by K. N. Casper
“Yep.” The elderly woman poured coffee into a thick ceramic mug. “Your daddy was in here earlier. Had creamed beef on toast and one of my apricot kolaches.”
Kayla shook her head, smiling. But she grew serious when the woman behind the counter offered condolences about her ruined vineyard.
Kayla ate a chicken salad on wheat toast and was about to ask for the check when the wizened old woman waved a raspberry-walnut kolache under her nose. “Last one,” Bertha crooned with a fiendish grin, showing her store-bought teeth.
Ah, sweet temptation.
From there, Kayla went to the library where she ran internet checks on the two security companies Wade had suggested. Since Ethan believed so strongly that Senator Gallagher was involved in this mess, she gave Diep Protection only a cursory glance.
Ethan had mentioned Delucca as well, which tended to tip the scales for her, but she queried both nevertheless, telling them concisely what she wanted. She left her home e-mail address.
Her last stop before driving home was the Herald office. Millicent was waiting for her, pen and pad ready at hand.
She conducted a very professional interview. Then came the inevitable silly questions reporters seemed obsessed with these days: How did it make you feel?
Well, I was caught between this urge to skip rope and chew gum at the same time, but settled on just getting really ticked off instead.
“Very discouraged,” she said, “then I got mad. My father and I put a lot of work into that vineyard. I’m not about to let someone destroy it, not without a fight.”
“What are you fixing to do?” Millicent asked.
“Replant. This time, though, I’ll have top-notch security in place. If anyone trespasses on my property again, I’ll know it, and I’ll be able to identify him...or her. I can also promise you that I’ll file criminal charges. Fool me once, shame on me. Mess with me twice and you’re toast.”
Millie’s expression was filled with admiration. “You have another story to tell, too, Kayla, don’t you? A much happier one. Tell me about this therapeutic riding program you and Ethan Ritter have started.”
Kayla’s passion took over. Without using names or specifying handicaps that would identify their clients, she told Millie about the children they’d put on horses for the first time last week.
“Will you be establishing a permanent program?”
“We’re still evaluating that,” Kayla said. “There’s an organization, PATH International, the Professional Association of Therapeutic Horsemanship, which trains and certifies instructors for disabled children and adults. We’re looking into joining. A lot will depend on how much interest there is and whether we can persuade volunteers to help us. As you can imagine, there’s more to it than just putting people on horses and letting them ride around by themselves. They need close supervision and hands-on support.”
“And it really helps these children?”
Kayla smiled. “It’s impossible to ride a horse and not use your muscles. Physical therapy is inherent even when the rider isn’t aware of being part of it. What we’re doing is rudimentary right now, but it’s a beginning.”
“How can people contact you if they’re interested in participating or helping out?”
Kayla hadn’t been prepared for this question, though it was a logical one. She certainly couldn’t put the burden on Ethan. Picking up her cell phone, she made a call, then told Millicent, “They can call Noah Kelley at his home.” She gave his telephone number.
Millie closed her pad. “What you and Ethan are doing is wonderful. Of course, given what happened to his sister, I suppose we should all have expected it of him.”
“I saw her tombstone out at the ranch,” Kayla admitted. “She was so young.”
“Fourteen. Such a sweet girl, too.”
“What happened? I’ve been reluctant to ask Ethan.”
“It’s a sad story,” Millicent said and refilled both their coffee cups.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“ANGELA ATE CANDY THAT was made in Mexico. Tamarind candy. Very popular there. What no one knew at the time was that it was contaminated with lead.”
“Oh, no!”
“Apparently the vats used in manufacturing it contained high amounts of lead, which leached into the candy. Even the paper it was wrapped in was contaminated. Angela loved the stuff. Ethan occasionally ate it, too, but not nearly as much. Angela had been eating it for over a year when Luella, the housekeeper, discovered it. She’d heard rumors of it being tainted, so she told Valerie. Both children—Angela was eight at the time, Ethan fourteen—had to be tested. Turned out they both came up positive for lead poisoning.”
Kayla shuddered at the thought of what their parents must have gone through. Candy. It was unconscionable.
“The kids underwent chelation. You know what that is?”
“A process to wash the blood, isn’t it?”
Millicent nodded. “When it was over, the doctors declared Ethan clean, but not Angela. The damage to her liver, kidneys and brain was already done and it was irreversible.”
Kayla closed her eyes and bit her lip. “Did they take legal action against the company?” she asked.
Millie screwed up her mouth in disgust. “For all the good it did. Personal injury lawsuits against domestic companies can be difficult enough, but this outfit was in Mexico and since the candy hadn’t been exported for sale—or consumed in Mexico—there was a question whether Americans even had a right to sue. Still the Ritters joined a class-action suit against the candy maker, but nothing ever came of it. For one thing, as soon as the suit was filed, the company disbanded and the owners disappeared. Ethan’s folks finally had to give up. Even if they’d won, chances are they wouldn’t have gotten much after lawyers on both sides of the border had taken their cut, plus legal fees.”
Kayla shook her head. “So did insurance cover their expenses?”
“Most of the tests and the chelation, but beyond that there really wasn’t much they could do. Over the next six years Angela got worse and worse. She stopped growing. Her physical coordination deteriorated, so did her mind. She still loved horses, though, so Ethan took her riding every day—”
“On Birdsong,” Kayla said, almost in a whisper. No wonder he didn’t want to sell her.
Millicent nodded.
“Even after Angela was confined to a wheelchair and became too weak to sit in the saddle by herself, he would place her in front of him and hold her while they rode bareback.”
Kayla pictured Ethan cradling Daphne Jones against his chest as they circled the arena. What painful memories that must have evoked for him.
“Eventually Angela became bedridden.” Millicent’s voice was soft and shaky. “By the time she died she was little more than skin and bones, her mind completely gone.”
Kayla brushed away a tear.
“Tore the family apart, as you might imagine,” Millie added. “Valerie passed away in her sleep a year later. They say it was heart failure, but if you ask me the poor woman died of a broken heart.”
If anything ever happened to Megan... Kayla rose from the chair. “Thank you for telling me. It helps me understand why he’s so sympathetic, so good with the children.”
The older woman accompanied her to the door. “It’s too bad the Rayborns will be leaving.”
Heather and Brad’s foster parents? “Leaving? Where are they going?”
“My sources tell me Chicago,” Millicent whispered, though there was no one around. “I reckon being foster parents pays better up there. Bless their hearts.”
“What’ll happen to the children?”
“They’ll get thrown back into the system and shuffled off to other foster parents. All we can hope for is that whoever inherits them are as good to them as Leona and Randy have been.”
Good? Ethan’s words came back to her. Why does ‘good’ not sound good enough?
Moving Heather and Brad, disrupting their lives again, would be devastating. The Broken Spoke
was the one bright spot in their lives. Heather was finally beginning to emerge from her shell, and Brad seemed to be letting go of his anger. Even though they weren’t related, they’d begun to bond like brother and sister, too. Taking them away and probably separating them in the process would be traumatic, bordering on abuse.
There must be something she could do about it.
* * *
ETHAN HAD BEEN THINKING all morning about what had happened at Kayla’s vineyard. Was someone out to ruin Kayla or her father? That didn’t make sense. They were new to the area, had hardly been in Texas long enough to have created enemies. The truth was, everybody liked them. At least, that’s what Luella reported.
Of course, they could have made enemies in the Northwest who had followed them here, but that didn’t seem likely. The only thing that made sense was that it was someone intent on undermining the Home Free program by scaring away newcomers to the area. The question was who, and what would they have to gain?
Clint Gallagher. Ethan had initially been skeptical of his father’s insistence that the senator was behind the consortium’s collapse. Zeb had been bitter at the time and looking for someone to blame for the failure of the enterprise he’d played such a prominent role in organizing and the loss of the ranch his family had owned for over a hundred and twenty years.
The wily politician was ambitious and seemed to grow more desperate in the past few years. Pursuing a legacy, some claimed. Nearly doubling the size of the Four Aces before he died would certainly qualify. It was no secret he’d expected to pick up the consortium’s holdings after it went bust, not just for the prestige, but because it controlled the aquifer that watered Gallagher’s land. Water was sacred in Texas. Control of it meant power, and there was no question that Gallagher thrived on power.
Ethan finished his second session of the day with Duke and turned him loose in the corral. The gelding was progressing nicely, but it would be a long time before he trusted people. Still, he’d permitted Ethan to put a saddle pad on him, then a saddle. This time Ethan had even gotten it buckled. Maybe tomorrow he’d be able to get on the horse’s back. They wouldn’t go anywhere. Ethan would just sit there so Duke would understand he wasn’t being threatened. Bragging to Carter that he’d be riding the skittish horse by the end of the week might have been premature, but achieving the goal wasn’t too far off.
Ethan couldn’t understand people who bought animals, then neglected or mistreated them. But there were many. Sometimes it was out of ignorance—like feeding them too much rich grain, thinking they were giving them a treat. Sometimes it was out of frustration—short-tempered people who couldn’t seem to comprehend that an animal’s response was immediate and elementary: seek comfort, avoid pain. But there were also those who enjoyed the power trip over weaker creatures, whether they were animals or other human beings.
As he returned tack to its proper place, his mind was already on Kerwin, the handicapped child who was coming out to the Broken Spoke in a couple of hours. Ethan had spoken to the boy’s father on the phone last week. According to Jim, his nine-year-old son had been born with deformed upper extremities, a foreshortening of the arms that amounted to having no arms at all. He was also a near genius. Ethan accepted the later evaluation with reserve. Parents were often the worst judges of their children’s abilities, oftentimes prone to exaggerating their intelligence to counterbalance other shortcomings, real or imagined. Like the straight-A student who was a complete klutz in sports; the star athlete who couldn’t count out change. On the other hand, there were people who compensated amazingly well for one physical handicap with extraordinary capabilities in other areas.
Jim also explained that he and his wife didn’t give their son any slack. Within the boy’s capabilities, Ethan didn’t plan to, either.
Kayla’s vehicle tore up the driveway, raising a cockscomb of fine dust behind it. Ethan’s spirits instantly rose. She was making him crazy, but being near her was preferable to being away from her. Look but don’t touch was becoming increasingly difficult. He’d kissed her twice now, and she’d kissed him back both times. Which only made him want to get closer to her. It would have been better if she’d slapped his face—or would it? He’d always loved a challenge.
The children piled out of the Toyota and shouted a cheerful greeting as they ran toward the barn to get their horses groomed and saddled.
Ethan watched as Kayla slid from behind the wheel and walked toward him. A pretty sight. The sway of her hips, the sun glinting off her auburn hair. She looked intense, preoccupied. Understandable, considering her situation.
The kids’ lesson went well. They all seemed to be in sync that afternoon. He had them do interlocking circles at a walk and trot, reverse course and repeat the drill. Megan was still bouncing too much in the saddle and Brad was inclined to go faster than the two girls, but they managed nevertheless to hold it together. He was pleased, and it was easy to see they felt good about their performances, too.
They’d already put their horses out to pasture and started cleaning stalls when a slightly battered pickup rolled up the driveway. A man in his thirties got out the driver’s side, a boy, the other.
Kerwin Delgado was tall for a ten-year-old, his eyes startlingly blue against his black hair. The sleeves of his T-shirt had been modified to expose his hands, which appeared to project directly from unexpectedly wide shoulders.
“Jim Delgado.” He shook Ethan’s hand. “Thanks for inviting us out. This is my son, Kerwin.”
“I’ve always wanted to ride a horse,” the boy said in a voice that was still prepubescent, but with a maturity that belied his age.
“Well, this is your lucky day,” Ethan told him. “Come on over, and I’ll introduce you to Lottie.”
The mare was tied to the hitching post just outside the barn. Ethan went through the usual orientation, having the boy let the animal sniff him. Having him pet her neck and rub her eyes.
“How old is she?” Kerwin asked.
“Sixteen.”
“Is that old for a horse?”
“What did the internet tell you?” Ethan asked.
Kerwin looked at him and grinned. “That the oldest horse on record was fifty-six, that in captivity they can frequently live into their thirties while in the wild they probably don’t survive much past ten.”
Ethan smiled. Maybe Jim had been right about his son’s IQ.
“We take good care of our animals. When I was about your age we had a mare that lived to be thirty-seven.”
“Did she have any teeth left?” the boy asked.
Ethan chuckled. “Not many. By then we were hand-feeding her cooked oatmeal, but old Savannah still seemed to enjoy living, so we didn’t mind.”
“Who’s your oldest horse here now?”
“Birdsong,” Megan piped up.
She and the other children were just coming out of the barn, Brad limping behind a wheelbarrow full of manure, the girls carrying rakes. The three stole glances at the newcomer’s strange deformity, then seemed to accept it.
“She’s my horse,” Megan announced. “I love her.”
Kerwin continued to rub Lottie’s nose. “Can I ride now?”
“Come on.” Ethan untied the lead rope and led the mare to the mounting block and moved to the horse’s right side. “How’s your sense of balance?” he asked.
Kerwin climbed the tall steps, then paused, waiting for direction. “I swim and play soccer.”
Swimming would explain the wide shoulders and upper body development.
“Put your left foot in the left stirrup and throw your right leg over the saddle. I’ll catch you if you go too far.”
“I won’t,” the boy said confidently.
And he didn’t, though he was a bit unsteady at first, when the stirrup shifted as he tucked his boot into it.
“Can you reach down and grab the reins?”
The boy bent forward and grasped them with his left hand, then rotated his shoulders to clasp them with his right
as well.
As the session began, Ethan evaluated the boy’s control and stability. Clearly he had strong legs, no doubt from playing soccer, and while he lacked a certain amount of manual dexterity, he seemed adaptable and eager to try whatever he was asked.
“Can I trot now?” the boy called out after fifteen minutes of walking in straight lines and circles in both directions.
Ethan hesitated. Kerwin sat the horse well, but trotting usually didn’t come until at least the second lesson, and the kids usually grabbed hold of the saddle horn, an option Kerwin obviously didn’t have. A glance over at Jim convinced him, however, that it would be all right.
After telling the boy what to do, Ethan gave Lottie the verbal signal to move out. Kerwin bounced uncontrollably.
“Relax,” Ethan called out. “Stretch your legs down and lean back.”
The boy struggled to comply, then regained control. He wasn’t graceful, but he stayed on and kept his back straight, his heels down.
“Neat,” the boy said. “What am I doing wrong?”
Ethan couldn’t help but grin. “Think of it this way,” he said. “The tighter you squeeze a watermelon seed between your fingers, the farther it shoots. Stay limber and go with the flow.” On the second attempt the boy did better.
The lesson lasted a full hour, much longer than usual for a first session. But the kid’s enthusiasm and eagerness to learn were insatiable and infectious.
While Kerwin cooled the horse, Ethan went over to talk to his father. “I’m impressed,” he admitted. “He’s got considerable athletic ability.”
Jim smiled proudly. “There really isn’t much he can’t do.”
“He’s a lucky kid,” Ethan said with sincerity, “to have parents who don’t coddle him.”
“We wouldn’t be doing him any favors if we did. He’ll never be a concert pianist or a violinist, but then, few of us are.”
Ethan laughed. “I’m sure not. He’s going to be sore tonight and tomorrow.”