by Jane Porter
Sam waited just outside, wanting to be available in case there was a problem, but at the same time not wanting to crowd her. Wes had done enough of that.
He looked over the rack of real estate and land brochures outside the garage. He picked up one and flipped through it, looking to see how much horse property in the area would cost. He’d never really priced property in Crawford or Park counties but knew this part of Montana was definitely more expensive than northeast, or east past Billings.
A couple ranches caught his eye. They were for sale, not lease, and one was huge and priced accordingly, and another was decently priced but it was hilly terrain and not suitable for horses. But there were a couple smaller places, places with both stables and barn. One that looked rather promising was just north of Livingston, and another on the way to Bozeman.
Maybe they should drive and visit both. Maybe there were a few other places they could check out, too. They really had nothing else to do today.
Ivy appeared, smiling. She handed him his credit card back. “Truck will be ready Tuesday before five. Thank you so much.”
“Happy to do it.”
“So, what do we do now?” she asked.
He flipped the glossy magazine over and showed her the cover. “How about we go check out some properties? Show me what you’ve been looking at, and maybe there are a couple in here you might find interesting.”
“I don’t think those are for lease.”
“No, but it’d be interesting to see what a place would cost, if you wanted to buy some day.”
“I do like it here,” she agreed. “But I won’t have enough to buy here, not for years.”
“You would if you sold your mom’s place.”
A tiny muscle pulled in Ivy’s jaw and emotion darkened her eyes. “I’ve thought about that, but I don’t know. It’s really all I have left of her.”
“Then why don’t you live there?”
“Because I’d be lonely. I haven’t lived in Custer in years. And then I’ve my tenants. It’s a long-term lease.”
“How long? Ten years? Twenty?”
“No. I think it’s four.”
“So you still have two years left on the lease, and then you could live there.”
She looked away, her gaze sweeping the Gallatin Range with prominent Copper Mountain in the foreground. “Custer was fine growing up, but it’s not Marietta.” She looked back at Sam. “Little by little, this place has started to feel like home.” The corners of her mouth lifted. “I never anticipated wanting to stay here, but helping Ashley, and working with Hope, and then coaching Kat after school—”
“Whose Kat?”
“A student at Marietta High. She loves horses and wanted to know more about barrel racing, not sure if it would be something she’d like. So I worked with her a couple times a week for a month, introducing her to the sport.”
“What did she decide?”
“That it wasn’t for her, and she’s glad she found out before she invested too much more time or money into it.”
“How much did you charge per hour?”
Ivy blushed. “I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Her parents offered, but I didn’t want money. I just wanted to help her. It feels good to contribute, you know?”
“Your time is valuable, Ivy. It’s okay to charge for it—”
“I know, and I will. Once I have my place, I most definitely will. Right now, I’m just building relationships. Making a name for myself.”
“I won’t argue with that.” He handed her the real estate magazines. “See if there’s any place in one of these that would be worth a look. I’d be fun to just drive around, pretend we’re shopping.”
“You’ve already done your shopping.”
“But you haven’t, and I love land. Why not have some fun?”
They spent two hours driving, checking out properties listed in the magazines, as well as other properties they found online. They didn’t actually go inside any of the houses or barns, but they drove back roads, frontage roads, and down quite a few private roads to get a feel for the property, its boundaries, its access, as well as neighbors. There were some places that didn’t appeal at all, and there were others that made Ivy’s expression light up as she scribbled notes into a tiny notebook in her purse.
“What are you writing down?” Sam asked her at one point.
“Just the stuff I like, or the stuff I’d like to have at my place.” She held up one of the magazines with a full-page ad. “Like this place, I love everything about this place. I’d lift it up and set it down here if I could.”
“Where is it?”
“Clyde Park.”
“That’s not that far.”
“It’s not Marietta. I want to be part of the community, the way my mom was part of Custer.”
“So what does this place near Clyde Park have that you like?”
“Everything. Flat acreage, state-of-the-art stable for twenty horses, full indoor barn with heated wash racks, cross ties with stall mats, full tack room, wash/dryer, lounge room with viewing window to indoor arena, restroom, and a manager’s office.” She looked up at Sam, awed. “Imagine. How amazing is that?”
“But no outdoor training space?”
“Let me keep reading. A huge outdoor arena with deep sand footing, plus a horse car wash.”
“What about the house?”
“Four bedrooms, four and a half bath, three-car garage plus a separate garage for trucks and trailers.”
“How much?”
She laughed. “Millions.”
“How many millions?”
“Too much to even think about, but I love so much of what they’ve done here, and I could do that over time to my place, when I have one. I just need the right land at the right price—” She broke off as her phone rang. Ivy reached into her purse to retrieve it. It was Ashley’s mom calling. Ivy answered. “This is Ivy,” she said.
“Ivy, it’s Lisa Howe. Is there any way you could come see Ashley today? She’s really upset and she won’t talk to me, and she won’t work with her physical therapist.”
“What happened?”
“She wanted to see her horse, and so we pushed her wheelchair out to the stable, and once there, she wouldn’t leave. She just started crying and won’t stop.” Lisa’s voice broke. “I’m so worried. I don’t know how to calm her down.”
“I’ll head there now,” Ivy said, glancing at Sam. He nodded at her. “We’re just north of Livingston, in Grannis, so it’ll take us about forty-five minutes but we’re coming.”
“Thank you.”
Ivy hung up and drew a deep breath.
Sam reached over and took her hand. “I heard a little bit of that,” he said. “Ashley’s mom?”
“Ashley loves horses the way I love horses,” Ivy said.
“Paraplegics can ride horses. There are quite a few programs that use riding as a means of therapy.”
“And there is adaptive equipment, too. I remember reading years ago about engineering students at University of Utah designing assistive tech for spinal cord injured riders. But Ashley’s injury is still very recent, and her parents are afraid, probably overprotective, about allowing Ashley into the saddle again.”
Sam shot her a knowing look. “You disagree.”
“I think if Ashley needs to be in the saddle, you put her in the saddle. I’ve looked up what needs to be done. She’d probably need a seat belt attached to the saddle, as well as some straps, or Velcro, to attach her legs to the stirrups, but on the right horse, she could do very well.”
“As a paraplegic, does she have sufficient core strength?”
“It’s one of the things they would have worked with her on at her rehab facility. Core strength and balance is essential to everything. From what I was reading, the only way to develop that strong core is for her to strengthen existing neural connections and gain muscle memory by regeneration of new connections.”
Sam wasn’t su
rprised by Ivy’s knowledge, but he was impressed. When Ivy was passionate about something, she put her whole heart into it. “You’ve been doing a lot of research then.”
“I’ve been following Ashley since before the injury. She was an outstanding junior barrel racer. She had a big future before the accident—”
“What did happen? It was a farm accident, but what specifically happened?”
“It was a freak accident. She was driving a tractor, plowing a field for her dad, and the tractor flipped, sending her flying. She broke her back in the fall.”
Sam asked nothing more.
*
They reached the Howe’s in Belgrade just after one. Ivy introduced Sam to Ashley’s parents before Lisa walked Ivy out to the barn to Ashley. Ivy stopped Lisa just before they reached the barn. “I’ve got this,” Ivy said. “Let me talk to her on my own.”
“She might not be very nice.”
“That’s okay. If I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t be very nice, either.”
Ivy continued on her own the rest of the way to the barn. “Ashley, it’s Ivy Wyckoff,” Ivy called out as she approached the open barn door. “Can I come in?”
“No.” The voice was muffled and scratchy.
“Can I talk to you from here?”
“Did my parents call you?”
“Yes.”
“Then go away. Because I know what they want you to say. They want you to tell me that it’s unrealistic for me to ever really ride again, and that competing is out.”
“They might want me to say that,” Ivy answered, zipping up her coat and folding her arms over her chest. “But that’s not what I would ever tell you. And that’s not what I planned to tell you tomorrow when I was going to come see you.”
There was silence for a long minute, before Ashley hiccupped. “No?”
Ivy felt a pang for Ashley. “No.” She added, “Because I don’t agree with them.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
More silence. And then, “Would you help me ride again?”
“Yes.”
Another beat of silence. “Ivy?”
“Yes, love?”
“You can come in.”
A lump filled Ivy’s throat and she blinked as she entered the barn. It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting in the barn, and then she spotted Ashley on the ground, and the wheelchair next to her, on its side. Ashley had drug herself into a sitting position and Ivy took a seat on the ground next to the girl.
For a little bit no one said anything.
“It’s cold,” Ashley said, with a shiver.
“I think a storm is moving in,” Ivy answered. “We’re supposed to get a lot of snow Sunday or Monday.”
Ashley pushed golden-brown bangs off her forehead. Her eyes were puffy, her face blotchy “I hate my wheelchair. I hate that I can’t walk. I hate that everyone looks at me funny at school now.”
“Maybe they’re just sorry you got hurt?”
“But they don’t look at me the way they used to. They look at me and then away, really fast, as if they didn’t see me. As if I’m not really there.”
“I bet your friends don’t.”
“I don’t have any friends anymore.”
“It might not seem like it, but I bet you do. It’s just been hard with you away so long.”
“But I can’t go out and do stuff with them like I used to. They have parties and sleepovers and I’m not invited.”
“Maybe they think you couldn’t manage at their house? Maybe they’re worried they have steps and your wheelchair couldn’t get up them, or that their bathroom is too small—”
“How do you know this stuff?”
“My mom had a really good friend in Custer who was in a wheelchair. She got hurt in a car accident and was left paralyzed. She was a single mom like my mom, and so we did things together. Some holidays we’d go see her, and other times she and her kids would come to our house. It gave me a chance to see how she did things.”
“She was a mom?”
Ivy nodded. “She had three kids.”
“And she could take care of them?”
“Even in a wheelchair, yes.”
“Did she drive them places?”
“Yes, and she cooked for them, and did their laundry, and dropped them off at school before going to work.”
“Did she drive one of those big vans, or a real car?”
“It was a real car. It just had hand controls so she’d accelerate and brake using her hands, not her feet.”
Ashley thought about this for a little bit. “I want a truck. I’ve always wanted a truck, that way I can still pull my horse and do all the things I want to do.”
“I don’t see why you can’t do that.”
“Where would my wheelchair go? If there’s no one to help me?”
“If my mom’s friend, Cindy, was alone, she’d lean her car seat back and put the wheelchair over her shoulder, behind her.” Ivy smiled at her. “You know, you’ve got an advantage over a lot of girls. You already have a really great core from riding. You just have to keep your strength up, and working on your balance.”
Ashley looked up at her. “When can I ride again?”
“Want me talk to your parents?”
Ashley nodded. “And then I want to train. I want to compete again. I might not be great, but I can try.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Will you help me?”
“I will.”
“And help me barrel race?”
“I’ll talk to your parents.”
“They’ll say no.”
Ivy shrugged. “Leave them to me. I might have some information that will help them think differently. But what if we keep that as our secret for now, and just work on getting you back in the saddle?”
“When?”
“How about after Christmas? That will give me time to check out different saddles and see if there is any special adaptive equipment we need. I want to make sure we’re successful, otherwise your parents will just get worried, and we don’t want them worried. We want them on our team, yes?”
“Yes.” Ashley shivered. “It’s cold.”
“Want to get back in your chair?”
“How come you’re the only one that doesn’t call it a wheelchair.”
Ivy laughed. “Because Cindy never called it a wheelchair, just a chair, or her chair.” She reached over and smoothed Ashley’s long ponytail. “How do you want me to help you? What’s best?”
“Normally I’m supposed to use something to help me push up, but I think I’m too cold.” Ashley’s brow furrowed and she looked anxiously at Ivy. “Do you think you could lift me into my chair? Just this once?”
“Absolutely. Not a problem.” Ivy got to her feet, and righted the wheelchair before crouching next to the girl. “Put your arm around my neck. That’s it. Here we go.”
Ashley was light, far lighter than some of the hay bales she’d had to muscle in her lifetime, and Ivy was able to get her into the wheelchair without much effort.
Ashley wiggled, finding her balance and then adjusted her legs. “I guess I have to go face my parents,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “We had a huge fight.”
“They love you so much, I’m sure they’ve already forgiven you.”
“I know they love me, but I get so mad at them. They just hover all the time.”
“This is hard for them, too. They wish they could make all this go away and they can’t.”
Ashley’s eyes filled with tears. “My dad says that all the time. He says he wishes it was him who got hurt. That it should have been him. But I’m glad it wasn’t him. I don’t know that he could do this. But I can.”
For a second Ivy couldn’t breathe, her chest hot and tender, and then she leaned down and hugged Ashley fiercely. “Yes, you can,” she whispered. “You’ve got this. Just keep fighting. And I’ll fight with you, okay?”
Ashley hugged her back. “Okay.”
&
nbsp; They emerged from the barn, Ivy walking next to Ashley as she rolled herself slowly over the uneven ground toward her parents and Sam. And then she got a look at Sam and let out a yelp. “Is that Sam Wyatt?”
Ivy grinned. “Yes.”
“Oh, my gosh. Can I get his autograph?”
Ivy laughed. “I’m sure he’d be happy to give it to you.”
Chapter Seven
Leaving the Howes in Belgrade, Ivy and Sam headed back toward Marietta, stopping for a late lunch in Bozeman. There wasn’t a lot of conversation at first, both contemplative. It wasn’t until they’d finished their sandwiches that Sam asked about what took place in the barn.
Ivy handed her empty plate to the waitress and then looked at Sam. “Ashley’s a teenage girl wanting to believe she’s going to have a normal life, and I did my best to assure her that she could, and that she would.”
“And riding?”
“I want to get her a saddle, one that would allow her to ride, and potentially race. There’s got to be some out there, but until we find the right one, I need to come up with something that would let her ride after Christmas. That’s when I’ve promised to return and start working with her.”
“Don’t you think you need to talk to her parents, get their permission? Her dad seems pretty adamant that they protect her—”
“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” Ivy interrupted hotly. “She’s already hurt. Her life’s been permanently changed. Don’t hold her back. Let her challenge herself. Let her dream.”
Sam held up his hands. “I’m not the one you’ve got to convince. I just know what he said while you were in there, talking to Ashley.”
“The way I see it is, they either get behind her and make her dreams possible or they use fear to break her spirit.” Ivy tapped the side of her water glass, a restless drumming that revealed her tension. “What would you do, if she was your daughter? Would you let her compete again?”
“It’s a dangerous sport.”
“Preaching to the choir.”
“But most sports have an element of risk. Athletes in every sport get injured. I think about football—Grandad had all of us playing when we were growing up—and now they talk about the lasting damage from concussions, and it might only take one really bad hit to have permanent damage.”
