The Cinderella List

by Judy Baer

  “Well, you’ve certainly convinced me!” Marlo said, as the miles and minutes flew by on their way to the ranch. “How did you first get involved?”

  “I had a friend in school with cerebral palsy. A lot of kids didn’t want anything to do with him because of his disability, but Buddy was a great guy, smart and funny. We talked a lot about his frustrations and his wish to be like other kids. He was particularly fascinated with my family’s business and with horses. I don’t know how many times he told me he wished he could ride a horse. One day I said I’d help him do it.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Teenage boys aren’t always known for thinking through the possible consequences of their actions.” He amazed himself sometimes, that he and the others had even dared to try. Fortunately, he’d developed a little more common sense over the year. “I’m not sure either of us thought about it much at all, we just did it.

  “I roped in a couple of guys who worked with the horses to help us. We put a saddle on a gentle horse and hoisted Buddy onto its back. The three of us kept him balanced in the saddle and walked around the arena—out of the sight of my father, of course.”

  “Then what happened?” Her blue eyes were very wide, like Cammi’s got when he was telling her a tall tale. “Did anyone get hurt?”

  “No, fortunately. We just got him down again and I took him home. Our parents were never the wiser.” Jake shook his head ruefully, still amazed that nothing serious had happened as a result. “We could have easily dumped Buddy on his head, but I doubt he would have minded.”

  “You were pretty brave—or foolhardy.” An impish smile tilted her lips. “How do you know he wouldn’t have cared?”

  “Buddy said it was the best day of his life. On the back of that horse, high off the ground, he said he felt like he was flying. He said the freedom and exhilaration he’d experienced was worth a dozen lumps on the head. We sneaked him out to the stables a couple more times before we graduated. He loved it more each time he did it. Because we were going to different colleges, Buddy and I drifted apart. I hadn’t seen or heard from him until he called me last year.”

  Marlo looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on.

  “He’d found a center not far from his home that does equine-assisted stuff. He’d tried it again—with professionals this time—and loved it as much as ever. Buddy called me immediately and told me that if he’d had these experiences as a young child he believed it would have changed his life. The younger the child, the better the chance of significant improvement, he says.

  “He insisted that I shouldn’t waste the space and horses on the ranch but rather set up a program for children like he was. Kids who need to build strength, balance, increased range of motion and a burst of self-esteem.”

  She chewed on that for a moment, he noticed, before speaking again. “Not everyone rides a horse,” she mused. “I can just imagine what a giddy high that would be for a child who’d been limited to a wheelchair.”

  He liked the way she thought. The program wasn’t just about physical benefits, but about emotional ones, as well. Not everyone understood that. “Buddy is now on the board of that hippotherapy facility in New York. He’s been helping—and hounding—me to get this done. I’m too committed to quit now. In the end, Dad will respect my decision, but not before he thinks of every possible thing that can go wrong with the plan.”

  “It must be fun to be him,” Marlo murmured, under her breath.

  Jake heard her and smiled. “I wouldn’t walk a mile in his boots, if that’s what you mean. Dad had a serious financial setback when I was just a kid. He almost lost the stables and hasn’t been the same man since. My mother said he almost had a breakdown but he came back like gangbusters. He calls me too laid-back and easygoing. I call it rolling with the punches.”

  They drove in silence while Jake maneuvered through the heavy traffic. He could feel Marlo’s eyes on him, covertly studying his profile, but he said nothing. She was scoping him out and he didn’t blame her. He liked a cautious woman.

  Jake felt every fiber in his body begin to relax as they turned off the interstate and wound their way through the western suburbs. This was the place he loved, where the land was dotted with barns and decorated with white chains of fence looping like necklaces across the rolling countryside.

  He took a turn into a long, tree-canopied drive with white fencing undulating along both sides of the road and a tunnel of maple and linden branches, which shaded the drive that led to his childhood home. In front of her she could see a large red barn set like a ruby centerpiece in the emerald grass. As they neared, a gangly colt and its mother, inside an enclosure by the barn, came into view.

  “It looks like June!” Marlo blurted. She sat bolt upright and stared straight ahead.

  Jake glanced at her, confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Lucy gave me a calendar for Christmas. It is full of beautiful, placid scenes of animal mothers and their babies, a deer and fawn poking their noses out of a stand of trees, a dog nursing her puppies and a beautiful mare and foal….”

  “And a mare and foal is the calendar photo for the month of June?”

  “Exactly.”

  His lips tipped upward at the corners. “Following your train of thought is definitely a challenge.”

  “I suppose it’s because my train keeps jumping the track.”

  He laughed out loud. “I enjoy you, Marlo. I’ve never met someone whose mind works quite like yours.”

  She sighed and sank back into her seat. “People tell me that all the time. My father says that God installed my logic backward. I say God doesn’t make mistakes, so I must be okay.”

  “Very okay,” he murmured, beneath his breath.

  Jake slowed as he pulled up to the barn. Two men were standing in the open door, talking. “My father is still here, I see. He’s going golfing with his friend Alfred, but obviously they haven’t left yet. You met Alfred at the party. Dad and Alfred have been golfing together for forty years. We’ll see how your logic works with my father. He thinks my sense is flawed. I’m interested to see what he thinks about yours.”

  “Jake, where is your mother?”

  “Mom? She and her sister are in Europe. They go every year. My family is in constant motion. Then she and Dad will spend time together in Mexico. I’m the only one who likes it well enough to stay here through the winter.” He regretted that sometimes. He was a family man at heart. He’d decided that long ago, but he lived in a world that didn’t allow him time to cultivate that part of himself.

  Jake watched Marlo step out of the car and onto grass mowed so perfectly that it reminded him of a well-groomed golf course. The pastures looked good, he noticed with approval, and the fences had been newly painted in a white so bright it could almost hurt a person’s eyes.

  Jake took her arm and steered her toward an outbuilding between two red, steel-fenced, round pens. “Currently, this shed is being used to store supplies, but we have plenty of room elsewhere to do that. This building will be the lounge and office for the hippotherapy program, a comfortable place for children and their families to wait their turns at the horses. It’s near the round pens, so that if the rider’s siblings want to watch television or play games, they will still be close to their parents. I plan to keep it simple. It’s about the kids and the horses, nothing else. Well, what do you think?”

  Keep it simple? Marlo took in the barns and storage buildings, the casually elegant landscaping, the row of black Range Rovers with Hammond Stables emblazoned on the sides in gold paint, the working Bobcats for cleaning barns, and fleet of black-and-gold horse trailers. If this was simple, she’d be curious to see what complex looked like.

  Off to one side of the yard stood the family home, a stone and wood structure that spread out gracefully across a rise in the land, as if to survey the kingdom that was Hammond Stables. Mullioned windows, elaborately carved doors, chimneys hinting at multiple fireplaces and two large Irish s
etters lounging on the stone front steps made it look like a painting rather than an actual home.

  “My father’s house,” Jake commented. “My grandparents also live there in a separate wing, but they are gone most of the year. The Hammond dynasty’s headquarters.” He said it so mockingly that Marlo turned to stare at him.

  Seeing her wide eyes, he smiled a little. “Don’t pay attention to me. I don’t enjoy butting heads with the family to start the riding program. It seems to me that, with as much as our family has gained, they’d be a little more willing to give back.”

  Marlo didn’t speak. The Hammond family dynamic was powerful, and she didn’t understand the undercurrents. Neither did she want to be dragged out to sea without knowing what hit her. While she already felt as if she’d known Jake for years, he was almost a stranger to her—a charming, handsome, generous stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

  The two men who’d been talking by the barn moved toward them. There was no mistaking Jake’s father—the lean, athletic build, broad shoulders, striking, pale-blue eyes, skin tanned and weathered from years in the sun and sharp, angular features. Randall Hammond wasn’t the warm, fuzzy type. Maybe all those genes had been passed on to Jake through his mother.

  He stared appraisingly at Marlo as he neared. To be given the once-over by Randall Hammond made her shiver, even on a warm day like this one. Then Randall smiled and the notion was shattered. Maybe Jake’s innate charm was an inherited factor, she thought.

  “Who have we here?” Randall asked pleasantly.

  “You remember Marlo Mayfield, Dad. She’s the owner of Dining with Divas, the catering group that did our last party.”

  “Oh, yes.” Obviously, Randall had filed their meeting under “Insignificant and Unimportant,” because he’d promptly forgotten who she was. “Be sure to leave more business cards on the counter in the office. Clients have been asking about the food.”

  “She’s not here on business,” Jake said, sounding annoyed. “I invited her out to show her the stables.” He touched her shoulder protectively.

  The other man, who’d been silent, chuckled. “You should know your father well enough by now, Jake. He’s always doing business, even in his sleep.”

  “Marlo, this is my grandfather, Samuel. He and my grandmother are off tomorrow to the West Coast, where they have a second home.”

  The old man grabbed her hands in his and gave them a welcoming squeeze. She liked Samuel Hammond immediately. Here was Jake’s real genetic benefactor. Even at his age, which had to be at least eighty, he stood tall and erect, almost with military bearing. Not a silver hair out of place, not a speck of dust on his pressed denims or cowboy boots, he looked like the peer of the realm, this vast stately horse operation.

  “Are you interested in horses?” he asked genially.

  “As a child I adored them, but anything I know I learned from reading a book. That isn’t saying much, considering I was mildly dyslexic and reading wasn’t easy for me. I’m thrilled to be here, though.”

  Samuel looked pleased to hear of her interest, but Randall frowned as if admitting to being dyslexic were a significant flaw, like bragging about a knock-kneed colt.

  Smoothly Jake changed the subject. “I thought you were going to play golf today.”

  “I am.” Randall sounded thoroughly disgusted. “If Alfred ever shows up. Apparently, his daughters, Jackie and Sabrina, thought they should have pedicures or some such nonsense. He agreed to watch his granddaughter Cammi until eleven. Every woman in that family has him wrapped around their finger, even the eight-year-old. You should talk to Sabrina about this, Jake. Alfred’s run over by the women around him.”

  Jake smiled, but it was apparent that he had no interest in taking on all the Dorchester women at once, either. Smart man.

  Since blonde, possessive Sabrina was the daughter of Randall Hammond’s best friend, it was no wonder that she had an exclusive on Jake. Given her slightly younger age, she’d probably grown up idolizing the older, handsome boy that Jake no doubt had been. Sabrina had likely staked her claim on him years ago.

  To Marlo’s amazement, she felt disappointed by the knowledge. What gave her the right to be unhappy to know this man was already taken? Jealousy was hardly her style. It wasn’t as if they actually knew each other. After Angela’s announcement, she’d had become painfully aware of her marital status—or lack thereof.

  Get a grip! Marlo squared her shoulders. She’d come here to see horses and learn about a program to help children, not to lasso a man.

  Thankfully, at that moment a groom led a young horse out of the barn and toward a nearby round pen. The animal’s flanks rippled with muscle and glinted like bronze in the sunlight, and the creature turned to look at the small group with soft, liquid-brown eyes that took Marlo’s breath away.

  “He’s beautiful. I think I’m in love!”

  “That’s Shaker, as in Keeps Them Shaking in Their Boots. Good breeding, nice form. He’s quite a boy.” Randall was suddenly the profoundly proud papa of this handsome four-legged prize. “I have great hopes for this one. His bloodlines are impeccable.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up too much, Dad. You once had high hopes for me, too.” Jake beckoned the groom over, and when they neared, he offered his hand, palm down, to the horse to sniff.

  His grandfather Samuel chuckled, but Randall gave a snort that startled the horse.

  “It’s only lately that I’ve been questioning you,” Randall said bluntly. “Since you got this cockamamie notion to haul little kids here and let them ride our horses. What if one of the horses were to get hurt…or even one of the kids? Our animals aren’t big dogs for kids to play on.”

  Marlo caught the clear indication that Randall’s concern was for the horses first and the children second. It wasn’t lost on Jake either.

  “We’ll only use older riding horses, not show animals. Just a couple of the bomb-proof ones to start.”

  “‘Bomb-proof?” Marlo queried. “What is that?”

  “Experienced horses that have had a lot of riding time, like retired police or show horses. ‘Bomb-proof’ means they can tolerate firecrackers and police sirens in a parade, walk over a sheet of tin or see a small animal jump out of the grass in front of them and not shy. I consider them reliable and dependable. Nothing flighty or restless.”

  “There are horses like that?”

  “The fact remains that they are still animals, so there are no hundred-percent guarantees, but in the atmosphere of an enclosed riding arena, the likelihood of one of them spooking is little to none.”

  “Maybe even I could ride a horse like that. For my first time on a horse, I’ll probably need a bomb-proof—or perhaps comatose—animal.”

  “Of course you can ride. Most of the riders will be very young and have disabilities. You’ll be fine. If not, I’ll help you.”

  Marlo would have pondered that pleasant idea for a moment longer, but Randall made a sound in his throat like that of an angry bull. “Do you have an idea what kind of liability insurance we’ll have to carry for a half-baked idea like this?”

  “It’s already in the works.” Jake’s voice was utterly calm.

  Randall’s complexion grew ruddy beneath his tan, and Marlo saw how upset he was.

  “What happens on the back of a horse that can’t happen in a physical therapy program?” Obviously, Randall didn’t entertain the notion that this might be a success. “You got this do-goody stuff from your mother,” Randall said, in a tone that bordered on disgust. He turned on his heel and stalked off toward the sprawling house. Samuel said nothing, but followed him, shaking his head.

  When he was gone, Jake turned to Marlo and grinned. “Now you see where I got all my innate charm.”

  “I do see where you got your good looks. I suspect your charm is a direct inheritance from your grandfather.” Even as she said it, Marlo realized that she’d been far too blunt. “I didn’t mean that your father doesn’t have charm, exactly…he just didn�
��t have it on display today…I mean…. I’ve put my foot in it now, haven’t I?”

  “And a rather pretty foot it is. Don’t feel badly. Deep down inside, my father has a genuine streak of compassion and generosity. I’m counting on it. This project is too important to stop now. Like I said, the Hammonds are blessed with wealth and good fortune. It’s time to give some of it back. I’m meant to do this. I believe God’s hand is on it. Once Dad sees how well the program does and the goodwill it generates, he’ll begin to realize that instead of hurting Hammond Farms, it will give it a new dimension. Perhaps it will be one that may even enhance our reputation.”

  “So if it buys goodwill and good advertising, he’ll like it?”

  “It’s not exactly the way I’d like him to embrace it, but if that’s what it takes, okay. He’ll come around eventually. My dad would lay down his life for friends and family,” Jake said softly, as if compelled to explain his father to her. “Especially for Alfred. They’ve always had each other’s backs. They’d do anything for each other. It was Alfred who helped him back to solvency many years ago. Dad would—and did—promise him anything, including his first born, if necessary.”

  “How about you? It doesn’t appear he’ll do just ‘anything’ for you.”

  Jake grinned. “Oh, my dad would die for me, if necessary. It’s just that he’s not all that willing to agree with me.”

  Chapter Eight

  Chandeliers in a barn?

  Marlo trailed Jake inside a vast cavern that smelled like fresh hay and leather polish. Above her was a series of crystal chandeliers. Soft music played in each of the roomy wood and metal temperature-controlled horse stalls. The floors were covered with interlocking stall mats. Air-conditioning…elegant accoutrements…Mozart and Bach…these horses lived a lifestyle more stylish than she did!

  “What’s wrong with this picture?” she blurted.

  The corners of Jake’s eyes crinkled in amusement. He, of lean frame and tanned good looks, appeared right at home in this unexpected opulence. “The animals like the temperature and the padding under their feet, but the chandeliers are for the clients. We could have the same fine horses in a ramshackle barn, but potential buyers would turn up their noses. Think of it as marketing.”