“I never thought of that.” Tammy got a competitive gleam in her eye that Maggie recognized from the mirror.
“They don’t ride much dressage at the rodeo.”
Maggie jerked her head up to find the oldest brother, the one his mother had called Kemble, standing with his arms folded, leaning against a post of the pergola. This must be the Prince of Wales. His khakis were pressed, his loafers gleamed, and even though his blue-striped button-down shirt was open at the throat, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, he looked exactly like he belonged on the cover of GQ. In fact, he looked just like Mr. Tremaine. His face was a mask of disapproval right now. “How’d you know I rodeo?” she asked.
“The Internet is a wonderful thing.”
That was scary. Maggie lifted her chin. “Then you know I’m damned good at it.” She glanced around to the family. “If you’ll pardon my language.”
“You do roping or something at the rodeo? Wow. There’s someone you don’t meet every day.” The gangly Lanyon laughed. It was infectious, but Maggie didn’t feel like laughing. She knew full well she didn’t belong anywhere near the Tremaine family. That made her mad.
“Actually, I ride the bulls.”
Several Tremaines blinked. Not Kemble. “You’re right. You’re good at it. Women’s Champion, what, five events running?”
“The five I entered.” Take that.
“Well, well, well.” Lanyon smirked. “That experience will come in real handy.”
Did he mean handling his brother? Devil. Tris wasn’t hers to handle. More’s the pity.
“That must be where you got that awful bruise,” Kee said. “Mother should look at it.”
“I’m fine,” Maggie said firmly.
“At least Tristram didn’t hit her,” Drew said, rolling her eyes.
“You ... you thought Tris hit me?” Maggie was so shocked she had trouble finding her tongue. Looking around at them, she saw that they thought just that. At least some of them weren’t sure. She felt an unfamiliar fury boil up inside. “You’re his family and you thought that about him, even for a second?” She got up and stalked to the edge of the deck. Did they know nothing about him? Tris defended her, even though he was injured and in pain. He tried to protect her from Elroy when nobody else ever had. Down, girl. She swallowed. When she was sure she had control of her expression, she turned. “Then you don’t know him all that well, do you?”
Surprised stares ringed the circle. “I guess not,” Drew finally drawled. “Perhaps you can introduce him to us.”
“Refreshments,” Mr. Nakamura announced, wending through the crowd with his tray.
“I, uh, should probably unload my horses and turn them out.” Maggie was so not talking about Tristram to his family.
“I’ll help,” Tammy said, springing up. “I can show you the stalls. And my horse, Cally. That’s short for Caliburn. Caliburn was the name of Arthur’s sword. Everybody thinks it was Excalibur, but it wasn’t. He’s Hanoverian. Not King Arthur, Cally. Do you know that kind?”
“Yeah. I’ve got three at my place now.” Maggie made a grateful escape under the umbrella of Tammy’s chatter, drilled by the stares of the rest of the Tremaine clan.
*****
“I heard about Victor,” Tris said to his mother as he lowered himself onto the bed in the room that had once been his.
His mother shook her head. “We’re not saying much about it, for the kids’ sake. His family came out and claimed the body. Your father says we may never know who did it.”
“But he’s looking, right?”
She smiled. “He wouldn’t be the man I love if he wasn’t. Now let’s get to this.”
“You can’t heal me, Mother. Not until Maggie leaves.” That thought made his stomach churn. Her staying the night only put off the inevitable. She’d be going back to her life, and leaving him behind. The pain that lanced through him was worse than the pain in his leg. And that was going some.
His mother touched his cast and winced. “That’s a bad one. A rod?”
“Yeah. And some screws and stuff.”
Her fingers strayed lightly over his shoulder, his collarbone, and down over his ribs. She’d kept his room just the way he’d left it, down to the Kurt Cobain poster and the hockey gear. Was the vintage Easy Rider poster still on the inside of the closet door? He was betting yes.
“This could have been so much worse,” she muttered. “What if it had been worse? And why didn’t you call me instantly? I could have been there in three hours. As it is you’ve had days of pain, and riding down here in a pickup truck—what were you thinking? All that swelling did more damage to the tissues.”
He should have foreseen this. The guilt trip. She must know why he didn’t call. But there was a hurt look in her eyes. He’d never meant to hurt her. He looked away. “Didn’t like to come home ... this way.”
She heaved a sigh and shook her head. “You always were prideful, Tristram.”
“He thinks I came home just to be healed, like I’m using you or something.”
“Well, I should hope to the gods you did come home to get healed. A mother likes to be of some use to her son, even after he’s grown and gone away.”
“I don’t like what it costs you. He doesn’t either.”
“Your father has always been protective of me.” She smiled a little, inward smile. “But sometimes protecting someone is really like standing between them and who they are.” She glanced up at him. “You’ve taught me that lesson. You and Devin.”
“He still surfing?”
She smiled fondly. “Every day. Your father says it’s a total waste of time.”
“He tried it, of course.”
“Of course. Said he had to know what Devin was up to.”
“And he was great at it after just watching the action for a few minutes.”
“Oh, it took him nearly an hour to master it. Surfing is tough even for an Adapter.”
Yeah. That was a bitch. His father played piano as well as Lanyon, and he’d paint as well as Kee if he tried. How could anyone live with a father like that? Tris shook himself. “What made you get Devin surfing lessons?”
“It was during the hard time for him just after ... well, just after he came to us. I would catch him staring at the waves for hours. At first I thought it was just homesickness. You know, staring west because he was so far from Auckland. But his fascination was for the water itself. When I realized that I knew what to do.”
“Surfing pulled him through.”
She began unhooking his sling. “Perhaps. A little. Now let’s get to fixing you.”
“Mother, I can’t let you heal me. Maggie’s not ready for the Brian and Brina show.”
“You’re telling me you can’t pretend for a few hours tonight? She’ll be gone tomorrow.”
His brows pulled together of their own accord.
“Wear your sling and your brace. She’ll never know.” His mother was turning his head this way and that to look at the scrapes and sense his concussion.
“I’m not going to fake being in pain.”
“Tell me the doctor didn’t give you some very delightful drugs to send you on your way. You can just pretend you took some of those.”
She had that tone in her voice. He set his jaw.
“I could, of course, have the boys and your father come in here and hold you down. They’d love the opportunity.”
Especially Kemble. Hell, especially all of them. And he’d never let his father.... “Oh, okay. Get on with it.” He looked away.
She smiled. “So blessed to have four boys.” She began gently removing his cast.
*****
The girl, Tammy, was good with horses. The mustangs took to her immediately. Maggie agreed to putting them in the big in-and-out stalls. Better than turning them out in the ring where they could hurt themselves getting too rambunctious. Tammy was a worker, not just a spoiled rich kid. The kid they had in to clean the stables had gone for the day, so she hauled buckets
of grain and hay flakes and helped fill four stalls with fresh shavings, all the while talking about her school and Cally and her riding instructor, who ranked right up there with the Virgin Mary for virtuous qualities, according to Tammy.
A good kid, if a little talkative. Maggie closed the stall door on Buck, who was head down in the bucket. Tammy’s horse was down in the end stall next to a cob pony, and had been showing great interest in the newcomers. “So, let’s see this horse of yours.”
Tammy lit up like a lightbulb. “Oh, he’s the best.” They leaned over Cally’s stall door.
“Got a good structure. Why don’t you saddle up? Let’s see how he moves.”
“Really? Oh, that would be great. Just great.” Then a shadow crossed her face. “I ... I don’t want you to think I’m a good rider or anything. I’ve only been riding three years. You ... you must be really good to break wild mustangs.”
“Well, I don’t break them, for starts. We call it gentling. It isn’t like the old Western movies. But you don’t have to ride Cally. Would you let me take a turn on him? Best way to know a horse is to ride him.”
“I ... I’d be honored.” Tammy did a little jump, nodding quickly. “I’ll ... I’ll just saddle him up. Oh. I don’t have a Western saddle, only English.” Tammy glanced to Maggie’s boots.
Maggie smiled and hung Buck’s halter on the stall door. Yeah. Tammy was a good kid. Had she ever been that eager? Maybe. Once. “I’ll make do.”
Tammy led the huge Hanoverian out to the mounting block when she was finished saddling. Good thing. The old fella was seventeen hands at least. Obviously a schoolmaster a little past his prime. Maybe an injury got him sold after his performance days were over. There was a scar on his left hind. But he’d found the ideal situation: a loving girl with a family that could afford to take care of him even after he retired, like the cob pony. He was almost white, though you could still see the faint marks from his faded youth as a dapple gray. Tammy kept him spotless, no mean trick. Stable hands always called these horses “blanco y verde” because the manure stains from sleeping in their stalls were hell to get out.
“He has kind eyes,” Maggie said as Tammy led him up. Maggie pulled up the saddle flaps and removed the stirrups.
“No stirrups?” Tammy squeaked.
“Too hard to keep my heels down in these boots.” She pulled off her boots and hopped up on the block. “It’s all about balance anyway. Your teacher ever ask you the old question, ‘what keeps you on your horse?’ ” Tammy shook her head, her eyes wide. “Well, the kids usually say reins, or stirrups, or squeezing your legs. But the answer is ‘gravity.’ ” Tammy nodded thoughtfully. Maggie threw the reins over the horse’s head. She eased onto his back slowly, politely. “Hello, old boy.” As she settled into Tammy’s saddle, she was glad she was small. Tammy looked about to burst with pride. Maggie let Cally walk off on a loose rein and Tammy dashed over to open the gate to the dressage ring. The ring had about six inches of mixed sand and small cut-up pieces of rubber for drainage. She hated to think what that kind of footing cost. But it would make the ring usable in almost all weather, and it was great for the horses’ legs.
She let herself settle further in the saddle as Cally walked out. He had a swinging, free stride. He engaged from the rear naturally. She ran her hand along his neck. “You must have been hell on wheels as a four-year-old,” she chuckled, “with a big stride like that.” She took eight turns around the big ring, and diagonally across it to change directions, keeping to a walk. “How old is he?” she asked as she passed Tammy.
“Eighteen.” Tammy frowned a little. “Mother wouldn’t let me get a young horse and at first I was mad. But Cally is super.”
“Not that old. He’s just right for you,” Maggie called back over her shoulder. She eased him into a trot and just let him roll, reins slack. His trot had a lot of lift. “You be sure and warm him up for twenty or thirty minutes before you even think of asking him to do anything,” she said as they came around by Tammy. “Mature men get a little creaky.”
“I do,” Tammy promised. “Miss Reinhold says that will keep him young.”
Now Maggie was really getting the feel of the horse’s gait. This guy must have been a competition horse. No one would let this much natural talent go to waste. Beautiful. She felt his gait down through her bones. There was the tiny hitch left from the surgery. But someone had rehabbed him right. It was hardly noticeable. Riding always healed her own anxiety and now she let herself connect to Cally. He was a wise one all right. And he knew just what a good gig he had. She could feel it.
When he was fully warmed up, she pulled up in front of where Tammy leaned on the gate. “He’s lovely. You’re a lucky girl.”
Tammy’s grin was blinding. “That means a lot coming from you.”
“You ever seen what Cally knows?”
“What do you mean?” Tammy got wide-eyed.
“Well, has your teacher ridden him so you could watch?”
“Uh, no. She doesn’t ride anymore.”
Maggie grinned. “Want to see?”
Tammy blinked. “Sure.”
Maggie patted Cally’s neck and gathered up the reins with a firmer connection. “Let’s show her what you can do, big fella.”
Now she collected him under himself and pushed him up into her hand with her inside leg as they trotted around the arena. The outside rein became the fluid bond between them, yielding yet strong. Cally responded, rounding up, arching his neck, telling her he recognized someone who knew the language of touch and balance.
They started with simple leg yields, Cally crossing both his front and back legs as he floated diagonally across the ring. Maggie heard Tammy’s gasp and clapping, but then all consciousness of her surroundings faded as she and Cally became one. Shoulder in, haunches in, passage, a piaffe that had Cally trotting in place in the center of the ring. Cally’s joy in his performance made the reins sing. Maggie asked for a canter, and got that wonderful suspension that made it feel like gravity didn’t own them anymore. Now at the canter, they did spirals that ended in pirouettes, and finally Maggie brought him down the center line, throwing flying lead changes at every stride. Cally would look like he was skipping.
That was enough for the old boy. Mustn’t get him stiff, since she didn’t know just how much work he’d been getting. She dropped to a trot, circled the ring, and came to a stop in front of Tammy. Maggie grinned. Then she peered at the young girl more closely. “Are ... are you crying?”
“That was so, so, so beautiful,” Tammy whispered, wiping her eyes. “I ... I didn’t know.”
From somewhere, there was a sound of distant clapping and a whistle. Maggie jerked her head up to see most of the Tremaines standing on the side of the deck overlooking the ring.
She bent to stroke Cally’s neck and hide her own flush. “Well,” she said gruffly, “you’d better walk him out.” She swung down to the ground.
“Will you teach me to do that?” Tammy’s turquoise eyes pleaded as she opened the gate.
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning.” That felt so wrong it made Maggie’s stomach turn. Which was stupid. She had to get back to Elroy. And then it was on to Denver and the next rodeo. She swallowed and handed Tammy the reins. “But I’m sure you can find a teacher here.”
“Okay.” Tammy looked crestfallen for a minute, then she brightened. “I’ll bet Kemble can help me. He can find anything.”
Maggie couldn’t imagine the serious-looking Kemble putting up with Tammy’s exuberance long enough to help her do anything. But Tammy seemed to think he would.
Maggie left Tammy hand-walking Cally along a cliff path over the ocean and headed back up to the house. The Tremaine sister named Kee now leaned over the deck railing and called, “Come up the garden path.” She pointed. “Stairs just behind that bougainvillea.”
Maggie trudged up the stairs as though she was going to an execution. Tris was probably out for the evening. She had all of dinner to get through without even
Tris as an ally.
“That was quite a performance,” Drew said as Maggie reached the deck. “Wasn’t it, Kee?” Drew patted the sofa next to her. Oh, great. Sitting that close to Drew made Maggie look like a homeless person. Not that she regretted the plaid shirt, the jeans and boots. But Drew looked like something out of a magazine. She and Jane had slipped on sleeveless summer dresses. Jane wore one in off white, but Drew’s was emerald green with a full skirt. Her black hair was now dry. Full and lush, it hung down her back. Still, Maggie couldn’t exactly refuse the invitation, or command, whatever it was.
“I ... thought Tammy might like to see what her horse could do.” She sat.
“That was very kind,” Jane said. “You and Cally looked like you were dancing.”
“He’s got a lot of talent.”
“Seems he’s not the only one.” Drew had that same look in her eyes that her mother had earlier when she was studying Maggie in front of the house. It made Maggie squirm.
“You know Tammy,” the gangly Lanyon observed. “She probably cried.”
Maggie chuckled.
“Am I right?”
Maggie nodded. “A tear or two.”
“It figures,” Lanyon said, his voice drenched with disgust. He was holding a flute, which was a really strange thing for a boy that age to be carrying around. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Tremaine pacing in the house, rubbing his chin. He seemed really upset. Kemble followed her gaze, looked to Drew, and rose. He went into the house quietly.
“So,” Kee began. “Just how did you save Tris?”
“So direct,” Drew murmured. “Look, Maggie, we’re sorry about thinking Tris might have caused your bruise. He’s always just ... had a lot of anger in him. We haven’t seen him for a year, so... we didn’t know. It was wrong to assume.”
Maggie nodded her acceptance. That was a nice apology.
“So part of getting to know him again is understanding what happened to him.”
01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin Page 15