by Mae Nunn
“So you read it?”
“What else could I do?”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes, I mean, as much as you can enjoy something full of tragedy.”
“But it’s funny, too.”
“Yes. And wise, and, well—”
“I know. I’m taking Carrie to see the movie next week. The local theater is bringing it back for a limited release.”
“You’re taking Cullen’s Carrie? Well, aren’t you uncle of the year.”
“I try.”
“Well, you’ll like it. It’s great.” Mac sat back in his chair. “Really excel—”
“Oh. My. Gosh.”
Mac closed his eyes, and Joiner whooped and hollered.
“You took her to see the movie! The hot assistant!”
“So what if I did?”
“I’m proud of you, man. Steppin’ out there!” Joiner pushed Mac’s knee and Mac playfully pushed him back.
Still, he seemed eager to change the subject. “So, other than getting rich breeding Pistol, how’s it going for you out at the Scout ranch?”
“Good. Really good.”
“What is it you’re doing? I mean, what exactly is Stella’s new operation?”
“I didn’t really understand it myself until today, after we opened the doors.” Joiner leaned back in Mac’s Adirondack chair. “It’s Stella’s dream. It’s a riding school, really, where anyone can learn to ride horses. But the focus is equine therapy for people—children especially—with disabilities.”
“Sounds pretty cutting-edge.”
“It is.”
“Well, then, what do you do?”
“I’m the ranch hand, so I do a lot of the grunt work. But they—Buster and Stella—respect my riding and training skills. I think I’ll be spending a lot of time with the horses.”
“What about the clients?” Mac inquired.
“It’s interesting. I was skeptical of her whole ‘holistic’ approach, but after the first day I’m kind of a fan.” Joiner smiled. “Stella is a physical therapist, and there’s an occupational therapist assistant and a speech therapist who work there. They evaluate what the clients need and then we try to work on it using the horses.” Joiner got excited talking about it. “You remember Clint Cavender?”
“Sure. Football. Oil dynasty.”
“That’s the one. Well, he has a son with all kinds of communication and sensory problems. But when we got that kid on a horse today, there was this transformation. He seemed so free.”
“That sounds kind of like you, actually.”
“Minus the problems.”
“Yeah, not those kind. But remember when you first got on a horse after Mom and Dad died? You became a different person.”
On his way home, Joiner thought about what Mac had said, about how he’d become a different person when he started riding after his parents’ deaths. Mac was right.
An idea came to him, something that might be good for Cade Cavender. He couldn’t wait to try it out.
The next morning Joiner was out at the stables bright and early. When he knocked on the door, he found Stella already in her office going over the schedule and making a plan for the day.
Ever since the night they’d spent under the stars—three nights ago now—there had been a closeness between them, a deeper understanding. They’d been really busy the day before, on opening day, but it seemed to Joiner that they’d moved and breathed as a team. He knew she wouldn’t be happy about the breeding or about the bronc riding, and she was still insistent that he pay more attention to safety, but for now he was determined to enjoy their newfound camaraderie.
“Hey, Boss Lady.”
“Hey, yourself.” She looked up from the schedule and smiled at him. Big brown eyes sparkled underneath long, curling lashes, and her straw Atwood matched the color of her hair. She wore work jeans, a gauzy white shirt and blue Ropers, which were propped up on the desk.
Joiner sat down in the chair across from her. “Ready for day two?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m excited. Yesterday went well, and today should, too, I hope.”
“Yesterday was cool.”
She nodded at him as if they shared a secret.
“I mean, I understand your vision for this place so much better now. After just one day—it sort of came together for me.”
She reached across the desk for his hand and squeezed it. “I honestly don’t think we’d have made it happen without you.”
He could have kissed her then and there, but Joiner heard the sound of a vehicle pulling up, followed closely by another. Pretty soon Jacob Hunnicutt and Daune Holzman appeared at the door of the office. “Hey, guys!”
Joiner liked both of them, but Daune in particular. He was impressed with her grit. Laid off from a manufacturing plant in town where she’d worked for twenty-five years, she’d gone to the community college in Kilgore and earned her degree in OTA. She had a passion for helping people, and she was seasoned, real. Stella trusted her a lot, and that was saying something.
As clients arrived, Jacob took one for speech therapy, and Stella another for physical therapy. Daune and Joiner were assigned to Cade Cavender when he arrived.
“Hey there, Cade!”
Daune’s friendly greeting went unanswered by the boy. Clint tipped his hat to her and shook Joiner’s hand.
The kid was a carbon copy of his dad—olive skin, warm brown eyes and dark hair. But Clint’s brown eyes said Welcome. They invited you in. Always had—that was his personality. But Cade’s expression was closed. He looked through you, past you, and into some void. Except when he got on a horse.
“You know, Cade,” Joiner began. “You did so great yesterday on Daisy. And I got to thinking, if you keep working hard with her, I might let you try riding Pistol.” Before starting therapy, Cade had come by with his dad one day while Joiner was bathing Pistol, and he had introduced them. He knew the boy was fascinated by his beautiful horse.
Cade’s eyes registered interest. At least it was a start. Joiner hoped it would motivate him to overcome his problems. There was so much potential in the boy.
They got Cade up on Daisy, and Daune worked with him on improving his sensory issues. They remained stationary until Cade was comfortable with the reins, the feel of Daisy’s mane and the concept of keeping his feet in the stirrups and his rear end in the saddle. Then they started walking.
Every movement of the horse challenged Cade’s balance as well as his sensory system. Daune was extremely patient, and so was Daisy, as Cade worked on his responses to the horse’s movements. They walked round and round the arena, and with each circuit Cade gained confidence. His responses became more natural. Then, they actually trotted. As Joiner jogged alongside him, there mostly for support, Cade seemed genuinely happy. He tried to do everything perfectly—and he did.
When an hour was up, Clint came forward from where he was watching on the other side of the fence. Cade dismounted Daisy with Daune’s help, and Clint patted him on the back. “Good job, son!”
Cade stood still with one hand on Daisy’s neck.
“Didn’t he do well?” Daune smiled at Clint.
“He sure did. Thanks for working with him, Mrs. Daune.” Then, to Joiner, he said, “I’m really impressed with what I’m seeing here, and I’m glad you’re a part of it.”
“Thanks, man.”
“It’s great to have a place like this to bring him, especially right here at home.”
“Well,” Daune said, crouching down to Cade’s level and looking him right in the eyes, “You come back tomorrow. We’ll be counting on you, okay?”
“Pistol,” Cade said. “Ride Pistol.”
Daune glanced at Joiner who turned to Clint.
“What, buddy?” Clint got down on one knee to look Cade in the eye, as well. “What did you say?”
“I want to ride Pistol.” There was something like excitement on the little boy’s face. “Mr. Joiner said.”
Daune gr
imaced in Clint’s direction. “I’m not so sure that’s a great idea today, buddy. You are doing really great with Daisy. Mr. Joiner meant that sometime, down the road—”
The life seemed to drain from Cade like air from a balloon. His little shoulders slumped.
“It won’t be long till you are ready, buddy.” Joiner felt that giving Cade the chance to ride Pistol—the chance at that wild sense of freedom—might just be the kid’s salvation, as it had been his. He didn’t want to wait too long.
Clint stood and looked at Joiner. “I wonder if we could possibly have a little ride together on Pistol today?”
A smile broke out over Joiner’s face. “We could definitely do that.” He turned to Cade. “You want to take your daddy on a little ride? Show him how it’s done?”
The boy smiled and nodded.
*
WHEN JOINER CAME BACK with Pistol, the arena was empty except for Clint and Cade.
“Where’d Mrs. Daune go?” he asked Cade.
But Cade didn’t answer. His mouth had fallen open and his eyes were as wide as platters. Joiner took his hand and placed it on Pistol’s huge, pulsing neck. They stood there for several moments, stroking the horse and letting Cade get to know him.
Clint spoke up. “She’s just putting up Daisy, I think.”
“Can you still ride, Clint?”
“Much as I ever could.” Clint chuckled. “But you’ll be holding on to us, right?”
“Right.”
Clint climbed into the saddle and Joiner helped Cade up in front of him. Cade was grinning from ear to ear. Joiner handed him the reins, keeping a hold on Pistol’s bridle.
“Okay, buddy. Let’s take it slow.”
They made one circle in the arena. Joiner was proud of his horse and the little boy. As they loped around a second time, Cade actually said, “Go faster!”
Clint nodded, and Joiner allowed Pistol to trot.
Jogging along beside them, Joiner felt such warmth rise up in his heart that he thought it might burst.
Up to this point, horses—and, most of all, Pistol—had been a thrill for him because of the freedom he felt when he was riding, the reckless abandon, the rush. The faster he galloped away on a horse, the better he felt.
But here, in these moments with Clint and Cade, Joiner had never felt more alive. The look on Cade’s face said it all. And Joiner and Pistol were making that happen—giving him that gift. This is a real rush.
Just then Mugsy and Mitzi came from out of nowhere, running as fast as cheetahs and barking at the top of their lungs. A calico cat sprinted under the pipe fence in front of them and headed straight across the arena toward the barn. The two dogs scooted under the fence and followed in hot pursuit, entirely ignoring the horse and the three people who were in their wake.
At the sudden commotion, Pistol reared on his hind legs. He jerked the bridle from Joiner’s hand and galloped the length of the arena, making a sharp turn at the end that would impress any barrel racer. As he spun, he dumped Clint and Cade into the dirt, and Cade screamed. Joiner reached them just as Stella appeared in the barn doorway.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“OH MY GOODNESS!” Stella ran toward the crumpled mess on the arena floor, with Daune Holzman close behind her.
Clint Cavender, her biggest donor to date, was bent in an awkward position around his son, who was in the fetal position, shaking his head from side to side and screaming. Clint’s dark chocolate Stetson lay ten feet away, crushed. Blood streamed from a big dirty smudge on the child’s knee.
When he saw her approaching, Clint lifted his hand to stop her. Joiner was quietly leading Pistol away. Pistol!
“I’ll go get the first aid kit,” whispered Daune.
“Okay.”
Stella waited, frozen to her spot, and watched Clint attempt to soothe Cade. He ran his hand down the child’s back, slowly, then started over at the top again. “It’s okay, Cade. Daddy’s here. Daddy’s here.”
Her heart beat a hollow sound in her ears, like a keg drum.
After what seemed like forever, Cade’s screams turned to whimpers, and finally he was quiet. Daune and Joiner were back by then, and they hovered near Stella, unsure of what to do.
Clint rose painfully, lifting Cade from the ground. Until then Stella hadn’t noticed that Clint’s jeans were ripped. His whole backside was covered with dirt. With Cade in his arms he limped toward them, and Joiner met him, supporting Clint on one side. Other than an occasional sniff from Cade, the arena was as silent as a mausoleum. They all walked together to the barn.
“Can you bring him in here, Clint?” Daune motioned to one of the therapy rooms. “We can check him out.”
“Or I can take you straight to the emergency room if you’d rather,” Stella offered.
“I think he’s okay. We’re just shaken up.”
The boy stayed curled in a ball, rocking himself in Clint’s arms. His hands formed a death grip around Clint’s neck. When Daune tried to clean his knee he made a sound like a wild animal.
“I doubt he’ll need stitches,” Daune said. “Thank goodness.”
“What about you, Cavender?” Joiner placed a chair behind Clint and helped him ease into it. “You’re limping pretty bad.”
“It’s my ankle.”
Daune and Stella worked together to remove the Sienna full quill ostrich Lucchese boot from Clint’s foot. Clint gritted his teeth while they wriggled it off, revealing an angry purple sprain that seemed to swell before their eyes.
“You should ice that,” Daune advised. “And stay off it for at least a few days, maybe more.” She took an Ace bandage out of the first aid kit and wrapped his ankle carefully, in her thorough, deliberate way.
Rising from the chair, Clint said, “Thank you, Mrs. Daune. Now, I need to get this boy home. I’m just going to call my assistant.” Cade had fallen asleep in his arms. “This is kind of embarrassing, but can somebody help me get my phone out of my back pocket?” He leaned forward in the chair, and Stella reached into his pocket. She twisted free an iPhone with a newly cracked screen.
“Why don’t you let me drive you?” Stella offered.
“Oh no, that won’t be necessary.” Clint smiled at her with tired eyes. He reached out for his phone. “I’m sure it still works.”
“Please, let us give you a ride,” Joiner interjected. “Stella can drive your car and I’ll follow and bring her back in my truck. It’s the least I can do.”
Joiner was practically pleading. It was obvious he felt horrible for what had happened.
Which he certainly should. Just wait until I get him alone.
*
WHEN CLINT AND Cade were safe in their home—which, by the way, was the most luxurious place Stella had ever seen—and both were in the care of his assistant, Stella and Joiner walked out to Joiner’s truck. She was waiting until they were out of earshot to unleash her fury.
As Joiner tried to open her door, she wrested the handle from him and opened it herself, climbing into the truck and slamming the door behind her. He moved cautiously around to the other side and opened the driver’s door. He gave her a sideways glance when he got in the truck and that was all it took for her to bust.
“What were you thinking, putting the child on that animal?”
He started the truck. “I was trying to help him.”
“Help him?” Stella raised her hand to her head, which was throbbing. “That’s a good one. Are you kidding me?”
Joiner drove a few miles without answering, knuckles white on the steering wheel. His silence was even more enraging than his response to her first question.
“Look. I hate that Clint and Cade got hurt, and I’m sorry it happened at your school. But as long as they’re okay, I don’t think it’s as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be.”
“Oh really. And you should know because you have so much experience to draw from.”
He paused before answering, as though weighing his words. “That’s true.”
<
br /> “I was being sarcastic, Joiner.” She rolled her eyes. “What experience does a polo player have with things like this? Good grief! I should have never given you so much responsibility.” She spit the words out.
Joiner bit his lip but said nothing. He sped up the truck, which was already going too fast for her liking, and looked straight ahead. Well, fine. Two can play at this game.
When they pulled into the driveway, Joiner parked beside the stable. He got out and walked around to open her door, clearly not having taken the hint back at the Cavenders. She almost hit him with the door when she opened it. “You’re done for the day,” she told him.
He squinted at her, eyes smoldering underneath the brim of his hat. They were the same color as a bruise.
Then he turned to get back into his truck. “You’re the boss.”
Stella didn’t watch in which direction he went. She stomped to her office, still as angry as a rodeo bull, and slammed the door behind her, locking it.
A look at the schedule told her Daune and Jacob were both serving clients, and thankfully, there was no one else on Stella’s calendar for the rest of the day.
As she let out her breath, the shaking started. It began in her hands, and then moved up her arms, causing tremors in her whole body. Her cheeks burned white hot. They felt as though they were flaming from within.
Her legs had turned to lead and she sat down in her chair just before she fell. She took off her hat and tossed it across the room. Icy sweat broke out all over her, drenching her clothes.
Even her hair was wet. Her ears rang and her head pounded. She lay her head down on her desk as the sobs came.
Stella didn’t know how long the anxiety attack lasted. It could have been minutes or hours. The next conscious thought she registered was someone banging on her office door.
“Stella! You in there? Open this door!”
She dragged herself up and over to the door, unlocking it.