by Janet Dailey
“Why not the right side?” one of the boys asked.
“They’re not used to that. Horses are trained to be handled and mounted from the left.”
“Unless they’re Indian horses.” The speaker was a small, bespectacled boy named Calvin. “Indians mounted their horses from the right.”
“That’s true,” Dusty said. “But it was a long time ago. These days, I’m betting even Native Americans mount from the left.”
“Smart-ass!” Mack poked Calvin in the ribs.
“None of that.” Dusty gave him a scowl. “Now, watch Kira’s hand, how she holds it flat for the horse to smell—palm down so he’ll know she’s not offering any treats. When he’s had a good sniff, she’ll pet him—not on the nose or the face, but back by his shoulder, on his withers. Now watch how she walks away, easy, looking out for the other horses. That’s what each of you will be doing today, just to get acquainted. Your helmets are right here, by the fence.” He glanced around the group. “So who wants to go first?”
* * *
The metal storage shed was about ten feet by twenty and crammed shoulder high with what looked like sixty years’ worth of junk. Standing in front of the open double doors, Jake shook his head. He was no longer concerned about Dusty having enough work for him. Sorting out this mess would keep him busy for at least a solid week. Maybe he could put his entire wage toward paying the old man back—twenty dollars an hour instead of ten. He could manage it, as long as he had food and lodging. And that would get him out of here in half the time.
He took a few moments to analyze the task. A triage approach might work—one pile for worthless trash to be hauled off, one pile for things that were clearly worth keeping and a third pile for items that Dusty would need to look at before deciding what to do with them. With no rain in the forecast, it wouldn’t hurt to leave things outside for a few days.
Taking a deep breath, he set to work. A crushed wicker basket? Trash. A worn-out saddle? Almost trash, unless it had sentimental value. Ask Dusty. A box of what looked like old family photographs? Keep. A set of half-worn truck tires? Ask.
A shaggy brown dog came trotting around the cabins and lay down in a shady spot next to the shed. Jake liked dogs. He’d made friends with one or two that hung around the camps in Afghanistan. Unlike people, they didn’t get on his nerves or try to sneak up on him. This one seemed more interested in having something to watch and a comfortable place to nap than in making friends. Jake spoke a word to the animal, then went on working.
He was making slow progress, but the task was like shoveling away at a mountain. The desert sun beat down on him, hot in spite of the mild spring day. As he paused to lift the brim of his baseball cap and wipe the sweat off his forehead, he sensed a movement behind him—and it wasn’t the dog.
Danger instincts on hair-trigger alert, he dropped to a half crouch and spun around, prepared to fight for his life.
Standing a few feet away was a small person in shorts and a pink tee with a kitten on the front. Russet curls framed a heart-shaped face. Dark eyes, fringed by long lashes, widened as Jake straightened and exhaled. The little girl looked startled, but she stood her ground, one hand holding out a peace offering—a can of root beer. The can was so cold that moisture trickled down the outside.
“Hi, mister,” she said. “I’m Paige.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jake’s mouth went dry. His daughter was a younger image of Wendy, except for her eyes. Those eyes were his.
“You looked thirsty.” She held out the root beer can. Jake took it and popped the tab.
“Thanks,” he said, finding his voice. “Does anybody know you’re out here?”
She shook her head. “Everybody’s busy. What’s your name, mister?”
“My name is Jake. I guess you can call me Mister Jake.”
She studied him with a thoughtful frown. “My daddy’s name is Jake,” she said. “But he doesn’t look like you. He doesn’t have whiskers.”
“There are a lot of Jakes around.” He turned his back on her and began rummaging in the shed, holding the can in one hand. The ice-cold root beer tasted good, but his throat was so tight he could barely swallow it. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away. He needed her gone. Having her here, so close, was tearing into his heart.
“What are you doing, Mister Jake?” she asked.
“I’m working for Dusty. He’s paying me to clean out this shed.” He hoisted part of a rusty bedframe and dumped it on the designated trash pile.
“Can I help?”
“You’re too little. This stuff is pretty heavy. And some things have sharp edges. You could get hurt.”
“Okay. I’ll just watch.” She plopped down onto a tire that had rolled off the pile.
Jake glanced at her from beneath the rim of his baseball cap. She had fair skin, like Wendy’s, and she was sitting in the hot sun. “You’d better go someplace shady,” he said. “You’ll get sunburned out here.”
“No, I won’t. Aunt Kira makes me wear sunscreen every day. She likes me to wear a hat, too, but sometimes I forget.”
Jake lifted a heavy cardboard box off the stack in the shed and lowered it to the ground. “It sounds like your aunt Kira takes pretty good care of you.”
“Uh-huh,” Paige said. “Aunt Kira’s like my mom. But she isn’t my real mom. My real mom died when I was little. She was in a car crash.”
Jake felt the familiar sensation, like a steel auger boring between his ribs. He knew he should stop right there, but he felt compelled to go on, to drive the pain a little deeper. “Do you remember your mother?” he asked.
“Not much. But I’ve got her picture. She was really pretty. She’s up in heaven now. But I still talk to her. Sometimes it’s like I can feel her listening.”
Do you really believe she listens to you?
Jake didn’t voice the thought. Early on, after the accident, he’d tried talking to Wendy. But he’d given up on that. It was like leaving voice mail for somebody who would never return your call. Kind of like prayer, which he’d also given up.
“What about your father?” he asked, knowing the question was a bad idea.
“He’s in the army. He was supposed to come back, but he didn’t. I think maybe the army won’t let him. They need him to stay and fight the bad people.”
The auger twisted, driving deeper, all the way to his heart. “I guess you don’t talk to him, do you?”
She shook her head. “He isn’t in heaven. He can’t hear me.”
“Paige!” A motherly-looking Mexican woman in her fifties came bustling around the row of cabins. “Ay de mi! I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing out here, bothering this poor man?”
Jake and Consuelo had met briefly in the kitchen that morning when he’d stopped by for coffee, so no introduction was needed. “She isn’t bothering me,” he said. “But this might not be the safest place for her. She’s probably better off going with you.”
“Come on, chiquita.” Consuelo took Paige’s hand. “I’m making cookies in the kitchen. You can help me.”
As she was being led off, Paige glanced back at Jake. “I’ll bring you some cookies when they get done. Chocolate chip. They’re really good,” she said, giving him her mother’s smile.
The dog roused himself, got up and followed them back around the cabins. Watching his daughter go, Jake quivered from the strain of controlling his emotions. That little girl’s smile held the power to destroy him. Lord, he should never have agreed to come here. He should have stayed in jail, where he, at least, felt safe.
“He isn’t in heaven,” she’d answered when he’d asked her about talking to her father.
She was right about that. It was more like he was in hell.
* * *
“This horse hates me! I want a different one!” Mack, the big boy with anger issues, was red-faced with frustration. He’d chosen a docile bay mare named Bella. She’d let him come close enough to offer his hand for a sniff, but every t
ime he tried to stroke her, she edged away.
“That’s not how it works, Mack.” Kira stood a few steps away, coaching. “If you give up, she’ll know she got the best of you, and she’ll do it again. Step back now and try to relax. She can tell you’re upset. It’s making her nervous.”
“I can’t do this! She hates me!” Mack yanked off his helmet and flung it on the ground.
“Nobody hates you, Mack. Not me, and certainly not the horse. She only wants to feel safe. Now put on your helmet, take a few breaths and think about how easy this will be—or if that doesn’t work, close your eyes and think about your favorite song.”
Mack put on his helmet and closed his eyes. The students who’d gone before him had done all right, including Lanie, who’d been terrified at first. Being the first one to fail would embarrass him and worsen his anger issues.
“Got the song?” Kira asked, and saw him nod slightly. “Good. Now open your eyes, and as you go to the horse again, sing it very softly, just for her. Try it. That’s it. Now let her smell your hand. Keep singing.”
Kira couldn’t hear the song, but she could see Mack’s lips moving. The mare might not be a music lover, but if singing helped relax the boy, that could make the difference. She held her breath as Mack stood to the left of Bella’s head and put out his hand, palm down.
Bella was curious. Her ears pricked forward, a small sign of acceptance. This time she allowed Mack to touch her and stroke her withers. A tiny shudder of pleasure passed through her body. Mack glanced back at Kira, his eyes wide, his mouth grinning. “Hey, she likes it!”
“And I think she likes you,” Kira said. “Good job.”
The last two students had watched the others and had no trouble with their horses. Feeling good about the session, Kira seated the group by the fence. “Tell me some of the things you learned today,” she said.
Calvin raised his hand. “I tried to go on the right side of my horse, like an Indian. The horse didn’t like it.”
“So what did you learn from that?”
Calvin grinned. “I learned to listen to Dusty.”
“Good thinking,” Kira said. Calvin, small, solitary and extremely bright, had been bullied at school and online. His parents had signed him up for horse therapy after he attempted suicide; they hoped it would give him confidence and make him feel less like a victim.
Lanie raised her hand, her sleeve sliding back to show a glimpse of ugly, healing cuts. “If you’re scared or mad, the horses can tell. It’s like they can read you.”
“That’s right,” Kira said. “You might be able to fool people, but you can’t fool a horse. And the horse will never try to fool you. Horses are honest to the bone, and they expect the same from you.”
After a few more comments, Kira dismissed her students to wash up and get ready for lunch. The morning had gone well. They were off to a good start, but there were bound to be some bumps down the road. These kids weren’t here because they were happy and well-adjusted. They were here because they needed help. It would be her job as a therapist to see that each of them received that help.
In the afternoon, they’d be taking a field trip to the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum—a twenty-one–acre educational showplace for the desert’s plants and animals. By the time they returned to the ranch, the teens would be worn-out and ready for dinner. After that, Kira would have her first one-on-one session, starting with Heather.
Dusty’s SUV, with an extra bench seat installed in the back, was the go-to vehicle for hauling students around. Kira had been planning to have Dusty drive, as usual. But while the teens were at lunch, he’d taken her aside. “It’ll be a long afternoon, and I don’t know if I’m up for it,” he said. “I’ve asked Jake to drive you.”
Kira gazed at him in sudden concern. Her grandfather had been strong and active for as long as she could remember. But he was in his midseventies now. Maybe it was time she faced the fact that he needed to slow down.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Fine.” He patted her shoulder. “Just not as young and spry as I used to be. Jake drove that Jeep all the way back from Flagstaff. He’ll do fine.”
A moment flickered in Kira’s memory: Jake’s reaction to the dynamite blast that morning—the warm, manly weight of his body as he’d held her down, and her unexpected response. She swiftly dismissed it. That had nothing to do with now. Her concern was for her students. How would it affect them if he had another such episode? Would they be safe with him?
Even without that concern, she didn’t feel ready to spend the afternoon with the man. Being with Jake stirred memories of the past, with secrets that were best forgotten.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I can drive the Jeep myself.”
“Now, Kira, I know you like to focus on the kids, not on the road. And it never hurts to have another grown-up along. Anyway, I already asked Jake. He said he’d do it.”
Kira sighed, giving in. “Fine. Will Paige be all right staying here? I was going to take her along, but with Jake there—”
“She’s already met him,” Dusty said. “Consuelo found her out by the shed with Jake this morning.”
Kira’s pulse skipped. “Does Paige know—”
“No. And neither does Consuelo. As far as they’re concerned, he’s just a stranger I hired to do some work. Stop fussing about it, Kira. Sometimes things need a little shaking up.”
“But not where Paige is concerned. Jake isn’t stable. I don’t want him upsetting her, or maybe even scaring her.”
“He’s her father.”
“And right now, that can’t be allowed to matter. I’m leaving her here. She won’t be happy about it, but she’ll be fine with you and Consuelo. Meanwhile, I’m going to have my hands full—not just babysitting my students, but worrying about Jake. Ask me next time, before you get him involved.”
* * *
Washed, combed and wearing a clean T-shirt, Jake wandered into the kitchen. From the dining room, he could hear Kira’s teenage gang laughing and talking over lunch. He’d been invited to join them, but he didn’t want to be stared at or questioned. Even agreeing to drive them this afternoon was probably a mistake.
Consuelo was at the sink, loading the dishwasher. “Hi,” he greeted her. “I was hoping I could make myself a quick sandwich.”
“There’s some already made.” Consuelo pointed to a stacked plate on the counter. “Have all you want. And there’s Diet Coke in the fridge.”
“Thanks.” Still standing, Jake picked up a sandwich and took a bite. Turkey, bacon and tomato on whole wheat. It was first-rate. “And thanks for the cookies,” he said. “Paige brought me two of them before she had to run back to the house.”
Consuelo laughed. “That little sneak. I thought there were a couple of cookies missing from the pan. She seems to have taken a fancy to you.”
Something tightened around Jake’s heart. “Don’t ask me why,” he said. “I haven’t been all that friendly to her.”
Consuelo’s dark eyes took his measure. For a moment, Jake feared she might have figured out who he was. But her gaze lingered on the Army Ranger tattoo—a traditional winged skull with a flag—that decorated his upper arm. “You were in the army?” she asked.
“Yeah, for a few years.” He popped the tab on a can of Diet Coke.
“My son was in the army,” she said. “They sent him to Iraq. He’d been there a month when he was killed by a roadside bomb.”
And a bastard like me is still alive. Where’s the justice in this world?
“I’m sorry,” Jake said, thinking about the buddies he’d lost and the times he’d yearned to trade places with any one of them. It was the thought of those men that had kept him from putting a bullet through his own head in the dark times. They had died for a cause. How could he throw away his own life—the life that fate and luck had spared—for nothing?
“We’re all sorry,” Consuelo said. “We’ve got two girls, but he was our only boy. Losing him almost kil
led my husband, and me too. But what do you do? You accept it and move on.” She gave him a brave smile. “It’s nice to meet somebody who came back from that awful war in one piece.”
“A lot of good men didn’t.” Jake crumpled the empty soda can and tossed it in the recycle bin. “Thanks for the sandwich. If there’s anything you need while I’m here . . .”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.” She gave him a smile as he left the kitchen. A good woman. A wise woman. “You accept it and move on.” It sounded so easy, the way she’d said it. But Jake had tried. The horrors that he’d not only witnessed, but had taken part in, were burned into every nerve cell in his body, and were woven into the fabric of his soul. They had become the man he was—the man he would be for the rest of his life.
* * *
The Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum was on the west side of Tucson, a drive that took about an hour. Before their departure, Jake had stood by listening while Kira went over the rules with her students. They’d be set free to explore the two miles of trails and animal exhibits, but they were to practice the buddy system. No going off alone or going off the trails. And they were to check in at least every hour with their cell phones. If she didn’t hear, Kira would call them and, if need be, track them down. By four o’clock, everyone was to be back at the visitor center for refreshments and the ride home.
That was the Kira he remembered, perfectly organized and in charge. Did she ever loosen the tight grip she kept on herself and those around her?
Silly question, Jake thought. He wouldn’t call her a control freak, but Kira was one of the most focused people he’d ever known.
He’d assumed his duties would be limited to driving, but he was wrong. With the kids scattering like sailors on shore leave, he’d been about to find a seat in the shade of the visitor center when Kira gave him his orders.
“Come on, we need to keep an eye on them.”
“I thought you were turning them loose on their own,” he said.
She gave him a rare grin. “That’s what they think, too. But this is one more way to observe them from a distance—who’s getting along, who’s breaking rules, who’s not fitting in. It all goes into their therapy. It’s also a way to make sure they’re safe.”