If Wishes Were Horses

by Robert Barclay

  The game was always the same—five-card stud, with four cards faceup and one hole card. Because it was Wyatt’s turn to deal, he gathered up the cards then gave them two quick, waterfall-style shuffles.

  After everyone anted up, Wyatt declared that deuces were wild. He then dealt one card facedown to each player and another one faceup. He glanced around the table to see that his show card, the queen of diamonds, was highest. That made him the first bettor. From this point forward, every card would be dealt faceup.

  “Check,” he said.

  Morgan sat on Wyatt’s left. “Five bucks,” he said, tossing in a chip.

  Mercy swallowed another belt of gin then clumsily threw a five-dollar chip onto the pile. Everyone else went in.

  Wyatt dealt each player another card. This time Mercy held the high hand, with a pair of nines showing. She grinned stupidly as she fumbled with her holdings. After painstakingly segregating four blue chips, she tossed them into the pot.

  “Twenty…bucks,” she said.

  Everyone again stayed in. All the hole cards must be good, Wyatt realized. If this kept up, the pot would become a big one. He then dealt another round of cards.

  Mercy got another nine, giving her triple nines and again making hers the high hand. She tossed four red chips onto the pile. “Forty bucks,” she said thickly.

  “I’m out,” Big John said.

  “Me, too,” replied Jim.

  Jim and Big John tossed away their cards.

  “I’ll stay,” Kyle answered as he matched the bet. His show cards were a five, six, and a seven of differing suits, probably meaning that he was hoping for a straight.

  Wyatt was showing the king, queen, and jack of diamonds. They looked pretty, but like Kyle’s cards, still didn’t amount to much. As he sat thinking, Mercy gave him a nasty look. Her eyes were heavy; she started wavering back and forth in her chair.

  “Stay in, you coward,” she said thickly. “It doesn’t matter if you lose. You’re a Blaine, after all. And everybody knows that the Blaines have more money than God.”

  The game room went as silent as a tomb. Never had any of these men heard Mercy say anything remotely critical of the Blaine family, much less of Wyatt. For several tense moments no one spoke. Morgan shot Wyatt another meaningful glance. Wyatt quickly nodded back then looked across the table at Mercy. His expression was unforgiving.

  “You’re drunk,” he said softly, “so I’m going to let that comment slide. But don’t push me again. I’m not in the mood. However this hand goes, it’ll be the last one of the night.”

  Undaunted by Wyatt’s warning, Mercy dismissively waved one hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah, cowboy. You in or out?”

  Wyatt answered her by tossing forty dollars’ worth of chips onto the pile. Then he dealt more cards to Mercy, Kyle, and himself.

  Kyle’s card was a jack, and of no help. “I’m out,” he said. That left only Wyatt and Mercy.

  Mercy looked stupidly at Wyatt’s king, queen, and jack of diamonds. Wyatt was on his way toward a royal flush. But even in her drunken stupor, Mercy knew that the odds of Wyatt pulling off a royal flush were very poor. Mercy’s three nines were still the high hand. Confident that she was about to win, she gave Wyatt an evil-looking smile.

  “It’s just you and me now,” she said. She drunkenly counted out some chips and tossed them onto the pile. “One hundred bucks says you’ll turn tail and run.”

  Wyatt answered Mercy’s bet then dealt her final card. To everyone’s amazement, Mercy got the last nine. That gave her four of a kind, a nearly unbeatable hand. Wyatt sat back in his chair, thinking.

  What they say must be true, he decided. God really does protect drunks and little children. And just now, Mercy is both.

  Wyatt dealt his final card. As it fell to the table, Big John whistled and Kyle said something that should never be repeated in church.

  Wyatt now had the king, queen, jack, and ten of diamonds. He was only one card away from a royal flush. Even so, the odds against fulfilling it remained nearly impossible. Still certain that Wyatt was beaten, Mercy gave him another nasty smile.

  “You can’t have the nine of diamonds,” she said proudly, “because I’ve got it. That means the only way you can win is if you’ve got the ace. It isn’t showing, but the odds against you having it are just too long, even for the famous Wyatt Blaine.”

  Reaching out, Mercy shoved all her remaining chips into the center of the table.

  “All in,” she said. “Top that, rich boy.”

  Wyatt was becoming incensed. Trying to remember that the gin was doing Mercy’s talking for her, he regarded her calmly. He looked at his hole card and then into her eyes again. To everyone’s surprise, he, too, pushed in all his chips.

  “All in,” he said.

  Mercy turned over her hole card. It was the jack of clubs and no help to her. But that didn’t change the fact that she held four of a kind.

  Wyatt nodded. “You’re right, Mercy,” he said. “I don’t have the ace.”

  Cackling with delight, Mercy reached unsteadily toward the huge pile of chips. For a moment, Wyatt thought she might fall out of her chair.

  “Don’t you want to see my hole card?” he asked.

  Mercy snorted out a laugh. “What for? You already told me that you don’t have the ace.”

  “I don’t have that ace,” Wyatt said. He then turned over his hole card.

  It was the two of clubs—one of the wild cards that Wyatt had called at the start of the hand. It served as the ace of diamonds that he had needed. He had his royal flush, and it beat Mercy’s four nines.

  “Holy Christ,” Morgan said.

  “You can say that again,” Kyle breathed.

  Mercy was stupefied. Her drunken mind had forgotten that deuces were wild, and that Wyatt might be holding one.

  “Son of a bitch…,” she breathed.

  Because she had gone all in and lost, she was flat broke. She tried to stand, but no sooner did she come to her feet than her eyes fluttered closed and she collapsed. Morgan reached out and caught her in his arms.

  “Jesus!” Morgan said. “She’s so plastered she can’t even stand up!”

  Wyatt stood and gestured to Morgan. “Give her to me,” he said. “I’ll take her home.”

  Glad to be rid of her, Morgan did as his brother asked. She hung limply in Wyatt’s grasp, her arms, legs, and blond pigtails all dangling lifelessly toward the floor. Wyatt looked over at Big John, who was serving as cashier.

  “How much was her buy in?” Wyatt asked.

  Big John consulted his notepad. “Four hundred,” he said.

  “This game is over,” Wyatt said. “Cash everybody out. But before you do, get four hundred bucks from the till and stuff it into my pocket. Take it from my share.”

  “Will do, boss,” Big John said.

  After Big John did as Wyatt had asked, Wyatt started carrying Mercy toward the game-room door. “Everyone get some sleep,” Wyatt shouted over his shoulder. “We have another big day tomorrow.”

  After Wyatt left the room, Morgan cashed out. He saw that Big John’s face was long with worry. “What the hell was eating her?” Morgan asked. “I’ve never seen her like that! I know that she likes her booze, but Jesus…”

  Big John rubbed his chin. “I don’t rightly know. Whatever her demons are, they’re doozies. But if anyone can find out, it’s Mr. Wyatt.”

  “I hope you’re right…,” Morgan answered.

  FIVE MINUTES LATER, Wyatt arrived at Mercy’s cottage. The place was dark and quiet. He gently lowered Mercy onto a porch chair then searched for the spare key.

  To his relief, it still lay on top of the door sill. He opened the door and turned on the lights. After again taking Mercy in his arms, he carried her into the cottage. Before putting Mercy in the bedroom, Wyatt took a moment to look around. He hadn’t been here in some time, but the place hadn’t changed.

  The cottage was small and attractively furnished. There was a living room,
a kitchen, two bedrooms, and a den. Little reminders of Mercy lay all about—an open veterinary textbook here, a cowboy hat there, a cup of unfinished coffee sitting on an end table. Like Mercy herself, the place was a portrait in organized clutter.

  Wyatt carried Mercy into the master bedroom and laid her on the bed. When her head hit the pillow, she let out a little groan and curled up in the fetal position. She looked childlike lying there, with her blond braids falling onto her shoulders. Wyatt considered putting her under a mercilessly cold shower, clothes and all, then decided to just let her sleep it off. He sighed and shook his head.

  Come sunrise, I wouldn’t want to be her, he thought. No hangover remedy in the world is going to cure the result of this bender.

  Then he remembered her money. Reaching into his jeans, he retrieved the four hundred dollars. She didn’t deserve it, but he wanted her to have it. As he placed it on top of the nightstand he spied a photo there, encased in a pewter frame. He picked it up and looked at it.

  It was a shot of him and Mercy, taken inside the main barn. Because Krista had often prowled the ranch with her camera, Wyatt guessed that she had taken it. Wyatt and Mercy looked happy, but he couldn’t remember when this photo had been taken. Deciding to leave the little mystery unsolved, he placed the photo back on the nightstand and headed for the door.

  “Wyatt…?” Mercy called out.

  Wyatt walked back and sat down on the bed.

  “What happened?” she asked thickly.

  “You passed out from too much gin,” he answered. “And you’re still drunk. Rather than take you home, maybe I should have laid you down in the family cemetery because, come sunrise, you’ll wish that you were dead.”

  She groaned and rubbed her face with her hands. “You’re right,” she said as she tried to focus on his face. “Either you’re circling the ceiling…or…I’m loaded.”

  It was an effort, but she managed to rise up onto her elbows. Her eyes closed tightly for several moments before opening again.

  “The poker game…,” she said. “Did I make an ass of myself?”

  Wyatt shook his head. “No,” he answered. “You made a perfect ass of yourself. You said some pretty awful things, but I’m doing my best to forget them. I can’t speak for the others.”

  Mercy’s eyes filled with tears then she turned over and buried her face in her pillow. Wyatt waited quietly, hoping that her crying would soon stop. He wanted to leave, but first he needed to know that she would be all right.

  Mercy finally quieted. When she again looked into his face, her expression was searching. She placed one palm against his cheek.

  “Why did you do it?” she asked softly.

  Wyatt took her hand from his cheek. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “Why did you allow that Powers woman into our lives?” Mercy demanded. “Don’t you know how much pain she’ll cause to you and to me? She’ll hurt us, Wyatt, I just know it. She’ll take away what we have!”

  Wyatt closed his eyes. So this is what caused her to go off the deep end tonight. What a fool I’ve been not to see it.

  Wyatt looked sternly into Mercy’s eyes. He wanted to make her understand. But if he was going to get through to her, he would have to be harsh. He took her by her shoulders and pulled her nearer.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “There is no ‘us.’ There never was. You’re a wonderful girl, and any man would be proud to be with you. But I don’t love you, Mercy, and I never have. You’re like a sister to me, but that’s as far as it goes. After what happened between us four years ago, I thought you understood that. If you didn’t, you certainly should have.”

  Given the absent look in her eyes, he doubted that he was getting through to her. Perhaps she wants “us” so badly that she simply refuses to listen.

  “You’re falling in love with her, aren’t you?” Mercy asked. The look on her face had suddenly become angry.

  “What are you talking about?” Wyatt demanded.

  “You heard me!” she shouted. “I was there, in the barn, when you took her and her son in to see Sadie! Then later, outside, I saw how you looked into her eyes!”

  “You were there?” Wyatt demanded. “You spied on us?”

  Mercy nodded stupidly. “Call it whatever you want! I might be drunk now, but I wasn’t last night when I saw the two of you mooning over each other! You might as well have screwed her right there in the grass!”

  Mercy’s harsh outburst confused Wyatt. As he searched his feelings, he honestly didn’t know whether he was angry because Mercy was being so brazen, or because she was right. Tired of trying to reason with a drunk, he let go of her and she slumped against the bed.

  “I’m done arguing with you, Mercy,” he said. “And I never want to talk about this again. There’s nothing between us and there never has been. I’ve done all that I can to convince you of it. If you can’t accept it, then I don’t care anymore. You haven’t totally burned your bridges with me, but you’ve come damned close.”

  Wyatt stood and looked down at her angrily. “Despite your condition, I expect you to be at work tomorrow. And one more thing—make sure that Trevor isn’t among the teens you will be teaching. Steer clear of Gabby, too. I don’t need any more problems than I already have.”

  Wyatt turned and walked to the door. As he went, Mercy started sobbing again.

  When Wyatt turned out the light, she reached one hand toward him. As he stood there looking at her, the Florida moonlight streamed through the bedroom windows and highlighted his face. Just like Gabby Powers the night before, Mercy wanted everything to remain just as it was so that she could look at him all night.

  “I love you…,” she whispered.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Wyatt answered coldly. Then he shut the door and was gone.

  SIXTEEN

  TREVOR ANXIOUSLY LOOKED up from his reading. The wall clock in the Jefferson High School library said eleven twenty A.M. Only forty minutes remained before the start of his next class, and he wanted to use his time wisely. He had chosen this study-hall period to research American quarter horses.

  Trevor was immensely glad that Wednesday had come. Although he wasn’t looking forward to the group-therapy sessions, he was very eager to start the equestrian training. After meeting Sadie, he wanted to absorb as much about her breed as he could. He was stunned by how much there was to learn.

  Trevor paused in his reading for a moment, remembering his first day at the ranch. His newfound excitement came as a welcome surprise to him. He had fully expected to hate the Flying B, and everyone and everything associated with it. But now he couldn’t wait to get back.

  All the way home, he had been an absolute chatterbox. Gabby had listened politely as Trevor went on and on about Sadie and how much he looked forward to caring for her. Trevor had done a marvelous job of overstating his importance, and Gabby had wisely agreed with him.

  Trevor’s exhilaration continued unabated after he and his mother arrived home. Although it was already late, he stayed up for another two hours, munching Aunt Lou’s cold chicken and researching American quarter horses on the Internet. Only after Gabby insisted did he finally give in and go to bed.

  Just prior to slipping between the sheets, he carefully placed his boots under his bed and hung his Stetson on one of the bedposts. Before sleep finally found him, he remained awake for hours, thinking of Sadie and the Flying B. The following morning Trevor had surprised Gabby even further when he insisted on wearing his new boots to school. Not wanting to waste another minute, Trevor eagerly turned his mind back to his reading.

  Suddenly his schoolbooks went flying off the library table, and at first he didn’t know what was happening. He looked down to see his books lying on the floor, still bound together by his father’s old leather belt. As he bent down to pick them up, another pair of hands grasped them first.

  Trevor looked up to see Tim Richardson, the boy Trevor had scuffled with not long ago, greedily clutching his books. John Hanson a
nd Bill Memphis stood alongside Tim. The three were nearly inseparable. Roaming the school together lent the trio a boldness they might not have possessed individually, and they used it to their full advantage. Trevor wasn’t the first boy they had harassed, nor would he be the last.

  Trevor glared hotly at Tim. Like Trevor, Tim was large for his age. His nose remained somewhat bruised from Trevor’s punch. As the three boys stood ominously before him, Trevor tried to control himself. His books could be replaced, but seeing his father’s cherished belt in Tim’s hands made him furious. When Trevor reached for it, Tim backed up. Teasing Trevor further, Tim started swinging the books to and fro by the leather belt.

  “Give those to me!” Trevor shouted. “They’re mine!”

  Tim shook his head nastily. “They’re mine now, you dumb bastard,” he said. He pointed at Trevor’s boots and laughed. “Look!” he said to Hanson and Memphis. “The horse retard is wearing cowboy boots! Isn’t that sweet! Are those the same boots that you wear when you shovel horse crap? We hear that all the horse retards have to wear them!”

  Trevor clenched his fists and took another step forward. But Tim was equally quick, and he backed up again.

  “What did you just call me?” Trevor demanded.

  “You’re one of the horse retards!” Richardson answered. “That’s what everyone is calling the losers in that stupid program! Horse retards!”

  Trevor again reached out one hand. “Give me my books!” he ordered.

  Tim made a great show of examining the leather belt. “Is this a cowboy belt?” he asked nastily. “It doesn’t look lame enough to be a cowboy belt! I hear that it was your old man’s belt. He wasn’t stupid enough to be a cowboy, but I guess that his son is. Isn’t that right, horse retard?”

  “Give it to me!” Trevor shouted. “Or I’ll paste you again!”

  Tim smiled and shook his head. “This time you’re outnumbered.” As the words left Richardson’s mouth, Hanson and Memphis stepped closer.