3 A Basket of Trouble Page 2

  “I have an agreement with the city,” Charley replied. “It allows me to run trail rides through there and the Garden of the Gods Park.”

  “And leave horse manure all over the trails!” Spittle flew from the old man’s lip as he flung an arm in the direction of the Blair Bridge Open Space.

  “We have a system for taking care of that,” Charley said evenly, with an embarrassed glance at Claire and Roger. “One of my employees follows the horses in an ATV with a manure cart to shovel up any droppings on the paved trails.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. “What about the dirt trails?”

  “The City Parks Department told me to just leave the manure on them, because it packs down well and helps prevent erosion. Do you live near here? We mailed fliers explaining the arrangement to all the local residents.”

  “I’m only here in the summer. Came back from Arizona two weeks ago, went to walk my dog in Blair Bridge like I always do. Suddenly a noisy string of horses comes through, crowding us, stirring up dust and smelling up the place.”

  Charley stuffed a fist in his jeans pockets. “There’s plenty of room for everyone. You can still walk your dog in the open space any time you want. But it’s a good idea to hold him close on his leash when our horses come by, to prevent the dog from spooking a horse and getting kicked.”

  He dug a trifold flier out of a back pocket and held it out to the man. “Here’s one of our fliers. It explains everything and includes a buy-one-get-one-free coupon for a two-hour trail ride.”

  The old man balled up the flier and threw it back at Charley. It bounced off his chest. “I don’t want one of your stinking fliers. I’m calling the city council about this.” Murder in his glare, he tromped off.

  “Whew,” Roger said. “Good job keeping your cool with that hothead. Have you had to deal with much of that?”

  “Some,” Charley replied. “Jessica and I met with local homeowners associations to show them the plan before we started construction. I explained that we would maintain the sections of the open space and park that we use, and repair any damage we cause. We’ve had a few complaints, some tense moments. I thought we’d gotten through the worst of it, but I guess the issue isn’t dead yet.”

  Claire watched the old man stride away. “Can he cause problems for you, going to the city council?”

  “They’re the ones who approved the agreement,” Charley said with a shrug. “Hopefully that guy won’t get anywhere with them.”

  She worried her lip. “I hope so, too.”

  “Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Charley donned his hat and turned toward the barn. “C’mon, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  “You don’t need to tie yourself up with us,” Roger said. “Don’t you need to greet people or something?”

  “Nope.” Charley pointed to a lanky, brown-skinned young man dressed in faded blue jeans and a blue-checked button-down work shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was talking and gesturing to a group of people. “I’ve got Kyle Mendoza there leading tours around. He’s a real people person, and a great wrangler and trail guide. And since he’s born and raised here, he knows his Colorado Springs history.”

  As if he felt Charley’s gaze on him, Kyle waved at them and flashed a white-toothed grin before returning his attention to the group in front of him. “That’s our owner and manager, Charley Gardner,” he said to his rapt audience. “A finer man you’ll never meet. Let’s all give him a wave and yell ‘Hi, Charley.’”

  Dutifully, the group turned and greeted Charley.

  “See, Kyle’s got them eating out of his hand.” Charley chuckled and returned the wave. “And he never misses a chance to butter up the boss.”

  “Great job, folks!” Kyle turned and set out for the trailer. “Now, let me show you around the place.”

  “I’ll introduce you to Kyle later,” Charley said. “But now, I want you to meet my right-hand man. Brought him from Durango with me.”

  He led them into the barn that housed enough stalls for the twenty horses Charley and Jessica owned and for ten more boarders. At the rear were a tack room, feed storage room, and a treatment area for a veterinarian or farrier to work on a horse. They walked past contented horses munching on green-smelling spring hay to the tack room.

  A middle-aged Hispanic man sat there on an overturned plastic grain tub. He wore square-toed work boots, a long-sleeved olive

  shirt, and a pair of tan jeans liberally marked with stains and frayed at the seams. In one hand he held leather reins, and in his other hand a huge needle strung with thick waxed thread. He stabbed the needle in a rein and pulled the thread through.

  “Jorge, I want you to meet someone,” Charley said.

  Jorge looked up, stood, laid his sewing repair project on the tub and turned to them. His legs were bowed as if he was still riding a horse. Permanent squint lines from years of working outdoors in bright sun fanned out around his brown eyes.

  He wiped his hands on his pants. “Hello.”

  “This is my sister, Claire, and her husband, Roger Hanover,” Charley said. “And this is Jorge Alvarez, my own horse-whisperer. If any of my horses develop a health or behavior problem, Jorge here straightens them right out.”

  Jorge smiled and shook both their hands. “Pleased to meet you,” he said formally, with a slight Mexican accent. “But Charley is too free with his compliments.”

  Charley slung an arm around Jorge’s shoulders. “No, I don’t compliment you enough, my man.” He looked at Claire and Roger. “Jorge worked for me for six years in Durango, came highly recommended by a friend who runs a stable in Las Cruces, New Mexico. I thank God he agreed to come here with me.”

  Curious about Jorge’s accent, Claire asked, “Are you from New Mexico, then?”

  “No, I was a vaquero in Oaxaca, Mexico, before coming to the United States eight years ago to work for Charley’s friend. He taught me to speak good English, so I could work with the touristas.”

  “Did you bring your family with you?” Roger asked.

  Jorge lowered his head. “No, I have no family.”

  “Not for my lack of trying to match him up, though.” Charley gave Jorge a friendly slap on the back. “I’ll let you get back to work while I show Claire and Roger around.”

  After he led them away, he said, “I found a small apartment for him, and Jessica and I have him over for dinner once a week. I hope he makes some other friends here. I’d hate for him to be lonely.”

  “Next time I have you and Jessica over for dinner, I’ll invite him, too,” Claire said.

  Charley looked surprised. “That’s really nice of you.”

  He approached a stall housing a well-muscled brown horse with a long black mane and tail. The horse came right to him, blew into his hand, and lowered his head for Charley to rub.

  “This is Gunpowder, my favorite mount. He’s an American Quarter Horse gelding. That’s the preferred breed for rodeo competitions, and because of their even temperament, for taking tourists on trail rides, too. Gunpowder here, though, tends to be frisky. So unless we get a rider who can prove to me that he has a lot of experience, only the wranglers and I ride him.”

  “Do you have any stallions here?” Roger asked.

  “Oh no, too dangerous. There’s almost nothing that can keep a stallion from a mare in heat, so I only have geldings and mares. None of the boarded horses can be stallions either. Gunpowder still thinks he’s a stud sometimes, though.”

  Charley gave Gunpowder one last pat, then led them back outside into the bright sunlight. “You two thirsty?”

  Claire felt a trickle of sweat running down the middle of her back under her T-shirt. “I could use a glass of lemonade.”

  While they stood by the food table sipping their drinks, Kyle came over with three people. “Charley, you’ve met my brother, but I’d li
ke to introduce my parents, Ana and Emilio.” He swept his hand toward a couple who looked to be in their fifties. Both had dark hair and eyes and were impeccably dressed in khaki pants and soft Pima cotton polo shirts.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Charley shook the couple’s hands then shook the hand of the short young man hovering beside his parents. “And how are you, Petey?”

  “Fine!”

  Claire realized that Petey was older than his height indicated, in his late teens or early twenties, and he had the characteristic almond-shaped eyes of someone with Down syndrome. When Charley introduced Roger and her to Kyle, his parents, and Petey, Petey enthusiastically shook their hands and grinned broadly.

  “Petey is one of Jessica’s hippotherapy clients,” Charley explained to Claire and Roger.

  Claire had been curious if Jessica had picked up many horse therapy clients after the move to Colorado Springs. She was happy to meet one of the people Jessica was helping. She smiled at the young man. “Do you like to ride horses, Petey?”

  He bobbed his head. “Yeah, yeah!”

  “Your wife has accomplished some wonderful things with Petey in just a few sessions,” Ana said to Charley. “His balance is better, and his coordination. He’s even talking more, though most of his new words have to do with horses.”

  As if on cue, Petey tugged on Kyle’s shirt and said, “Daisy? Carrot?”

  “He wants to give his favorite horse, Daisy, a carrot,” Kyle explained. “I’ll take him to the barn.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Emilio said. “I haven’t met Daisy yet.”

  As the three walked off, Petey’s hand in Kyle’s, Ana beamed. “Kyle is so good with his brother. It’s such a comfort to me to know that when Emilio and I pass on, Kyle will be here to take care of Petey.” She gave a little sigh then turned to Claire and Roger. “It’s because of Kyle that Petey can come for his horse therapy.”

  “He does extra work around here in exchange for the sessions,” Charley added, “repairs, clearing brush, and such. He’s staying late today to clean up after the opening.”

  “Has Jessica gotten many clients?” Claire asked.

  “A few,” Charley said. “She hopes to gradually build up more as the word gets out that a new occupational therapist trained in hippotherapy is in town.”

  “I’ve already spread the word in my Down syndrome parents’ group,” Ana said.

  “And Jessica has a couple of clients who are kids with autism. Their parents said they would tell their friends, too,” Charley said. “Speak of the devil, here she is.”

  Jessica exited the trailer with the new horse-boarding clients, said her goodbyes to them, then came over to give Ana a hug. “Where’s my boy, Petey?”

  “At the barn talking to Daisy,” Ana replied. “I think I will join them. Thank you for inviting us to your opening.”

  “I’ll see you Tuesday for Petey’s next session,” Jessica said.

  Ana smiled. “He’ll be anxious for it, since he’s seeing Daisy today. I hope he can wait two days!” She gave a wave and headed for the barn.

  “So you’ve got two businesses up and running here,” Roger said.

  “Only one business,” Jessica replied. “The hippotherapy is a non-profit. We don’t make any money from it. I only charge clients for my time and the use of the horse.”

  “Ah, I see,” Roger said. “So that makes it more affordable for people.”

  “Some of the families can’t even afford that, though,” Jessica replied, “so I’ve already applied for a couple of local grants. If I can get some grant money, I can offer scholarships. God knows, I’ve been there, and I know how a childhood disability can financially strap a family.”

  Claire nodded and touched Jessica’s arm. Jessica and Charley had lost their second child, a daughter, at the age of three to alpha mannosidosis, an incurable genetic disease resulting from missing an enzyme that breaks down sugar waste-products. Claire was sure that’s why Jessica subsequently got her degree in occupational therapy, so she could help other sick and disabled children.

  Jessica squeezed Claire’s hand, acknowledging the unspoken offer of comfort, then pressed on. “I also try to keep costs down by using volunteers to lead the horse and walk on either side of it while the client is on the horse.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, most of my volunteers are teenage girls, who aren’t that reliable.”

  Claire had an idea, something that might bring her closer to her brother. “What about me?”

  Jessica gave a little hop and clapped her hands. “That would be wonderful, Claire.”

  “It’s been awhile since I’ve been around horses,” Claire said, “but I took some Western riding lessons when I was a teenager. Remember, Charley?”

  He nodded. “And I remember that fall you took that broke your arm.”

  Claire automatically started rubbing the spot above her wrist.

  “I could start you out as a side walker,” Jessica said, “which only takes one training session. Once you’re comfortable with that, you can do some leading. Can you come Tuesday morning to train? Then you could help with Petey’s session and a couple of others in the afternoon.” Her face fell. “Or will you be too busy making and delivering baskets?”

  Claire shook her head. “The poor economy has affected me, too. I’ve only got a few baskets to make this week, so I can come Tuesday. And remember, Roger and I are coming back tomorrow morning with our friends Ellen and Dave to take a trail ride.”

  “And we’re only charging you for two—Ellen and Dave,” Charley said.

  “Oh no, we’re paying customers!” When Charley opened his mouth to speak, she held up a hand. “No argument. We want to support your new business here as much as we can. Maybe you can give us a free ride later, after you’re established.”

  Charley frowned, but when Jessica put a hand on his arm, he exhaled. “Okay.”

  Someone came up to Charley to ask a question, so Claire and Roger headed for the food table to grab some cookies. They chatted with a few other attendees then decided to head home. After saying their goodbyes, they walked back out to the parking lot.

  While Roger started the car, Claire pursed her lips and surveyed the dwindling attendance at the opening. “I hope Charley succeeds here. He needs to so much. I’m afraid he’s overextended himself to get this started.”

  Roger backed the car out of the parking spot. “Well, worrying about it won’t help any. And speaking about overextending, what possessed you to volunteer for Jessica’s hippotherapy?”

  two:

  terror in the stable

  When Roger drove into the Gardner’s Stables parking lot early the next morning, Claire spied Dave Redding’s car. Dave was the ex-husband of her best friend Ellen, and the two had been working on getting back together. The profiles of two heads in the front seat leaned toward each other to share a kiss.

  Claire let out a little squeal of delight and squeezed Roger’s arm. “They just kissed!”

  “Doesn’t take much to excite you, does it?” Roger said with a grin. He pulled into a spot and turned off the ignition.

  “I’m just so happy for Ellen and Dave. After all the troubles they’ve had, it’s good to see them getting back together again.”

  “Just like us.”

  “No, not like us. We never got divorced—or slept with other people.”

  Roger reached over to tuck a curl of her hair behind her ear. “You’re right, honey. We never stopped loving each other.”

  And her body had never stopped responding to his touch. She smiled at him and gave his arm a pat. Then she opened her car door, too excited about their upcoming ride to sit still.

  “C’mon. Time’s a-wasting. Today’s going to be fun!”

  She ran over to tap on Ellen’s window, who hopped out of the car to give Claire a hug and a squeal of her own. They checked
out and commented on each other’s riding ensembles—Western shirts, jeans, boots. Ellen had even added a red bandana tied jauntily about her neck. The two men stood with hands in their pockets and rolled their eyes.

  “And I love your hair,” Claire exclaimed. “You’re not a redhead anymore. You’re back to your natural brunette.”

  Ellen smiled. “Dave likes it better this way.”

  “Me, too.” Claire glanced at Dave, with his distinguished prematurely white hair. She gave him a wave, then leaned in close to Ellen. “So, you two looked pretty chummy there just then. Thinking of getting remarried?”

  “Could be, could be.” Ellen arched a brow. “We’re just taking it one day at a time right now. Trying to ease back into each other’s lives, have some fun together. And speaking of fun, what a great idea you had to go on a trail ride together. I haven’t ridden a horse in years!”

  Claire pointed at Ellen’s shiny new red tooled-leather cowboy boots. “I can tell!”

  Throwing back her head, Ellen laughed.

  “I can’t wait to introduce you to my brother and his wife.” Claire linked her arm in Ellen’s and pulled her up the path to the stable. “If you like the ride, I hope you’ll tell everyone you know about their stable.”

  She shouted over her shoulder, “Follow us, guys, for a good time!” She wiggled her generous butt for emphasis, and Ellen joined suit.

  Dave grinned and rubbed his hands together, elbowing Roger to do the same.

  As they walked under the wooden sign into the yard in front of the trailer, a wiry young man with walnut-colored skin and long black hair tied back in a ponytail came high-tailing it out of the barn. He shouted, “Señor Charley, señor Charley!”

  Holding a coffee cup, Charley stepped out of the trailer onto its porch. “What is it, Pedro?”

  Pedro skidded to a halt, eyes wide in alarm. In between huffs, he said, “Es Kyle. He muerto!”

  Claire gasped.

  Charley dropped his cup. It shattered and splashed coffee on his boots. “What?”

  “Gunpowder stomp him! Andale!” Pedro waved Charley toward the stable.