More out of pity than any notion that she might actually succeed, Ram offered her a job. When Big John informed Ram that she was secretly sleeping in the hayloft at night because she had nowhere else to go, Ram allowed her to stay in one of the four guest cottages near the barn. That had been seventeen years ago, and what had started as a temporary lodging arrangement had eventually become permanent. By this time, Ram judged her lodging to be part of her pay, and, as with Aunt Lou and Big John, he considered her a family member in everything but name.
Mercy, as she was called, soon became a good ranch hand, hungering for more knowledge and responsibility. She shadowed Big John day and night, soaking up every bit of wisdom she could. The rest of her impressive education came from Big John’s vet manuals that she read during her spare time, and often the lights in her cottage burned into the wee hours of the morning. Most of the ranch hands thought it was crazy for an attractive woman to spend her nights that way, but every one of them respected her knowledge. Ram liked Mercy immensely, but she could be difficult to manage. As he watched her approach, he smiled.
The quintessential tomboy, Mercy was on the short side, with an attractive figure and medium length, dirty blond hair that was perpetually woven into two braids. Her eyes were light blue, her lips pouting and full. A smattering of freckles had survived her youth, their wayward scattering always turning a bit darker during summertime. On the rare occasions when Mercy chose to wear a dress and do something more creative with her hair, the transformation could be spectacular.
As usual she was wearing snug jeans, a wide leather belt with a silver buckle, and a denim work shirt. Her scuffed boots were made of black lizard hide. She had rolled up her shirtsleeves, and an old Stetson dangled down her back from a leather string lying across her throat. Soiled work gloves covered her hands. She looked dirty and tired, like she had just finished some disagreeable chore. Walking nearer, she pulled off her gloves and stuffed them into the back pockets of her jeans.
Ram looked at her curiously. “Where the hell have you been? I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you all day.”
“I just got back with some of the boys,” she answered. “It was my turn to help ride fence.”
“I’ve told you a thousand times you don’t have to do that,” Ram said. “It’s tough enough work for a man, let alone a woman.”
Mercy laughed. “But I want to do it! The day that I can’t hold my own around here will be the day that I leave.”
Ram shot a quick glance at Big John. Big John had no easy answer, so he simply grinned. Ram sighed and shook his head. Sometimes Mercy was about as easy to handle as a coiled-up Florida rattlesnake.
“She’s right about the bran mash, boss,” Big John said.
“Anything else?” Ram asked.
“We should also start her on a probiotic, to make sure that she provides enough milk for the new foal,” Big John answered. “And we’ll give her some daily exercise in a corral of her own. Aside from that, it’s nature’s job. When Sadie’s time comes, she’ll let us know.”
Ram turned toward Mercy. “Are you staying or going?” he asked.
“Going,” she said. “I gotta wash all this Florida off me.”
Ram nodded. “Walk with me. I want to talk to you about something.”
Mercy accompanied him out of the barn and into the late-afternoon sunshine. She didn’t know where they were going, nor did she particularly care. But her interest was finally piqued when Ram escorted her to the Blaine family cemetery.
When Ram opened the gate, its hinges sounded a familiar creaking. After beckoning Mercy to enter the cemetery with him, he led her to a stone bench where they sat down.
“Why did you bring me here?” Mercy asked.
“I like this place,” Ram said. “It’s peaceful, and no one else will hear what I have to say.”
Mercy gave Ram a curious look. “What’s on your mind?” she asked.
Ram pointed toward two gravestones. They were neatly tended and surrounded with colorful flower beds. The stone markers belonged to Krista and Danny, something Mercy knew as well as Ram.
“You loved them, didn’t you?” Ram asked.
“Course I did,” Mercy answered. “Why in hell would you ask me such a thing?”
“Because I need a favor from you, and it’s one that you will probably find hard to grant,” Ram answered.
“What is it?” Mercy asked.
Ram turned and looked Mercy straight in the eye. “Wyatt’s program starts tomorrow,” he said, “and this place will be full of brooding teenagers and anxious parents. You know what that’s like, from when Krista ran the show. But Krista is gone, and the program is Wyatt’s baby now.”
“I already know all that,” Mercy answered.
“Yeah,” Ram answered, “but you don’t know about one of the teens and his mother. I don’t want your famous sense of righteous indignation to upset Wyatt’s apple cart. I want this boy and his mother to be treated the same as all the others. It was Wyatt’s decision to allow him into the program, and we’re all going to respect his wishes.”
“What in God’s name are you talking about?” Mercy demanded. “Why would I treat one of the kids differently? You’re not making much sense.” Mercy smiled and elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re not having another of your senior moments, are you?”
Ram smiled back. Mercy was one of the few people in the world who could joke about his illness and get away with it.
“No,” he answered. “Just now I have total clarity.”
“Okay,” Mercy said. “So who’s this special boy I’ll be teaching?”
“His name is Trevor Powers,” Ram answered. “It seems that he’s something of a hard case. He has a unique history with the Blaine family that will only make things more difficult. And by that I mean difficult for all of us, not just for him and his mother.”
Something about the boy’s name tugged at Mercy’s memory, but she couldn’t place it so she let it go. “So what’s the problem?”
“I’ll put it in a nutshell for you,” Ram answered. “Trevor’s father was Jason Powers, the drunk driver who killed Krista and Danny.”
Mercy was thunderstruck. She remained uncharacteristically quiet for a time, trying to absorb Ram’s jarring revelation.
“Why in Christ’s name would Wyatt agree to that?” she finally asked. “Having that boy and his mother at the ranch will be nothing but trouble.”
“It wasn’t Wyatt’s idea, I assure you,” Ram answered. “He got roped into it by our preacher, James Jacobson. But you wouldn’t know who he is, what with you being a heathen and all.”
Mercy had to agree with Ram on that one. She was far from the churchgoing type, and everyone at the ranch knew it. She much preferred a poker table and cigar smoke to a church pew and incense any day.
“So why single me out to tell me this?” she asked.
“I want you to treat the Powers woman and her boy with respect,” Ram said. “And as for why you might not, well, I think you know. You’re in love with Wyatt, aren’t you?” As if a great weight had been lifted from the old man’s shoulders, he sighed.
“There, I finally said it,” he breathed. “It took four years, but I finally got it out. I might be old and my brain riddled with Alzheimer’s, but I still don’t miss much. You’ve been in love with Wyatt for a long time. I know you, Mercy, nearly as well as you know yourself. You’re one of the most overly protective creatures on the planet, especially where Wyatt is concerned. I tell you these things because you mustn’t get your back up when the Powerses arrive. Things’ll be hard enough around here without you pecking away at Gabrielle and her boy because of Jason’s mistake. And we both know that you’re not above it.”
Like Mercy, Ram could be agonizingly blunt. Although she was accustomed to his directness, his words affected her greatly. Ram was right. She did love Wyatt, but until this moment she believed that only she and Wyatt knew.
Four years ago Mercy had foolishly blurted out h
er feelings to Wyatt, on the night of the annual Flying B ball. To make matters worse, she had had far too much to drink and made a pass at him. The only silver lining was that by then all the guests had gone home, leaving her and Wyatt very much alone when she poured out her heart to him.
Wyatt had been kind, but firm. He did not feel the same, he told her. After drunkenly stumbling back to her cottage, she’d cried until dawn—not only because of Wyatt’s answer but also because she had made such a damned fool of herself.
They hadn’t spoken of it since. To Mercy’s great relief, Wyatt’s brotherly attitude toward her remained unchanged. But Mercy had been devastated by Wyatt’s answer. Even now, she tried to repress her feelings whenever Wyatt was near, but she doubted that she was very convincing.
She brushed away a tear, something few people aside from Wyatt had ever seen her do. Ram produced a handkerchief for her. Mercy sighed and dabbed at her eyes.
“You were right about telling me here,” she said. “I wouldn’t want any of the other hands to see me like this.”
“You’re human, just like everybody else,” Ram said. “Even though you don’t like to think so.”
Mercy’s gaze became searching. “Did Wyatt tell you?”
Ram shook his head. “He’s too much of a gentleman for that. Besides, you know Wyatt. The man explains his feelings about as much as a fish.”
“So how did you guess?” she asked.
Before answering, Ram plucked a blade of grass and chewed it thoughtfully. “You could call it fatherly intuition, I suppose. You both probably thought that you could hide it, but not from me.”
“Is Wyatt aware that you know?”
Ram shook his head. “Nope. And it’s gonna stay that way. If you tell him, I’ll have you shoveling manure twenty-four-seven.”
Mercy sighed and returned Ram’s handkerchief. “So I’ve been found out…”
Ram crossed his legs. “Yep. This means a lot to me, Mercy. I want Wyatt’s program to go smoothly. Even after all this time he seems to have no real life outside the ranch, and I worry that his revival of Krista’s program might only make him retreat inward even more. But he’s a grown man, and he wants to do this thing. So can I rely on you to behave yourself? All of that shoveling aside, that is?”
Mercy tried to smile. “I’ll try. But if that woman or her son crosses me, or if they disrespect you or Wyatt in any way, then all bets are off. Even with you.”
Ram hoped that he had gotten his point across, but he couldn’t be sure. Mercy was the most stubborn person he had ever known. He would just have to wait and see how all this shook out. But one thing was certain. Things were about to get damned interesting around here.
Ram stood and looked around. The sun was starting to set, and it was almost time for his nightly porch visit. After a moment, he looked down at Mercy.
“Would you like to have dinner in the big house tonight with me and the family?” he asked. “It’s fried-chicken Sunday.”
Mercy shook her head. “After everything you’ve told me, I think I’ll go home and lick my wounds. I could use a drink, and tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
Ram placed one hand on Mercy’s shoulder. She was shaking a bit, and her tears had come again. Better to leave her alone, he thought. Before walking away, he again lent her his handkerchief.
This time, Mercy took it without looking at him.
TEN
DISH IT UP, GIRL!” Celia Ward exclaimed. “I didn’t come all the way over here just to drink your bad coffee! So what’s Wyatt Blaine really like? Inquiring minds want to know!”
Before answering, Gabby watched her freshly poured creamer create burgeoning clouds in her coffee. She knew that Celia was only kidding about her coffee-brewing skills, but the inquisitive redhead was right about one thing. She had not come to Gabby’s town house simply to share a good cup of java.
In truth she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to tell Celia. Part of Gabby ached to tell her everything, if for no other reason than to confide in a close female friend. But another part of her psyche wanted to keep the memories of this morning all to herself. She wanted to lock them away in her heart, where no one could find them and set them free. What she didn’t know was why. It was confusing, and she couldn’t recall ever feeling this way.
She took her first sip of the strong coffee then sat back in her chair. In the end she decided that if she couldn’t share her feelings with Celia, she couldn’t share them with anyone.
Gabby sighed and looked into Celia’s eyes. “I wanted Trevor to personally thank Wyatt for his generosity,” she answered. “God, Celia, I nearly died of embarrassment when we had to run across the parking lot to catch him. And I never expected him to invite us to brunch. He knows the owners of Chez Paul, and he can get a table there anytime he wants one.”
Celia took another sip of Gabby’s coffee. It was hot and good. As she put down her cup, the look in her eyes said that Gabby wasn’t going to get off the hook that easily.
“You told me all that over the phone,” she snapped. “I want all the details, and I want them now.”
Despite her reluctance, Gabby laughed. It seemed like forever since she had laughed so freely. For the first time in ages she sensed that her world was starting to brighten, and the welcome change in her was not lost on the ever watchful Celia.
“Come on!” Celia pressed. “There must be more to it than that. Just look at you. You’re positively glowing.”
Before Celia arrived, Gabby had handed Trevor some money and given him permission to ride his bike over to Boca Towne Mall. She wanted to speak freely with Celia. Glad that the two of them were alone, Gabby gave Celia a contented look.
At forty-five, Celia remained an attractive woman. She loved coffee and practically lived on the stuff, the caffeine boost always heightening her well-known sense of urgency. Her snoopy personality was famous among the Jefferson High School staff. She was not a malicious gossip, but she loved being on the “inside of things,” as she put it.
“It isn’t what people say about you that matters,” she often warned. “It’s what they whisper.” And Celia’s whisperings carried more weight than most.
She, too, was unmarried, and that commonality had drawn the two women closer. Because her ex-husband was a successful Boca estate planner, the divorce judge had seen fit to award Celia enough funds to meet her obligations for some time to come. Still, with two children in college, she carried a heavy financial burden. She had been working as Roy Marshall’s assistant for nearly twelve years. The job granted her good medical and retirement benefits that would be difficult to equal elsewhere, so when her divorce became final she had decided to stay on.
“What about him?” Celia pressed. “I’ve seen Wyatt only once. It was just after his wife and son died. He came into Marshall’s office to formally remove Danny from the school rolls. I’m ashamed to say it, but even during those dark days he was very striking. Ah, the strong, silent type! They set my heart to fluttering every time. Sometimes a woman gets to wondering where all the real men have gone, and then—bam! You unexpectedly see one, and you realize that they might not be extinct after all.”
Gabby laughed again. “I know what you mean! But he seems impossibly difficult to get to know. Call me a sucker for lost causes, but there’s something about that man that keeps revisiting me. It’s confusing…”
“No, it isn’t,” Celia countered.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re smitten with him,” Celia answered.
“I am not!” Gabby exclaimed.
“Are, too!” Celia answered, laughing.
“Stop acting like the girls in my tenth-grade history class!” Gabby retorted. “I know my feelings!”
“Do you?”
“Yes! No! Oh, hell, I don’t know…”
“Well, there’s always the practical side of things to consider,” Celia said cryptically.
Deciding to let Gabby ponder that last comment, Celia stood an
d poured another cup of coffee. She then rummaged unabashedly through Gabby’s cabinets until she found an unopened bag of cookies, which she promptly ripped open.
Gabby scowled at her. “What are you talking about?”
“The other side of Wyatt Blaine,” Celia answered as she arranged some pecan sandies on a plate. “You know—the money side. You can’t honestly tell me that you haven’t thought about it.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then maybe you should.”
“It isn’t like that,” Gabby protested.
Celia returned to the table. She took a discerning bite from a sandie, followed by another sip of coffee.
“You meet a rich, attractive man you’re obviously drawn to, and you have the gall to sit there and tell me that his money never occurred to you?” she asked. “Did you suddenly become a saint or something? I’m afraid that you’re going to have to explain that one, girlfriend. Last time I checked, you and Trevor weren’t living on easy street.”
“I’m not after him for his money,” Gabby protested.
Celia smiled. “Okay, then why are you after him? Personally speaking, I can think of one reason that has nothing to do with his wallet.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Gabby insisted. “I’m not after him at all.”
“Are you sure?” Celia asked.
“It’s not like that,” Gabby said. “Yes, he’s wealthy. And I know that it might sound weird, but his money doesn’t matter to me.”
Celia snorted out a short laugh. “Sure.”
“It’s true,” Gabby said. “Wyatt isn’t showy, and he doesn’t talk about money. He’s not trying to impress anyone. As far as I can tell, his one true love seems to be the ranch.”
Celia drummed her fingertips on the tabletop. “Hmmm…he sounds like Sir Galahad in cowboy clothes.”
“Not really,” Gabby said. “Wyatt isn’t trying to save anyone.”
“What about the troubled teens in his New Beginnings Program? He’s trying to save them, isn’t he?”
“Perhaps in his own way, I suppose…,” Gabby answered.
If Wishes Were Horses Page 8
