More Than Words Volume 4

by Linda Lael Miller

  “Better.”

  “We’re going to the rodeo?”

  Callie chuckled, ruffling her daughter’s shiny hair. “The rodeo isn’t until July, silly-girl,” she answered. “And, anyway, this is even better than that.”

  “What?” Serena insisted.

  Callie relented. She knew Serena would never last until they got home—she’d be frantic with curiosity by then. “Do you remember that horse we saw yesterday? The one you said was lonely?”

  Serena nodded, clearly puzzled. She clutched her schoolwork in one hand and looked up at Callie solemnly.

  “Well, he’s in our barn, right this very minute.”

  Serena’s face was instantly luminous. “God gave him a house!”

  Callie crouched, so she was at eye level with her daughter. She took both Serena’s shoulders in her hands and squeezed gently. “Right now,” she said carefully, for her own benefit as well as Serena’s, “he’s just visiting.”

  “Can I ride him?” Serena caught her breath. “Can I be a rodeo queen?”

  “His feet are sore, and he doesn’t feel very well,” Callie said. “So it wouldn’t be a good idea to ride him. But maybe when he’s better. I’ll ride him first, and if he’s gentle enough, you can try, too.”

  Serena considered the situation. “If I’m going to be a rodeo queen,” she said, “I have to ride a horse, Mom.”

  Callie smiled. “Then I guess we’d better take very good care of him,” she replied. “Will you help me?”

  Serena wheeled her arms, beaming, her joy uncontrollable. “Yes!” she shouted. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  At home, Callie introduced Serena to Cherokee, stood her on an old milking stool in the stall and showed the child how to brush him. Callie’s heart squeezed with love for both the little girl and the old horse, watching as they established an immediate bond.

  Later, inside the house, while Callie was cooking supper—macaroni and cheese this time—Serena sat at the table, busily coloring on a sheet of paper. After the meal came the bath, the story, the nightly prayers. Bless my mom, Serena had said earnestly, her small hands pressed together and her eyes squinched tight shut, and bless our new horse. Thank you for giving him a house to live in. And please let me be a rodeo queen.

  Smiling, Callie urged her daughter into bed, tucked her in, kissed her good-night. Usually, Serena fought sleep as long as she could, wanting a glass of water, using the bathroom, padding into the kitchen to solemnly inform Callie there was a monster hiding in her bedroom closet. A monster-routing ritual generally ensued, and sometimes a second story had to be read. That night, the little girl drifted off right away, smiling as she dreamed.

  Callie stood awhile in the doorway to Serena’s small room, watching her, loving her, and hoping she hadn’t set Serena, herself and Cherokee up for a big disappointment by having the horse brought to the ranch.

  A long time passed before she finally turned away, went back to the kitchen and logged onto the aging computer in the corner of the room. She’d sold a few more of her necklaces, old-fashioned fragments made from pieces of antique china, and spent the next half hour packaging the orders. The profits were slim, but she’d be able to purchase more supplies and keep going.

  Callie’s life was all about keeping going.

  She was about to log off the Internet, check on Cherokee once more and indulge herself in a long, hot bath, when she remembered Luke’s reference to the woman in Canada—the one who’d founded a therapeutic riding program. What was her name?

  Jeanne Greenberg.

  Using Google, she found www.sari.ca, and quickly became immersed in Mrs. Greenberg’s compelling story. Jeanne and her husband, Syd, had had a daughter, Sari. Like Serena, Sari had Down syndrome. The Greenbergs had raised her, with their other children, in a loving household, and horses were very much a part of all their lives. When Sari died suddenly at fifteen, the Greenbergs were of course devastated, but they were determined to help other children like Sari, and other families like their own. They set apart five acres of their farm outside London, Ontario, including the barn, and began a therapeutic riding program.

  Callie’s heart beat a little faster as she read and reread the information on the SARI Web site. Riding would mean so much to Serena, and to the other kids in her special-ed class at school. There were so many things they couldn’t do—but here was a way to empower them, bolster their confidence.

  Soon, though, Callie’s practical side put on the brakes.

  Whoa, it said. It’s one thing to let Serena ride Cherokee, with you right there to supervise, but you know nothing about therapeutic riding. Or starting an organization like SARI. What about insurance? What about the cost of setting up a nonprofit organization? What about training?

  Callie sighed. The dream was too big. She had her hands full just keeping her little two-person family going as it was—and now she’d added Cherokee to the mix. Horses ate like—well, horses. They needed veterinary care, exercise, cleaning up after.

  She logged off, shut down the computer.

  Set aside the dream.

  But it kept sneaking back into her mind.

  For the second night in a row, Callie didn’t sleep much.

  HAPPY DAN’S WAS DOING a brisk late-breakfast business when Callie hurried in the next morning. She and Serena had dressed and eaten early, then gone out to the barn to tend to Cherokee. After that, she’d dropped Serena off at school and rushed to work.

  Happy Dan, who owned the place and doubled as head fry cook, didn’t look all that happy. But then he never did. He was big, with a hound-dog face drooping from prominent bones and graying black hair pulled back into a long but thin ponytail. He always wore a ratty T-shirt, sweatpants and running shoes that had seen not just better days, but better decades.

  “You’re late,” he snapped.

  “Sorry,” Callie said, hastily tying on her apron and then washing her hands at the sink behind the counter out front.

  “Leave her alone,” interceded Hal Malvern, the only lawyer in town. He was a good-natured sort, always grumbling that he ought to move to the city, where people sued each other once in a while. His suits were as old as Happy Dan’s running shoes, but he wasn’t poor. He just didn’t see the need to spend a lot of money on fancy clothes when he never actually had to set foot in a real courtroom. He and Judge Wilkins usually settled any case that came up over coffee right there at Happy Dan’s, in a corner booth.

  Callie favored Hal with a smile. “What’ll it be?” she asked.

  “The usual,” Hal replied.

  Callie relayed the order to Happy Dan, then went for the coffeepot. She was refilling cups all along the counter when the bell over the café’s front door jingled and Luke Banner walked in.

  For Callie, everything stopped. As far as she knew, Luke hadn’t set foot in Happy Dan’s since his return to Parable. But here he was.

  He smiled at her, hung his cowboy hat on a peg by the door, along with a dozen other hats on a dozen other pegs, and approached the counter. Took the empty stool next to Hal’s and reached for a menu—just as if he took his breakfast at Happy Dan’s every morning of his life.

  “May I help you?” Callie asked.

  “Coffee,” he said. “I’ll get back to you on the rest.”

  Happy Dan pounded on the little bell on the pass-through, signaling an order was up.

  Callie gave Luke a cup of coffee and rushed to pick up two ham-and-egg platters.

  “It’s bad enough I had to take those orders, then cook them,” Happy Dan grumbled. “I hope you don’t expect me to deliver them, too.”

  “Oh, lighten up, you old coot,” Hal told him cheerfully.

  “I said I was sorry,” Callie told her boss, in an undertone.

  “Hustle your bustle, Callie,” Happy Dan retorted.

  Callie hustled, all right. By the time she got back to the counter to take Luke’s order, she was breathless.

  “What�
��ll you have?” she asked, pencil and pad at the ready.

  “Dinner,” he replied.

  “We’re not serving dinner,” Callie said. “Breakfast till eleven-thirty, then we switch over to lunch. Dinner isn’t served until five o’clock, by which time I’ll be out of here.”

  Luke smiled. “I wasn’t ordering dinner, Callie,” he told her reasonably. “I was asking you to have dinner with me. Tonight. You and Serena.”

  Hal wheeled on his stool and spoke in a booming, trial-of-the-century voice, addressing everybody. “Luke wants to take Callie out to dinner!” he announced. “Sounds like a date to me!”

  Everybody in the café cheered—except for Happy Dan, who muttered something, and Callie, who blushed.

  “Will you, Callie?” Luke asked, still smiling. “Have dinner with me, I mean?”

  It was another beans-and-wieners night, due to budget constraints, and Serena would be delighted at the prospect of an outing. Callie was less enthusiastic, though, mainly because Happy Dan’s was the only public eatery in Parable, and she already spent most of her day there.

  “Yes,” she whispered, oddly flustered. “Okay.”

  Hal spun around to report her answer to the room. “She said yes!”

  Another round of applause erupted.

  Luke chuckled, shook his head.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Callie sputtered.

  Hal reached across the counter to pat her hand. “Wear something pretty,” he told her, in a stage whisper.

  “Pancakes and eggs,” Luke said.

  Callie stared at him, confused.

  Luke grinned again, tapped the plastic menu with a finger. “Breakfast?” he drawled.

  Callie blushed again and turned in the order, then took great care to fill every coffee cup in the room for the second time. She knew Happy Dan wouldn’t fire her—good help was hard to find, especially in a town like Parable, and, anyway, they were friends—but she wanted to keep busy. If she didn’t, she’d have to think about Luke Banner, and why his presence in the café and his perfectly harmless dinner invitation had rattled her so much.

  Luke ate while she took and served other orders and rang up tickets at the cash register. Before he left, he said he’d be by her place around six, to look in on the horse. They’d go on to dinner from there.

  Callie merely nodded.

  At three that afternoon, she was waiting when Serena rushed out of her classroom, eager to go home and feed Cherokee. Several of the other kids in the program followed in her wake, staring at her in awe.

  The special-ed teacher, Miss Parker, joined Serena and Callie in the corridor, smiling. “Serena caused quite a stir in class today,” she said. “She wants to bring her horse to school for show-and-tell.”

  Callie squeezed her daughter briefly against her side. “It would probably be easier to bring the kids to the horse,” she told Miss Parker.

  “That’s a great idea,” Miss Parker replied. “How’s next Friday afternoon? I’m sure we could arrange for the school van to bring us out to your farm.”

  Next Friday afternoon? Callie opened her mouth, closed it again.

  Serena gave an exuberant bleat of joy. “Next Friday you can all see our horse!” she told the assembled members of her small class.

  “Wait,” Callie murmured.

  “It’s settled, then,” Miss Parker said.

  Serena was jumping up and down, and so were the other kids.

  There was simply no way Callie could throw cold water on the plan—it would be like canceling Christmas.

  “It’s settled,” Callie agreed, trying not to sound reluctant.

  Serena talked all the way home, fidgeted in the car seat while Callie retrieved the mail—all flyers this time, but no bills, thank heaven. Serena bolted from the Blazer the instant Callie shut off the engine in the driveway beside the house, and bounded toward the barn, piping, “Cherokee! Cherokee! We’re home, and my whole class is coming to visit next Friday afternoon!”

  At least, that was the gist of what she said. Although Callie knew other people often had difficulty understanding Serena’s speech, Callie herself heard her child’s meaning when she spoke, rather than her actual words, in that weird alchemy of motherhood.

  Callie sighed, but Serena’s happiness outweighed her own concerns about cleaning, cookie-baking and taking time off work. Smiling, she followed the little girl.

  Cherokee nickered and blew his big horse lips, pleased to see them both.

  “You need to walk around a little, buddy,” Callie said, opening the stall door to slip his halter on over his head, then clip the lead rope into place. Once, there had been pastures, but they’d been sold off a long time before, so there was nothing left of the property besides the house, the barn and a half acre of high grass, littered here and there with old tires and scraps of rusted metal.

  Callie walked Cherokee slowly around the yard, Serena scampering alongside. When Callie let Serena hold the lead rope for a while, the child calmed and her face shone.

  After half an hour or so, Callie returned Cherokee to his stall and showed Serena how much hay to put in his feeder.

  “Can I brush him again?” Serena asked, already heading for the milk stool, retrieving it from the corner where Callie had stashed it the night before.

  “Sure,” Callie said.

  Cherokee munched on hay and switched his tail slowly as Serena groomed him.

  “Rodeo queens,” Serena said wisely, “know how to take care of horses.”

  Callie smiled. “It’s part of the job,” she agreed.

  Standing on the milk stool, the brush in one small hand, Serena looked down at her school dress and pink jacket, now generously decorated with horse hair. “I guess I should have changed my clothes first,” she said.

  “You’ll want to do that, anyway,” Callie told her. “We’re going out to supper tonight.”

  Serena’s eyes widened with excitement. “We are?” A pause. “Can we bring Cherokee with us?”

  Callie laughed. “They don’t allow horses in restaurants, silly-girl,” she said. “Finish up there, so we’ll have plenty of time to get ready.”

  Serena nodded and speeded up the brushing process. “Are we going to Happy Dan’s?” she asked.

  “Probably,” Callie said. She might not have been all that thrilled about returning to the workplace on her off time, but she was looking forward to seeing Luke.

  Serena climbed down off the milk stool, patted Cherokee in companionable farewell and left the stall. Callie followed, bringing the stool along, putting it away again.

  “We’re probably going to Happy Dan’s?” Serena pressed. “Don’t you know? Aren’t you driving?”

  Callie ruffled her daughter’s hair, chuckled at the question. For all that Serena was only seven and was considered a “special-needs” child by the system, she often talked like an elderly wise woman. “Luke—Dr. Banner—invited us to dinner,” she said. “So I suppose he’s driving.”

  “Who’s he?” Serena asked. Serena wanted to know everything—how to surf the Internet, why stars could still shine long after they’d burned out, if a little kid could ever be president of the United States.

  “He’s Cherokee’s doctor,” Callie answered. Then, after the briefest of hesitations, added, “And an old friend of mine. Your dad knew him, too.”

  They didn’t often talk about Denny; Serena had been a baby when he died, and to her, he was just a man in a picture. His parents lived in another state and weren’t much interested in their granddaughter. “Dr. Banner brought Cherokee here yesterday, in his horse trailer.”

  “If he’s your friend, how come you call him ‘Dr. Banner’?”

  They’d reached the back door, and Callie opened it and shooed Serena inside. “I just do,” she said.

  “No fair,” Serena protested. “That’s like saying, ‘Because I said so, that’s why.’”

  Callie grinned. “Forget being a rodeo queen when you grow up,” she joked. “You ough
t to be a lawyer instead.”

  Serena frowned. “I don’t want to be a rodeo queen when I grow up,” she said seriously. “I want to be one now.”

  Callie felt a stab of pain, thinking of the Greenbergs’ daughter, Sari. She’d only lived to be fifteen. A lot of Down syndrome kids died young; they were prey to so many health problems. What if Serena didn’t grow up?

  “Mom?” Serena peered up at Callie, worried by something in her expression.

  “Go and change your clothes,” Callie said gently.

  Serena tarried a few moments, then brightened again and dashed off toward her room, shedding her school clothes as she went.

  Callie closed the kitchen door and just stood there, one hand to her heart, breathing through the fear that the thought of losing Serena always aroused in her.

  Serena reappeared seconds later, wearing only her underpants. “Mom,” she prodded. “Get dressed. You can’t go out to dinner looking like that.”

  Callie looked down at her waitress uniform, which was something less than prepossessing even when it was fresh from the clothes dryer, let alone after a full shift at Happy Dan’s and the feeding and grooming of a horse.

  Heat pinkened Callie’s cheeks.

  She simply didn’t own anything suitable for a—well—a date.

  But this wasn’t a date, she reminded herself. It was just supper with an old friend, at a local café. Jeans would do, and a cotton blouse.

  “Hurry up, Mom,” Serena said.

  “I’m on it,” Callie replied, with a little smile.

  She headed for the shower, with a brief pit stop in the bedroom to grab clean clothes. Fifteen minutes later, scrubbed and dressed, she felt—presentable.

  “That isn’t what you wear on a date,” Serena said in a tone of kindly disapproval when Callie joined her in the kitchen to pour a cup of cold coffee leftover from breakfast and zap it in the microwave.

  “Fresh out of slinky black cocktail dresses,” she answered. She looked perfectly fine in her best jeans and sleeveless top, she assured herself.

  Luke arrived at five-thirty but headed for the barn instead of the house.

  This was reported by Serena, who stood with her face pressed to the glass of the window to the right of the back door. Callie was online—several new orders had come in for her necklaces, exhausting the supply on hand, and she chided herself for going out to supper when she ought to be stringing more beads.