If Wishes Were Horses (29 page)

The Flying B Ranch
Three Years Later

A
S AUNT LOU
entered Ram's office, her joints felt stiffer than in days gone by. Nowadays she hurt in places that had never bothered her before, and her gait was more deliberate. Even so, she adamantly refused to slow down in the performance of her duties. To slow down was to die, she had always believed. And there had already been too much death at the Flying B. Besides, there was still much to do, especially today.

Like she had done each day for more than forty years, she began cleaning and dusting the office. When she had finished, she sighed, remembering. Today was April first, three years to the day that Ram had issued his secret instructions to her.

Walking to the library ladder, she rolled it toward a spot
nearer the door. After climbing up two steps, she separated a pair of old volumes and slid Ram's letter from between them.

As Lou stared at it for a time, her old eyes started tearing. Ram had issued some simple instructions to her, but he had never told her what the envelope contained. Lou turned it over and looked at its backside, remembering. The red wax seal was still intact. Like so many things of Ram's that carried the symbol of the Flying B, so, too, did that bit of wax.

With a heavy heart, Lou placed the envelope into a pocket of her apron and left the room.

 

SITTING IN ONE OF
the rocking chairs on the big-house porch, Gabby looked out toward the Blaine family cemetery. Three headstones had been added since she had first visited the ranch. Because of their relative newness, she could easily discern them from the older ones. Butch and Sundance lounged lazily nearby. Today was Sunday, and Morgan and his family would soon arrive for dinner.

Wyatt took another sip of bourbon then placed his booted feet on the porch rail. The last three years had been momentous ones, both for him and the ranch. The fire had totally destroyed the Flying B main barn and killed three purebred horses. It would have been far worse had he, Mercy, and Big John not freed so many of them. After some intense legal wrangling by Blaine & Blaine, the ranch's insurance company had grudgingly reimbursed Wyatt and Morgan for their losses. A new barn had been built, and additional horses had been purchased from various parts of the country and trucked to the ranch.

Ram's and Mercy's funerals were two of the largest ever seen in Boca Raton. It was Wyatt who had carried his father's lifeless body from the barn that night; Big John had carried Mercy. While finally finding a last-ditch way out of the inferno, Wyatt had seen Ram's charred body lying on the floor. But only after laying Ram down, on the grass outside, did he realize that his father was dead. He had wept over the body for hours, oblivious to the chaos, the flames, and the manic firemen who had worked so hard to keep the fire from spreading to the guest cottages and the big house.

Big John had found Mercy, partially pinned beneath a burning ceiling timber. As he carried her out of the barn he thought he heard her whisper “Wyatt.” But to his great sadness, he never really grasped what she was trying to say.

The services were held at the ranch, with Reverend Jacobson presiding. Afterward, Ram and Mercy were laid to rest in the family cemetery. Because of the tragedy, Wyatt had made the difficult decision to put the New Beginnings Program to rest for good. And rather than return to the law firm, he now ran the ranch in Ram's stead.

Taking Gabby's hand, Wyatt also looked out at the cemetery. Alongside the new headstones now stood a smaller one that was inscribed
ANNIE BLAINE
. Ram had never told Wyatt about his decision to commission that stone. In the end he hadn't needed to, for Wyatt had unknowingly fulfilled Ram's dream on his own. Just then Aunt Lou stepped tentatively onto the porch.

“Mr. Wyatt?” she asked softly.

Wyatt and Gabby turned to look at her. It was clear that she was crying. As Lou wiped her tears, Wyatt stood and went to her.

“Lou…?” he said. “What's wrong?”

Lou momentarily closed her old eyes. “I have something for you,” she said quietly. “It's from Mr. Ram.”

Confused, Wyatt stood up. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“You surely remember Mr. Ram's secret journal and calendar?” she asked. “The same ones that I gave you right after the fire?”

“Of course,” Wyatt answered. “What about them?”

Lou reached into her apron pocket and produced the envelope. “There was this, too. Mr. Ram showed it to me and told me to wait until today, three years later, to give it you. I don't know why he decided on three years, though. Maybe he thought that was all the time he had left.”

Wyatt took the letter from her. It was dated today, and Wyatt's name was written across its front in Ram's unmistakable penmanship. “When did Father write this?” Wyatt asked.

“It was about the time that you started up the New Beginnings Program again,” Lou answered.

Wyatt touched Lou's face. “Thank you for remembering,” he said quietly.

Wondering what the letter held for him, he again looked at the mysterious envelope. “I'd like to be alone with Gabby now,” he added. “When Morgan's family shows up, we'll join you and Big John for dinner.”

Lou nodded gratefully then returned to her work.

Still surprised by Lou's revelation, Wyatt slowly reclaimed his chair. He sat there quietly for a time, wondering. Before opening
the envelope, he looked over at Gabby. She gave him a comforting smile.

“Don't worry, my love,” she said. “I know that it's unexpected. But I'm also sure that it's something to be treasured.”

Wyatt reached into his jeans and produced the pearl-handled pocketknife his father had given him so many years ago. He then slit open the envelope and removed a yellowed sheet of Flying B stationery. Its tightly packed words were handwritten in Ram's familiar black fountain-pen ink:

Wyatt's tears came freely, and he wiped his eyes. He handed the letter to Gabby. As she read it, she also cried. Wyatt folded the letter then replaced it in its envelope.

“He was a wonderful man,” Gabby said softly.

“Yes, he was,” Wyatt answered.

They heard a car horn blowing, and they turned to see Morgan's Mercedes coming up the drive. A familiar memory tugged at Wyatt. As he savored it, he smiled.

“Sorry, Morg,” Wyatt said softly. “But as you know, it's a tradition around here.” Wyatt looked down at Butch and Sundance, giving each dog a nudge. “Hey, boys! Morgan's here!”

At once the dogs leaped to their feet and bounded off the
porch. No sooner had Morgan parked his car than Butch and Sundance started clawing at its doors. When Morgan exited the car, he glared angrily toward the porch and shook his head.

Just then Wyatt and Gabby heard the telltale sounds of a galloping horse. Seconds later, Trevor and Doc appeared. Sitting tall in the saddle, Trevor rode Doc well. Before guiding Doc into the new barn, Trevor pulled the young stallion up short and tipped his Stetson to them. Wyatt smiled. The confident way Trevor sat that horse reminded him of his father.

Pausing in his thoughts, Wyatt reached over to gently touch Gabby's wedding ring and then his own. Unlike his first ring, this new one bonded him with Gabby rather than separating him from her. Then his thoughts again turned to his late father.

Dad, I still don't know whether our departed loved ones can look down on us from the afterlife. Even your old friend Reverend Jacobson couldn't answer that one. But if you can't see me, don't worry, because I'm okay.

Wyatt then touched Gabby's swelling abdomen, and thought about the inherent promise lying within her. At long last, Wyatt and Gabby had finally packed away Krista's things and turned her old study into a nursery. Like Ram had wanted, that room would soon house new life rather than dusty memories.

We all are,
Wyatt thought.

As Wyatt again faced the setting sun, his next sip of bourbon went down easily.

Equine therapy, or “horse therapy,” as it is more commonly called, is a rapidly growing phenomenon. Such programs are being conducted at increasing numbers of horse ranches and stables, both in the United States and abroad. I want to give special thanks to the staff at Horse Sense of the Carolinas, located in Marshall, North Carolina, for their willingness to inform me about equine therapy.

My thanks and gratitude also go out to my ever patient agent, Marly Rusoff, and to Mary Logue, author and freelance editor extraordinaire.

I also wish to thank my wife, Joyce Newcomb, PhD, for her valuable guidance regarding psychotherapy and Alzheimer's disease. And, as always, for her never-ending support.

Jacket design by Mumtaz Mustafa

Jacket photograph © by Lew Long/Corbis