01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin (20 page)

That was scary. Maggie lifted
her chin. “Then you know I’m damned good at it.” She glanced around
to the family. “If you’ll pardon my language.”

“You do roping or something at
the rodeo? Wow. There’s someone you don’t meet every day.” The
gangly Lanyon laughed. It was infectious, but Maggie didn’t feel
like laughing. She knew full well she didn’t belong anywhere near
the Tremaine family. That made her mad.

“Actually, I ride the
bulls.”

Several Tremaines blinked. Not
Kemble. “You’re right. You’re good at it. Women’s Champion, what,
five events running?”

“The five I entered.” Take
that.

“Well, well, well.” Lanyon
smirked. “That experience will come in real handy.”

Did he mean handling his
brother? Devil. Tris wasn’t hers to handle.
More’s the
pity.

“That must be where you got that
awful bruise,” Kee said. “Mother should look at it.”

“I’m fine,” Maggie said
firmly.

“At least Tristram didn’t hit
her,” Drew said, rolling her eyes.

“You ... you thought Tris hit
me?” Maggie was so shocked she had trouble finding her tongue.
Looking around at them, she saw that they thought just that. At
least some of them weren’t sure. She felt an unfamiliar fury boil
up inside. “You’re his family and you
thought
that about
him, even for a second?” She got up and stalked to the edge of the
deck. Did they know nothing about him? Tris defended her, even
though he was injured and in pain. He tried to protect her from
Elroy when nobody else ever had.
Down, girl.
She swallowed.
When she was sure she had control of her expression, she turned.
“Then you don’t know him all that well, do you?”

Surprised stares ringed the
circle. “I guess not,” Drew finally drawled. “Perhaps you can
introduce him to us.”

“Refreshments,” Mr. Nakamura
announced, wending through the crowd with his tray.

“I, uh, should probably unload
my horses and turn them out.” Maggie was so not talking about
Tristram to his family.

“I’ll help,” Tammy said,
springing up. “I can show you the stalls. And my horse, Cally.
That’s short for Caliburn. Caliburn was the name of Arthur’s sword.
Everybody thinks it was Excalibur, but it wasn’t. He’s Hanoverian.
Not King Arthur, Cally. Do you know that kind?”

“Yeah. I’ve got three at my place now.”
Maggie made a grateful escape under the umbrella of Tammy’s
chatter, drilled by the stares of the rest of the Tremaine
clan.

*****

“I heard about Victor,” Tris
said to his mother as he lowered himself onto the bed in the room
that had once been his.

His mother shook her head.
“We’re not saying much about it, for the kids’ sake. His family
came out and claimed the body. Your father says we may never know
who did it.”

“But he’s looking, right?”

She smiled. “He wouldn’t be the
man I love if he wasn’t. Now let’s get to this.”

“You can’t heal me, Mother. Not
until Maggie leaves.” That thought made his stomach churn. Her
staying the night only put off the inevitable. She’d be going back
to her life, and leaving him behind. The pain that lanced through
him was worse than the pain in his leg. And that was going
some.

His mother touched his cast and
winced. “That’s a bad one. A rod?”

“Yeah. And some screws and
stuff.”

Her fingers strayed lightly over
his shoulder, his collarbone, and down over his ribs. She’d kept
his room just the way he’d left it, down to the Kurt Cobain poster
and the hockey gear. Was the vintage
Easy Rider
poster still
on the inside of the closet door? He was betting yes.

“This could have been so much
worse,” she muttered. “What if it
had
been worse? And why
didn’t you call me instantly? I could have been there in three
hours. As it is you’ve had days of pain, and riding down here in a
pickup truck—what were you thinking? All that swelling did more
damage to the tissues.”

He should have foreseen this.
The guilt trip. She must know why he didn’t call. But there was a
hurt look in her eyes. He’d never meant to hurt her. He looked
away. “Didn’t like to come home ... this way.”

She heaved a sigh and shook her
head. “You always were prideful, Tristram.”

“
He
thinks I came home
just to be healed, like I’m using you or something.”

“Well, I should hope to the gods
you
did
come home to get healed. A mother likes to be of
some use to her son, even after he’s grown and gone away.”

“I don’t like what it costs you.
He doesn’t either.”

“Your father has always been
protective of me.” She smiled a little, inward smile. “But
sometimes protecting someone is really like standing between them
and who they are.” She glanced up at him. “You’ve taught me that
lesson. You and Devin.”

“He still surfing?”

She smiled fondly. “Every day.
Your father says it’s a total waste of time.”

“He tried it, of course.”

“Of course. Said he had to know
what Devin was up to.”

“And he was great at it after
just watching the action for a few minutes.”

“Oh, it took him nearly an hour
to master it. Surfing is tough even for an Adapter.”

Yeah. That was a bitch. His
father played piano as well as Lanyon, and he’d paint as well as
Kee if he tried. How could anyone live with a father like that?
Tris shook himself. “What made you get Devin surfing lessons?”

“It was during the hard time for
him just after ... well, just after he came to us. I would catch
him staring at the waves for hours. At first I thought it was just
homesickness. You know, staring west because he was so far from
Auckland. But his fascination was for the water itself. When I
realized that I knew what to do.”

“Surfing pulled him
through.”

She began unhooking his sling.
“Perhaps. A little. Now let’s get to fixing you.”

“Mother, I can’t let you heal
me. Maggie’s not ready for the Brian and Brina show.”

“You’re telling me you can’t
pretend for a few hours tonight? She’ll be gone tomorrow.”

His brows pulled together of
their own accord.

“Wear your sling and your brace.
She’ll never know.” His mother was turning his head this way and
that to look at the scrapes and sense his concussion.

“I’m not going to fake being in
pain.”

“Tell me the doctor didn’t give
you some very delightful drugs to send you on your way. You can
just pretend you took some of those.”

She had that tone in her voice.
He set his jaw.

“I could, of course, have the
boys and your father come in here and hold you down. They’d love
the opportunity.”

Especially Kemble. Hell,
especially all of them. And he’d never let his father.... “Oh,
okay. Get on with it.” He looked away.

She smiled. “So blessed to have four
boys.” She began gently removing his cast.

*****

The girl, Tammy, was good with
horses. The mustangs took to her immediately. Maggie agreed to
putting them in the big in-and-out stalls. Better than turning them
out in the ring where they could hurt themselves getting too
rambunctious. Tammy was a worker, not just a spoiled rich kid. The
kid they had in to clean the stables had gone for the day, so she
hauled buckets of grain and hay flakes and helped fill four stalls
with fresh shavings, all the while talking about her school and
Cally and her riding instructor, who ranked right up there with the
Virgin Mary for virtuous qualities, according to Tammy.

A good kid, if a little
talkative. Maggie closed the stall door on Buck, who was head down
in the bucket. Tammy’s horse was down in the end stall next to a
cob pony, and had been showing great interest in the newcomers.
“So, let’s see this horse of yours.”

Tammy lit up like a lightbulb.
“Oh, he’s the best.” They leaned over Cally’s stall door.

“Got a good structure. Why don’t
you saddle up? Let’s see how he moves.”

“Really? Oh, that would be
great. Just great.” Then a shadow crossed her face. “I ... I don’t
want you to think I’m a good rider or anything. I’ve only been
riding three years. You ... you must be really good to break wild
mustangs.”

“Well, I don’t break them, for
starts. We call it gentling. It isn’t like the old Western movies.
But you don’t have to ride Cally. Would you let me take a turn on
him? Best way to know a horse is to ride him.”

“I ... I’d be honored.” Tammy
did a little jump, nodding quickly. “I’ll ... I’ll just saddle him
up. Oh. I don’t have a Western saddle, only English.” Tammy glanced
to Maggie’s boots.

Maggie smiled and hung Buck’s
halter on the stall door. Yeah. Tammy was a good kid. Had she ever
been that eager? Maybe. Once. “I’ll make do.”

Tammy led the huge Hanoverian
out to the mounting block when she was finished saddling. Good
thing. The old fella was seventeen hands at least. Obviously a
schoolmaster a little past his prime. Maybe an injury got him sold
after his performance days were over. There was a scar on his left
hind. But he’d found the ideal situation: a loving girl with a
family that could afford to take care of him even after he retired,
like the cob pony. He was almost white, though you could still see
the faint marks from his faded youth as a dapple gray. Tammy kept
him spotless, no mean trick. Stable hands always called these
horses “
blanco y verde
” because the manure stains from
sleeping in their stalls were hell to get out.

“He has kind eyes,” Maggie said
as Tammy led him up. Maggie pulled up the saddle flaps and removed
the stirrups.

“No stirrups?” Tammy
squeaked.

“Too hard to keep my heels down
in these boots.” She pulled off her boots and hopped up on the
block. “It’s all about balance anyway. Your teacher ever ask you
the old question, ‘what keeps you on your horse?’ ” Tammy shook her
head, her eyes wide. “Well, the kids usually say reins, or
stirrups, or squeezing your legs. But the answer is ‘gravity.’ ”
Tammy nodded thoughtfully. Maggie threw the reins over the horse’s
head. She eased onto his back slowly, politely. “Hello, old boy.”
As she settled into Tammy’s saddle, she was glad she was small.
Tammy looked about to burst with pride. Maggie let Cally walk off
on a loose rein and Tammy dashed over to open the gate to the
dressage ring. The ring had about six inches of mixed sand and
small cut-up pieces of rubber for drainage. She hated to think what
that kind of footing cost. But it would make the ring usable in
almost all weather, and it was great for the horses’ legs.

She let herself settle further
in the saddle as Cally walked out. He had a swinging, free stride.
He engaged from the rear naturally. She ran her hand along his
neck. “You must have been hell on wheels as a four-year-old,” she
chuckled, “with a big stride like that.” She took eight turns
around the big ring, and diagonally across it to change directions,
keeping to a walk. “How old is he?” she asked as she passed
Tammy.

“Eighteen.” Tammy frowned a
little. “Mother wouldn’t let me get a young horse and at first I
was mad. But Cally is super.”

“Not that old. He’s just right
for you,” Maggie called back over her shoulder. She eased him into
a trot and just let him roll, reins slack. His trot had a lot of
lift. “You be sure and warm him up for twenty or thirty minutes
before you even think of asking him to do anything,” she said as
they came around by Tammy. “Mature men get a little creaky.”

“I do,” Tammy promised. “Miss
Reinhold says that will keep him young.”

Now Maggie was really getting
the feel of the horse’s gait. This guy must have been a competition
horse. No one would let this much natural talent go to waste.
Beautiful. She felt his gait down through her bones. There was the
tiny hitch left from the surgery. But someone had rehabbed him
right. It was hardly noticeable. Riding always healed her own
anxiety and now she let herself connect to Cally. He was a wise one
all right. And he knew just what a good gig he had. She could feel
it.

When he was fully warmed up, she
pulled up in front of where Tammy leaned on the gate. “He’s lovely.
You’re a lucky girl.”

Tammy’s grin was blinding. “That
means a lot coming from you.”

“You ever seen what Cally
knows?”

“What do you mean?” Tammy got
wide-eyed.

“Well, has your teacher ridden
him so you could watch?”

“Uh, no. She doesn’t ride
anymore.”

Maggie grinned. “Want to
see?”

Tammy blinked. “Sure.”

Maggie patted Cally’s neck and
gathered up the reins with a firmer connection. “Let’s show her
what you can do, big fella.”

Now she collected him under
himself and pushed him up into her hand with her inside leg as they
trotted around the arena. The outside rein became the fluid bond
between them, yielding yet strong. Cally responded, rounding up,
arching his neck, telling her he recognized someone who knew the
language of touch and balance.

They started with simple leg
yields, Cally crossing both his front and back legs as he floated
diagonally across the ring. Maggie heard Tammy’s gasp and clapping,
but then all consciousness of her surroundings faded as she and
Cally became one. Shoulder in, haunches in, passage, a piaffe that
had Cally trotting in place in the center of the ring. Cally’s joy
in his performance made the reins sing. Maggie asked for a canter,
and got that wonderful suspension that made it feel like gravity
didn’t own them anymore. Now at the canter, they did spirals that
ended in pirouettes, and finally Maggie brought him down the center
line, throwing flying lead changes at every stride. Cally would
look like he was skipping.

That was enough for the old boy.
Mustn’t get him stiff, since she didn’t know just how much work
he’d been getting. She dropped to a trot, circled the ring, and
came to a stop in front of Tammy. Maggie grinned. Then she peered
at the young girl more closely. “Are ... are you crying?”