Lone Star Refuge

by Mae Nunn

  Buster’s face was beatific. He pumped both fists in the air and hollered, “Whoooeeee! Did you see that polo player ride?” He slapped a stunned Hickey on the back and ran over to Joiner on wobbly legs. The older man almost knocked him down with the force of his hug.

  As Joiner’s heart slowly settled down into his chest, his whole body sagged with exhaustion. Even his teeth felt as if they’d been rattled out of his gums.

  But if he had to sum up the ride—the whole experience in one word—he’d use this one: awesome.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  AT THE RANCH, Stella sat on the couch with her laptop and a cup of decaf coffee, surfing the internet. Mugsy and Mitzi flanked her on either side. Compiling a digital folder she was considering naming “Doomsday,” she saved video after video of bronco rides gone bad.

  Then she started adding articles: Friends and Family Mourn Death of Bronc Rider, Indian National Finals Bronc Rider Dies, Rodeo Rider Dies after Horse Pins Him to Fence, Rider Paralyzed after Bucked by a Bronc, Bronc Rider in Wheelchair after Tragic Fall…

  The scary possibilities were endless.

  By the time Buster returned from the rendezvous with Alex Hickey—Joiner had wisely decided to go straight to his RV—she had amassed quite an arsenal of information.

  “Well, good evening, little lady!” Buster’s eyes were undeniably lit up with joy.

  “Hey, Pops.”

  He sank into his recliner, appearing utterly satisfied.

  “What have you been up to while I’ve been gone?”

  “Oh, just a little research on the dangers of what you were doing.”

  “That sounds…kind of freaky.”

  “Pops, you know how I feel about the rodeo, and especially bronco busting.”

  “Yes, I know. I know.” Buster leaned back and started to snore.

  “Are you…asleep?”

  “No, just faking. But I should go to bed. These old bones are tired.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me anything about your evening?” Stella demanded.

  “I didn’t figure you wanted to hear it.”

  Stella angled her head to one side, waiting.

  “Alex has built a complex on some land out west of town. It’s a state-of-the-art arena, with a gorgeous red barn attached. Sort of like your setup, though the barn has rooms for instruction and equipment in addition to regular barn stuff.”

  In spite of herself, Stella’s interest was stirred. “What kind of instruction, exactly? He’s not going to compete with us, is he?”

  “Not hardly.” Buster chuckled to himself. “He wants to teach people to rodeo.”

  Stella brought her hand to her mouth, gasping.

  When she recovered slightly, she said, “What on earth does this have to do with you?” Then, as everything clicked together in her mind, she gasped again. “He wants you to teach bareback riding, doesn’t he?”

  Buster kicked down the footrest of his recliner and sat up straight. “Yes. Yes, he does.”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet.” Buster lifted his bushy eyebrows. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested.”

  “Pops,” Stella pleaded, “how can you do this? After all we went through with Moma?”

  He walked over and sat beside her on the couch. Mitzi bolted into the recliner as if she was afraid he would sit on her. Stella and Buster both had to laugh at the dog. A moment of comic relief.

  Then Buster got serious again. “Pretty, I think somewhere along the way I failed you in helping you deal with your mother’s death. Maybe it was because I’d been a traveler all of your life, and when everything happened I wasn’t as close to you as I needed to be. I regret that, I really do.”

  “You didn’t fail me, Pops.”

  “I did, though. Hear me out.” Buster patted her on the leg. “Maybe it was my own grief. I’ll never know, I don’t guess. And quitting the rodeo—that was a good thing. The right thing for both of us.”

  She nodded.

  “Whatever the reason, I failed to teach you the difference between being scared of dying and being scared of living.”

  “What do you mean, Pops?”

  “We’re all scared of dying. And when a person loses someone like we did—well, it’s terrifying. He or she will go to great lengths to try to make sure nothing bad happens again, because she doesn’t think she can stand it if it does.”

  “Well, I’ll readily admit that. After losing Mama, I wouldn’t survive if I lost you, too.”

  “But you’re going to, one day.” Buster looked her straight in the eyes. “It will happen.”

  Stella averted his stare.

  “I hope it will be when I am very old, and in my bed.”

  Stella wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “It will be. Pops, where are you going with this?”

  “Stella, I believe you are so afraid of dying that in some ways you don’t let yourself live.”

  She started to protest, but he cut her off. “And I have catered to that, reinforced it. I think I did it to make you feel safe. But it wasn’t right.”

  “So you’re going back to the rodeo in order to really live? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “No. What I’m saying is that when my time comes, I would rather die happy, doing what I love, like your mother did. With no regrets.” He let that sink in a minute. “Your mother was not afraid of death. She was afraid of the unlived life. And so should we all be.”

  Stella stared at him for a long moment. Then she said, “That’s all fine and good. But ‘really living’ doesn’t mean you have to do stupid things and be crazy and reckless all of the time.”

  “I totally agree.” Buster nodded.

  “In fact, I think that’s wrong. It’s throwing away the gift of life.”

  Buster studied her face. His eyes were tender. “Do you believe that’s what your mother did? Squandered her life away? Is that really what bothers you?”

  “I don’t know,” exclaimed Stella. “I don’t want to think so, but I just don’t know!”

  “Well, maybe that is a question you need to answer for yourself. It could be the answer to letting you live.” He picked up the amulet she never took off, then let it drop back against her neck.

  *

  THE NEXT MORNING Joiner came limping into Star Stables. He was not late by any means, just later than his usual early time. Stella saw him out of her office window, and rushed to meet him as he entered the barn. “What happened to you?”

  “Mornin’, Boss Lady.” His violet eyes looked sleepy, as though maybe he hadn’t slept well through the night.

  “Good morning, yourself.” She tried to control the panic in her voice. “But why are you limping?”

  “I went for the ride of my life yesterday evening.”

  “What?”

  “You mean your dad didn’t tell ya? I stayed the whole eight seconds on a bronc! My first time ever!”

  Did he expect her to be proud? He did—she could see it in his eyes!

  Her heart was in her throat. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

  “Boss Lady? You okay?”

  Remain calm. Visualize. Happy place. Happy place. Lake Lily.

  “Stella?”

  “What? Oh yes. Yeah. I’m okay.” She rubbed her head, her eyes and face, and then folded her hands underneath her chin. “I’m just…I thought…I was just worried because you are limping.”

  They walked on together toward the horses’ stalls, Joiner’s pace much slower than normal.

  “I’m as sore as all get-out. That horse pounded me in the butt and rattled my brains. It was crazy! But it was so much fun—I can’t wait to do it again!”

  Stella’s head was spinning. She couldn’t deal with this.

  “Joiner!” Stella exploded. “Do you hear yourself? You’re an idiot!”

  He stepped back as if she’d punched him in the gut.

  But she wasn’t finished. “What is your problem? Are you
trying to kill yourself?”

  “It’s hardly killing myself to have a little fun,” he spouted, none too kindly. “You should try it sometime. I bet it wouldn’t kill you, either.”

  Unwelcome tears stung Stella’s eyes and slid down her cheeks. “Do you get some kind of sick joy out of hurting me?”

  Joiner reached for her but she shrugged him off.

  “Stella?” His voice was low. “I’m so sorry. It’s just—”

  “Maybe we’ll talk later,” she said weakly. “I—I’ve got to do something in my office right now.” Stella bolted away, leaving him holding a rake at the door of Pistol’s stall.

  *

  AFTER CLIENTS STARTED ARRIVING, the day got extremely busy, which helped Stella put Joiner and her father and their death-wish ways out of her mind. At least for a while.

  Cade came for therapy at his usual time. He was starting to show real improvement, which thrilled Clint as well as all of the staff.

  They also had five new children who’d registered with the school after the Easter Eggtravaganza. It was so exciting to watch their journeys begin—and a privilege to have a little part in it.

  Allie was a twelve-year-old with Down syndrome. Her mother explained that she was afraid of animals, and Allie seemed terrified of the horses at first, even crying when Stella and Daune brought her near Dakota. But as Allie brushed Dakota’s coat and fed her snacks, her tears turned to laughter. And Daune and Stella then had tears streaming down their faces. By the end of her ninety minutes, Allie was sitting on the horse.

  Another new client was Eddie. He was born three and a half months early with cerebral palsy affecting the left side of his body. Another physical therapist in town, one of Stella’s friends from PT school, had recommended his parents try Stella’s program to strengthen his torso and possibly help him start to walk. At two and a half years old, Eddie was the youngest child at Star Stables.

  That day, his first day, his dad said it would be a miracle if they could even get him near a horse, much less ride. He was scared of everything—noises, parking lots, dogs and cars seemed to send him into a panic. And when Stella brought out Picasso and walked the horse over to him, Eddie did start to panic and pointed in the other direction. Following her gut, however, Stella said, “Hand him to me and go inside the barn.”

  She could tell Eddie’s dad thought she was crazy. But he did what she said anyway. She put Eddie on that horse and away they rode, and the little boy didn’t cry or scream. Eddie’s dad watched from behind a glass window in the viewing room of the barn. When he waved at his son, there was a knot in Stella’s throat.

  The new clients were essential to the bottom line, and Stella was equally thankful for the volunteers who had signed on in the past couple of weeks.

  Harper, Grace and their cousin Madeline were college students who were using the time they spent at Star Stables to fulfill volunteer hours they needed for their particular fields of study.

  Madeline, the youngest, was a tiny, free-spirited blonde. She was a sophomore kinesiology major who excelled at anything physical. Although she didn’t have much experience with horses, Stella guessed that if she wanted to, she could have become a great barrel racer, or even a female jockey. After less than a week, she was already dancing to country music from the horses’ backs as if she’d been born there, to the delight of all of the clients.

  Madeline’s cousin, Harper, was a premed student. He was genuinely interested in the idea of using horses to heal people, and asked Stella and the other therapists a lot of great questions. And he was really talented at translating what he learned to his activities with the clients. All of the little girls had crushes on him, and Stella understood why. With his dreamy blue eyes, wheat-colored hair and dark complexion, he looked like he could be a movie star.

  Grace was Harper’s sister. She was the oldest of the three. She already had her degree in teaching, and was working toward her master’s in gifted education. A guitar-playing, grown-up Taylor Swift type, Grace also had a spiritual quality about her that was a welcome addition to Star Stables. She often prayed for clients and their families and with them, if they desired it. Stella had the feeling she prayed for her, as well.

  With the school’s financial problems mounting, Stella hoped she did. She needed all of the prayers she could get.

  When the day was over, Stella decided to go for a relaxing ride on Vega. She hadn’t spent much one-on-one time with her horse lately, and she wanted to be alone with her thoughts and try to sort through how she was feeling.

  She grabbed her phone, thinking she’d also check in with Cha Cha. Then she saddled up Vega and headed out into the open range.

  They took their time getting out to Lake Lily, just breathing the fresh spring air and watching for wildflowers. When they finally arrived, Stella stretched out on the big rock while Vega munched on some grass nearby.

  “Cha Cha? Can you hear me?”

  “Hey, sweet girl. You’re loud and clear.”

  “Oh, great. I’m out on the north forty beside Lake Lily. Reception is not always great out here.”

  Cha Cha sighed on the other end of the line. “Oh my gosh. Such a beautiful place. I’ve not been out there in forever. You’ll have to send me a picture when we get off the phone.”

  “Okay, I will. How are you doing?”

  “Today’s a good day. But it’s the first one I’ve had since the chemo treatment. And before we know it, it will be time for another round.”

  “Argh.” Stella’s problems suddenly seemed very small. “Tell me what it’s like.”

  “Well, the worst thing is that it’s unpredictable. I think I’m going to be able to do something so I plan it, then I have to cancel because I’m in bed. Or throwing up. Or both.”

  “Poor baby.”

  “I know! Poor me!” Cha Cha laughed. “But today I got to go eat lunch with my parents in Springdale, and my mom and I went to T.J. Maxx. Now I’m back home in my recliner. Oh, and it’s catfish night at The Wooden Spoon, so Steve is bringing dinner after work. And we’re watching Lost tonight. So I have no complaints.”

  “You never do have many.”

  “Right, I am such a saint.”

  Stella laughed at that.

  “What’s going on with you, sweet girl? Tell me something about that good-looking cowboy.”

  “Oh Lord. You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes, I do!” Cha Cha exclaimed.

  “Well, with the aid of my father he has now taken up a new hobby—bronc riding.”

  Silence at the other end.

  “Did you hear me?” Stella asked.

  “Yes…”

  “Well, what do you think about that?”

  “I’m trying to figure out what I think before I say anything.”

  “Oh,” Stella said. “Well, some people say that’s a good idea. Not that I’ve tried it lately.”

  Cha Cha giggled. “Yeah. Me neither. I’m horrible at it.”

  “Well don’t do too much thinking now. Just tell me what that news sounds like to you.”

  “Okay,” Cheryl began. “I’m glad that he and Buster are bonding, and that they have some things in common.”

  “Go on,” Stella urged.

  “And I always did think rodeo guys were sexy.”

  “Cha Cha, for Pete’s sake!”

  “Yes, yes.” Cha Cha sighed. “I know it probably stresses you totally out.”

  “Bingo.”

  “And I can’t say that I blame you. It’s a risky sport.”

  “Yeah, it is! And he’s thirty-one years old. Not exactly the time to be taking up a new, physically demanding and highly dangerous hobby!”

  “Why not? I mean, if you enjoy that sort of thing? It’s not as if he’s old and decrepit like me.”

  Stella measured her words carefully. “Well, because he’s just given up on playing polo. He said himself that he’s moved home to try to reinvent his life. Why on earth would he start busting broncos now?”


  “First polo, then bronc riding? Maybe your cowboy needs an adrenaline rush.”

  “But why?”

  “I can’t say, honey. Why do any of us need what we need?”

  Cha Cha’s question lingered in Stella’s mind long after she hung up. It was still there as she mounted Vega and galloped, racing the sunset, back to the barn. In fact, even after dinner with Buster, a long, hot bath and a little texting with Joiner, it remained on her mind. And it was still there—lodged like a burr under her saddle—when she snuggled into her quilts, turned out her bedside lamp and tried to sleep.

  At one o’clock in the morning Stella stopped fighting it. She got out of bed, grabbed her laptop, and typed this email:

  Dear Joiner,

  I’m sorry for brushing you off today when you were so excited about riding that bronc. You are important to me, and I want to support you in your dreams.

  I don’t know whether I’ve communicated how strongly I fear danger and risky behavior. I’m not sure I even know the extent of how that fear affects my daily life. All I can say is this: ever since my mom died, I am terrified of losing people I care about. And I’ve ordered my entire life to do anything I can to prevent that from happening.

  Just recently Buster pointed out to me that maybe I go too far in this extreme. He said something I have really never thought about, that a person can be so afraid of dying—or in my case of other people dying or getting hurt—that she never really lives. I don’t want to be that way, but I think maybe I am.

  I admire your zest for life. I’ll admit I don’t understand your desire to get on a bronco. And you might as well know that it stresses me out that you and Buster are pursuing this hobby, or whatever it is. But I need to give up being so afraid all of the time, and the OCD that results from that. Like Adrienne Rutella talked about that night, that fear is keeping me from really living. It kept me from sharing your excitement today, and I regret that.

  I am sorry my issues with this have hurt you, both today, and even in the situation with Cade and Pistol. I promise to try to do better, though I can’t promise to be happy about what you are doing, or the idea that it could take you away from me.

  I hope you can understand. Stella