If Wishes Were Horses (4 page)

Jacobson nodded. “Are you ready?” he asked Gabby. “Let me do most of the talking. This was my idea, after all. I'll make sure Wyatt understands that, whichever way it goes.”

“I'm as ready as I'll ever be,” Gabby answered.

“Okay,” Jacobson replied. He looked back at Stella. “You can let him in.”

Moments later, Wyatt entered. At first, he saw only Gabby's back. As he neared her chair, he smiled at Jacobson.

“I thought we were meeting alone, James,” Wyatt said. “May I ask who I have the pleasure of—”

Just then Wyatt's and Gabby's eyes locked. Shock quickly overtook Wyatt's face. His angry gaze darted toward Jacobson.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” he demanded.

“Please sit down, Wyatt,” Jacobson answered calmly. “If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain.”

“Explain
what
?” Wyatt demanded. “What the hell is she doing here?”

“Sit down, Wyatt,” Jacobson asked again. “Please hear us out. Then if you still want to storm out of here, you can. But you need to hear what we have to say.”

“I can't imagine why,” Wyatt growled.

After a period of tense silence, Wyatt finally took the chair next to Gabby's.

“This was my idea, not hers,” Jacobson began. “Gabby has a fourteen-year-old son named Trevor. Trevor's having a difficult time adjusting since the death of his father, and he's headed for trouble. Gabby and I believe he would do well in your program. Rather than simply enroll him, she has come to ask for your blessing first.”

“Do you really expect me to do her a favor?” Wyatt asked harshly.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Jacobson pressed.

“Her husband took everything from me!” Wyatt shot back.

“I'm not asking this for myself,” Gabby said quietly. “I'm asking for my son. He needs help, and I can't afford proper treatment for him. Without it, I'm afraid he'll grow up to be like his father. He's getting into fights at school, and his grades are slipping badly. He's rudderless, and I can't keep him on course. Please, Mr. Blaine, let some good arise from what happened between our families.”

For several long moments, Wyatt stared at Gabby like she had lost her mind. The only other time he had been this close to her was when she had attended the combined funeral. Because of the grave injuries, both caskets had been closed.

As the service ended, Gabby had joined the line of departing mourners. She tried to take Wyatt's hand, but he refused it. Deciding to say nothing, she left the church without telling him how sorry she was. It was a mistake that she had long regretted. But if she accomplished nothing else from this meeting, she could do so now she decided.

“I'm sorry for what Jason did to your family,” she offered. “He badly hurt Trevor and me as well. If I could take it all back, I would. And if I could pay you in return for this favor, I would do that, too. But I can't. Please don't punish my son for his father's mistake.”

While Wyatt sat thinking, no one spoke. As the silence deepened, Gabby took a closer look at the man sitting across from her. His face seemed more tanned and creased than she remembered, but she pushed her observation aside.

Wyatt finally turned and glared at Jacobson. “Goddamnit, I'd bet the entire Flying B that this was your doing! Did that tender plea truly come from her, or did you coach her?”

“It was hers, I assure you,” Jacobson answered. “And heartfelt, I would add. I hope that you can agree to this, Wyatt. But whatever you decide, we'll respect it. Even so, I know what you're thinking.”

Wyatt scowled. “And just what would that be, other than that I'd like to kick your smug ass from here to the Flying B and back again?”

“You believe that by granting Gabrielle's request, you will somehow be betraying your memories of Krista and Danny,” Jacobson answered calmly. “But did Krista ever deny
any
teen?”

Wyatt shook his head. “For a supposedly pious man, you can sure hit below the belt.”

As tense seconds ticked by, Jacobson glanced narrowly at Gabby, warning her not to speak.

“All right,” Wyatt finally answered. “Trevor's in. But he'd better keep his nose clean or he's out. You understand?”

Although Gabby could hardly contain her joy, she realized that Wyatt wouldn't appreciate a happy outburst. But she did relax enough to give him a smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Blaine,” she said. “I don't know how I'll ever repay you.”

“For one thing, drop the ‘Mr.' part,” Wyatt answered gruffly. “I get enough of that at the ranch! Just call me Wyatt. And go buy your son a Stetson and a pair of cowboy boots. They're mandatory. The good and manipulative reverend here can tell you where to get them.”

Wyatt stood and gave Jacobson another harsh glare. Placing his fists on top of the desk, he leaned menacingly toward his pastor.

“And as for you,” he said, “well, let's just say that you're not fully forgiven.”

“No doubt,” Jacobson answered. “But remember this: ‘For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will forgive you.' Matthew, chapter six, verse twelve.”

“Sure,” Wyatt answered dryly. “Now if there are no more mountains that need moving, I'll be on my way.”

“No,” Jacobson said. “Our work here is done.”

“Thank you…Wyatt,” Gabby said, using his Christian name for the first name.

After giving Gabby a cursory nod, Wyatt strode from the office and firmly shut the door.

On his way back to his car, Wyatt remained stunned and angered by what had just happened. He knew full well why Jacobson had included the Powers woman in the meeting. Those
big, pleading eyes of hers had made it nearly impossible to say no, and the good reverend had been counting on it.

God only knows what her boy is like,
Wyatt thought. All of the other teens entering the New Beginnings Program had been interviewed for their suitability, but not Trevor Powers.
Jesus, this is crazy…And what sort of flies in the ointment will this boy and his mother become, once they're out at the ranch?

When Wyatt reached his car, he stared back at St. Andrew's, wondering what Jacobson and Gabrielle were talking about now. Were they celebrating their victory?
I sure as hell hadn't planned on this,
he thought. He angrily unlocked his Jaguar and got in.

As he turned the key and the Jag's V-8 engine roared to life, Wyatt scowled and shook his head. “Son of a bitch…,” he said aloud.

After that, his ride home was a quiet one.

G
ABBY COULDN'T HELP
but hope that Trevor might benefit from the program, if only he would agree to take part in it. Despite her optimism, she knew that convincing him might be impossible. But she also realized that if a miracle like gaining Wyatt Blaine's permission could happen, then perhaps fate might grant her another one and Trevor would agree to try.

Gabby soon came to a realization. Despite their vast differences, Trevor and Wyatt had much in common. Neither one had truly healed from the shared tragedy that still colored their lives. Furthermore, Wyatt and Trevor each needed someone to blame, if for no reason other than to try to make sense of their overwhelming loss. Wyatt had every right to blame Jason—but not her, or Trevor. But Trevor wrongly blamed Krista Blaine, and by association, the entire Blaine family.

From the day of the accident, Trevor had refused to believe that his father had been at fault. The nine-year-old had angrily decided that the crash had been caused by “that rich Blaine woman” rather than his father. Jason had been everything to Trevor, and he could do no wrong in his son's adoring eyes. Despite Gabby's many heartfelt attempts to convince Trevor of the real story, he would have none of it.

More than anything else, it was Trevor's rejection of the truth that kept him and Gabby apart. She desperately wanted to bridge the gap between them, but Trevor even refused to read the newspaper clippings or the official police report that she had saved. Nothing, it seemed, could correct Trevor's warped version of the tale.

At one thirty the following afternoon, Gabby was deep in a discussion of the Punic Wars before a class of uninterested tenth-graders when a knock came on the classroom door. Leaving her blackboard, she went to see who it was.

Jacob Glassman stood in the hallway. Jacob, a fellow teacher nearing retirement, knew the politics of Jefferson High School better than anyone else. A bent-over man with a balding head and a hangdog face, he had often counseled Gabby as she wrestled with Trevor's deteriorating behavior.

“Jacob?” she asked. “What is it?”

Jacob motioned that she should shut the door behind her. After she did, he gave her an apologetic look.

“It's about Trevor,” he whispered stealthily, although the hallway was empty. “He's landed himself in the principal's office again. Another fight, I'm afraid.”

Gabby closed her eyes. “Was anyone hurt?”

“The Richardson boy,” Jacob answered, “though not badly, I hear. Trevor gave him a bloody nose. It might have been much worse had the fight not been broken up.”

Gabby opened her eyes. “Can you cover for me?”

“Sure,” Jacob answered. “But may I give you some advice before you go?”

“I'll take all that I can get.”

“You've got to get Trevor under control, Gabby,” Jacob said. “This is his third dustup lately, and rumor has it that Principal Marshall wants to expel him. He's fed up with your boy. You know as well as I that he can't give special treatment to teachers' kids.”

“Yes,” Gabby answered.

Jacob gave her a consoling look. “Then you'd better get going while there might still be a chance to intervene.”

“Thank you.”

She started down the hall toward the principal's office, her heel strikes echoing loudly in the school hallways, causing her to feel even more pressured and alone. On reaching her destination, she opened the glass-paneled door and walked inside.

Principal Marshall's outer office was unimpressive. A couple of glass-block windows, a ceiling fan, and a closed door leading to his inner office dominated the room. Marshall's personal assistant, Celia Ward, sat at her computer, her ubiquitous reading glasses' strings gently swinging to and fro with the speedy rhythm of her typing.

A kindly, red-haired woman in her late forties, Celia had
befriended Gabby soon after she was hired. The two women quickly became best friends. Looking up from her work, Celia gave Gabby a compassionate glance then motioned toward the other side of the room.

Trevor sat in a chair alongside the far wall. When he saw his mother he remained emotionless, as if he couldn't care less about his troubles. As Gabby approached him, she realized that despite the bad situation Trevor had created, it was his brooding, uncaring attitude that concerned her most. Stopping before his chair, she looked down at her son.

Trevor was taller and stronger than most boys his age, attributes Gabby believed contributed to his aggressive nature. He was a good-looking young man who had inherited his build and his facial features from his late father. Because he insisted that backpacks were for sissies, his schoolbooks lay on the floor beside his chair, bound together with an old leather belt that had once belonged to his father. Although he was very bright and had once been near the top of his class, his grades had been slipping for some time. He slouched lazily, as if it was some kind of personal trademark.

Trevor clearly stood apart from the herd, and that was how he liked it. Unlike other teens his age, he didn't try to emulate contemporary celebrities or famous athletes. His personal hero was James Dean, and he could easily recite dialogue from each of his late idol's three films. The red Windbreaker that rarely left his person looked like it had come straight out of the movie
Rebel Without a Cause.
So, too, did his white T-shirt, his worn blue jeans with their rolled-up cuffs, and his black penny loafers.

In a world where other boys his age coveted baggy pants, baseball caps, and MP3 players, Trevor couldn't care less about such “stupid junk,” as he called it. Driven by his own vision of what was cool, he even insisted that his dark hair be cut greaser-style, like Dean's had been.

Gabby tolerated Trevor's appearance because, as odd as it might seem, she considered it a step up from the truly slovenly look that many teenage boys cultivated these days. Trevor's style ostracized him from most of the boys, but some of the girls found him darkly alluring, providing yet another temptation that worried her.

Aside from being fatherless, there was another factor adding to Trevor's growing rebelliousness. Gabby's daily presence at school gave Trevor the feeling that he was being constantly watched, and he resented it. Although Gabby had wisely arranged things so that Trevor didn't attend any of her classes, they always rode to and from school together and often crossed paths in the halls.

Whenever he saw his mother at school, Trevor looked away. It hurt Gabby, but she understood. She had to admit that if the roles were reversed, she wouldn't like it any more than Trevor did. For a time she considered enrolling him in a different school. But his behavior had deteriorated so much that she needed to be near him, and today's fracas proved it. Ironically, her presence at Jefferson High was fast adding to the distance between them.

“‘Live fast, die young, and leave a good-looking corpse,'” Trevor often said, quoting James Dean's famous phrase. Its sad symbolism was not lost on Gabby, who understood that Trevor was referring as much to his late father's car crash as he was to the
similar one that took James Dean's life. As she looked down at him, his brooding expression remained unchanged.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

Trevor scowled. “What's to tell? Richardson started in on me again, so I pasted him.”

“Why?” Gabby asked.

“He had it coming!” Trevor answered grudgingly. “Christ, do I have to explain everything I do?”

“When you land in the principal's office, yes!” Gabby snapped back. “And stop swearing! I've a good mind to—”

“Ms. Powers?” a male voice called out. “Could you join me? Please leave Trevor there for now.”

After nodding at Roy Marshall, Gabby looked back at Trevor. “Stay here until I call for you,” she whispered. “I have to go and see if I can keep you from getting expelled!” In response, Trevor only shrugged.

Leaving Trevor behind, Gabby followed Marshall into his office. She had been summoned to this room several times before, and always for the same reason. Principal Marshall's office was well appointed. An open window behind his desk allowed a fresh Florida breeze to come flowing in, carrying with it the sporadic sounds of the girls' tennis team. As Marshall took a seat behind his desk, Gabby sat down in one of the chairs directly opposite.

Roy Marshall was a no-nonsense man in his fifties, with graying hair and a thick middle. His short-sleeved shirt, skinny black tie, and horn-rimmed glasses made him seem outdated. But his methods of running a high school were decidedly modern, and he was known for being a straight shooter.

“I'm sorry to tell you this, Gabrielle,” he said grimly, “but I have no choice other than to expel Trevor. I know how hard it's been on both of you since Jason died, but this kind of thing just can't go on. Tim Richardson wasn't badly hurt, thank God. Tim's a bully, but this time Trevor swung first. I've informed Tim's parents, and they've agreed, for the good of the school, not to take legal action. But given the number of fights Trevor has been involved in, it's a damned miracle that we haven't been sued. Surely you can understand that I must take action now, before someone is badly hurt and we're dragged into court by less-forgiving parents. Trevor has a short fuse, and it's getting shorter by the day. Sorry, but there it is.”

Gabby took a deep breath. If there was to be a last chance for Trevor, her plea must come from the heart.

“I know, Roy,” she said, “and I understand your need to protect the school. But if I enrolled Trevor in an approved counseling program right away, would you give him another chance?”

Marshall sighed. “I don't know…I like you, Gabrielle. And believe it or not, I like Trevor, too. Who wouldn't be intrigued by a kid who imitates James Dean? It certainly beats the hell out of some of the other things I see in this place! But Trevor's explosive temper concerns me greatly. If he doesn't get help, one day he'll seriously injure someone. Even the school counselor couldn't make any headway with him. Listen, I think that you're a helluva good teacher. Everybody here does. But we've had this conversation before. You can't afford to put Trevor into outside therapy, and that's that.”

“Suppose that as of yesterday, I could,” Gabby said.

Marshall's eyebrows lifted. “What's changed?” he asked. For the first time since starting the conversation, he smiled. “Did you win the Florida lottery or something?”

“Sort of,” she answered. “Yesterday I enrolled Trevor in Wyatt Blaine's New Beginnings Program. As I'm sure you know, it's free.”

Marshall looked surprised. “You did?” he asked. “I know Wyatt. But given your tangled histories, he might send Trevor packing.”

“I met with Wyatt personally, and he gave me his blessing.”

Marshall sat back in his chair. “Jesus, Gabby, how'd you pull that one off? I'm acquainted with Wyatt's program, and it's a good one. Several other students from this school have also enrolled.”

“Let's just say that I had some divine intervention.”

“Have you told Trevor?” Marshall asked.

“Not yet.”

“It won't go down well with him, you know,” Marshall said.

“I know,” she answered. “But I have to try. So, will you give Trevor another chance?”

Marshall scowled. “Fine,” he answered. “Just don't make me sorry.”

“Will you help me tell Trevor?” she asked. “This will need a man's touch. We'll tell him the truth—either he enters the horse-therapy program or he's expelled.”

Marshall sat back in his chair, thinking. “There might be a way to convince Trevor by playing up to his James Dean image after all,” he said.

“How so?” Gabby asked.

“You leave that to me. Let's get this over with. I've got a school to run.”

When Gabby returned with Trevor, his sullenness and signature slouch remained brazenly evident. In an attempt to steel his resolve, he had flipped up the collar of his red Windbreaker, James Dean style. After he and Gabby took seats in the two chairs across from Marshall's desk, Gabby gave Trevor a quick kick in the shins, prompting him to sit up straight.

Leaning forward, Marshall laced his fingers together. “I'm sure you know why you're here, young man.”

“Yeah,” Trevor answered. “It's because I clocked that idiot Tim Richardson.”

“Do you have anything else to say about it?” Marshall asked.

“Only that I'd do it again,” Trevor answered obstinately. “Twice, if I thought I could get away with it.”

“Uh-huh,” Marshall answered. “Well, your mother and I have some news for you.”

“I know—I'm being expelled. Suits me fine.”

“No,” Marshall answered, “but you came close this time. I'm letting you off, provided you do something for me in return.”

“What?” Trevor asked skeptically.

“You know that horse-therapy program that everybody's been talking about? I'm sure that you've seen the fliers being passed around school. Well, you just joined it. You start next Monday.”

Trevor suddenly looked as if he had been slapped across the face, and he bolted upright in his chair. “I'd rather be expelled!” he shouted. “That program is for losers—everybody knows that! And I'm no loser!”

“I see,” Marshall answered. “Then how come you're the only kid sitting in my office?”

This time Trevor had no response. Hoping for a miraculous reprieve, he looked at his mother. His expression had softened, telling Gabby that she and Marshall might be getting somewhere after all. This wasn't quite a good cop/bad cop routine, but it was close. Sensing Trevor's discomfort, Marshall decided to turn up the heat.

“There's another reason you're going to do this, young man,” he said. “If you don't, your mother will be out of work. Not because I would fire her—she's too good a teacher. Instead, she'd have to quit.”