3 A Basket of Trouble

by Beth Groundwater

  “Oh, dear,” Jessica said. “That’s Ana Mendoza’s car. I wonder why she’s here now. Petey’s session isn’t until three.” She walked toward the parking lot, with Claire and Brittany following.

  Ana trudged purposefully up the path under the stable sign, tugging Petey along with her. When the wind teased her graying black shoulder-length hair, she impatiently shoved the locks out of her face, revealing dark eyes flashing with anger.

  Not grief, Claire noted with surprise. Oh dear, this is not going to go well.

  “Ana, I am so, so sorry about what happened to Kyle. Charley and I are heart-broken about it.” Jessica opened her arms and moved forward to hug Ana.

  Stepping away, Ana pulled Petey to her side. “We are not here for your false sympathy,” she said stiffly. “We’re here to pick up a jacket Petey left here Sunday and to tell you he won’t be coming for therapy anymore.”

  Petey’s lips quivered in a sad, confused frown.

  Jessica’s arms flopped awkwardly at her sides. “But, but why? Why stop Petey’s therapy? And false? Our sympathy isn’t false. We loved Kyle! We’re as confused and saddened by his death as you are.”

  Ana pointed a wavering finger at Jessica. “It’s because of your and Charley’s negligence that Kyle is dead. You keep that dangerous horse here, and you exposed Kyle to him, without giving him proper training.”

  Claire narrowed her eyes. Those words sounded like legalese—and like they were rehearsed.

  Jessica glanced at Claire and Brittany then back at Ana. “Gunpowder never acted up before—”

  “See, even his name is dangerous!” Ana said. “You probably named him that because he was likely to blow up. That horse is a killer and you knew it.”

  “No!” Jessica’s face reddened. “All of our male horses have Western gun-related names, like Sharpshooter, Rifle, and Pistol. None of them are dangerous. That’s why we don’t keep stallions here.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you.” Ana let go of Petey’s hand and gave him a little push. “Go get your jacket.”

  Rubbing her head, Jessica said, “I saw it this morning behind the port-a-potties and put it in the office. Brittany, could you go with him and get it?”

  Looking immensely relieved at being able to retreat from the line of fire, Brittany held out a hand for Petey and smiled at him. After he took her hand, she led him to the trailer.

  Jessica reached out toward Ana, then hesitated and let her arm drop. “Please, let’s talk about this. This anger is coming out of your grief. Charley and I are grieving, too.”

  Ana crossed her arms. “Charley and you are responsible for Kyle’s death.”

  “How can you say that?” Jessica’s eyes teared up. “Charley and I would do anything for your family. I wanted to bring you dinner tonight.”

  Ana’s shoulders drooped as her resolve seemed to waver.

  Claire thought this might be a good time to step in. “It was an accident, Ana. Pure and simple. No one’s to blame, not Charley or Jessica or even Kyle—”

  She meant to add, “if he startled or hurt Gunpowder,” but before she could, Ana wheeled on her.

  “Kyle! Of course I’d expect you to take their side. You’re Charley’s sister. Kyle has no blame in this. None!” Ana stamped her foot.

  Claire flushed and retreated, taking a step back. Boy, she’d put her foot in her mouth this time.

  Jessica gave Claire a pursed-lip ‘How could you?’ glare then held out her hands to Ana. “No one is blaming Kyle. That’s what Claire was saying. We don’t know what happened. We may never know. Maybe we’ll learn something from the autopsy.”

  Ana swiped a tear from her cheek. “And that’s another thing. I don’t want them to cut up Kyle’s beautiful body, but I can’t stop it.” She choked up, put a fist to her mouth and bit on her knuckles.

  “Oh, Ana.” Jessica touched Ana’s arm, but the woman turned away.

  After a moment, she yelled, “Petey! We have to go!”

  Petey had stepped out of the office trailer, chatting animatedly with Brittany, but he stopped when he heard his mother’s voice. He looked at her then at Daisy, standing in the corral with her head raised and ears perked toward him.

  “I want to say hi to Daisy,” he said tentatively.

  Ana let out a big sigh and started walking toward him. “You can say goodbye to Daisy. I told you. We won’t be coming here anymore.”

  With a wail, Petey started crying. “No, no, I like Daisy. I want her.”

  He took off running for the corral, his arms opening wide. Brittany picked up the jacket he had dropped and followed.

  Jessica trotted after Ana. “Why can’t Petey continue his therapy, Ana? Look how this is upsetting him.”

  Ana wheeled on her. “Because we’ve talked to a lawyer, Jessica. He recommends we sue you for negligence and wrongful death. And he’s contacting the city to get them to cancel your contract. My son is dead and somebody has to pay!”

  As if Ana had physically punched her, Jessica staggered back, putting out an arm.

  Claire caught it and held onto her sister-in-law. “Oh, God.”

  “The lawyer says we should have no further contact with you,” Ana continued. “So I’m signing Petey up for another horse therapy program.”

  Petey stood sobbing at the corral, his shoulders shaking and his arms wrapped around patient Daisy’s neck.

  Brittany patted his shoulder, and murmured, “I’m sorry, Petey. So sorry.” When Ana approached Petey and put her arm around him, Brittany gave her his jacket and withdrew.

  “Come on, Petey,” Ana said softly to her son. “We talked about this. We have to go. I’m going to take you to meet another horse who’s just as nice as Daisy.”

  “Noooo,” Petey moaned.

  Ana gently tugged on his shoulder. “Say goodbye now. That’s a good boy.”

  Petey sniffled and slowly released his hold on the horse. He rubbed a hand on her forehead. “Bye, Daisy, bye bye.”

  Ana turned him and led him toward the parking lot. Petey’s steps were slow and dragging, but her hold on him was firm.

  “Bye, Petey,” Jessica said in a choked voice. “We’ll miss you.”

  He turned and waved, then his mother pulled him again.

  Jessica clutched Claire’s arm. “Petey’s the innocent in all of this, and he’s being hurt the most.”

  Claire wasn’t so sure she agreed with that, as she saw Charley and Hank approach on horseback from the pasture. If the Mendozas’ lawyer managed to get the city to cancel Charley’s contract to run trail rides through their land and the Mendozas went through with their lawsuit, his business would be ruined.

  And so would Charley.

  four:

  trail ride

  “This is going to be a blast.” Ellen rubbed her hands together.

  Claire nodded. “I’m looking forward to it. It’s been ages since I’ve been on a trail ride, and, God knows, I need some fun in my life right now.”

  She and Ellen stood inside the corral at Gardner’s Stables Wednesday morning, at one end of a row of ten riders waiting for their horses. Roger and Dave were chatting at the other end. They had rescheduled their trail ride for this morning. The day had dawned bright and clear, perfect for photos of the Garden of the Gods, with its pink and rust-colored sandstone formations slicing up through a piercingly blue sky.

  Ellen ran a hand down her backside. “I just hope my butt’s not too sore after it.”

  “That’s what ibuprofen’s for!” Smiling, Claire waved dust from her face, stirred up by the horses’ hooves as the wranglers moved them into place. “I’m glad you and Dave could do it so soon. I think Charley’s going to need as much income as we can scrape up for him.”

  A frown replaced Ellen’s grin of anticipation. “Why? Is that young man’s death affecting his busi
ness?”

  “Yes, and there’s more.” Claire told her about Ana Mendoza’s threatened lawsuit.

  Ellen tsked. “Maybe Charley should talk to Dave.”

  “I’ll suggest it.” Claire knew that as a corporate lawyer, Dave had represented a lot of companies against all kinds of client lawsuits. But she worried about the expense, another drain on Charley’s finances.

  Hank came up to them and tipped his hat. “Ladies, ready to mount your rides?” His dandified Western snap shirt had scrolled embroidery on the collar, cuffs, and shoulders, and his oval belt buckle was huge enough to have been won in a rodeo competition.

  A natural flirt, Ellen batted her eyes and put a hand on her hip. “So, who’s this handsome cowpoke?” she asked Claire.

  Hank winked, swept off his black felt cowboy hat and bowed, then doffed it again with a pat on the top. “Hank Isley, ma’am. At your service.”

  Ellen flopped her hand, letting it casually land on his shoulder. “Don’t you ma’am me! There’s lots of miles left in this body.” She ran her hand down his bicep and gave it a gentle squeeze. “My, what muscles. I can see we’ll be in capable hands.”

  With a sly smile, Hank smoothed his mustache. “Yes’m, my hands have handled their share of horse flesh. Especially the fillies, if you get my drift.”

  Claire thought the flirting had gone a little too far. “Our horses?”

  Hank reluctantly took his gaze off Ellen. “Oh, yes. Right this way.”

  He led them into the corral. “Mrs. Hanover, since you have some riding experience, your horse is this gelding here, goes by the name of Pistol.” He patted the horse’s flank.

  Claire rubbed the white blaze on Pistol’s forehead and admired his dark brown mane and tail, white legs and red coat sprinkled with white. “What a lovely red roan coat he has. Pistol’s a handsome guy.”

  “That he is. Just like me.” Hank flashed a grin. “And he’s just as frisky. He likes to break into a trot sometimes, so keep a tight rein on him. Can I give you an assist up?”

  “I can manage.” Claire grabbed the saddle horn and back of the saddle. She put one foot in the stirrup and stepped up, throwing her other leg over the saddle. She felt Hank’s hand resting on her rump, but he removed it quickly after she glanced back at him.

  Maybe he’s just safety-conscious, she thought, making sure I didn’t fall backward. But then again, maybe not.

  Once she was seated, Hank turned to Ellen. “And Mrs. Redding, you’ll be riding Blossom, this buckskin filly next to Pistol.”

  He escorted her around to Blossom’s head so she could get acquainted with the tan horse with black legs, mane, and tail. He didn’t ask Ellen if he could assist her. He just placed his hands on either side of her waist and boosted her up. Claire noted he took his sweet time removing his hands after Ellen was seated.

  Ellen blushed. “Thank-you, Hank, and please call us Claire and Ellen. Mrs. Redding is my crotchety old mother-in-law, bless her heart.”

  Hank laughed, then stepped back and tipped his hat to both of them. “Okay, Claire and Ellen, let me give you a few tips.” He went through how to hold the reins, the standard commands, and how to prevent the horses from trying to graze along the trail.

  “Now you just holler if you need me,” he finished with a lascivious wink. He moved on to some other customers, a young couple, who from the moon-eyed gazes they were giving each other, looked to be honeymooners.

  Ellen leaned over toward Claire. “I bet Hank gets good tips from the ladies.”

  Claire smiled with Ellen, though she had found Hank’s attentions to be a bit too much.

  Roger waved at them from five horses down the line. “Hi, ho, ladies. How are your mounts?”

  “Just peachy,” Ellen shot back.

  “And no flirting with the wranglers,” Dave said.

  “Too late,” Claire replied, “Ellen’s already been at it.”

  All four of them laughed, but Dave’s seemed forced and he gave Ellen a thoughtful look.

  Uh oh. Claire realized Ellen and Dave’s relationship wasn’t on firm ground yet.

  After the ten riders were all seated on their mounts, Hank got on his. He addressed the group, introducing Brittany as the group’s rear rider and explaining their two-hour circuit. They would ride down Foothills Trail to the Dakota Trail in the Garden of the Gods, go through the north end of the park, and return to the stables.

  While he led the group out of the corral and under the stable sign, Jessica came out of the trailer to wave to them all. “Have a great ride!”

  Her plastered-on smile couldn’t hide the worry lines on her forehead and dark shadows under her eyes. Claire wondered if Jessica had gotten any sleep the night before, or if she and Charley had been up late discussing their troubles. Hopefully today, at least, nothing would go wrong.

  The first hour of the ride went smoothly enough, with a taciturn Gil following them in the ATV and scooping up manure droppings until the horses left the pavement. Then he sped off erratically back toward the stable. Once in the Garden of the Gods, Hank tossed out some tidbits about the history of the park. The family of Charles Elliott Perkins gifted the park to the city of Colorado Springs in 1907, upon the urging of General William Jackson Palmer. The founder of the city and builder of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, Palmer had the wherewithal to donate more than 1,000 acres of his own land to become city parks.

  Hank stopped the group on Palmer Trail at the Giant Footprints formation, with its huge oval pink sandstone slabs piled onto a tilted slope. He explained he would take photos of riders on their horses in front of the formation while Brittany maneuvered and held horses. While snapping photos, he kept up a running commentary about how beautiful and handsome everyone looked against the gorgeous scenery and how envious their friends back home would be.

  Claire thought he was laying it on a little thick and rolled her eyes at Roger, who nodded and grinned. While they waited their turn at the back of the group, another large group of riders came up the trail from the south.

  With a “Whoa,” the lead wrangler halted the column and waited, leaning forward with his hands crossed over his saddle horn. He looked to be in his twenties, with short, light brown hair and a square jaw. He wore faded Wrangler jeans and a work shirt in a yellow, red, and black checked pattern.

  A handsome man himself, Claire surmised he must be the charmer for his stables, Peak View Stables. They ran their trail rides from the south end of the Garden of the Gods. This group must have been on a multi-hour ride since they were so far north into the park.

  Hank gave him a nervous glance. “We’ll be out of your way in a minute, Vince.”

  He tried to hurry up the young couple he was working with, but they insisted on taking multiple poses for their honeymoon album.

  As the minutes ticked by, some of the riders in Vince’s column started muttering. Annoyed frowns marred their faces.

  “C’mon, Hank,” Vince drawled. “You’re hogging the trail. We’ve gotta take our pictures, too.”

  At the sound of his voice, Brittany, who had been engrossed with running around and managing horses, turned toward him. She gave an excited little hop and wave, as if she had been waiting for the opening to speak to him. “Hi, Vince,” she said in a honey-toned voice. “Nice to see you again.”

  Vince straightened and grinned. “Well howdy, Brittany.” He kicked his horse forward until he was next to her. “Didn’t expect to see you out on the trail today. No therapy sessions?”

  She smiled up at him. “I have some this afternoon, but we’re short-handed after Kyle, you know …” She gave a sigh. “So, I’m helping out this morning.”

  Vince’s smile disappeared. “Yeah, sorry to hear about his death. Not a good way for any man to go. Can’t say as I’m sorry my competition is gone, though.” His grin returned and he tipped his hat at Brittany.


  Brittany looked up at him through her lashes and swiveled her hips, but before she could reply, Hank called, “Brittany, help me move these folks away so I can take a quick shot of the Johnsons.”

  Brittany went to work helping him maneuver horses until the older couple in their group was positioned in front of the formations.

  Looking harried, Hank glanced at Vince. “Not too much longer.”

  Vince stood in his saddle to look back over his shoulder at his column. The horses were blowing and shuffling their feet now, too, as annoyed with standing still as his customers.

  He faced Hank. “This has got to be your last photo. We’re all tired of waiting. And we should have priority. My group’s bigger than yours and we were here first.”

  The young male honeymooner looked confused. “But we were here first.”

  “I meant our stable was here first,” Vince said, his face darkening. “Gardner’s Stables just started running trail rides in the park this season. They should show a little more consideration to their betters.”

  Claire saw that this confrontation could easily escalate, and she didn’t want Charley’s stable to get into any more trouble. “The four of us don’t need our photos taken,” she said to Hank. “We’re locals and already have lots of photos of the Garden of the Gods.”

  Disappointment showed on Ellen’s face. “But, not on horseback—”

  “That’s okay.” Claire flashed her a ‘give it up’ look. “Let’s just get out of these folks’ way.”

  “Now you’re talking.” Vince gave her an approving nod.

  Looking relieved, Hank handed the older couple their camera and quickly mounted his horse. Brittany did the same and moved to the south end of their group, while Hank moved to the north.

  With a forward sweep of hand, he said, “All right, we’re heading back. Turn your horses and follow me.”

  “Finally,” the man on horseback behind Vince said.

  Vince turned back to him. “Don’t worry, Mr. Englewood. We won’t see them again today. And when you come back next season, I’m sure this fly-by-night outfit won’t be in business anymore. You stick with us, the established trail riding outfit in these parts, and we’ll take real good care of you.”