by Deb Kastner
“I’ve got a bucket of grain waiting for you, boy,” he informed the horse as he led Hercules into the stall. “Let’s get you rubbed down and then I’ll give you your special treat. You worked hard today. You deserve it, right?”
He’d unsaddled Hercules and was reaching for a currycomb when he heard a sound that was completely at odds with the peace and quiet of the stable.
Someone was crying.
At first it was so low Griff thought he might have imagined it. He froze, straining his ears to decipher where the sound had come from—or if it existed at all.
There it was again. Muffled, but definitely the sound of weeping.
“Hello?” he called, his voice echoing off the stable walls. “Who is it? Do you need some help?”
His questions met with total silence as the sobs abruptly cut off.
“It’s Griff Haddon,” he gently informed his invisible company. He stepped out of Hercules’s stall and started slowly walking the length of the stable, peering over each of the stall doors.
He heard a sniffle just as he reached Pitonio’s stall.
“Devon?” Pitonio thrust his nose forward and bumped Griff’s arm, shifting sideways just enough for Griff to spy the ink-haired young man slumped in the back corner, wrapped in his trench coat with his head buried in his arms. His shoulders were quivering but no sound emerged.
Griff gripped the top of the stall door and fought the tidal waves of emotion surging through him.
Anger. Fear. Anxiety.
He wasn’t just experiencing memories of the many emotions he’d experienced as a teenager. He was feeling what Devon felt. It was almost as if the young man was projecting his emotions on to Griff. The effect was startling, to say the least.
“Hey there, Dev,” he greeted, speaking in as gentle a tone as he would with a spooked horse.
“Go away,” Devon replied in a shaky, gravelly voice. He didn’t even bother to lift his head from his arms.
Griff only hesitated for a moment before slipping into the stall and pulling the door closed behind him. He slid his hands along Pitonio’s flank until the horse shifted enough to allow him access to the trembling young man.
He crouched on the ground next to Devon, not so close so as to touch the boy but close enough that his presence would be reassuring. He racked his brain for the right words to say, knowing that blurting out the wrong thing would be worse than remaining silent. It occurred to him too late that maybe he should have gone for help instead of attempting this on his own, but something in his gut compelled him to stay.
“Go away,” Devon repeated gruffly.
Griff sat stock-still, staring at the boy and willing him to lift his gaze.
After a moment Devon raised his head and glared at Griff, his dark eyes clouded with pain. “I said, leave me alone.”
“I heard you,” Griff acknowledged grimly. “And I understand why you think you want to be alone right now. But if you think I’m just gonna walk out of here and leave you to your misery, you don’t know me very well, son.”
“I’m not your son.” Resentment dripped from his voice. He didn’t trust Griff, and it was no wonder. Griff guessed the adults in Devon’s life hadn’t given him much reason to do so, and he knew from experience how that felt. It was no surprise to Griff that Devon had sought refuge in Pitonio’s stall. How many times as a teenager had he done the same, hiding out with his neighbor’s mustangs? The desire to purchase horses of his own played deeply into his childhood uncertainties.
“You’re right,” he agreed, casually leaning back, his palms digging into the fresh straw. “You’re not my son. But I hope I can be your friend. I’m a good listener, if you want to talk about whatever is bothering you. You can trust me. You won’t find any judgment from my quarter.”
Devon’s breath caught audibly and he looked away. A muscle twitched in the corner of his taut jaw.
“Or we can just sit here.” Griff didn’t know how far he could push Devon before he would snap, so he mentally backed off a bit and waited for Devon to make the next move. Griff wished Alexis was here with them. She was the empathetic one, the person who always seemed to know the right thing to do or to say to make things better.
All Griff knew was that Devon was fighting—with himself, with the world. Griff knew a little bit about that struggle, but he also knew he couldn’t help Devon unless the teenager wanted to be helped.
“I’m not going to make it,” Devon groaned.
That was a cry for help if Griff had ever heard one. But what did Devon mean? That sounded ominous, and Griff was more convinced than ever that he was in way over his head. He wasn’t qualified to be sitting here advising the boy. Devon sounded as though he was about ready to drown. He needed people trained in dealing with troubled teenagers. He needed counselors.
He needed Alexis.
But it wasn’t Alexis or Marcus who’d found Devon. It was Griff. For whatever it was worth, he knew he couldn’t just walk away from the situation, especially since Devon was actually speaking to him. Reaching out, in his own way.
As ill-equipped as Griff felt, it was up to him to be there for Devon and to hopefully at least get him to the point where someone with more training could take over.
“This whole experience here at Redemption Ranch is kind of over the top, isn’t it?” he asked.
Devon shook his head.
Griff tried again. “Are you still having trouble with the other guys?”
Again, Devon shook his head, but he didn’t offer any other clues as to what was bothering him.
“Alexis is tough, but she means well,” Griff offered. “If you think she’s being too hard on you—”
“No!” Devon’s shout was adamant, his voice ringing through the stable. “It’s not Miss Grainger. She’s—” His eyes welled with fresh tears.
If it wasn’t the other kids and it wasn’t Alexis, what had the boy so depressed?
“She’s what?” Griff prompted softly.
Devon wiped his eyes with the corner of his dusty denim shirt. “She loves me,” he admitted, his voice low and rough.
“Yeah,” Griff agreed. “She does.”
Devon shot to his feet and backed into the corner of the stall, crouched in a defensive position, as if someone was coming at him with a knife. “I can’t go back,” he said, his voice rising in desperation. “Please. Don’t make me go back.”
“To the ranch house?” Griff was confused.
Devon shook his head in fierce denial. “Home. Don’t make me go home. I don’t think I can take it.”
What Devon asked was impossible. Griff didn’t see how that outcome could be avoided. There was only one week left in the Mission Month and then all the kids would return to their daily lives, their debts to society paid and hopefully functioning as better individuals because of their experiences at Redemption Ranch. The other kids, for all that they clearly loved the ranch, seemed to be looking forward to going home. He’d overheard snatches of conversations about plans to sleep in, go shopping, take trips with their families all discussed with obvious enthusiasm.
But Devon—he was as frightened as a field mouse dangling in the jaws of a monster house cat.
Griff’s first reaction was to flat-out ask Devon what awaited him at home, but his conscience cautioned against such a forward approach. He remembered his own youth and the resentful young man he had been. He wouldn’t have opened up to some guy pushing him to reveal the private and shameful details of his sad excuse for a family life.
Maybe there was another way to approach it.
“When I was your age, I didn’t like hanging out at home, either.” He hadn’t admitted that before. Not out loud. Not to anyone. Even now it pained him to speak of it. But if he could establish some kind of baseline, a common denominator with Devon, maybe
the youth would feel comfortable enough to open up to him. “I got kicked around a lot.”
Devon slumped back to the ground, glaring at the stall door instead of looking directly at Griff. But at least he wasn’t leaving.
“I wasn’t big on high school, either, for that matter. I wasn’t like the other kids. I was tall and skinny and lived on the wrong side of the tracks. My mom didn’t bother getting me new clothes at the beginning of the school year. I wore other men’s ill-fitting hand-me-downs, usually from whatever guy was my mom’s boyfriend at the time.”
Devon grunted noncommittally, but his gaze momentarily slid toward Griff and he saw the flash of interest, and maybe even empathy, in the boy’s eyes.
“Yeah. So my mom wasn’t the greatest role model. She never had much use for me, I don’t think. And I wasn’t very good at making friends my own age. I had to find my own way in the world. Alone.”
“My mom loved me.” Scowling, Devon blew out a frustrated breath and then sniffed loudly.
“I’ll bet she did.” Griff didn’t know what it was like to have a parent who cared for him, and empathy didn’t come naturally to him in the best of situations, but he could feel for this young man. Griff was also the product of losing a mother, just not in the way Devon had. At least Devon’s mother had loved him. No wonder the boy was devastated. “I’m really sorry for your loss.”
“What about your dad?” Devon’s voice took on a hard edge, and Griff suddenly realized that was the question he should be asking the young man. The key he’d been searching for to unlock the angst in Devon’s story had been right in front of him all along.
“I never knew my dad,” Griff admitted, surprised by the intensity of the anger that flared up in his chest. He was even more shocked to discover the feeling was directed at his own father and not wholly on what was happening with Devon.
Griff had known he resented the way his mother had blown him off, but he hadn’t realized that he harbored latent anger in his heart toward the father he had never known and who had never been a part of his life.
“Your dad left your mom?” Devon asked.
“No. As far as I know, it wasn’t like that. I don’t think my mother was ever in a real relationship with my father. I’m not even positive she knew for sure who my dad was. My mama didn’t live a very…” he paused and scrubbed a hand down his stubbled jaw “…moral life.”
And she hadn’t taught her son any morals, either. Griff had been floundering around his whole life not even realizing there were absolutes in the world, at least until he had met Alexis. Then he’d discovered that just as he’d always known there was evil in the world, there was likewise some good. As dark as his heart was, Alexis’s was every bit as light.
There was hope in this world. He just didn’t quite know how to find it, and he definitely didn’t know how to communicate it to Devon.
“I wish my mom never knew my dad,” Devon admitted. Finally he met Griff’s gaze and the anger and pain Griff read there mirrored his own.
“Was he… Is he… That is…” Griff stumbled over his words. “Did he hurt your mother, Devon?” Did he hurt you? Griff left the question unspoken but asked it with his eyes.
Devon scowled. “He didn’t hit her, if that’s what you mean.”
That was what Griff had meant, but now he realized the ability to hurt someone reached much further than a physical blow. Some of Griff’s mother’s boyfriends had been downright mean. He’d been beat up more times than he cared to admit, so it was no wonder that’s where his conclusions had immediately jumped. Others had found different ways to be cruel, and Griff knew firsthand how badly emotional abuse could hurt.
The pain in Devon’s gaze was real, as was his plea not to be returned to his home.
“Tell me about your dad.” Griff didn’t know the questions to ask. He hoped Devon would offer the missing pieces of the puzzle.
“He’s a politician. A state senator.”
“So he knows a lot of people. And he gets a lot of respect and attention.”
Devon sputtered. “Yeah.”
“I suppose most kids would probably think it’s pretty cool for you to have a dad in the senate. Someone kind of famous, right?”
Devon nodded miserably.
“But they don’t know the truth, do they?” Neither did Griff—yet. But he suspected he was about to find out.
“My dad is gone a lot.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I’m glad when he’s gone. I don’t like it when he’s home. He either yells a lot or ignores me.”
“Do you stay with relatives while he’s away?”
The youth’s brown eyes percolated to black. “No. He won’t let me. He pays some old nanny to come in and watch me. I’m too old for a babysitter. Anyway, I’d like to stay with my gran, but he won’t let me.”
“Why not?”
“Gran is my mom’s mom. Dad was so mad at my mom for dying that he won’t let me see Gran anymore. I used to go over to her house all the time, and now I’m not allowed to see her at all.”
“That’s rough.”
Devon punched his fist into a nearby hay bale.
Griff wanted to do the same. What was he supposed to do now?
Chapter Nine
Alexis wasn’t worried when Devon hadn’t showed up for the afternoon board games, even though the rest of her young crew seemed anxious to spend time together. Technically, it was an open afternoon, and Devon had mentioned to Marcus that he’d wanted to save his free time for his horse Pitonio. Devon had really taken to riding, and Alexis thought he was probably enjoying an afternoon hanging out with the wranglers. She believed Devon was getting along better with his peers, but she couldn’t fault him for wanting to spend his free time with his new equine friend.
It wasn’t until suppertime, when Devon’s chair remained empty, that she became anxious. She left the other teens in their counselors’ care and set off to see if she could locate Devon herself. She already knew he wasn’t in the bunkhouse, because Marcus had just come from there. She visited the wrangler’s dwelling, thinking Devon might have decided to chow down with the cowboys, but they hadn’t seen the youth all day.
Panic immediately set in. She was responsible for Devon. If he were lost or hurt, that was all on her.
She exited the wrangler’s bunkhouse in a rush and headed toward the stable, her legs shaky as she bolted into a dead run.
Please, please, please, Lord, help me find him, she prayed silently as she approached the stable. She wished she had Griff’s cell number so she could phone him to see if he’d had any contact with the boy today. If Pitonio wasn’t in his stall, she didn’t know what she was going to do. She had this awful picture of Devon taking off somewhere on his mount with no intention of returning.
Running away.
Should she call the police? Send out a search party? Or was she overreacting? At this point, she couldn’t tell. Her mind was muddled with fright.
Upon entering the stable, she immediately realized something was amiss. Several horses stomped their feet and tossed their heads when they saw her. She knew her horses’ behavior as well as her own breath. Where were the friendly whickers of greeting? Why were they acting so skittish?
“Hello?” she called, hastening toward Pitonio’s stall with her heart in her throat. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed when Pitonio thrust his head over the top of the gate and whinnied at her.
“Hey, buddy,” she said, running a soothing hand down the gelding’s spotted muzzle. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen your new friend Devon around here anywhere?”
She didn’t expect an answer, so her heart leaped into next Tuesday when a low, familiar and slightly amused voice answered from deep within the shadows of the stall.
“He’s closer t
han you think.”
The cryptic answer reminded Alexis of an old scary story she used to share around the campfire. He’s three houses away. He’s two houses away.
He’s closer than you think.
She probably would have been frightened half out of her wits if Griff hadn’t picked that moment to reveal himself, a knowing grin on his face.
“Griff!” Alexis exclaimed, pressing her hand to her heart. “You totally frightened me.”
“Sorry,” he apologized; although the impish sparkle in his gray-blue eyes contradicted his words.
“No, you’re not.” She narrowed her gaze on him. “And for the record, I was speaking to the horse.”
“I somehow doubt Pitonio here is going to provide the answers you’re looking for. I, on the other hand…”
“You know where Devon is?” She brushed past his teasing to get straight to the point. “He didn’t come in for supper and I was beginning to worry.”
“Afraid that one of your baby chicks escaped?”
“That isn’t funny, Griff.” She paused and frowned as she suddenly comprehended the bizarre setting for their unusual conversation. Why were they standing on opposite sides of a stall door? “I have to ask. What are you doing in Pitonio’s stall?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” he said with an exasperated roll of his eyes. “Devon, come say hello to Miss Grainger.”
Devon hesitantly shuffled out of the shadows just as Griff had done only moments before.
What on earth?
From the red rims on his eyelids, Alexis could tell Devon had been crying, and yet he met her with a smile.
“Devon and I were just talking,” Griff explained.
“In the stable?”
Griff shrugged, as if hanging out in the back of a stall was a normal course of events for him and the boy. “I guess we lost track of time. Sorry we were late for supper. We didn’t mean to worry you, did we, Devon?”
“No, sir.” Devon shook his head. When he looked at Griff, his gaze was full of admiration and respect. Alexis sensed that whatever had happened between the two that afternoon, it must have been pretty major.