If Wishes Were Horses

by Robert Barclay

  Jesus! Wyatt thought. He’s going to try to jump it!

  Wyatt immediately ran toward the paddock. But Ram saw Wyatt coming, and the old man spurred King on faster. Realizing that he couldn’t reach them in time, Wyatt skidded to a stop, nearly tumbling to the grass. To his horror, he could only watch helplessly as Ram drove the stallion forward.

  Please, God, Wyatt thought. Let them get over it in one piece!

  Much to Wyatt’s relief, King carried Ram safely over the top rail and down into the paddock confines. King’s shoulders and muzzle were frothy, and the stallion appeared exhausted. There was no telling how many times King had already jumped, but one thing was certain—if Ram ordered King over again, they might not make it.

  “Dad!” Wyatt shouted. “Dad, stop! Don’t go again!”

  Instead of heeding his son, Ram released a piercing rebel yell. He then spurred King into yet another gallop, steering the horse straight toward the far side of the paddock.

  Running as fast as he could, Wyatt tried to gauge where King would land—assuming the horse cleared the rails. If King didn’t make it over, the result could be disastrous. As King and Ram launched themselves into the air, Wyatt watched with dread.

  This time the exhausted horse’s front hooves struck the top rail, knocking it to the ground. Mercifully, the blow did little to hinder King’s momentum. Barreling through the air, the horse landed shakily on the other side of the paddock rails.

  Wyatt held his breath yet again as King skidded on all fours across the wet grass. The stallion and rider finally came to a stop. Wasting no time, Wyatt ran and grabbed King’s bridle. Butch and Sundance suddenly appeared and started barking madly, adding to the confusion.

  Just then King reared up, and it was all Wyatt could do to keep the stallion from bolting off again. Finally the nervous horse calmed down. In the growing light of day, Wyatt saw that Ram’s face was twisted with anger. Ram angrily raised his riding crop.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted at Wyatt. “I own this place, and no goddamned ranch hand is going to tell me what to do! Now unhand my horse!”

  “Dad!” Wyatt answered. “It’s me—Wyatt!”

  Ram looked at his son with unseeing eyes. For several moments he just sat on top of King as if trying to decide who Wyatt was. Then his expression softened. He lowered his crop.

  “Now climb down, Dad,” Wyatt said. “King needs attention.”

  Ram finally did as Wyatt asked. Taking no chances, Wyatt relieved Ram of his crop. Ram rubbed his face with his hands and blankly looked around. For several more minutes he stood there quietly, his confused expression unchanging. Dawn had arrived and from somewhere near the main barn, Ram’s old banty rooster crowed.

  “Jesus,” Ram finally breathed. “How the hell did I get here?” He looked around again then stared into Wyatt’s eyes. “And what in Christ’s name happened to the lawn?”

  “Never mind that,” Wyatt said. “I’ll explain it all to you later. Right now, we need to get you into the house. And King’s forelegs must be tended to.”

  Ram’s face screwed up. “What’s wrong with King’s legs? And where in hell is your shirt? You look like you were raised by wolves!”

  “Not now, Dad!” Wyatt said. “I want you and Aunt Lou to go back into the house.”

  Ram dismounted and stared incredulously at King’s forelegs. Both were cut and bleeding where they’d struck the top rail of the paddock. The wounds weren’t serious, but they needed care or they could turn septic. As Ram examined King, Wyatt used the opportunity to take Aunt Lou aside.

  “Were you the first one to see him out here?” he asked.

  “Must be,” she answered. “I was gettin’ up, just like I do every day about this time, when I heard whoopin’ and hollerin’ coming from the paddocks. I looked out my bedroom window and I saw your father out here, having a grand old time for himself. John was already about his chores, so I came and fetched you first.”

  Wyatt nodded. “Take him back to the big house,” he said. “I’ll be along after I see to King.”

  Just then another thought occurred to Wyatt. “After you get Ram situated, find his prescription bottle and bring it to me,” he said quietly to Lou. “But don’t let him know that you’re doing it.”

  Lou scowled. “What you got in mind?”

  “I’ve got a hunch about something,” Wyatt said. “Now please take him and get going.”

  Wyatt and Lou heard voices, and they turned to see Mercy and Big John running toward them. Mercy was still buttoning her shirt.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Big John shouted.

  Wyatt took Big John and Mercy aside. “Ram had another spell,” he said quietly. “He was jumping King back and forth over the paddock rails. The last time, they nearly didn’t make it.”

  Big John whistled. “In the dark and on slick grass? Christ, it’s a wonder that Ram and King aren’t all busted up, or worse.”

  Wyatt looked at Mercy then back at Big John. “King’s forelegs are bleeding,” he said. “The wounds don’t look bad, but they need attention.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Big John said.

  Mercy walked over to King and took his reins. After examining King’s wounds, she looked at Ram. He seemed to recognize her.

  “Jesus Christ, Mercy!” Ram exclaimed. “What’s everybody so goddamned worried about? Can’t a man go for a dawn ride anymore? Back in my day I did this every morning, come rain or shine! Who the hell made you people the boss of me?”

  Wyatt walked back to where Ram was standing. “Come along, Dad,” he said. “It won’t be long before breakfast.”

  “Good!” Ram exclaimed. “For some reason, I’m starving!”

  And save for you, we all know why, Wyatt thought.

  While Wyatt and Lou escorted Ram back to the big house, Mercy and Big John led King away. From somewhere near the main barn, Ram’s old rooster let go another arrogant cry that seemed to forgive his master’s foolishness and welcome him home.

  “YOU’VE BEEN FOUND OUT, old man,” Wyatt said.

  When Ram didn’t answer, Wyatt sighed and leaned back in his chair. He knew that this talk would be difficult, but it was needed. His suspicions had been proved right, and he couldn’t allow Ram to keep on fooling everyone—including himself.

  It was nearly eight A.M. Despite the fracas Ram had caused, Aunt Lou had managed to lay breakfast out on time. Everyone had finished eating and was dawdling over coffee.

  Ensconced behind his freshly ironed newspaper, Ram acted for all the world as if his recent misadventure had never happened. Ram sat on Wyatt’s left; Big John was on his right. Lou and Mercy sat across from them. Their bellies already full of bacon and sausages, Butch and Sundance sat at Ram’s feet, diligently waiting for more.

  As Wyatt gave Mercy a deadpan glance, her only response was to sheepishly look down at the remains of her half-eaten breakfast. Wyatt had told no one of their argument in her cottage, nor had he and Mercy spoken of it since. That suited Wyatt, because he was still angry with her. But in his heart he knew that he would eventually forgive her. After all was said and done, her only indiscretion was to love him, and the gin had done most of the talking. Despite his anger, Wyatt had asked Mercy to join everyone at breakfast. Wyatt was about to confront his father, and he would need all his allies around him.

  “I know what you’re up to,” Wyatt said to Ram.

  When Ram still didn’t answer, Wyatt stood and pulled down Ram’s crisp newspaper. As Ram removed his glasses, he scowled.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded. “It’s bad enough that you interrupted my morning ride. Can’t a man enjoy his paper in peace anymore? I can still read, despite what you might think.”

  “You didn’t answer me,” Wyatt said.

  “I didn’t hear you,” Ram protested.

  Wyatt smirked. “You might be forgetful, but you’re not deaf. So I’ll put it another way. We’re on to you.”

&nbs
p; “What are you talking about?” Ram asked. His lawyerly attitude had surfaced, telling everyone that he was ready for a fight.

  Wyatt reached into a shirt pocket and produced Ram’s Alzheimer’s medication. He placed the Aricept bottle on the tabletop for everyone to see.

  “That’s your medication,” Wyatt said. “Let’s call it exhibit A.”

  “So what if it is?” Ram asked. “Do you think I can’t recognize my own medicine anymore?”

  Wyatt picked up the bottle and rattled the pills. “This bottle is full, but the date on the label says that it was issued four weeks ago. You’ve gone a full month without your meds and maybe longer. You should’ve flushed the pills down the toilet so that it looks like you’re taking them. You’re trying to do without them, aren’t you?”

  Ram looked away. “I must have forgotten to take them.”

  “Every morning for an entire month?” Wyatt asked. “I doubt it. Are you purposely trying to get by with less?”

  “Asked and answered, Counselor,” Ram said.

  Wyatt sighed. “Permission to treat the witness as hostile?”

  Ram only grunted and hunched his shoulders.

  “Please, Dad,” Wyatt said. “We need to know. It’s in everyone’s best interests that you take your meds.”

  Ram looked angrily around the table. “What is this, some goddamned intervention? If so, I don’t need it!”

  “King’s scraped forelegs and the wrecked paddock say otherwise,” Wyatt answered. “We’ll call them exhibits B and C.”

  While Ram considered his options, the only sound was the comforting ticktock of the old grandfather clock. “Opposing counsel is badgering the witness,” he finally said.

  “Let’s stop the courtroom banter, shall we?” Wyatt asked. “Please tell us, Dad. Are you purposely avoiding your meds?”

  Ram folded his arms across his chest. “The stuff kills my appetite.”

  “That’s horse crap!” Aunt Lou interjected. “You gobble down your artery-clogging food as good as you ever did!”

  Ram shot Lou a gruff look. “Okay…so I still eat the same. But the Aricept keeps me awake at night, and that’s the truth. An old buzzard like me needs his rest.”

  “So instead of telling anyone, you just stopped taking it?” Wyatt protested. “Jesus, Dad, what if everybody thought that way?”

  A microsmile passed across Ram’s lips. “Then I’d be a damned fool to think any other way, wouldn’t I?” he asked.

  Wyatt sighed and leaned back in his chair. Sometimes there was just no point in arguing with Ram. On his clear days he was as sharp as a tack, and could make even his ass-backward logic sound reasonable. But this issue was too important to ignore.

  “There’s more at stake here than your beauty sleep,” Wyatt said. “Suppose King had gone down on that wet grass? You could have killed yourself, and King might have been injured, too. If he had broken a leg, we’d have had to put him down. Not to mention perhaps burying you, and I’m in no hurry to do that. But another stunt like this might change my mind.”

  Wyatt leaned closer. “I’m not sure what your old hide is worth these days,” he added sternly. “But King is extremely valuable, not to mention the possible loss of his stud fees. And you know damned well that our insurance doesn’t cover horses that are injured because of our negligence. Even Blaine and Blaine couldn’t get us reimbursed for a stunt like that.”

  After another period of tense silence, Ram sighed. “I know all those things now, son,” he finally admitted. “But I didn’t know them then. I didn’t know anything, except that I wanted to keep jumping King.”

  “I understand that, Dad,” Wyatt said quietly. “That’s why things have to change.”

  Part of Wyatt’s heart felt sad for his father. But when dealing with Ram, sentiment could easily turn the tables on you. Time for some tough love, Wyatt thought.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Wyatt said. “If you can’t sleep, we’ll ask your neurologist to prescribe something else for you. So that you don’t ‘forget’ anymore, Aunt Lou will bring your new medication to breakfast each morning and we’ll all watch you take it.”

  Ram sighed again. He had been outfoxed, a rare occurrence. Even if he protested, Wyatt would ensure that he took his medicine every day. Despite his defeat, he had to admire the way that Wyatt had outmaneuvered him. Sometimes he forgot what a good lawyer his younger son was.

  “All right,” he said. “The verdict is in. But I reserve my right to appeal the sentence. You know what the doctor said. The meds won’t keep me from forgetting—they only slow down the process.”

  Wyatt smiled. “That’s okay, Dad,” he answered. “But you don’t have to like your medicine. You just have to take it.”

  Wyatt removed one pill from the bottle and held it out. Ram grudgingly swallowed it with some lukewarm coffee.

  “Thank you,” Wyatt said.

  “We all thank you,” Mercy added.

  “That’s right,” Big John added with a grin. “Besides, there’s always plenty of barbed-wire fence that needs fixing. We don’t need to be repairing paddocks, too.”

  “Very funny,” Ram said. “Now then, if it’s okay with all my jailers, I’m going to take my newspaper and coffee and retreat to my study. And I think I’ll take Butch and Sundance with me this time. They seem to be the only ones around here who aren’t trying to run my life.”

  Ram collected his glasses and newspaper then went to the sideboard and poured a fresh cup of coffee. With the ever faithful dogs in tow, he trudged off toward his study. When Ram was out of sight, Wyatt looked at Aunt Lou and nodded gratefully.

  As he went, Ram shook his head. His experiment had failed. He had in fact been purposely ignoring his medication. Yes, it interfered with his sleep. But more important, he saw it as much a crutch as a help, and Ram had always loathed the idea of not functioning on his own.

  Instead, this latest adventure of his had nearly killed him, and had injured one of the Flying B’s most valuable horses. Worse, Wyatt had found out, and there could be no going back now. He took a deep breath and shook his head.

  Times are changing, he thought. Even for me…

  EIGHTEEN

  TREVOR WAS BORED to death. I hate these sessions, he thought. He stole a quick glance at the grandfather clock. Ten more minutes, and then I get to ride again. But it’ll seem more like ten hours…

  Four full weeks of New Beginnings had passed. Seven other teens and the group’s psychotherapist sat with Trevor at one end of the massive dining room table. Eight more enrollees and their therapist were holding their own session down the hall in the big-house library, while the rest of the teens took their equestrian training.

  Leaning back in his chair, Trevor crossed one boot over the top of the other. He then turned and looked at Sally Hendricks, who always sat beside him during these sessions. They hadn’t known each other before joining New Beginnings. During the first day’s orientation at the ranch, they learned that they attended the same school, and that Sally took one of Gabby’s history classes. From that knowledge, a friendship had sprung up between them.

  Sally was a tall girl, Trevor’s age, with long, dark hair, and a bright mind. Like Trevor, Sally had been slipping academically. The further her grades fell, the more distant she became from her family and her usual circle of friends. Of even greater worry to her parents was that Sally had started wearing Goth-style clothing and makeup, and had become part of that odd clique.

  But since entering the New Beginnings program, she seemed somewhat happier and more outgoing. Her grades had improved a bit, and she spent less time with the Goth kids. Although she hadn’t totally abandoned that culture, she now wore less of the getup that went along with it.

  When Sally glanced back at Trevor, he crossed his eyes and abruptly stuck out his tongue. Sally giggled and unintentionally interrupted Jasmine Andrews, the black teen who was speaking.

  Jasmine always had definite opinions and no problem expressing
them. Horses were a lot like boys, Jasmine was insisting. It was impossible to manage a horse, she said, and managing boys was no easier. After smirking at Trevor, she added that maybe it was because boys were as dumb as horses.

  Knowing full well who the troublemaker was, the psychotherapist cast her gaze Trevor’s way. Always the professional, she made sure that her expression was judgment free. Nonetheless, it spoke volumes.

  Her name was Clarissa James, and all of the teens were required to call her “Dr. James.” Trevor obliged, but whenever she crossed his mind the name “sourpuss” popped up so vividly that he had to make a concentrated effort not to actually blurt it out. As Dr. James laced her fingers together on the table, she fixed her stare solely on him.

  “Was there something you wanted to share with the group, Trevor?” she asked.

  Trevor stared down at the shiny tabletop. Sally giggled again, this time at Trevor’s expense.

  “Uh…not really,” Trevor answered.

  He stole another glance at the grandfather clock. Eight minutes left. He could endure anything for eight minutes, he decided, including the laserlike stare of Dr. James.

  “Well, perhaps you could share your viewpoint on what Jasmine was just saying,” Dr. James suggested.

  “What was that?” Trevor asked.

  “About how it’s so hard to control a horse, silly,” Jasmine chimed in. “Don’t you ever listen?”

  “Oh yeah, that,” Trevor answered. “You’re wrong—it’s not that hard.”

  “Well…?” Dr. James asked.

  Trevor thought for a moment before again looking across the table at Jasmine. “It’s your fault, not the horse’s,” he said with authority.

  “Would you care to explain that?” Dr. James asked.

  “I’ve seen the way you ride,” Trevor said to Jasmine. “You’re terrible at it. When your horse doesn’t do what you want, you just sit there and yell at him. That’s not how it works. Do you think that he’s going to answer you back or something? Jesus…”

  Several of the teens laughed, but Dr. James was not amused. She certainly didn’t condone Trevor’s bad language. But so long as Trevor didn’t use it too harshly against someone else, she had decided to tolerate it because the overall therapy process was far more important to Trevor than trying to correct a single bad habit.