Lone Star Refuge

by Mae Nunn

  “I can’t believe you think this is no big deal,” she repeated.

  Buster opened one eye and Stella glared into it.

  He closed it quickly, like pulling down a shade.

  “Pops! You should have consulted with me first before offering to let him live here. Instead you let him sweet-talk you. And I’d like to have seen his horse before you said he could board him in our stable. What if the horse is dangerous?”

  “Good grief, woman. We’ve been through this.” Buster raised his head slightly so as not to disturb Mitzi. “He didn’t sweet-talk me. It was practically my idea. And I thought you’d be happy to have some free labor. At least I didn’t sell him any land.”

  “I am happy about that.” Stella shrugged and put her glasses back on. She smoothed her cotton pajamas and tucked her feet up under her. Then she remembered something. “But isn’t there some scandal with the Temple family? I wouldn’t want that to affect my school.”

  Buster sighed heavily. “Anybody who still cares about that scandal is nobody I’d want on my ranch, school or no school.”

  Stella raised her eyebrows.

  Buster continued, “Pap Temple did steal oil, but the big oil companies were so greedy there was no real harm, in my opinion, in Pap taking a few million barrels. Those were different times.” He snorted. “In fact, I admire his gumption for doing it, and his guts in taking his punishment after he was caught instead of filling his wells with cement like some others did to avoid prosecution.”

  “I didn’t know all of that,” Stella said quietly.

  As though sensing the storm had passed, at least for the time being, Mugsy jumped back onto the couch and resumed his post at her side.

  *

  WHEN STELLA AWOKE the next morning, she was glad she had a busy day ahead. Maybe the work she had to do to get Star Stables Equestrian Therapy up and running would distract her from Joiner Temple’s invasion of her property. Until he brought his horse into her barn, that is—a high-dollar thoroughbred stallion. Having that kind of horse join her operation was not at all what she had in mind. His presence would probably be as obnoxious as his owner’s. No, what Stella wanted was a few other horses like Daisy, her mother’s old mare, who were gentle enough to be trusted with the special-needs children Stella planned to serve.

  But the agreement had been made, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it now but continue with her own plans. She picked out one of her nicest shirts, a lacy cowgirl-chic top with bell sleeves that was the color of gunmetal. Pairing it with her distressed skinny jeans, she tucked the jeans into a pair of tall, vintage, gray halter boots. The brushed silver amulet she wore, a custom piece by Andrea Edmondson, perfectly complemented the color of her shirt. Her hair was easy—shoulder-length and chic—and she didn’t need any makeup other than a little lip gloss. Her mahogany eyes were framed by dark lashes and brows even though her hair remained the color of a palomino.

  Stella waved at her father, who was out milking the goats, as she climbed into the farm truck. She planned to grab something for breakfast at Common Grounds. A potential donor from a local family well-known for its oil money was meeting her there for coffee. She really had high hopes that she could convince him to donate to her school. Star Stables was the one thing she wanted with all of her heart—everything important to her was tied to it. It was something she could do on her own land, at home with Buster. It was a way to give back to her beloved community. And it was a way to help people—to give them better lives, and especially, to teach them how to be safe.

  *

  STELLA ROSE FROM the bistro table where she was sitting with her mocha cappuccino when the man who had to be Clint Cavender walked into Common Grounds.

  “Mr. Cavender?”

  He turned his gaze to her.

  He was wearing Armani and some kind of lizard-skin boots. Nice.

  He held out his hand. “Stella Scout? Call me Clint.” Perfect teeth, dark hair, milk-chocolate-colored eyes. Stella felt as if she was talking to a movie star. She needed to get herself together.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  “Sure, but I think I’ll order first. Can I get you anything to go with your coffee?”

  Stella didn’t want him to buy her food. “I’ll just join you.”

  He set down his Louis Vuitton laptop bag on one of the oak-and-iron chairs at her table and they walked together to the counter, which was just a few feet away.

  “I’d like some steel-cut oats with fruit.”

  The guy at the counter rang her order into the cash register. “And for you, sir?”

  “These are separate orders.” Stella held out her debit card, but Clint Cavender shook his head.

  “I’ll have a ham, egg and cheese panini and a latte with two shots, please.”

  He paid for their order with a twenty-dollar bill, dumping all of the change into the tip jar. They waited while it was prepared.

  “You didn’t have to pay for my breakfast,” Stella said.

  “Oh, no problem.”

  Clint’s phone vibrated and he took it out of his pocket. “Sorry. I always have to check in case it is the school.”

  He carried their tray back to the table, and set her oats in front of her before removing his own order. “That looks good,” he commented, then set the tray on a nearby table.

  Stella straightened her shoulders. “Clint, thank you for meeting with me. I know you have a very busy schedule and I appreciate you taking the time to listen to my proposal.”

  “It’s a pleasure.” His eyes were warm. “Let’s hear about these plans of yours.”

  “Well, I am opening a facility for equestrian therapy on my family farm just outside Kilgore. We will offer hippotherapy as well as therapeutic riding for people with disabilities. My focus is geared more toward children, but I’d like to be able to offer services to all ages eventually.”

  Clint leaned forward, eyebrows knitted. “Wait a minute. You lost me. I thought we were talking exclusively about horses. What exactly is hippotherapy?”

  “Hippo is the Greek word for horse.” Stella laughed. “So hippotherapy is just a term that encompasses all kinds of therapy that uses the horse’s movement. I want to offer physical, occupational and speech therapy using horses.”

  “So I’m assuming you’ll employ professionals in these fields?”

  “Yes. I have a master’s degree in physical therapy myself, and I’ve already contracted an excellent occupational therapist assistant named Daune Holzman and a speech therapist named Jacob Hunnicutt. Of course, the amount of hours they are able to spend at the school will depend on how things work out with funding.”

  “It sounds very interesting.” Clint took a sip of his latte. “Are there any other programs similar to this in the state of Texas?”

  “Ours will be the second, and the first in East Texas. The other one is in Austin and partners with the University of Texas. I trained there and it is very cutting edge.” Stella stirred her oatmeal. “These techniques have been used in Europe for about fifty years, but they are just now starting to catch on in the United States.”

  “It sounds like you have the vision and the expertise to really help some people.”

  “I believe I do.”

  Clint leaned back and draped an arm over the ironwork back of the chair beside his. “Stella, one reason I agreed to meet with you is that I’ve heard your story. You may not realize it, but you’re something of a celebrity in this little town.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I know you’ve battled hardship and overcome a lot yourself. I was away at the height of your rodeo fame but I heard about how you brought the people of Kilgore together.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “To hear my parents talk, we might as well have changed our name to ‘The City of Star’ instead of ‘The City of Stars’.”

  Stella blushed. “I wouldn’t go that far. I didn’t really do anything. It was the people of the community who blessed my family and me ove
r and over with their support.” Her heart warmed at the memories of barbecue suppers, parades and the cards and letters that wallpapered her room at home. She also remembered the flowers that had poured in after her mother’s death. Lilies. “I guess that’s why I never want to move anywhere else. And in a way, this venture is a chance for me to give back to the people who have done so much for me.”

  Clint smiled, seeming to understand. Then he said, “The other reason I’m interested is my son, Cade. He has Asperger’s syndrome. The symptoms have gotten worse since his mother left. I’ve done everything—spared no expense—but we’ve not found any therapies that have helped with his particular case.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Stella looked into his eyes and saw deep pools of pain she had not noticed before. “I’d love it if we could help him,” she said softly.

  “Me, too. Tell me more…”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “DIOS MIA!” ALMA MADE the sign of the cross as she stepped across the threshold of the RV. “Joiner, mi cariño, are you really so poor that you must live here?”

  Joiner pulled the door shut behind them and plopped down on the red velvet couch, spreading out his arms and crossing a boot over his knee. “Home sweet home!”

  Alma rolled her eyes. As the Temple family’s housekeeper, she was the closest thing to a mother Joiner and his brothers had had since the plane accident that killed their parents when Joiner was in high school. She and her husband Felix had been their legal guardians until they came of age—and were still the glue that kept the family together.

  “I thought you said it was in good shape.” Alma ran a finger over the counter top and held it up for Joiner to see. The dust was thick on her soft, tawny fingertip.

  “It’s not that bad, is it? I mean, after you work your magic?”

  “Magic? It’s going to take more than magic to make this place livable. It’s going to take elbow grease!”

  “Well, I don’t want you working too hard, Alma. Let’s just get it livable. I probably won’t be here very long.” Joiner brought in her cleaning supplies from the truck while Alma opened all of the windows. Under her instruction, he vacuumed the red shag carpet that filled the living area and bedroom, and then scrubbed the toilet, shower and sink, as well as the linoleum in the tiny bath and kitchen.

  Alma dusted the RV from top to bottom, removing all of the curtains to take home and wash, and beating the couch cushions outside with a broom. She stripped the bed of its velvet horse-print spread, remaking it with a new mattress cover, Egyptian cotton sheets, and Woolrich plaid comforter set she’d gotten from Gillian. It was a tasteful blue, red and green pattern with leather-trimmed matching pillows. She also scrubbed the small stovetop and oven and cleaned out the cabinets. Buster’s shot glass collection went into a Rubbermaid tub along with various other things she collected from around the RV: an old wall calendar of famous bronc riders, several trophies, cassette tapes of country music, an enormous belt buckle.

  “Whew! Let’s take a break.” Joiner leaned on the mop and stretched his back.

  “Just a few more things first.” Alma wiped her hands on her apron. “Take this tub of junk out.” She handed it to him with a look of disgust. “Then, bring in those kitchen things we got at Target, and also get your bathroom stuff set up. You can put your clothes in the bedroom, too. I still have to wash all of the windows.”

  Joiner shook his head and grinned at her before obeying.

  By noon the RV was passable by Alma’s standards, which were far higher than Joiner’s. It still needed power-washing on the outside, she said. But the interior gleamed. She spread out a quilt over the picnic table that sat adjacent to the RV under a tree and opened her basket.

  “This table is convenient.” She handed him a tortilla filled with chorizo. “If you are camping.” Her brown eyes flickered with humor and something else.

  Joiner grabbed an orange Fanta out of the basket and sat down to eat across from her. These were the tastes of his childhood. This woman and the sun had warmed every season of his life for as long as he could remember. “Do you still have that bracelet?”

  Alma pulled up her sleeve. She wore the bracelet Joiner had made her for Mother’s Day long ago—a strap of brown leather with a hammered metal piece that read, Sky above me, Earth below me, Fire within me. It had weathered to the caramel color of her skin. “I never take it off.”

  Joiner squeezed her hand from across the table. “Thank you, Alma. For everything.”

  “You are welcome, mijo. De nada.”

  *

  AFTER HE DROVE Alma home, Joiner loaded up Pistol at Hunt’s barn. He was glad to be finished moving himself into the RV. This way he could make sure Pistol got all the time he needed this afternoon to become acclimated to his new surroundings—and hopefully Joiner could become a little more acclimated himself.

  He still wasn’t fully comfortable with the idea of working under Stella. From what he could tell, she seemed pretty rigid. He wasn’t used to walking around on eggshells and he didn’t intend to start now. But it was what it was. At least Buster seemed to like him.

  “Hey, buddy!” Buster swaggered out of the stable as Joiner was pulling up. Joiner jumped out of the truck and strode toward him. Buster shook his hand. “I thought we’d put your horse in here.”

  He led Joiner through the stable, pointing out an old mare with gentle eyes named Daisy who had belonged to his wife. Beside Daisy was Stella’s horse, a white quarter horse named Vega. Across from Vega was the roomiest, best stall at the end of the row. There was new hay spread across the floor, oats in the feed bin and fresh water for drinking. The older man cocked his head to one side to gauge his reaction.

  “Thanks, man,” Joiner said. “This is a great setup.”

  Buster walked with him back to the horse trailer to unload Pistol. When Joiner led the shining black stallion out into the lot, he heard Buster catch his breath.

  “That’s a good-looking horse.” Buster squinted into the sun. He pulled down his hat and then touched Pistol gently on his star. “Gosh darn, that’s a fine animal.”

  Pistol held his head high and flared his nostrils. Then he shook his mane, pawing the ground with his front hooves.

  “Do you mind if I take him for a ride around the place?” Joiner could feel the energy pulsing in Pistol’s neck, and it mirrored the nervousness in his own veins. They were both in need of an outlet, an adrenaline rush. It had been a few days, and Joiner was desperate for it.

  “Go for it.” Buster grinned. “Just don’t get lost.”

  While Joiner saddled Pistol, Buster walked over and held the gate that opened into the pasture. Joiner and Pistol cantered through, and then, finding their bearings, took off running hell-for-leather until they were out of sight.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AFTER HER SUCCESSFUL meeting with Clint Cavender, Stella went shopping for horses. She wanted to purchase at least three to add to the two she owned, and she had some pretty good leads through her rodeo contacts. Calling on five different owners, she made offers on two mares that fit the bill perfectly. They were still young enough to work, strong-backed, but both were gentle. Not much fire in their bellies. Stella liked that, considering fire would be a hazard in her riding school. It was three o’clock in the afternoon when she returned home. She sent a text to Buster telling him her plans to pick up the mares that evening and asked if he’d get the stable ready. But, as she hadn’t heard from him, she decided to check the stalls before she changed clothes.

  “What the heck?”

  The last stall across from Vega was open, and Joiner Temple stood inside it. He was brushing a horse that looked as though he belonged on the cover of Stud magazine, and the horse looked as if he knew it. He snorted at her as she approached.

  “Hi there.” The polo player grinned sheepishly. “How are you?”

  “Uh, fine, thanks. But, what are you doing, exactly?”

  His violet eyes flashed. “Brushing my horse. That okay wi
th you?”

  The thoroughbred seemed to glare at her but Stella held her ground. “Sure. I mean, I guess. Who told you to move your horse into this stall?”

  Joiner stepped back, still holding the brush in his hand. He looked at her, then gazed off into the distance toward the goat pen. Buster.

  Stella turned on the heel of her boot and stomped out of the stable. She found her father in the garden, tilling the ground. He shut off the tiller when he saw her.

  “Hey, Pretty!”

  It was usually hard for her to be mad at him for anything, but not this time.

  “What is that horse doing in the best stall? Right across from Vega?”

  He looked at her as if she’d grown horns. “Cooling off from a ride, I imagine.”

  “I’ll cool him off.” Stella put her hands on her hips. “What were you thinking? I wanted to use that stall for boarding.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, darlin’, we are boarding. An Argentine Thoroughbred worth lots of money.”

  “Why did you not consult me?”

  Buster spat tobacco on the ground. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just bein’ a good host, which is more than I can say for you. Vega ain’t gonna get cooties.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t have to, Prissy Britches. But if you don’t sit down and make some plans with your new ranch hand there may be lots more things you don’t like, because I intend to make him work to earn his keep.” Buster wiped the sweat from his forehead. “And if you don’t need anything done for the school, I could use some help in this garden.”

  Stella shook her head. “Did you not get my text?”

  “What text?” Buster fumbled in the pocket of his jeans, finally dragging out his phone. He squinted at the screen, then looked back up at her. “Oops.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It will give me great pleasure to tell the polo player to get the stalls ready while I go pick up the horses.”

  By the time Stella made her way back into the stable, Joiner was just closing the door to his horse’s stall. He turned and saw her standing at the other end, and for a moment they stared at one another, sizing each other up, as if they were about to duel.