A Box Full of Trouble

by Carolyn Haines

  She waited for their eight o’clock client at the first paddock. Rob had been just weeks from his high school graduation when a car crash had taken his closest friend and left him with debilitating injuries. He’d been referred to her by a neurosurgeon who believed Rob’s own mind was deliberately holding him back from fullest recovery. Rob had been driving when the accident occurred. The parents of the deceased friend had forgiven their son’s friend, but Rob couldn’t or wouldn’t forgive himself.

  Rob greeted her with a shy smile. That smile had taken weeks to surface but Avery didn’t credit herself. It was Rob’s bond with Mr. BoJangles – or Jangle as he’d come to be called – that had wrought the slow change in a young man who had everything in life ahead of him but wanted nothing but the one thing that life could not offer. A second chance for his friend.

  The youngest of her instructors, Leanne, brought Jangle to the paddock and stood waiting patiently in the center for Rob to come to her.

  Avery remained at the paddock opening as Rob walked slowly but with increasing steadiness across the soft smooth dirt of the paddock.

  “Why didn’t she bring the horse to him?” Dirks’ voice came from behind her.

  Avery turned slowly. “You’re very quiet on your feet.” It wasn’t quite an accusation.

  “Habit. Training. Sorry, it wasn’t intentional.”

  But she wondered if that were true. He was here, after all, to scrutinize everything about her. The thought should have bothered her, she supposed, but she was glad the government cared enough about the men and women who had served and been injured for their service to see that they received good care. She had reason to know that wasn’t always the case and not just because of the bombardment of bad press about veteran aid. She was still angry at how long it had taken for her brother to get the help he needed and, even then, it had been too little, too late.

  Pulling her thoughts back to Dirks’ question, she said, “Rob came to us six months ago in a wheelchair. He had to want to walk before he could learn to walk. Jangle has a way about him that makes people want to come to him. Leanne was smart enough to use that fact to full advantage.”

  She turned to look at Dirks and found he was watching the young man and the horse. Jangle never took his wide, dark eyes off Rob despite the slow process, never shook his head in impatience. Avery knew the moment Dirks realized that Leanne had stepped away and saw only solid training held the animal quietly in position. Avery knew it was more than training. Jack’s offspring – and Jangle was the oldest of them – seemed to understand intuitively the need of the humans who came into their care. When Rob reached Jangle’s side, Jangle lowered his head to the young man’s chest. Arms, not as strong as they surely once were, but stronger every day, circled the horse’s neck. Leanne came forward with a two-step stool and stood by, ready to assist, but not offering help that wasn’t needed, as Rob slowly stepped up and into the saddle. He gave Leanne another brief smile then gathered the reins and began to guide Jangle slowly around the paddock.

  Avery beckoned Leanne forward and introduced her to Dirks. “Leanne is in charge of Barn One.”

  She’d thought that Dirks would question Leanne but all he did was give his name and say that he was there on behalf of the wounded veterans program. When Leanne returned to the center of the ring to keep careful watch over Rob’s and Jangle’s progress, Dirks asked, “What does in charge of mean? Does she have a title?”

  Avery nodded. “She’s Barn Manager. That’s what is on the books. Reality is so much more. She is in charge of the horses in her barn – there are six in each – and the clients matched to those horses. Those horses are hers to manage as far as exercise, feed, training, leisure time – whatever they need she ensures they have. When they are with a client, her focus is on that client and that horse the entire time. She must know the medical history of each client, understand their primary doctor’s instructions for their therapy. Each barn has an indoor and an outdoor paddock. She’s tasked with knowing when the ground needs to be worked, altered in some way, etc. Of recognizing when maintenance is needed and making it happen.”

  She wasn’t surprised by Dirks’ raised brow. “One person? All that?”

  “One person. All that and more. She doesn’t do it all mind you, but she knows the why and manages the how and the when. The ‘and more’ is that each barn has a part-time barn helper who cleans the stalls, makes sure water is cool and tubs are clean and horses are all fed according to Leanne’s specific direction for each. She is also responsible for their performance and development as employees.”

  “Has she been here long?”

  “Almost five years. Leanne came to me straight from graduation -- physical therapy. She didn’t want to work in a hospital or clinic. She loves horses and she loves people.”

  “Does she live here? Do any of your barn managers? You have three barns so three managers, right?”

  “That’s right and she did live here for a while. The guest quarters are sometimes used for temporary residences, sometimes for clients who need a place to ‘be’ but again temporary. Leanne married a couple of years ago and she and her husband bought a small property not far from here. One of my requirements is that my barn managers must be within a thirty minute commute at the most.”

  “This isn’t just a job for them, is it?”

  Avery gave him a quick glance, realizing that he truly got it. “No, I guess it’s a career plus a lifestyle. Like the military is for some.”

  She started to walk toward Barn Two. The first appointment for that barn was another thirty minutes out. Dirks followed as she expected he would.

  “Why three barns? Why not one big one?”

  Her answer wasn’t quick or flippant because it was actually a good question. “Initially, it was because I started small and had only the first six horses to work with and not a great deal of savings or income. The first barn was built just big enough to house those six because it was as much as I could afford at the time. After I put in the outdoor paddock at one end and the covered paddock at the other, the set up worked so well that I did the same with Barn Two rather than adding on to what was there.

  The horses in Barn One provide therapy for clients who have been injured, like Rob. Leanne is good with the grief and the anger and the frustration that comes with all of that - the loss of what they had, the fight to get it back.”

  “What about Barn Two?” Dirks asked quietly. “Who is that for?”

  “Children born with disabilities, whose parents or caregivers of some sort are smart enough, care enough, and brave enough to want them to have more, to have and be everything they can and they choose horses, choose us, to give it to them.”

  * * *

  Dirks heard the passion in her voice, heard the caring. But caring didn’t always equate to ethics, he knew. He almost hated to push on through the questioning. Not that he had a choice. The questioning and the digging were why he’d been sent.

  “And Barn Three?”

  “That barn I just filled over the last few months, selected the horses more carefully than I’ve ever selected in my life.” He could hear the sadness in her voice. “I chose them for the veterans.”

  “Your brother came home from Afghanistan wounded.”

  Her feet stopped moving and he saw the slight jerk of her head, as if he’d sent the slenderest of arrows through her. She didn’t question his knowledge, of course. She would’ve expected him to do his homework before coming to see her facilities.

  The look she turned on him was filled as much with anger as with anguish. “He was passed from one hospital to another, assigned to one reviewer after another. He couldn’t get the quality of help he needed from them and he wouldn’t take it from me.” She started walking again, seeming not to care if he followed or not.

  Dirks didn’t bother to apologize. There were no words adequate. What was happening in military units everywhere was inexcusable. But there were those working hard to make improvements and he
was part of that effort. No matter how pretty - how beautiful - he found Avery Wilson, he’d verify she was part of the improvement process, as well, or turn her over to the authorities in a heartbeat if he found she was not. Maybe not without a pang, but he’d do it.

  The last trace the military had of her brother was that he was one of the walking wounded, lost and homeless, but – hopefully – still alive someplace, still with the possibility of recovery. There was another whole investigative branch now dedicated to finding and helping, this time truly helping, those who would let them. And still not each of them would.

  Carlee intercepted them before they reached Barn Two. Dirks noted that she was dressed much like Avery in jeans and tucked shirt with her light colored hair pulled up into some kind of knot. Also like Avery she wore a minimum of makeup. These were women with a focus on their work not on their appearance.

  She acknowledged Dirks with a glance and something that could have passed for a nod but she focused her gaze on Avery. “I’ve ordered all new headstalls for Barn One. We’re using what we need from Barn Three until they arrive.”

  “That works,” Avery agreed. “You ordered from Barton’s?”

  “Of course.” Carlee almost smiled. “I know your preference for local and the quality is there as well as value for the price. Sam was thrilled to get the order.” The smile, that never quite was, disappeared quickly. “There was an odd message on the business line. A Mr. Markham. He said his flight would arrive just after one o’clock this afternoon and he’d be around to assess the colt.”

  “What? What colt? Why?”

  Dirks noted that every bit of the tension was back in Avery’s voice.

  “I don’t know, Avery. That’s all he said other than he mentioned an e-mail he’d sent last evening. He sounded like a Yankee or a Brit,” Carlee added. “I couldn’t place the accent.”

  “I don’t care if he sounded like European Royalty. He’s wasting his time. And mine. We’ve nothing for sale, lease, or borrow.”

  “I know,” Carlee soothed. “I’ll deal with him if you like.”

  “No, it’s mine to do, but thank you. I’ve got this. There is something you can do for me.”

  “Anything, of course.”

  “I need a rental for a few weeks and I need the insurance adjustor to go by the sheriff’s office and request to see my SUV so that a claim can get started.”

  “What are you talking about? Avery, were you in a wreck? Are you hurt?” Carlee started to sound frantic.

  Avery put both hands on Carlee’s shoulders. “No and no. No wreck and I’m not hurt. Someone just had a little fun with my car, that’s all. Nothing a new windshield and four new tires won’t fix.”

  Dirks realized she didn’t mention bullet holes and a front seat that would need replacing. But since Carlee showed clear signs of panic, that was probably a wise decision on her part.

  “Oh, my God, what did he do? He’s crazy. I swear it. Avery, I’m sorry.”

  “Stop, Carlee. Just stop. I don’t know who did it and neither do you. The sheriff may figure it out so let’s just wait and see.”

  “Why are you protecting him?”

  “I’m not, Carlee, I’m really not but until I know more, I can’t accuse Craig of anything.”

  “Well, I can.” With the panic fading, Carlee’s blue eyes held pure anger. “I can and will.”

  “I really wish you wouldn’t.”

  Carlee touched Avery’s face lightly. “You’re a saint, you know that don’t you?” But she didn’t, Dirks noted, give in to Avery’s wishes.

  Avery stood watching as Carlee walked away but Dirks’ attention was split between the two women. Avery’s brows were drawn together in worry as she watched her step-daughter’s long strides. Carlee glanced at the black cat as he sauntered by but she didn’t slow. Clearly, Carlee on a mission could be a formidable person.

  “Well, okay, then.” The words were quietly spoken.

  Dirks focused on Avery and raised one brow.

  “There’s no stopping Carlee when she sets her mind on something. She’s wrong though. I’m not a saint. If I could give Craig as much misery as he’s given me, I probably would. Fortunately for me, he’s saved me the effort.” She turned at the sound of a diesel engine. A sharp, blue truck was pulling to a stop in front of the second of the three barns. “There’s our nine o’clock. You can watch Tucker. He’s manager for Barn Two. The youngsters adore him.”

  * * *

  From the look Mr. Military is giving Ms. Gorgeous he’s feeling a bit of adoration himself. A hint of romance gives such an interesting side bar to a nice mystery. Tender feelings aside, however, I’m a bit antsy as the locals might say. Nothing I can touch a paw to but my incredibly sensitive nature advises something is too quiet about the morning. I’d best keep in close contact in case my feline detecting abilities are once again called into play. Whoever fired those bullets last evening hasn’t obtained the prize. I must ensure that remains the case.

  For all of the conflict, the ranch provides a lovely respite. The nice fence rails all around and fat corner posts make a comfortable place to sit and watch. Not quite large enough to curl up for a nap, but my work isn’t done and a nap is out of the question for the moment.

  Now there’s a handsome lad stepping down from the truck with unusually calm movements for one so young. Odd. He appears quite healthy but there’s a distinct sadness in his father’s eyes – at least I suppose the man is his father as they bear a close resemblance – as he stands back and watches. The boy walks toward a petite grey horse led by a small, wiry man with rather outrageously red hair and kind green eyes. I’m partial to green eyes. I’m not, however, overly fond of children much of the time. Regardless, I tolerate them reasonably well, particularly the polite ones. I’m not keen on horses either although I will admit they can be truly magnificent creatures. This one is a bit undersized to be called magnificent but I suppose, to a child, it could seem quite large.

  I see no fear, however. The boy seems much at ease as he approaches the horse and the person called Tucker. Tucker smiles but the child does not, at least not until he settles quietly into the saddle. The smile he gives his father as he does so is breathtaking and the sadness leaves his father’s eyes.

  Mr. Military stands near Ms. Gorgeous as she watches the boy lift the reins. She explains that the pony is a Connemara pony and Mr. Military leans even closer, as if to hear her better, and I suppose that is a handy excuse for him. Autistic, she says about the boy, with signs of improvement. Oh my. Autism is such a hard thing for a parent to work through with a child. I know that many don’t even try or give up when the progress is too little. But a child is there, locked deep inside his own prison. It is heartening to know there are ways to reach through the barriers for some.

  Mr. Military seems impressed as well. Hopefully he will realize that Ms. Gorgeous is more than just a pretty face.

  Even more important, however, is the fact that I heard the word lunch pass between them. With any luck, there will be some real attempt at true cuisine and not the warmed slices of bread that passed for a human breakfast this morning. I did, however, appreciate the offering of two eggs scrambled with real cream. A bit of grilled salmon would not come amiss for a tasty midday break. We shall see.

  Chapter Four

  Tension built slowly through Avery as she sliced fresh, heirloom tomatoes and cucumbers still warm from her small side garden. How had she come to be in this domestic little scene with Dirks Hanna? She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want him to be here. She wanted him to figure out what he needed to know and go away, back to wherever he came from and give her application a thumbs-up when he got there. She wanted to spend the next hour or so pacing the floor while she worried about this unknown Mr. Markham who thought it okay to just show up for a look at one of her beloved horses as if he were answering a sales ad. He planned to arrive with no more than a brief voice message and an e-mail she still hadn’t had a chance to read much
less answer. She wanted to be peaceful, damn it. That didn’t seem too much to ask.

  She shot a frustrated glance through the glass door where Dirks was turning fish on the grill. Tammy Lynn’s black cat wove through his legs as if they were best friends. Unexpectedly, the humor of the situation, of her own thoughts struck her and some of the tension ebbed. So, okay, she wasn’t ready to feel attraction for any man, wasn’t ready for the attraction she felt for this particular man. She didn’t need to act on it. And Dirks certainly seemed unaware of her interest, of the fact that she found the intelligence in his gaze sexy and his lips tempting when they curved in a smile. He had a nice smile, nothing wrong with admitting that. No reason for the admission to kick her pulse up to anxiety level. She was behaving beyond ridiculous.

  Taking a deep breath, she finished what she was doing and stepped into her office to find Mr. Markham’s e-mail. She read through it twice but was none the wiser. He wrote as if she should be expecting him, expecting his e-mail, his phone call, his arrival. It was a polite note, but read as if the purchase were a fait accompli. His imminent arrival was beyond her control. The e-mail had been sent, he mentioned, from his iPad as he stood at the boarding gate. Well, he was destined for disappointment. Her horses were not for sale.

  The sound of the door opening drew her back into the kitchen. Dirks handed her the platter of grilled-to-perfection red snapper and Trouble immediately shifted his affectionate twining from Dirks’ legs to hers.

  Dirks gave him a stern glare. “Traitor.”

  “Fickle, is he?”

  “His affections appear to follow the food.”

  Dirks smiled and her pulse gave that tiny leap again. She felt like calling her own body a traitor but that would be far too much of a confession, even if it were a silent one.