If Wishes Were Horses (11 page)

“Why?” Trevor asked.

Wyatt smiled. “You'll see.”

Trevor felt a bit foolish, but he did as Wyatt asked.

“Rub one of the sugar cubes hard against your wet palm,” Wyatt said. “Do it until your hand is good and sticky.”

As Trevor again obeyed, Gabby gave Wyatt a questioning look. Wyatt winked at her.

“Now you can feed Sadie the sugar cubes,” Wyatt said to Trevor. “Fully open your dry hand, and place your thumb tight alongside it. Then make sure that your palm is as flat as it can be, and set the cubes on it.”

Trevor did as he was told and held his hand out. After gently taking the cubes between her lips, Sadie munched them contentedly with her long, uniform teeth, then whinnied again.

“Now hold your sticky palm up to her muzzle,” Wyatt said. “Don't worry—she'll understand. Sadie and I have been doing this for a long time.”

“What part of her is her muzzle?” Trevor asked.

Remembering how little Trevor knew about horses, Wyatt smiled. “The muzzle is her mouth.”

As Trevor followed Wyatt's instructions, Sadie eagerly licked his palm. When Sadie finished, Trevor briskly rubbed his palm against the leg of his jeans.

Wyatt laughed. “It tickles, doesn't it?” he asked.

“It does!” Trevor exclaimed. “Can I do it again?”

Wyatt shook his head. “Horses love sugar, but it's not good to give them too much. And now you must promise me something.”

“What?” Trevor asked.

“You must never show Sadie's trick to anyone else,” Wyatt answered.

“I won't,” Trevor said solemnly.

Trevor rubbed Sadie's face again. No sooner did he stop than she affectionately nudged him, nearly toppling him. Trevor laughed.

“See?” Wyatt asked. “She likes you already.”

Gabby looked at her watch. She would have loved to stay, but tomorrow was another school day. “Time to go, young man,” she said.

Trevor's sadness returned. “All right,” he said.

“Don't worry,” Wyatt said cheerfully. “She'll be here waiting for you when you come back on Wednesday. Next time, I'll show you where I keep my secret stash of sugar cubes.”

After Wyatt opened the stall door and the three of them walked out, Gabby leaned closer to him. “Can you think of a reason to send Trevor back to the big house ahead of us?” she whispered. “I'd like a word with you alone.”

Wyatt shut the stall door, thinking. “Did Trevor like Aunt Lou's chicken?” he whispered back.

Gabby nodded. “Was there anyone who didn't?”

Wyatt smiled and looked for Trevor. The boy had wandered across the concrete alleyway. He was looking closely at an old weather-beaten saddle, lying on some hay bales.

“Hey, Trevor!” Wyatt shouted. “Go and tell Aunt Lou that I want her to wrap up some Cajun chicken halves for you and your mom to take home! Would you like that?”

“Yes!” Trevor answered.

“Then get going before they're all gone!” Wyatt said.

“Great!” Trevor exclaimed. In no time flat, he had run from the barn and was well on his way back to the big house.

As Wyatt and Gabby left the barn and started walking across the dewy grass, Wyatt turned to look at her. “So what's on your mind?” he asked.

When Gabby stopped walking, Wyatt paused alongside her. As she looked into Wyatt's face, the moonlight highlighted his prominent cheekbones and strong jaw, causing him to look like some heroic statue that had been chiseled from solid granite. She suddenly thought that he was the handsomest man she had ever seen as he stood before her in that relaxed way of his. Then she caught herself and forced her mind back to the moment.

“What you just did with Trevor,” she said. “It was wonderful. I haven't seen him that happy since his father died.”

Wyatt smiled. “Thanks. Horses and young people are good for each other. Trevor has a long way to go, but tonight was a start.
Perhaps we might turn your young James Dean into a proper cowboy after all.”

“Tell me,” Gabby said. “That business about Sadie licking Trevor's palm—is it really a secret?”

“It is,” Wyatt answered, “and I was happy to share it with him. Every boy needs to feel special in some way, and having a secret helps. I remember one time when Danny was eight years old. He and I—”

Wyatt suddenly quieted. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean for that to come out.”

“That's okay,” Gabby answered.

Wyatt managed a little smile. “It seems that our eight-hundred-pound gorilla has shown up again. I must find a way of dealing with him. I'm pretty good at shooting alligators. Maybe I could just shoot him, too.”

Gabby smiled thankfully. This time, it had been Wyatt who had put them more at ease. Even so, they each knew that becoming truly comfortable with each other might never be possible.

As Wyatt stood looking at her, he suddenly realized that this was the first time they had been truly alone. It felt good, like something that had long been missing had suddenly returned, and was breathing new life into his soul.

Reverend Jacobson had been wrong. Gabby wasn't just a looker. She was truly beautiful. But she was more than that. She was honest, caring, and strong. And as Wyatt continued to look into her eyes, he realized something else. He had become attracted to this woman.

But he also knew that he shouldn't be. Despite how much he
felt drawn to her, his wounds were still too deep, too overpowering, and, above all, too much like her own. Almost as quickly as his attraction had surfaced, his armor returned to again guard him from her, and keep him from violating Krista's memory. It was a protective reaction so instinctive and forceful, he doubted it would ever leave him. Trying to overcome the conflict roiling in his heart, he closed his eyes for several moments.

Gabby noticed the change in him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Wyatt nodded. “Sorry,” he answered. “Just a bit tired, I guess.”

Jesus,
he thought.
I can't afford to feel this way. It just wouldn't work…there are too many old hurts to overcome…Krista's memory is still too precious to me…

Wyatt looked at his Rolex. It was nearly 10
P.M.
“We'd best get back,” he said. “You must be eager to get home.”

For Gabby, nothing could have been further from the truth. She wished she could stand there looking into his face all night, as the moonlight shone down and the silky dew gathered around them. But she couldn't, and she knew it.

“You're right,” she answered. “Everyone must be wondering what has become of us.”

They remained quiet as they walked back to the pool area. It was a pleasant kind of stillness that Wyatt found comfortable and forgiving. When they reached the pool, they saw that the visitors were leaving. Trevor was sitting beside Ram, happily feeding leftover chicken bits to Butch and Sundance. Aunt Lou had wrapped several chicken halves in aluminum foil for Trevor to take home. As Wyatt left Gabby's side to bid farewell to the departing guests, Gabby walked up to Trevor.

“Did you ask Mr. Blaine if you could feed the dogs?” she asked.

“He didn't need to,” Ram answered. “It was my idea. And for Christ's sake, don't call me Mr. Blaine.”

Gabby laughed.

“What's so funny?” Ram asked.

“Seems like the apple didn't fall far from the tree,” she answered.

“I hereby lay sole legal claim to that complaint,” Ram said. “Hell, Wyatt's still a pup. He doesn't know the meaning of the word ‘old'!”

After a time Wyatt returned, holding a glass of Chardonnay in one hand. Gabby walked up to him and looked into his eyes.

“It's late, and we should be going,” she said. “Thank you for everything.” She turned and looked back at Ram. “And thank you, too, Ram.”

Ram smiled. “That's better,” he said.

“Good night,” Wyatt said to Gabby and Trevor. “We'll see you on Wednesday.”

Trevor grabbed his precious chicken halves and he and Gabby headed for their car. As they went, Ram gave Wyatt a sly look.

“Pull up a chair and sit a spell before you turn in,” he said. “You look beat.”

Wyatt grabbed a pool chair and placed it alongside his father's. He stretched his legs before him, crossing one boot over the other. This first day of New Beginnings had tired him right down to his bones.

Ram looked at Wyatt's wine and scowled. “Let me taste that,” he said.

“What for?” Wyatt asked. “You hate wine.”

“Can't an old man change his mind once in a while?” Ram asked. “You'd best let me do so now, while I still have a mind left.”

Wyatt sighed and handed over his glass. Rather than taste it, Ram chuckled and poured the Chardonnay straight into the grass. The delicate glass went straight down after it.

“Okay,” Wyatt said. “I'll bite. Do you think I've had too much to drink?”

“Nope,” Ram answered. “But if I've taught you anything, I've taught you this: if you're going to drink, do it right! No goddamned frog water! It's nothing more than old grape juice! I told your mother the same thing the day she announced she wanted to install a wine cellar! Besides, the French don't like us! If we're smart, next time we won't bail 'em out of their troubles!”

Wyatt sighed. He was too tired to argue, but Ram obviously wasn't.
Where does he get all that energy?
Wyatt wondered.

Ram walked to the beverage table then returned with a bottle of Jack Daniel's and two glasses. He poured some into each glass then handed one to Wyatt before sitting down again.

Wyatt relaxed into his chair and looked around. All the visitors had finally left; Aunt Lou and the three house girls were finishing up their cleaning. Butch and Sundance, their bellies full of chicken, lounged beside Ram's chair. Sundance snored lazily.

Wyatt took a sip of the bourbon and smiled.
The old man is right,
he thought.
This is better.

“Did Morg leave?” Wyatt asked.

“Yep,” Ram answered. “Like the nitpicker that he is, he took
all the forms the parents signed home with him. He'll probably start filing them in his sleep.”

“Could be,” Wyatt said.

Ram sighed and shifted his weight in his chair. “I saw you skedaddle away with Gabby and Trevor. You raised some eyebrows, I assure you. Where'd you go?”

“I introduced them to Sadie,” Wyatt said. “They looked like they needed a break from all the slings and arrows.”

Ram nodded. “Yeah, I noticed that, too. It was to be expected, I guess. Did it help?”

Wyatt nodded. “Trevor finally perked up. I'm sure that you could tell.”

“And his mother?” Ram asked.

“It helped Gabby, too,” Wyatt answered simply.

Ram raised his bushy eyebrows. “Hmmm…so it's
Gabby,
now, is it? My, my…”

Wyatt took another sip of bourbon. “Jesus, would you lay off for once?”

Ram chuckled softly. “Okay, son. But just for the record, I happen to think she's one hell of a woman. A man could get lost in those eyes.”

Wyatt said nothing while the tiki torches gently flickered, the smell of Aunt Lou's chicken lingering in the warm night air. As his father's words echoed in his mind, Wyatt closed his eyes and laid his head back against his chair.

I
'M OUT,” WYATT
said. After tossing his cards on the table, he took another sip of beer.

“Me, too,” Jim Mason answered.

Morgan was still in the game. Mercy was aggravating him, and he wanted to force her hand. “Call,” he said while tossing another ten dollars' worth of chips into the pot. Big John also folded. Of the six players, only Morgan and Mercy were still in.

Mercy turned over her hole card. She held two pairs, aces and eights. It was the “dead man's hand,” so called because it was exactly what Wild Bill Hickok was holding when he was murdered while playing poker in Deadwood, Colorado. Mercy looked into Morgan's best poker face.

“Dead man's hand,” she said. “That's hard to beat, Morg. Let's see 'em.”

Morgan scowled and revealed his hole card. He hadn't made his flush and had been trying to bluff her.

Rather than chide Morgan again, Mercy decided that it was Wyatt's turn. “You coward,” she said to him. “Couldn't take it, huh? It's about time I started getting even.”

Wyatt again sipped his beer. “I didn't have the cards. Knowing when to get out is just as important as knowing when to push it.”

“Well, this time I pushed it pretty good!” Mercy exclaimed. Her tone was needlessly haughty, like she didn't care who she might offend.

Mercy gleefully raked in the chips. There had been about one hundred dollars in that pot. Wyatt was glad to see her win it, but he guessed that she was still in the hole. These were friendly games, but with moderate-to-high stakes. If the night went long, Mercy could lose more than she could afford. She was a good player, and she was known for clever bluffing. But her drinking sometimes made her reckless, causing her to bet foolishly.

Mercy was usually good natured during the games, even when she lost. But tonight her mood was unexpectedly combative. Since the moment the game started, she had consistently downed one gin and tonic after another. After a time she brazenly decided that she no longer needed the mixer, so she brought the gin to the table and started drinking straight from the bottle. The more she drank, the more her temperament and judgment deteriorated. It was as if she had some ax to grind and was determined to take it out on everyone.

Even so, Mercy was happy with her newly won pot. She gig
gled, then made a great show of clumsily stacking her chips with fingers that behaved like they had minds of their own.

Morgan looked at Wyatt and raised his eyebrows. Clearly, Mercy was getting on everyone's nerves. Wyatt could break up the game and send everyone home, but he still felt like playing. When he looked at Morgan, he only shrugged his shoulders.

It was nearly eleven
P.M.
The poker game had been in progress for more than four hours, but no one was ready to cash out. At the Flying B, a three-hour game was considered brief. Often they lasted five hours or more. It was not unheard of for the players to try to best one another until dawn.

Poker games were a long-standing tradition at the ranch, and they were always held the first Tuesday night of each month. Ram had started the tradition some forty-odd years before, when Blaine & Blaine was still a fledgling law firm. Back then he shrewdly used the games to expand his growing network of friends and business contacts, and he was also sly enough to know when purposely losing was to his advantage. Although on his good days Ram could still play with the best of them, recently he was content just to watch sometimes. True to his ornery nature, he had no qualms about openly criticizing someone's play. It also amused and pleased Ram to know that today's poker games were still being held on the same old mahogany table as in days gone by.

Wyatt loved poker because he considered it to be the only form of gambling that truly tested one player against another. He enjoyed Florida casino gambling from time to time, but never took it seriously because the odds were stacked against the player and the longer someone persisted, the greater the chance of losing.
Even if a player won, over time he would surely give it all back, and probably more. But with poker, everything was each one's own fault. The odds against each player were the same, making the game largely a matter of skill and nerve. Each person seated at this old table had plenty of both.

Like tonight, with the usual players being Wyatt, Morgan, Mercy, Big John, Jim Mason, and Kyle Jacobs. Jim and Kyle were ranch hands of long standing. Along with Mercy and Big John, Jim was one of the hands Wyatt had chosen as an equestrian coach for New Beginnings. He was a tall, quiet bachelor in his mid fifties who had worked at the ranch for some thirty or so years. Kyle was a married Boca native in his midthirties.

The game was always the same—five-card stud, with four cards faceup and one hole card. Because it was Wyatt's turn to deal, he gathered up the cards then gave them two quick, waterfall-style shuffles.

After everyone anted up, Wyatt declared that deuces were wild. He then dealt one card facedown to each player and another one faceup. He glanced around the table to see that his show card, the queen of diamonds, was highest. That made him the first bettor. From this point forward, every card would be dealt faceup.

“Check,” he said.

Morgan sat on Wyatt's left. “Five bucks,” he said, tossing in a chip.

Mercy swallowed another belt of gin then clumsily threw a five-dollar chip onto the pile. Everyone else went in.

Wyatt dealt each player another card. This time Mercy held the high hand, with a pair of nines showing. She grinned stupidly
as she fumbled with her holdings. After painstakingly segregating four blue chips, she tossed them into the pot.

“Twenty…bucks,” she said.

Everyone again stayed in. All the hole cards must be good, Wyatt realized. If this kept up, the pot would become a big one. He then dealt another round of cards.

Mercy got another nine, giving her triple nines and again making hers the high hand. She tossed four red chips onto the pile. “Forty bucks,” she said thickly.

“I'm out,” Big John said.

“Me, too,” replied Jim.

Jim and Big John tossed away their cards.

“I'll stay,” Kyle answered as he matched the bet. His show cards were a five, six, and a seven of differing suits, probably meaning that he was hoping for a straight.

Wyatt was showing the king, queen, and jack of diamonds. They looked pretty, but like Kyle's cards, still didn't amount to much. As he sat thinking, Mercy gave him a nasty look. Her eyes were heavy; she started wavering back and forth in her chair.

“Stay in, you coward,” she said thickly. “It doesn't matter if you lose. You're a Blaine, after all. And everybody knows that the Blaines have more money than God.”

The game room went as silent as a tomb. Never had any of these men heard Mercy say anything remotely critical of the Blaine family, much less of Wyatt. For several tense moments no one spoke. Morgan shot Wyatt another meaningful glance. Wyatt quickly nodded back then looked across the table at Mercy. His expression was unforgiving.

“You're drunk,” he said softly, “so I'm going to let that comment slide. But don't push me again. I'm not in the mood. However this hand goes, it'll be the last one of the night.”

Undaunted by Wyatt's warning, Mercy dismissively waved one hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah, cowboy. You in or out?”

Wyatt answered her by tossing forty dollars' worth of chips onto the pile. Then he dealt more cards to Mercy, Kyle, and himself.

Kyle's card was a jack, and of no help. “I'm out,” he said. That left only Wyatt and Mercy.

Mercy looked stupidly at Wyatt's king, queen, and jack of diamonds. Wyatt was on his way toward a royal flush. But even in her drunken stupor, Mercy knew that the odds of Wyatt pulling off a royal flush were very poor. Mercy's three nines were still the high hand. Confident that she was about to win, she gave Wyatt an evil-looking smile.

“It's just you and me now,” she said. She drunkenly counted out some chips and tossed them onto the pile. “One hundred bucks says you'll turn tail and run.”

Wyatt answered Mercy's bet then dealt her final card. To everyone's amazement, Mercy got the last nine. That gave her four of a kind, a nearly unbeatable hand. Wyatt sat back in his chair, thinking.

What they say must be true,
he decided.
God really does protect drunks and little children. And just now, Mercy is both.

Wyatt dealt his final card. As it fell to the table, Big John whistled and Kyle said something that should never be repeated in church.

Wyatt now had the king, queen, jack, and ten of diamonds.
He was only one card away from a royal flush. Even so, the odds against fulfilling it remained nearly impossible. Still certain that Wyatt was beaten, Mercy gave him another nasty smile.

“You can't have the nine of diamonds,” she said proudly, “because I've got it. That means the only way you can win is if you've got the ace. It isn't showing, but the odds against you having it are just too long, even for the famous Wyatt Blaine.”

Reaching out, Mercy shoved all her remaining chips into the center of the table.

“All in,” she said. “Top that, rich boy.”

Wyatt was becoming incensed. Trying to remember that the gin was doing Mercy's talking for her, he regarded her calmly. He looked at his hole card and then into her eyes again. To everyone's surprise, he, too, pushed in all his chips.

“All in,” he said.

Mercy turned over her hole card. It was the jack of clubs and no help to her. But that didn't change the fact that she held four of a kind.

Wyatt nodded. “You're right, Mercy,” he said. “I don't have the ace.”

Cackling with delight, Mercy reached unsteadily toward the huge pile of chips. For a moment, Wyatt thought she might fall out of her chair.

“Don't you want to see my hole card?” he asked.

Mercy snorted out a laugh. “What for? You already told me that you don't have the ace.”

“I don't have
that
ace,” Wyatt said. He then turned over his hole card.

It was the two of clubs—one of the wild cards that Wyatt had called at the start of the hand. It served as the ace of diamonds that he had needed. He had his royal flush, and it beat Mercy's four nines.

“Holy Christ,” Morgan said.

“You can say that again,” Kyle breathed.

Mercy was stupefied. Her drunken mind had forgotten that deuces were wild, and that Wyatt might be holding one.

“Son of a bitch…,” she breathed.

Because she had gone all in and lost, she was flat broke. She tried to stand, but no sooner did she come to her feet than her eyes fluttered closed and she collapsed. Morgan reached out and caught her in his arms.

“Jesus!” Morgan said. “She's so plastered she can't even stand up!”

Wyatt stood and gestured to Morgan. “Give her to me,” he said. “I'll take her home.”

Glad to be rid of her, Morgan did as his brother asked. She hung limply in Wyatt's grasp, her arms, legs, and blond pigtails all dangling lifelessly toward the floor. Wyatt looked over at Big John, who was serving as cashier.

“How much was her buy in?” Wyatt asked.

Big John consulted his notepad. “Four hundred,” he said.

“This game is over,” Wyatt said. “Cash everybody out. But before you do, get four hundred bucks from the till and stuff it into my pocket. Take it from my share.”

“Will do, boss,” Big John said.

After Big John did as Wyatt had asked, Wyatt started car
rying Mercy toward the game-room door. “Everyone get some sleep,” Wyatt shouted over his shoulder. “We have another big day tomorrow.”

After Wyatt left the room, Morgan cashed out. He saw that Big John's face was long with worry. “What the hell was eating her?” Morgan asked. “I've never seen her like that! I know that she likes her booze, but Jesus…”

Big John rubbed his chin. “I don't rightly know. Whatever her demons are, they're doozies. But if anyone can find out, it's Mr. Wyatt.”

“I hope you're right…,” Morgan answered.

 

FIVE MINUTES LATER,
Wyatt arrived at Mercy's cottage. The place was dark and quiet. He gently lowered Mercy onto a porch chair then searched for the spare key.

To his relief, it still lay on top of the door sill. He opened the door and turned on the lights. After again taking Mercy in his arms, he carried her into the cottage. Before putting Mercy in the bedroom, Wyatt took a moment to look around. He hadn't been here in some time, but the place hadn't changed.

The cottage was small and attractively furnished. There was a living room, a kitchen, two bedrooms, and a den. Little reminders of Mercy lay all about—an open veterinary textbook here, a cowboy hat there, a cup of unfinished coffee sitting on an end table. Like Mercy herself, the place was a portrait in organized clutter.

Wyatt carried Mercy into the master bedroom and laid her on the bed. When her head hit the pillow, she let out a little groan and
curled up in the fetal position. She looked childlike lying there, with her blond braids falling onto her shoulders. Wyatt considered putting her under a mercilessly cold shower, clothes and all, then decided to just let her sleep it off. He sighed and shook his head.

Come sunrise, I wouldn't want to be her,
he thought.
No hangover remedy in the world is going to cure the result of this bender.

Then he remembered her money. Reaching into his jeans, he retrieved the four hundred dollars. She didn't deserve it, but he wanted her to have it. As he placed it on top of the nightstand he spied a photo there, encased in a pewter frame. He picked it up and looked at it.

It was a shot of him and Mercy, taken inside the main barn. Because Krista had often prowled the ranch with her camera, Wyatt guessed that she had taken it. Wyatt and Mercy looked happy, but he couldn't remember when this photo had been taken. Deciding to leave the little mystery unsolved, he placed the photo back on the nightstand and headed for the door.