If Wishes Were Horses

by Robert Barclay

  Tim Richardson and his gang never bothered either of them again.

  TWENTY-THREE

  LATER THAT DAY as Wyatt walked from the barn to the big house, he passed the several pairs of French doors lining the dining room’s west side. Looking through the windows, he smiled.

  Eight teens, including Trevor, were seated at one end of the dining table, engaged in their psychotherapy session. A black girl was shouting angrily and pointing an accusatory finger at Dr. James. Because the doors were closed, Wyatt found the girl’s voice indecipherable. That was just as well, he realized. If the teens were to benefit from therapy, their privacy was paramount.

  Dr. James turned and discreetly rolled her eyes at Wyatt as he went by, causing him to smile. That isn’t a job I’d want, he thought.

  On entering the house he made his way to the game room where most of the parents usually waited. The place was busy and, as he had hoped, Gabby was also there.

  During the introductory meeting, Wyatt told the parents that they could avail themselves of refreshments in the game room bar. To make sure they didn’t abuse the privilege, Betsy always oversaw things. Gabby sat at the bar’s far end, nursing a glass of ginger ale and making small talk with three of the other parents. She was wearing jeans, a white shirt with its sleeves rolled up, and her cowboy boots.

  Perfect for what I have in mind, Wyatt thought. As he approached Gabby, some of the others shot him surreptitious looks.

  Wyatt laid his Stetson on the bar. “Hey there,” he said. He tilted his head toward Gabby’s glass. “Be careful with that stuff. You still have to drive Trevor home, you know.”

  “Hey there yourself,” Gabby answered back with a smile. “Don’t worry. I think I can handle it.”

  Wyatt laughed. “I have a surprise for you,” he said softly.

  Gabby regarded him skeptically. “Why are we whispering?”

  “Because it’s very hush-hush,” Wyatt answered. “It’s all arranged. You’re coming with me.”

  “Where?”

  “You’ll see,” he answered.

  Gabby’s eyes narrowed. “What if I don’t want to?”

  “You have no choice,” he answered. “Now move it, Powers, or I’ll have you shoveling manure instead.”

  As Gabby picked up her hat and began following Wyatt from the game room, several of the men watched with curiosity, while some of the wives put their heads closer together and murmured discreetly.

  After leaving the house, Wyatt and Gabby headed across the lawn. Although Gabby was intensely curious, she guessed that it would be pointless to ask. Besides, she relished every moment with Wyatt she could get.

  Wyatt led her into an area of the barn that was unfamiliar to her. Because half of the teens were taking equestrian training in the two indoor rings, the barn was relatively quiet. When they entered an open-ended corridor, Gabby stopped dead in her tracks. She gripped Wyatt’s arm and looked pleadingly into his eyes.

  “Oh, no…,” she whispered.

  “Oh yes!” he answered. “It’s high time you got more involved, and you’re not getting out of it!”

  Big John stood before them. In his hands he held the reins of two saddled horses, a roan mare and a black gelding.

  “Wyatt…,” Gabby protested. “I can’t…I just can’t! Oh, God!”

  “Sure you can,” he answered reassuringly. “You’ll see.” Taking Gabby’s arm, he walked her toward the waiting horses.

  As part of the registration process that first day, Wyatt had asked all the parents if they would be interested in going riding with him sometime over the course of the program. When Krista had been alive this had been her job, and he had decided to keep the tradition. The therapists believed that the rides would help the parents better understand what their kids were experiencing, and it was strongly encouraged.

  Most of them had signed up, and about half had already gone with him. Gabby, however, was one of the few who had declined. Wyatt hoped that if Gabby went riding, she, too, might better understand what Trevor was experiencing here at the ranch. But in a tiny corner of his heart, he realized that he was doing it for selfish reasons as well.

  Gabby stared wide-eyed at the two animals. “I didn’t sign up for this!” she protested. “I already told you how I feel about horses. I love them, but they scare the hell out of me.”

  Wyatt smiled. “We’ve got young kids riding these very horses,” he said. “Are you going to tell me that you can’t?”

  Gabby angrily freed her arm from Wyatt’s grip. “Goddamnit!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want to do this! Why do you think I should have to?”

  Wyatt was rather surprised by her outburst. As if requesting advice, he looked at Big John. Deciding that this was no time to add his two cents, B.J. only shrugged his shoulders. Wyatt sighed, wondering how he could convince her.

  “There’s really nothing to worry about,” he finally answered Gabby. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, so to speak.”

  “Are you really going to make me do this?” Gabby asked.

  Pushing his Stetson back toward the crown of his head, Wyatt sighed again. “Well, I’m not going to pick you up and throw you onto the saddle, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said. “But I do think you should better understand what Trevor is experiencing.”

  Gabby scowled. “Don’t bring Trevor into this,” she growled. “This is about you and me, and you know it.”

  Wyatt pursed his lips. “Okay,” he said. “Sorry if you took that the wrong way. But please come, won’t you?”

  Remaining quiet for a time, she again took in his rugged good looks, and the lanky, relaxed way he stood before her. As she did, for better or for worse, she felt her resolve slipping. Maybe it would be okay, she thought. After all, most of the other parents are doing it…

  “All right,” she finally said, “but just this once. You understand?”

  Wyatt smiled. “Loud and clear,” he said. “Now come closer and lift your left foot.”

  When Gabby did as Wyatt asked, he gently guided her foot into one stirrup. “Up you go,” he said.

  With Wyatt’s help she clumsily mounted the black gelding. He was a beautiful thing, with a long mane and tail. His saddle and bridle were tan and scattered with silver studs. The horse danced a bit, causing Gabby to let go with a little shriek and grip the saddle pommel for dear life. As her gelding calmed, Gabby realized that the saddle was actually comfortable. Big John handed her the reins.

  “What’s his name?” Gabby asked.

  “Caesar,” Wyatt answered. “And the mare is named Cleopatra. Or Cleo, for short.”

  Gabby snorted out a little laugh. “Cute…,” she said.

  After taking Cleo’s reins from Big John, Wyatt swung up into the saddle. As he wheeled Cleo around, Gabby noticed that a rifle lay in Wyatt’s saddle scabbard.

  “It’s simple, really,” Wyatt said to Gabby. “When you want to turn him, pull the reins to the left or right. When you want him to go, gently nudge your heels into his sides. To stop, pull back on the reins. There’s no need for perfect technique. Caesar’s been doing this for a long time.”

  “But I haven’t,” Gabby answered meekly.

  Wyatt laughed then looked down at Big John. “We’ll be back in about half an hour,” he said.

  “Okay, boss,” John answered. “See you then.”

  To help Gabby along, Wyatt grasped Caesar’s bridle and guided both horses outside. Once they were free of the barn, Wyatt let go.

  “Just do your best to keep Caesar alongside me,” Wyatt said. “I always use him for the parents’ rides, so he’ll probably stay close anyway.”

  As Gabby adjusted to the motion of her horse, she found it surprisingly pleasant. She was struck by how powerful Caesar seemed, carrying her with ease as they traveled along. She had always felt sorry for horses whenever she saw them being forced to carry people on their backs. But today she realized that her weight on Caesar was a mere afterthought.

  T
he farther they went, the more she understood why Trevor liked riding. Wyatt had at least been right about that part of all this, she realized. Keeping to a walk, Wyatt headed them onto the dirt road leading to his lake cabin. The ground was flat, the wind was calm, and the sun was high.

  After a time, Gabby looked over at Wyatt. “This isn’t so bad, I guess,” she reluctantly admitted.

  Wyatt smiled and tipped his hat at her. “Told you so,” he answered.

  As they rode they talked pleasantly about Trevor, the ranch, and New Beginnings. The farther they went, the more comfortable Gabby became. She was about to actually ask Wyatt if they could do this again sometime when he pulled Cleo to a stop.

  “Just pull back on the reins,” Wyatt said. “We’ll rest them a bit before heading back.”

  To Gabby’s relief, Caesar obediently stopped. He shook his mane and bridle for a moment before finally settling down.

  Highly pleased with herself, Gabby beamed at Wyatt and he nodded back his approval. They stayed like that for a time, quietly enjoying the scenery. Insects hummed pleasantly and the wind freshened, cooling them a bit.

  Suddenly Caesar lowered his muzzle to the ground and began an unbidden exploration for some tender grass, causing Gabby to stiffen. Then he snuffled and took a couple of unexpected steps to explore some more virgin territory. A terrified look came over Gabby’s face.

  “What do I do?” she asked urgently.

  “It’s okay,” Wyatt said. “Just let him go. He won’t travel far.”

  Gabby let Caesar wander a bit. True to Wyatt’s word, he stayed nearby.

  Gabby smiled. “You’re right,” she said. “I guess that’s what comes of being around horses all your life.”

  Wyatt was about to answer her when he noticed something. The grass was moving near Caesar’s lowered muzzle. Then he glimpsed a familiar pattern, and the breath caught in his lungs. Just as he reached for his gun, the telltale rattling began.

  Gabby heard it, too. Frightened out of her wits, she looked helplessly at Wyatt. She was about to scream when the startled diamondback lashed out, jaws wide and deadly fangs glinting in the sun.

  Wyatt’s rifle roared twice and Caesar reared on his hind legs; everything happened so quickly that it seemed simultaneous. Gabby fell backward from the horse and tumbled to the grass, hard, then was motionless where she lay. After whinnying fearfully, Caesar thundered away, reins and stirrups flapping wildly.

  “Jesus, God, no…,” Wyatt breathed.

  He was off Cleo and by Gabby’s side in a flash. Reaching out, he gently turned her over. As she looked up at him, her eyes slowly refocused.

  “Are you hurt?” Wyatt asked.

  “Dunno…,” she whispered thickly.

  “Let’s see if you can stand,” Wyatt said.

  When he helped Gabby to her feet, she winced. For several long moments he held her in his arms, looking searchingly into her eyes. When he finally let her go, he felt a sense of loss touch his heart.

  Gabby winced again. “My right wrist…,” she said.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  Still dazed, Gabby shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said softly. “Poor Caesar…shouldn’t we go after him?”

  Wyatt shook his head. “I don’t know if Caesar was bitten—it all happened so fast. But you’re more important than any goddamned horse. I’ve got to get you back.”

  Wyatt gingerly escorted Gabby to where Cleo stood. But to his surprise, when he tried to help her up onto the saddle, she used her good hand to brusquely push him away. Her terrified expression was gone, and had been replaced by what Wyatt could only describe as a look of deep betrayal.

  “If you think that I’m ever going to ride one of your stupid horses again, you’re dead wrong,” she protested. “I knew this was a bad idea, but you just wouldn’t listen. I’ll walk back, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Wyatt apologetically held up his hands. “But that’s silly,” he said, immediately regretting his words. “Uh, what I mean is…you should ride back, because of your wrist.”

  “So now I’m silly, am I?” Gabby shot back. “Well, my hand might hurt, but my feet are just fine, thank you very much.”

  At once she turned and started marching back along the trail, her good hand cradling her injured one. Wyatt just stood there in awkward disbelief, watching her go.

  After she had gone about twenty paces, Gabby stopped. Then she let go with an exasperated sigh and turned around to glare at him again. The hugely contrite look on Wyatt’s face didn’t faze her in the slightest.

  “Well, Jesus!” she shouted at him. “Are you coming, or not?”

  Wyatt finally snapped out of his daze and jumped on Cleo. After making sure that the rattlesnake was dead, he spurred the mare into a quick trot and caught up with Gabby.

  Ten minutes later, he felt so guilty about riding while she stubbornly trod homeward that he finally dismounted and walked alongside her.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWO DAYS LATER, Reverend Jacobson was once more about to deliver his weekly sermon to the congregation at St. Andrew’s. Every pew was full, and today’s collection would be a good one. After making the sign of the cross, he told the parishioners to sit. As they did, he said a silent prayer that his gravelly voice might prevail yet again.

  “There once was a minister who occasionally shirked his holy duties,” Jacobson began. “He usually accomplished this deceit by feigning sickness on Sunday mornings. Rather than conduct the church services, he left the responsibility to his assistant, and he went and played golf.” Pausing for a moment, Jacobson watched his flock settle into the pews.

  “One Sunday morning, God and St. Peter watched from heaven as the irresponsible minister played golf alone,” Jacobson said. “After a while, God turned to St. Peter. God winked and said: ‘Watch this.’ When next the minister teed off, God ensured that he shot the first hole in one of his life. Then God saw to it that the same thing happened three more times in a row. As one might expect, the minister was beside himself with joy. God seemed pleased by what he had done, but St. Peter was clearly puzzled.

  “‘That minister should be in church, attending to his flock!’ St. Peter said. ‘Instead, he’s down there playing golf, and you granted him four straight holes in one!’

  “God smiled at St. Peter. ‘That’s true,’ God said. ‘But who can he tell?’”

  Some twenty minutes later, Jacobson finished his sermon. He looked to the pew in which Gabby Powers usually sat. Like the last eight Sundays in a row, she was absent. He then looked to the other side of the aisle in search of Wyatt Blaine. Wyatt was dressed in a dark suit and was seated in his usual place.

  The reverend cleared his throat. “Would anyone interested in celebrating a birthday, an anniversary, or any other special day please come forward for the blessings?” he announced. Wondering for the thousandth time whether this would the day, Jacobson again looked at Wyatt.

  Wyatt stood and walked to the back of the church. After handing some cash to one of the ushers, he left.

  AS JACOBSON WALKED to his office, he realized how truly tired he was. During the service he had performed two baptisms, and the ensuing coffee hour had run especially long. Fortified with caffeine and sugar cookies, a pair of elderly Boca widows had buttonholed him about St. Andrew’s upcoming silent auction. He had chatted with them politely, but what he wanted most was to return to the quiet comfort of his office. As he neared the office door, he saw a familiar figure waiting for him.

  Like that eventful Sunday nine weeks ago, Wyatt Blaine again sat on the reverend’s wrought-iron bench. Jacobson noticed that Wyatt seemed weary.

  “The prodigal son returns!” he said. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “I know how tiring Sundays are for you, but can you spare me some time?”

  “Of course,” the reverend answered. “Would you like some coffee? If I know Stella, there’s a fresh pot waiting.”

  Jacobson unlocked the door, and t
he two men walked inside. Although Stella wasn’t there, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. After pouring two steaming cupfuls, the men entered Jacobson’s inner office.

  “What’s on your mind?” Jacobson asked as he sat down behind his desk.

  Wyatt took a seat in one of the guest chairs. He then looked over at the other chair, remembering when Gabby had first asked him to help Trevor. Sometimes that day seemed like a lifetime ago; other times it felt like yesterday. For a few moments Wyatt looked down at his shoes and rolled his coffee cup between his palms. When he looked back up, his expression was searching. After explaining Gabby’s riding accident to Jacobson, he was quiet again.

  “Is she okay?” Jacobson asked.

  Wyatt nodded. “A sprained wrist,” he said. “But she’s angry and avoiding my calls.”

  “Hard to believe,” Jacobson said sarcastically.

  “Yeah, I know that I screwed up,” Wyatt answered. Silence reclaimed the room as Wyatt considered the greater reason for his coming here.

  “I have a foolish question to ask you,” he said. “I’m sure that you’ve heard it a thousand times before, but never from me.”

  Jacobson sipped his coffee. “There are no foolish questions regarding the eternal verities. Only foolish answers. What is it, my son?”

  Wyatt took a deep breath. “Do you believe that our departed loved ones watch us from the afterlife?”

  Jacobson raised an eyebrow. “You can use her name. This time we both know who you’re talking about.”

  Wyatt nodded. “Okay. Do you think that Krista watches over me?”

  Jacobson sighed. “I have indeed been asked that question before, and more times than you might imagine. Personally speaking, I don’t know. Nor can these things be proved. But what I believe isn’t important. All that matters is what you feel in your heart.”

  “I don’t know either…,” Wyatt said.

  “Then it doesn’t matter.”

  “How could it not?” Wyatt asked.

  “For the very reason that I just mentioned,” Jacobson answered. “Because it can’t be proved. Instead, cling to what you know for sure.”