Lauraine Snelling (4 page)

“Thank you, and thank you too for your generous donations.”

“You’re welcome.” He nodded. Feeling his cell phone vibrate, he patted his pocket. “Excuse me, please. I need to get this.”

“Have a good rest of the day.” She nodded and strode off in the loose-limbed manner of an athlete. He’d seen her ride before. She made it look so easy, he almost wanted to try it. Almost, but not enough to do anything about it. He flipped open his cell. “Winters here.” Listening to Amy, his secretary, he kept one eye on Eddie and dug in his pocket for his PDA. “All right. You go ahead.” He gave her instructions and flipped his PDA closed again, thinking about the pile of work waiting on his desk. Since he’d started working more from his home office in order to spend time with Eddie, he felt more fractured than ever.

His heart skipped as, in seeming slow motion, his son slipped to one side. Gil grabbed the fence. Eddie hung with one arm clamped around the front of the saddle. He wanted to scream, to shout at the aides who were rushing to Eddie’s assistance. He might break his neck if he hits the ground. In spite of his inner shouting, he heard Eddie order the aides not to help him. Don’t listen to him, help him back up. But halfway over the fence, Gil watched the horse stand and wait as Eddie slowly righted himself, thanks to the strong arms he’d developed by propelling his wheelchair. He settled himself back upright in the saddle and patted his horse’s neck, nodding at the comments and congratulations from the two aides. When the horse stepped forward again, Gil allowed himself to breathe. Too close, that one was too close.

And Carly thinks I should buy him a horse of his own? What kind of crazy was the woman?

THREE

W
hat was it about Breaking Free that made her care about him so quickly? Like an instant attraction, soul to soul. Maggie knew it sounded silly, but that’s what she felt. Was it the rage in his eyes and every line of his body, so like the impotent rage that woke her, sweating and panting, at night? Or was it fear that made him crazy? She understood fear. She breathed it, ate it, and slept with it. It reminded her to stay invisible. Don’t go rocking any boats, head down; don’t volunteer anything, even a word.

But those years ago, when she was young, she’d not been afraid of anything. She’d called the horse Harry instead of his fancy registered name—the owners had left him at the stable while they were transferred to some place in Europe. She’d been assigned to take care of him, train and exercise the big brute and hopefully get him over a few bad habits. By the time she showed him at a regional horse show, they’d won a stack of ribbons of all colors, finally taking top honors. Her heart nearly broke when the owners returned and moved him to their new home way north. Then her family moved away, and she never wanted to hurt that badly again so she didn’t look for a new stable to work at. Maggie lay in her bed in her room staring at the ceiling. Did Breaking Free remind her of Harry, was that the pull?

Breaking Free. What a name! What a horse! She closed her eyes again, the better to see him. Even rough as his coat was, the sun shot fire in the red of him. Flame would have been a great name. His one white sock would flash when clean. Black mane and tail. She’d braided a tail like that back when prepping another horse for the show ring, but he’d not had the fire of this one. Nor murder in his eyes.

The next morning when they all answered roll call and climbed into the bus, she sat in the front so she could ask Mr. James some questions.

Kool Kat stared down at her, one eyebrow cocked.

She’d taken Kool Kat’s seat. Maggie memorized her fingers, now knit together to keep them from shaking.

Kool Kat’s grin showed a front tooth outlined in gold as she slid into the seat beside her. “Move your skinny butt over.”

Maggie shifted, although she was already against the wall, her shoulder pressed to the cool window. Kool Kat sat down, pulling her extended leg in just enough so the others could get by, barely.

“All right, ladies. . . .”

Mr. James’ comment always brought a snort or two from the women. At first she’d thought he was being sarcastic, but now she knew that Trenton James did not indulge in sarcasm. He meant what he said and he said what he meant. A jingle from one of the Dr. Seuss books she’d read to . . . She bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. A little boy’s giggle echoed in her memory. Please, someone, say something. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears, anything to drown out the sounds inside.

She looked up to see Mr. James watching her. Had she been so obvious? What was happening to her? After all these years of never talking about what happened and burying the memories so deep they couldn’t surface while she was awake, here she was on a sunny day going to her closest place to freedom and the memories burst in her head like rockets in a barrage.

Just get through. Two months and eighteen days and she would be up for parole.

“Mister James . . .” She had to clear her throat so he could hear her. “Breaking Free. Did you go back and check on him?”

“I did. He’d settled some.”

“You think he’s on Equipoise?”

“I’m sure of it. Take two months at least for it to leave his system.”

“Echo pa . . . ?” Kool Kat tried spitting out the rest of the word. “What’s that?”

“A medication they give racehorses to make them perform better. Like a steroid.”

“They give horses stuff like that?”

James nodded. “Although some drugs are illegal, this one isn’t.”

“So they make horses pee in a bottle?” Her bark of a laugh said what she thought of such a thing.

“The winner can’t leave the track until he’s been drug tested.”

“Now that’d be some job, gettin’ a horse to pee in a bottle.” Kool Kat slapped her knee, laughing and shaking her head. Others behind her joined in.

Trenton James tried to keep a straight face, but his smile broke out in spite of himself.

Maggie turned to look out the window. She’d take that job. Collecting horse urine would beat time behind bars. Any job would beat time behind bars.

“All right, listen up.” Mr. James had his clipboard in hand as the vehicle turned the last corner into the driveway to the horse barns. “We have two new horses coming in today before lunch so we need to move two others to the small pens and those in the small pens to the larger one.” He read off the names of the horses. “JJ, you take your filly out to that empty paddock. Lead her around a bit before you turn her loose.”

He gave the rest of them instructions, finishing with, “Class will be this afternoon right after lunch, so make sure you bring paper and pencils back with you.”

“Not another test?” The universal groan of students everywhere rocked the bus.

“Just come prepared.”

Once off the bus, he fell into step with Maggie, causing her to look up at him. “About Breaking Free. I’ll hold him while you bring in hay and water.”

“What about cleaning his stall?” she asked.

“We’ll see how this goes.”

Maggie brought a bucket out of the tack room and filled it at the faucet. After setting it by the stall door, she peeled several flakes of hay off the bale and waited for Mr. James to finish giving instructions to Brandy. She could hear Breaking Free moving around in his stall. At least he wasn’t kicking the daylights out of it. He snorted and moved off from the stall door again.

“You ready?”

She nodded and picked up the bucket.

When James unlatched the upper part of the door, a hind foot rapped against the far wall. He swung the door open slowly and looked in. Breaking Free stood in the back corner, ears back, nostrils flared.

“Okay, horse, we’re just going to make sure you have enough to eat and drink, then we’ll leave you alone.” As he spoke, James kept his eyes on the horse and unlatched the bottom door. He eased inside and waited.

Breaking Free snorted and shifted but remained at the back of the double stall.

Nodding to Maggie, he said, “All right, move slowly and keep an eye on him. If you’re afraid, he’ll know it.”

Maggie did as she was told, aching with the desire to go to the horse. She dumped the hay in the rack, filled the water bucket, and eased back out of the stall.

As Trenton James slid out of the stall, he latched the lower door and let out a sigh that in Maggie’s mind sounded like relief.

“He did well,” she said.

“Yes, he did. Better than I feared, not as good as I hoped.” Mr. James nodded. “We’ll leave the top of the door open, let him look around, get comfortable.”

“Good.” Maggie picked up her bucket, heaving a quiet sigh of relief of her own. She fed her other two horses, petting necks and talking to them as she used the hose to refill their drinking buckets. “You’ll be outside for a while,” she told a dark bay gelding named His Too, whose right front foot wore a special boot to help repair the damage to hoof and ankle, or fetlock, as Mr. James had called it when he’d told Maggie what she needed to do. She had to soak it and wrap the other leg as well.

“Take Dancer out to the last small pen,” Mr. James said as she walked up. “Let him get a taste of freedom.”

“Hey, Dancer, you want to go outside?” Snapping a lead shank on his halter, Maggie led the horse outside and across the dirt lane to the rail enclosed area. She took him inside and walked him around once, then rubbed his neck and ears the way she knew he liked before unsnapping the lead shank and walking away.

“He’s followin’ you.” Several of the women had gathered to watch the release.

Maggie turned around. “Go, you’re free.” He rubbed his forehead against her shoulder. “Just because someone’s nice to you, you get all mushy.” She scratched his cheek and stepped away again, this time out of the gate and shut it behind her. “Go on now, see what freedom feels like.”

“Ten minutes.” The warning call was Mr. Creston’s job.

Time flew out here where air moved around Maggie, flirting with her, teasing her hair in the back, instead of canned recirculated air that had been fresh maybe during the Reagan administration. Never enough time with the horses either. But then, she thought as she boarded the bus, watching Dancer rolling on his back and kicking his feet in the air, a little time was better than never.

That afternoon Maggie stopped by Breaking Free’s stall and leaned on the top of the lower door. “You’re doing better, you know,” she told him. “In spite of yourself. Look at you; you’re listening to me instead of glaring at me.” The horse shifted but kept his ears forward.
He’s going to make it
, she told herself.
I just know it
.

“Yes, he’s calmed down, but don’t you go trusting him.” Mr. James checked his watch. “Let’s take this next step slowly and get him fed and watered.”

Maggie nodded, holding several flakes of baled hay under one arm and the full water bucket in the other. She’d kept a peppermint candy back for Breaking Free, just in case he’d take it from her. “I hope he calms down soon. I didn’t get his stall cleaned out, and if we don’t pick his hooves pretty soon, he’s going to end up with thrush.”

“Better thrush than being kicked through the wall.” Mr. James slid open the latch and keeping his attention on the horse, slipped into the stall, Maggie right behind him. She’d just tossed the hay into the rack when without warning, Breaking Free charged out of the dimness like a demon from hell. He slammed Mr. James into the wall and with teeth bared went for Maggie.

“Get out, get out,” James grunted.

Acting solely on impulse, Maggie heaved the full water bucket at the horse at the same time his teeth grazed her shoulder. Both she and Mr. James fled through the open door, slamming both the upper and lower portions shut behind them and sliding the latches in place.

“Are you all right?” he gasped, forcing his shoulders straight and rubbing one.

“He got you worse than me.”

“That’s because you threw the bucket at him. Good thinking.” He stared at the door that quivered under the tattoo of Breaking Free’s back hooves. “I didn’t expect this.”

Maggie felt tears twisting her eyes and throat. She hadn’t either. This wasn’t helping the horse’s chances to stay alive. She kept from rubbing her shoulder or checking to see if there was blood on her shirt only through hardheaded stubbornness. Breaking Free wasn’t afraid to act out his pain, she reflected. She had to give him credit for that. So unlike herself, her pain stuffed back down at the slightest hint of an upheaval.

Mr. James flexed his shoulder. “I missed his halter by an inch.”

The two of them stood outside the stall, back far enough to be out of range, but close enough to hear the horse charge the stall door again.

“He got a real mad on.” Jules, who rarely spoke, commented. When Maggie turned around, the rest of the group stood behind them, gawking.

“That’s why I told all of you to stay back, not to walk near that stall door.” He turned to Maggie. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

Maggie nearly flinched at the gruff tone. She’d not heard him speak like that before. “Well, there’s no blood.” She walked over to the fenced pen to check on Dancer. When she leaned her head to the opposite side, her shoulder screamed at her. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching and pulled her cotton knit shirt away from her neck. Looked more like a scrape than a real bite, but either way, she knew she’d have a bad bruise to show for it. At least there was no running blood. Ice pack would be good but that would be admitting Breaking Free had injured her.

Just the thought of the fiery daggers in Breaking Free’s eyes kicked up her heart rate. What would it take to gentle him? He must have been abused so badly that anything they did to try to control him would only cause more rage. The only comment she’d heard was that he injured several of his grooms, to the point no one wanted to take daily care of him, let alone see to his injuries. But they had to get feed and water in to him.

When Dancer avoided her attempts to catch him, she turned and soon felt him blowing on the back of her neck. Now why was Dancer so gentle and yet Breaking Free fought back with everything in his power? Dumb question. At some point in his life in spite of the scars from a twitch, someone had lavished a lot of love and attention on this old boy and not on Freebee. “Freebee, where did that come from?” Maggie slowly turned toward Dancer and stroked his nose. “Okay, fella, let’s get you to soaking.” She took hold of his halter and led him over to the gate to be let out. Snapping the lead shank in place, they walked back to the stalls, staying clear of Breaking Free, who punished the walls of his stall anytime he heard someone come close.