by Mae Nunn
Buster stepped up to the line. He reared his head back, pulling downward on his beard, and spit that Black Diamond seed as hard as he could.
“That’s pretty good,” Harper declared. He marked the spot with a piece of tape and then handed a slice of watermelon to Joiner. “You think you can beat that, Joiner?”
“I do, but I’m going to let the lady go first.” Joiner handed his slice to Stella.
She took a piece with a seed and handed it back to him. “Oh no you’re not,” she told him. “You’re going next so I see what I have to beat.”
“It’s not going to matter.” Joiner made a big production of rolling the seed around in his mouth. Then he bent his legs, and sprang up like a Slinky, jumping and spitting with all of his might. His seed landed a little bit past Buster’s.
“Okay, Miss Stella, it’s your turn.” Harper backed up to show his support.
Stella looked at Joiner’s seed, then she found a mark in the grass just beyond it and concentrated on that mark. With no fanfare, she took in a breath and spit her seed.
Harper dropped down on the ground to measure. “It’s gonna be a close one!” he taunted.
Joiner was squinting to see, but Stella wasn’t worried. Her seed had hit the mark.
“Stella Scout wins!” Harper yelled, his movie-star teeth shining in a smile as big as Texas. Then he gave her a blue ribbon, which she proudly displayed on her shirt.
The three of them walked around together to all of the other booths. It was set up like a county fair, and it seemed all of Kilgore had showed up for it. When they had the opportunity, they talked to people about the riding school and all of the services they offered there. It seemed people had been hearing good things, and many were interested in learning more.
This was why Stella would never dream of leaving Kilgore. This town and its people had always been there for her, and she would always be there for them. She couldn’t understand why Joiner seemed determined to reject this kind of support and love.
When it was time for dinner, Clint gave a short speech about Star Stables and the way it was changing people’s lives, including his and his son’s. He recognized Stella and asked her to stand and share some of her vision. This was the one thing she had expected about the night, so when one of the servers brought her a mic, she was prepared.
“Hi. And thank you, Clint, and the community represented here tonight for your support and generosity.” Stella willed her voice not to shake. “As many of you know, Kilgore is my home. The people here have celebrated my successes, such as when I won the National Barrel Racing Championship.”
There was a burst of applause, mixed with a few goose calls.
Stella smiled and thanked them. Then she continued, “Even more importantly, however, you surrounded me with love and encouragement when my mother passed away.” A lump she did not expect rose in her throat, and she fought it back down, pausing a few long moments. “This town is like my family. And that is why I chose to go to college here, earn my degree in physical therapy and establish Star Stables. It was my way of giving back to this community, and helping the people here who are in need. Please be reassured that if you or someone you love could benefit from any service we provide, you will not be turned away. Come and see us.” She smiled and took her seat as everyone clapped again.
Next Clint invited Allie’s and Eddie’s parents to the stage so that they could each give a testimonial. The things they said about what hippotherapy, and specifically Stella and her staff, had done for their children, warmed her heart. Joiner reached out and held her hand. As the band played, Clint urged people to head on over to the Star Stables station and register to win a scholarship, or of course, make a donation.
Night fell. It seemed not to come slowly, but rather, that the darkness dropped over the gathering like a cloak and suddenly it was time for fireworks. Clint had everyone move to a spot on his extensive grounds that had been prepared with quilts to sit on, and chairs for those who couldn’t easily get up and down from the ground. Stella and Joiner lounged on a quilt with Harper, Grace and Madeline. Families gathered their kids onto quilts, and older people chatted in the chairs. Buster stood not far away on bowed legs talking with longtime friends. It was a moment of joy. Fireflies lent a magical quality to the air.
The fireworks began with a loud boom and then showers of colored sparks. Like nothing Stella had ever seen before, except maybe at Walt Disney World, they kept coming and coming and coming. They were not very noisy, which she thought was a nice touch, but they were over-the-top. Every round had a star—giant star designs that painted themselves across the sky, starbursts in all colors of flames, scatterings of stars that seemed flung across the sky by an unseen hand. The grand finale was a hundred rounds—which equaled a hundred stars—sent up into the sky as a salute. It was spectacular.
“You really outdid yourself, man.” Joiner shook Clint’s hand as they were leaving. “This was an awesome event.”
Stella gave him a big hug. “I am overwhelmed, Clint. Thank you so much. Everybody needs a champion like you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EVERYBODY NEEDS A champion like you. The words roared in Joiner’s ears as he slid onto the back of the horse, a twelve-hundred pound gelding Hickey had just added to his rough stock collection. Buster had been wary of letting him try it out, but after several weeks of lessons, Joiner felt he was ready. Heck, who was he kidding? He was born ready.
Why couldn’t Stella understand how important it was for him to ride? To push himself to the limit? She’d been distant all day because of his plans tonight.
Maybe she’d prefer someone safer, like Clint. She’d practically said as much. He was her champion.
The gelding pulsed underneath him like a volcano about to erupt. Bring it on, thought Joiner. Anything to get those words out of his head, even for a little while.
The horse flew out of the chute like a shot from one of Samuel Colt’s revolvers. Joiner’s spurs hit pay dirt just as the horse landed from his first assault, and sent him into orbit again. The gelding twisted and kicked. He bucked and jumped as if he’d been stung by a bee. Joiner held on for dear life, determined to beat him, but the horse had another trick.
He lunged to the right, and before Joiner could correct his balance, the gelding rammed him into the metal fence. Joiner heard a loud pop, saw stars and then everything went black.
*
HE WAS LATER told that the gelding had tried to stomp him, but Buster had jumped over the fence and chased it away, only to be kicked himself. When he came to a few minutes later, Buster was beside him on the ground.
Joiner reached out to him. The movement sent spasms of pain through his head, and he felt as if he might vomit. “Buster?”
“I’m okay.” The older man turned on his side, and Joiner could see his leg through his torn pants. An angry bruise glared at Joiner from Buster’s left thigh. His lip was also busted, and there was a cut on his forehead.
“You don’t look okay.”
“You don’t look so great yourself.” Buster grimaced, trying to rise to his feet. “’Course you always were ugly.”
Somehow they drove themselves home. If Joiner had his wits about him, he might have been concerned that Buster was driving his truck with a bruised tailbone, having to sit sideways in the driver’s position. But of course he did not have his wits about him. He was lying across the backseat trying to hold his head on, simultaneously willing himself not to throw up. He managed to make it till Buster opened the door of the truck to help him out.
“Lord have mercy,” Buster cried, jumping back. He held a hand over his mouth as if he might vomit himself, then recovered. He waited patiently. “Can you make it to the porch?”
Joiner nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay now.”
Buster held out his hand. As Joiner attempted to stand, he saw stars again. They flashed on and off from every direction, white-hot and too bright. His head felt as though someone was boring into his skull from
the top with a giant screw. Cold sweat dripped in rivulets down his back and his hands were clammy.
Buster gripped him hard by the arm. The pressure anchored Joiner to reality. They walked together—if it could be called walking—toward Buster’s front porch. Really, Buster was dragging him while badly limping himself. Joiner might as well have been a deadweight. “I’m sorry, man,” he mumbled.
“You stay here,” Buster instructed, depositing Joiner into a wicker chair. “I’m going to get Stella. You’re going to the doctor but I’m not the one to take you.”
Joiner sat in the chair, elbows on his knees with his head in his hands. Deep breaths, he thought. Deep breaths. He heard the door close softly and breathed in the smell of rain with a little twist of lemon. Hope had never smelled so good.
Stella’s face came into view, and Joiner saw the only star he wanted to see, his North Star, the only star in the sky. Her eyes were full of concern and compassion.
He rose to a sitting position, squeezing his eyes closed to shut out the pain. When he was steady, he opened them and pleaded with her. “Don’t make me go to the doctor.”
“Spoken like the idiot you are.” She touched his face gingerly, as though it might shatter in her hand. Her touch was cool and soft, so refreshing.
“I’ll be fine.”
“We’re going to the doctor.” She kissed his cheek and patted him on the chest, as though making sure he wouldn’t fall over. She left him sitting there, and within a couple of minutes, her car was pulling up through the yard to within a few feet of the porch.
“Crazy woman driver.” Joiner leaned on her shoulder on one side, and Buster gripped him on the other. They guided him down the steps and into the car.
“Get in, Pops. You’re going, too.”
“I’m not.” Buster was firm. “I can take care of myself. But this cowboy needs his head examined.”
By some stroke of luck, Kelli Robertson was the doctor on call in the ER. She’d been the valedictorian of Joiner’s high school class, as well as the homecoming queen, and they’d always been friends.
“I don’t really need to be here,” he told her as she checked his pupils.
“Yeah, right. I see you haven’t changed a bit.”
She hadn’t changed, either. She still had naturally curly chestnut hair, flawless skin and was sassy as all get-out. Not your typical science nerd. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I remember when you got your head smashed in that football game.”
“In junior high?”
Dr. Robertson nodded, studying Joiner’s left eyeball with her own large brown ones.
“Luckily it was the last game of the season.”
Dr. Robertson looked at Stella. “He remembers. That’s a good sign.”
“Ha-ha, very funny.”
“Did you go to the doctor then?”
“My dad was a doctor so he treated me at home. Mostly I just lay around.” Joiner thought for a minute. “They didn’t let me play video games, I remember that.”
“Right. You’re not supposed to have much stimulation when you recover from a concussion.” She switched to the other eye.
“Yeah. It kind of stunk.”
“That was the last game of the season. But you came back and played several more seasons after that, as I recall.”
“Sure. I was okay. And I haven’t had any problems since.”
“Ever fall off a horse and hit your head playing polo?”
“I fell off plenty of times, but never on my head. And we wear helmets anyway.”
She was finished with his pupils. She sat down on a stool by a desk with a laptop on it. “What were you doing when you hit your head this time?”
It was the strangest sensation, but Joiner couldn’t recall.
“He was riding a bucking bronco.” Stella furnished the answer.
Dr. Robertson shared a look with Stella and nodded. “Okay. And presumably not wearing a helmet.”
“Who wears a helmet in a rodeo?” Joiner interjected.
“And is that where you were? At a rodeo?”
Joiner’s face flushed red. He had no clue where he had been.
Stella touched his shoulder with her hand. “He was out with my father at a friend’s arena, practicing.”
“I see.” Dr. Robertson typed all of this into her computer.
“Joiner, do you know what time it is?”
Eight o’clock? No. Maybe twelve o’clock. No, that wasn’t right, either. He decided to make a joke out of it. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“Well, at least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” Dr. Robertson laughed. It was a comforting sound.
She continued typing her notes and then glanced up at him. “Joiner, we’re going to do a CAT scan. I want to see what your brain looks like before I decide whether to admit you tonight.”
“We can find out if he actually has a brain,” Stella kidded.
“Why do I have to be at the mercy of two women?” Joiner kidded back. “It’s cruel and unusual punishment.” But in his heart he was thankful they were both there, because for the first time in his life, he was afraid.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
STELLA WATCHED JOINER while he rested. He had not been admitted to the hospital, yet, but they were in some kind of room at the back of the ER where there was a bed. A kind of holding pen. A place where, presumably, a patient could rest while waiting for the results of a scan.
Joiner barely fit in the bed. His long legs were bent, but still his feet hung off the end. His hat was off, of course, just like his boots, and they lay on a counter beside the pile that included his jeans, shirt and belt. He’d been humiliated by having to wear a hospital gown for the CAT scan. But when he got back from the scan he was so cold he didn’t even mention putting on his clothes. He just asked for more blankets. Stella and the nurses piled them on, tucking them all around him, until he was warm and comfortable. Now he was sleeping. The only skin she could see besides his face was one arm folded across his chest. It looked like sculpted marble. The other one was under the covers.
She took his free hand in hers and waited. She’d studied his face many times before, but never as he slept. The five o’clock shadow, the tiny blue veins underneath the transparent skin of his eyelids, the hint of a cleft in his chin. The hollows in his cheeks where dimples would form if he was smiling. Stella almost felt as if she was intruding on something sacred. He’d never looked so vulnerable before.
The long black lashes fluttered open. “Who are you?” he whispered. The corners of his mouth turned up in a wicked grin.
Stella laughed, and a tear spilled out of one of her eyes, rolled down her face and splashed him on the cheek not far from his lips.
He stuck his tongue out and licked it. “Yummy,” he said. Then he raised his hand and stroked her face. “You’re so beautiful.”
“I was just thinking the same thing about you. So beautiful, and so naughty.”
Before Joiner could protest, Dr. Robertson walked in. “You guys having a moment?”
“We were, till she told me I was naughty.”
“Well, I’d say she knows you pretty well.” Dr. Robertson smiled at Stella. Then she spoke more somberly to both of them. “I took a look at your CAT scan.”
Stella’s heart began to beat faster.
“The good news is that we did find a brain.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Stella laughed more cheerfully than she felt.
“The bad news is that you have scar tissue from a previous concussion. This one will probably leave another scar, though it takes three to six months for it to manifest. More scarring increases your risk of seizures, which can be extremely serious.”
“So, what are you saying?” Joiner asked.
“I’m saying that you are lucky you haven’t had seizures already. But I think you will heal and be fine if you go home and get a lot of rest.” Here she turned to Stella. “And that means doing basically nothing physica
lly or mentally taxing for at least three weeks.”
“Three weeks?” Joiner exclaimed. Then he automatically grabbed his head because he’d hurt it by rising up too fast.
Dr. Robertson shot him a warning glare. “Do I make my point clear, cowboy?”
Joiner sighed. “Yes.”
She bent down to his eye level. Her voice was kind but firm. “Look, Joiner. I know you love your sports and your horses. But you need to listen to me now. You cannot do anything to put your head in jeopardy again. Nothing! If you do, you could really mess yourself up for the rest of your life.”
*
IT WAS QUIET in the car as Stella drove them home. Joiner insisted on going back to the RV instead of staying in Buster’s guestroom. He said he’d imposed on them enough, that he’d be fine. But Dr. Robertson had told Stella that someone needed to stay with him overnight, just in case. So while Joiner was getting ready for bed, Stella sat down on the red couch and called Buster to let him know where she was.
Joiner came out of the bathroom in sweats and a T-shirt. He looked like a frat boy instead of a cowboy, and Stella grinned at the thought.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said to her. “I wish I could walk you home.”
“Well, you’re far too much of an invalid for that.”
He smiled but his eyes were sleepy. “Guess so.”
“Here, let me help you get to bed.” Stella rose from the couch and led him to the bedroom. She pulled back the covers on his bed and he climbed inside.
“I feel like a baby.”
She tucked the covers around him, then kissed him softly on the lips. “You are a baby. A great, big baby.”
“Thanks.” His eyelids were getting heavy. “See you tomorrow?”
Stella sat down on the side of the bed and took off her boots. “Nope.”
Joiner’s eyes widened. “Surely you’re not going to try to seduce me in my weakened state?”
Stella elbowed him gently as she crawled onto the bed beside him, pulling up the afghan Alma had thrown across the foot of the bed as an accent. “You’re a horrible man, you realize that?”
