, I’m in the wrong business!”

  “Well, because of you I said that the owners have to bring the mares to the ranch by April 15.”

  “Tax day!”

  “Yep. We will put those twenty out to pasture—and I could allow up to ten more. The section is about the size of a square mile.”

  “Pistol’s gonna be busy,” Mac observed.

  “The mares have to be together about two weeks to get used to each other, to sort of form a herd. Then we turn Pistol in there with them and the dance begins.”

  “How long will you keep all of these mares?”

  “Till the end of August.”

  “Will that affect the school any?”

  “Well, I have to admit, Stella may be uncomfortable breeding the horses this way.”

  “Why?” Mac asked.

  “It can be messy. It’s not totally controlled like insemination or other methods. This way is most natural, but it can be a little rough as they go through all of the stages of courtship.”

  Mac nodded cautiously. “Sounds like people.”

  “What I mean is that they dance around, and bite, and sometimes it’s kind of wild. There can be injuries.”

  “I see.”

  “But it’s not like her clients will be in the pasture with them.”

  “Still, it might not be particularly attractive for clients and onlookers to witness, and some might be worried about their children.”

  “The pasture is far away from where the kids will be riding. I’m hoping for the be
st.”

  “Well, otherwise it sounds like a sweet deal.”

  “There’s a lot involved, but yeah. If it goes according to plan, I’ll pocket a good chunk of change.” Joiner ran a hand through his hair. “Hopefully get myself in a position to buy my own land, maybe expand the breeding operation, and even start a foundation for wild mustangs in Pap’s name.”

  “Since when has this been your dream?”

  Joiner was matter-of-fact. “Since I figured out I wasn’t going to make it as a professional polo player. You know, Mac, since then I’ve really been searching for a new dream. A purpose. Maybe this is it.”

  “I hope it works out for you, dude.” Mac squeezed Joiner’s shoulder. “I really do.” He gathered the tax documents together and put them back in the box.

  “Hey, try to work me up a miracle this year, okay, Mac? A tax refund would help out in a big way.”

  “Sure, Joiner. I’m on it.” Mac laughed.

  Mac made Joiner a cappuccino in his fancy machine and they moved to the deck to watch the sun set over the water. While Joiner’s laundry was washing and drying, they sat in cedar Adirondack chairs and caught up with one another.

  “So who’s the hottie in your office?”

  Mac cleared his throat.

  “Are you blushing?” Joiner leaned over to inspect his brother’s face. “You are! Your face is as red as Texas clay! Spill the beans!”

  “There are none to spill.”

  “That’s a bunch of malarkey.” Joiner punched him gently in the ribs.

  “Really, there are none. I hired a beautiful woman to be my assistant but she would never be interested in me, and I have no time for a relationship anyway.”

  “But you think she’s beautiful.”

  “I have eyes.”

  “That’s not all, is it?” Joiner pressed. “You like her.”

  “Well, she is an interesting person. You’d like her, too. She has spent a lot of time overseas.”

  “And?”

  “And she has a degree in literature, like you. Just couldn’t find a job in her field.”

  Joiner set down his cappuccino and slapped both of his knees. “So that’s how you knew about The Fault in Our Stars!”

  Mac nodded. “She’s crazy about it. Has been reading it during her lunch break.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead, a smile escaping his lips. “One day I went in there to get some yogurt out of the fridge and she was sobbing. Literally sobbing. She said, ‘Oh my goodness! You have to read this book!’”