Taking the Reins

by Carolyn McSparren

  His father would have stopped him if he’d known he was going. Micah Thompson always believed that sooner or later Jake would settle down, accept the boundaries of his narrow world, inherit his father’s farm and his father’s life and be happy. Jake’s departure broke his heart.

  Jake mustn’t hurt Charlie. He’d been touched by her when he’d climbed off that bus and seen the sun glinting off her summer ermine hair.

  He liked her broad forehead, those quirky eyebrows and her eyes, which changed from gray to blue to lavender. He liked her strong jaw and her wide mouth. He liked her laughter and her toughness.

  The people he cared for weren’t safe. For her sake he didn’t dare allow himself to fall any harder. But he didn’t seem to have the willpower to stay away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SUNDAY WAS ANOTHER miserably hot day.

  “This sucker weighs a ton,” Hank said. “Can’t we rig an electric winch to haul you and your doggone wheelchair up the ramp into the carriage?”

  “Stop complaining,” Mickey said over his shoulder. “Problem is you rodeo types don’t develop upper-body strength.”

  “Bull.”

  Charlie told Hank to push Mickey’s wheelchair into the driver’s side of the handicapped carriage. She was afraid that if Mickey drove it up, he’d run off the edge.

  Hank griped with each shove. Even at nine in the morning the temperature was in the high eighties and would undoubtedly near a hundred before the day was out. The colonel’s land might be shady, the ponds overhung with old-growth water oaks, but any driving would have to be done before noon.

  Hank gave one last effort and shoved Mickey into place. “There you are, hotshot. Safe and sound. Put on your brakes. I’m not catching you if you slide back down.”

  “Thank you, Hank,” Charlie said, climbing into the left-hand seat. “Now lift the ramp behind us and fasten it up to the back.”

  Hank grumbled.

  “Jake, give him a hand. Thanks.” Charlie turned to Mickey. “Ready?”

  “Yeah, gimme the reins.”

  “Not yet.”

  “I practiced on that rein board thingie this morning like the colonel showed me. This drivin’ stuff’s a piece o’ cake.”

  Charlie took the reins. “Annie, walk on.”

  “Oh, man,” Mickey said as the mare walked out of the stable. “I flat love this! It’s almost like I got legs.”

  “You do have legs. Can I trust you to do exactly what I say if I let you handle the reins?”

  “Like, yeah.”

  “Mickey, no shenanigans. No trotting, and don’t even think about cantering. You want to learn to use the reins gently to guide and direct her. We’ll work on using the whip to bend her after you’ve mastered the reins.”

  “I’m not about to hit her!”

  Charlie laughed. “The whip is not to hit her with. If you smacked her hard, I suspect she’d kick the stew out of the dashboard. When you ride in a saddle, you use the pressure of your legs to tell her how to bend and when to turn. In a carriage, you don’t have your legs—”

  “Got that right.”

  “—so you kind of tickle her with the whip on her belly to bend her one side of the other. Turn left. Easy! Tighten up a hair on the left rein and give a hair with the right.”

  Mickey shifted in his chair and pulled both hands off to the right.

  “Keep both hands in front of you. You see where the reins attach to her bit, and go through the steel circles on her collar and back to the ones on her saddle?”

  “Yeah, the terrets.”

  “Right. You do remember something. Once the reins go back through the terrets, she can’t tell whether your hands are out to the left or the right. Slightly tighter on the left, more give on the right. Yes. That’s it. Walk a nice wide circle.”

  By the time they had worked for thirty minutes, both the humans and the horse were dripping. “Annie’s had enough for today,” Charlie said. “She needs to be washed down and put out to pasture.”

  “She’s not the only one,” Mickey said. “Man, this doesn’t look like hard work, but I’m sweatin’ bullets here.”

  “And the day’s barely started.” Charlie laughed. “Drive Annie into the barn. Jake can head her while Hank and Sean help you back down your ramp. Did you have fun?”

  “Fun! Man, I’d live up here if you’d let me.”

  “So when are you going to walk up the ramp and climb into your seat?” Jake asked, coming up to them.

  “Aw, man, he’ll never do that,” Hank said.

  Mickey twisted in his chair. “Watch me, clown.”

  Hank winced at that “clown” remark.

  Once the ramp was in place, Sean helped Mickey back his chair down. “Good job,” he said, and clapped Mickey on the shoulder. “Who’s next?”

  “You,” said the colonel, pointing to Mary Anne as he walked down the aisle toward them. “Let’s get Annie rinsed off and back in the pasture, then we’ll get Pindar.”

  “Me?” Mary Anne’s voice quavered. “Rinse her off?”

  “Jake,” Charlie said, “give her a hand, will you?”

  He blinked. Charlie tried again. “You handle the hose, Jake. You know how to wash down a horse, so you instruct Mary Anne.”

  She turned to her father. “Good morning, Colonel. All present and correct, sir. Checking up on me again?”

  “It’s Sunday, so I don’t have to go into the hospital. I thought I might cut the far pasture.”

  “You’ll have heat stroke.”

  “I can drive the tractor, sir,” Mary Anne said eagerly.

  “I’m sure you can, but you need to rinse off that horse.”

  Her face fell. “Yessir.”

  “Since you’re here, Colonel,” Charlie said, “I’m off to run an errand. I’ll be back in an hour or so.” Five minutes later she pulled the big farm truck and trailer out of the driveway.

  “Where’s she going?” asked Hank.

  “I didn’t ask and she didn’t tell,” the colonel said. “Come on, Sean, we have work to do. Hank, you go practice on the rein board. Mickey, rinse off the harness and help Mary Anne and Jake to wash down Annie.”

  * * *

  AS SHE DROVE toward her friend Catherine Brinkley’s Welsh pony breeding farm, Charlie worried whether or not she was doing the right thing for Mary Anne. The entire operation could backfire. Mary Anne might be just as frightened of a Welsh pony as she was of a Percheron or Belgian. Charlie planned to borrow Catherine’s old campaigner Holy Terror, as kind a pony as ever drew breath, for each of the students’ first solo drive. Mickey could even be lifted into the right seat and belted in. Mary Anne would feel less as though she’d been singled out, and the disaster quotient was less.

  Charlie could teach Mary Anne to drive to the small cart and Holy Terror. Small horse for a small person. It should work. If not, she’d have to find a plan B. She intended to train Mary Anne to drive and get her a job doing it.

  Funny how much she’d initially resented her father’s demand that she teach these people to drive. They had become her people in just a couple of days. She no longer thought in terms of her own success, but theirs. And not simply their success at driving, but also in conquering their demons.

  Especially Jake.

  After a fast round trip, she pulled back into the farm, dropped the tailgate of her horse trailer and backed Holy Terror, all fourteen hands of his little gray hide, down the ramp in front of the stable. “Here, Mary Anne, take this line and lead him into the barn. Put him in the first stall opposite the stallion. I’ve already put hay and water in for him.”

  “Me?”

  “Absolutely. You can handle him. Guys, come get this carriage out and pull it into the barn aisle for me. Isn’t it almost time for l
unch?” She watched Sean move in on the other side of Holy Terror to give Mary Anne silent support. Mary Anne drew in a couple of deep breaths, took the line and marched into the barn at the pony’s shoulder the way she’d watched the others lead the draft horses.

  After lunch, when everyone took it for granted that there would be a couple of hours of free time before the afternoon sessions, Sarah dragged Mary Anne upstairs to her lair. They were snickering and whispering. More wig and makeup sessions, Charlie figured.

  “What’s that all about?” Sean asked.

  “I’d guess the good ol’ social network,” he continued. “The next step in evolution—human hands will be nothing but a big, fat pair of thumbs to text with.”

  “Actually,” Jake said, “won’t they be long, narrow thumbs to fit those tiny keys?”

  “Yeah, you get the idea. I’m off for my siesta.”

  “Me, too,” Mickey said. Sean followed him, leaving Charlie and Jake alone in the common room.

  “You’re not tired?” Charlie asked.

  “Not really. I didn’t drive this morning. I’m going to try to find Mama Cat’s lair, maybe walk out to the pasture and watch the foals.”

  Another choice. Progress. “May I come with you?” He’d have to say yes or no.

  He smiled down at her and offered her his hand. She took it and let him pull her up. This time they kept their distance, but Charlie’s hand burned where his fingers had enclosed it.

  They searched for half an hour. Although they found evidence that at least one of the cats was a good ratter, they saw no sign of Mama Cat.

  “You’re limping,” Charlie said. “Jake, I’m sorry. Your knee...I should have realized...”

  “I’ll be fine if I can sit for a few minutes.” He sank onto the nearest hay bale and Charlie sat beside him. He began to massage his knee. “So, how come you got a nickname like Charlie?” he asked.

  “If you can have a long story, so can I.”

  “Tell me. Take my mind off the heat.”

  She leaned back against the stall. “It’s not nearly so interesting as how you came to be landed with Jacob Zedediah.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  She sat down beside him and plucked a couple of strands of hay out from under her. “My maternal grandfather was a cavalry brigadier...”

  “So your mother was also an army brat.”

  “Yep.” She chewed on the ends of the hay and leaned back against the bale behind her. “Mom was preprogrammed to traipse after her man like an old-time camp follower. Not that she ever complained. I did all the complaining.”

  “Still do?”

  She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Only when appropriate. Mother was a menopause baby. Grandmother was embarrassed.” She chortled. “But my grandfather was so delighted he wanted to name Mother after Ulysses S. Grant. Grandmother flipped out. She finally convinced him to call her Abigail Baker. Then when I came along, Daddy was conned into naming me Charlotte Abigail. Therefore...?” She held her hands palms up.

  “Able Baker Charlie.”

  “The good old army alphabet.” She dropped the blades of hay and stood. “I don’t know how far down the alphabet he would have gone if Mother had produced more children, but...”

  “Your brother would have been called Dog.”

  “Followed by Echo—good for either a girl or a boy.” She went over to the wash rack, picked up a set of reins and began coiling them. She avoided Jake’s eyes. She didn’t want Jake to see the tears welling there when she thought of the year her mother died. “Mom died when I was fifteen. That’s why we moved to Washington—so she could be treated at Walter Reed. That’s why the colonel wouldn’t buy me a horse. I just wish he’d told me at the time. I had to figure it out for myself later.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Daddy was a huge catch for any woman, but nobody ever sealed the deal. Instead, he kept on working until Granddaddy got sick. Then he retired officially and moved down here to look after him and manage the farm after he died. He’d prefer to have a condominium downtown on the Mississippi. So would I.”

  “You want a condo on the river?”

  “No, I want him to move to the river and let me manage this place without his looking over my shoulder.”

  “He’s not retired,” Jake said.

  Charlie waggled a hand. “Semi. Officially he’s considered a consultant. His grant has been in the works for nearly a year.” She shrugged. “When Steve was killed, Sarah and I had to move out of quarters. We didn’t have any other place to go.”

  “He seems happy to have you.”

  She hung up the reins and began to organize the grooming brushes. This was getting too close to the bone for her comfort, but something about Jake made him easy to talk to. “Makes up for all the soccer games and horse shows he missed when I was growing up. We’d better be getting back. I want some time in the air-conditioned common room with at least one cool drink before we put to again.” He joined her and they walked there together but not quite touching.

  “So you plan to stay here?” Jake asked.

  Charlie stopped and stared at him. “Of course I do. It’s my farm.”

  * * *

  CHARLIE WAITED IN the darkness of the patio for over an hour after dinner, but Jake didn’t come. She felt as though she’d been stood up by her prom date. She’d thought they were connecting, that he liked her the way she liked him. Guess not. For a man like Jake, sharing even as much as he had would make him draw back instinctively. Too much information, obviously. Got him right in the comfort zone.

  He probably couldn’t make up his mind whether to stay upstairs or come down without asking Sean.

  Finally, she sighed and went into the house. She heard Mary Anne and Sarah hooting with laughter from the computer room, and she knocked.

  “Come on in,” Mary Anne said. “Join the party.”

  The pair hunkered in front of the monitor with soft drinks in their hands and a bag of corn chips on the floor beside the computer table. “Don’t worry, Charlie, we won’t spill anything on the keyboard,” Mary Anne said. She turned around and grinned. “Ta-da.”

  “My Lord.”

  “Yeah, I know it’s too much, but you have to start somewhere.”

  “You do know your face is green.”

  “Green grays red,” Sarah said. “That’s the first thing you learn in art class like in the second grade. When we get the real foundation on over it, it will barely show.”

  “This is actually lipstick,” Mary Anne said. “Sarah didn’t have any real green foundation.”

  “We can get some when we’re in town,” Sarah said.

  “I hesitate to ask why you have green lipstick,” Charlie said.

  “Don’t. And we have to buy some better fake eyelashes that aren’t too heavy to keep Mary Anne from opening her eyes.”

  “The ones you have are impressive,” Charlie said with a gulp. “Where did they come from?”

  “We had a heck of a time getting them on straight,” Mary Anne snickered. “One of them kept crawling up into my eyebrow like a woolly bear.”

  “They’re from last Halloween. So’s the lipstick.”

  Looking at Mary Anne’s eager face, Charlie nearly burst into tears. “Tomorrow after lunch we forgo siesta and drive into town to try on wigs.”

  “And get some real green cover foundation,” Sarah said.

  “Have you given any thought to what style of wig you want?” Charlie asked.

  “Come help me try some on,” Mary Anne said, and twisted the desk chair around to face the computer screen. “Okay, this is me. See, you paste my picture on the screen, size it, then superimpose different types of wigs to see how they’ll look.” She cut her eyes at Sarah. “Want to show her our favorite?”


  “Totally.”

  Charlie almost choked. The wig that appeared to frame Mary Anne’s face was platinum-blond and had obviously been styled by someone who believed deeply in the immediate return of disco sung by country music stars from the sixties. It towered on top and fell down the sides in long ringlets. “Uh...”

  Both girls cracked up. “That’s not really the one we like, Charlie,” Mary Anne said. “How about this?” The platinum tower was replaced by a medium-brown, short, layered wig that framed Mary Anne’s face and covered most of her scars and her missing ear.

  “Now, that’s more like it,” Charlie said.

  “You like it?” Sarah asked.

  “Absolutely. Where do we get it?”

  “We could order it,” Mary Anne said, “but I really need to try it on with the net cap you wear underneath it.”

  “There’s a shop in the Carriage Mall that advertises a full line of wigs,” Sarah said. “So, can we go look? Puhlease?”

  “Of course we can.”

  “You don’t have to come. Mary Anne can drive.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Now, I suggest you get rid of the woolly bears and the green guck and go to bed. Tomorrow starts early.” Charlie leaned over and kissed Sarah’s forehead. She nearly kissed Mary Anne’s, as well, but caught herself in time. She was feeling very maternal toward her. She prayed that the transformation would work out.

  CHAPTER NINE

  BY DAWN THE cool front that had been inching down from Montana slipped through West Tennessee accompanied by gusts of wind, followed by rain. Not the sort of storm that sparked tornadoes, but the gentle soaking rain that West Tennessee so desperately needed and seldom got in late August.

  “No sense in getting us and the horses drenched,” Charlie said over the remains of breakfast with the others. “Get the horses fed and the stalls cleaned, sweep the aisle, then practice your reinsmanship on the rein boards, clean and polish carriages and horses. This afternoon I have another errand to run in town.”

  Jake wandered out to the mare’s paddock and fed treats to the foals in the rain. Hank found a rerun of last year’s Professional Rodeo Cowboys’ finals from Las Vegas and plopped himself down in front of the television to make snide remarks about the finalists, most of whom he knew. Charlie clipped the horses’ bridle paths with the electric clippers.