If Wishes Were Horses Read online

  After unlocking the door and putting the key back in its hiding place, he went inside. Wyatt quickly went from room to room, opening the screened windows so that the breeze could flow through. He finally returned to the master bedroom, facing the lake, opened his saddlebags, and removed the sandwiches and bottled water that he had brought along.

  There was no electricity here, and that was the way Wyatt liked it. At first he had considered installing a generator and wiring the place, but decided against it. Creating electricity was a noisy affair, and Wyatt valued the peace and quiet too much to violate them with a rattling generator. In place of a refrigerator there were cupboards full of canned food, and an ancient gas grill stood outside. Light came from propane lamps hanging in each room, and water was supplied by a nearby well.

  Walking back into the kitchen, he put the sandwiches and water down on the counter. In one corner of the kitchen lay several feed bags. He hoisted one over his shoulder and went back down the front steps. After feeding and watering his mare, he returned to the cabin.

  Wyatt often swam in the lake, and as the sun started to set over the distant skyline he decided that tonight would be no exception, alligators be damned. He eagerly stripped off his clothes and stepped into a pair of worn leather sandals. Grabbing a towel and a bar of soap, he walked naked to the lake.

  The water felt cool and refreshing. Rather than dry himself with the towel, he decided to lie on the dock and let the fading Florida sunshine do the job. On realizing that he was falling asleep, he finally stood and walked back to the cabin.

  He dressed again and lit the cabin lights. After walking out onto the porch to sit in one of several rocking chairs, he ravenously devoured the food, then walked into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a highball glass. Before sitting down, he switched on a battery-powered CD player. As the soothing sounds of piano music drifted across the porch, he poured himself some of the bourbon.

  Wyatt loved it here, and so had Krista. This had been their place to get away from everything; to laugh, and to drink, and to swim naked in the cool lake. Here they had made love with abandon, and were completely unencumbered by the affairs of the ranch. Wyatt and Krista had come here often, so much so that the always irreverent Ram referred to the simple cabin as Krista and Wyatt’s “love shack.”

  Wyatt found Ram’s comment embarrassing, but Krista had taken the sting out of it by laughing along with him. Her psychological training had provided her with ways of creating proper boundaries for herself, especially where Ram was concerned. Because Ram most respected those who stood up to him, Krista’s sly ability to hold him at bay had caused the old man to love her all the more. And then Wyatt thought of Gabrielle Powers.

  Ram was right, Wyatt realized while taking another sip of bourbon. He had come searching for more than alligators. He was in fact looking for some peace of mind about his decision to allow the Powers boy into the New Beginnings Program. He also couldn’t escape the growing feeling that there had perhaps been another motive for his decision—one that brought a sharp pang of guilt.

  Gabrielle had impressed him. He hadn’t felt that way about a woman for five years, and the sensation was jarring. It was more than the respectful way she had asked for his permission, or even that she had bravely forced him to again confront his life’s greatest tragedy. There had been real honesty in the compassion she had shown him, something that only they shared because of their common sense of loss. And she had been right about another thing, Wyatt realized. He did have much to remain thankful for, despite his reluctance to admit it.

  What is her son like? he wondered. He would find out soon enough. He had little doubt that the boy needed professional help, but that alone was no proof that Trevor would benefit from the program. Many of the teens did, but some of the more hardheaded ones did not. That was just the way of things.

  As the darkness outside the cabin finally became total, Wyatt finished his bourbon. Next Monday the program would start in earnest. What would it be like to see Gabrielle and her son wandering around the ranch three afternoons a week?

  Perhaps it didn’t matter, because the program was limited to twelve weeks and Gabrielle and Trevor would be gone, whatever the outcome. As in Krista’s day, the program’s effectiveness would then be evaluated, and a decision made as to whether to offer it again.

  Wyatt never intended for the therapy program to be offered free of charge indefinitely. If this first twelve-week session was successful, he would decide whether to start charging for it, or abandon it for good. His real intention had been to honor Krista’s memory. Either way it went, he knew that were she here, she would understand.

  Still, a sense of guilt haunted him. Was he right to allow the son of the drunk who had killed his family to participate in his late wife’s cherished dream? Had Jacobson been right when he said that this was what Krista would have wanted? Wyatt didn’t know and the longer he sat thinking, the more conflicted he became.

  Enough of this, he thought.

  Shrugging off his concerns, he stood and stretched. If he rose before dawn, he could arrive home in time to attend the last church service of the morning. Leaving the bottle behind, he walked through the cabin and extinguished the lamps. Wyatt checked his watch again then wound an old alarm clock sitting on the crude bedstead and set it to ring at five A.M. Finally he extinguished the last lamp and took off his clothes.

  Eager for sleep, he slipped naked into the master bed that he and Krista had once shared. For a time he lay there peacefully, wishing that her warm, seductive body was beside him in the Florida moonlight. As he listened to the various night creatures, Wyatt turned over and stretched his muscles across the welcome coolness of the sheets.

  He was asleep in minutes.

  EIGHT

  TREVOR WAS IN a particularly sullen mood as Gabby navigated her weather-beaten Honda through the upscale streets of Boca Raton. It was Sunday morning, and she and her son were on their way to church. As she passed sidewalk cafes, palm trees, and trendy boutiques, Gabby realized that she would have to hurry to make the ten o’clock service at St. Andrew’s.

  Although living in Boca taxed the limits of her income, Gabby loved this stylish and beautiful city. She smiled to herself as she remembered something that Reverend Jacobson had mentioned in one of his sermons. In biblical times, prosperous cities were known as the lands of milk and honey, he said. But today, many upscale places like Boca Raton had become the lands of plastic surgery and stock options. Sadly, he had added, many modern-day people couldn’t tell the difference between the two, nor did they care.

  Because Trevor hated going to church, his last-minute acquiescence had come with a price. He would remain in his usual clothes or he wouldn’t go, he had said. Although Gabby liked to believe that she ruled the roost in her small family, in truth there was little she could do to force her son into the car. And so she had reluctantly agreed to Trevor’s demands, while also praying that his appearance wouldn’t draw too much disapproval from the well-to-do congregation.

  Gabby knew that today’s worship service would not convert Trevor to an avid churchgoer, nor was that her goal. She had another reason for wanting Trevor to accompany her. If Wyatt Blaine was there, Gabby would introduce him to her son. But most of all, she would make sure that Trevor thanked Wyatt privately for allowing him to enroll in the New Beginnings Program.

  She had waited to tell Trevor her motives until after they were well on their way. It had been a sneaky thing to do, but these days it seemed that sneakiness had become a necessary part of her life. She would be greatly relieved when Trevor started the program, and all this subterfuge was finished. Manipulating people wasn’t like her.

  As Trevor listened to his mother’s confession, his face flushed with anger. He surprised her by not saying a word, his only reaction one of scowling and slumping farther down in his seat. The brooding ghost of James Dean overcame him again as his pinched expression negated every trace of the fragile goodwill
that had existed earlier. Gabby skillfully changed the subject, but Trevor’s only response was to defiantly turn up the collar of his red Windbreaker.

  That’s just as well, Gabby thought, as she turned into the St. Andrew’s parking lot. Let his dead alter ego take over for a while. If we’re going to be in church, I’d rather he be quiet than have to endure another angry outburst.

  As they entered St. Andrew’s, the organist was already playing and the congregation members were on their feet, preparing to sing the first hymn. After greeting the ushers, Gabby guided Trevor toward the left side of the sanctuary where she found vacancies in the fourth row. On her immediate left stood two wealthy dowagers who were dripping with diamonds and wearing large, floppy hats.

  The imperious women took little notice of Gabby, but regarded her oddly clothed son with blatant disapproval. Soon they were whispering to each other in that condescending way that some elderly women do so well. Trying to ignore them, Gabby took up a hymnal and found the first selection listed in the program. As the congregation sang, she turned to search out Wyatt.

  Doing her best to be discreet, she looked past the women and toward where Wyatt always sat. She found him in his usual row singing among the other parishioners. He was dressed in a tan suit, a crisp white shirt, and a green-and-beige regimental tie. She couldn’t know whether he had seen her and Trevor come in, but that didn’t matter. If Wyatt held true to his habit, Gabby knew when he would leave.

  As the service progressed, Trevor fidgeted, slumped, and scowled even more. Gabby didn’t care, provided he proved to be polite toward Wyatt—an outcome that was far from certain. Although she had coached Trevor on what she wanted him to say, she remained nervous about how things would go. But first she had to be sure that Wyatt didn’t drive off before she and Trevor caught up with him.

  Thirty minutes later, Reverend Jacobson finished his sermon. It had had something to do with respecting other religions, but Gabby had been so busy eyeing Wyatt from time to time that she remembered little of it. Then she double-checked her program. She was right—the blessings were next.

  His voice tired and hoarse, Reverend Jacobson left the pulpit and walked before the gleaming white altar. He raised his hands in a gesture of welcome.

  “Will anyone wishing to celebrate a birthday, an anniversary, or other special day please come forward for the blessings?” he asked.

  As people started rising from their seats, Gabby turned and again gazed past the pair of old Boca dragons sitting on her left. By now, they had become even more disapproving of this strangely searching woman and her even odder son. Sure enough, Gabby watched Wyatt rise from his seat and start heading toward the rear of the church.

  Gabby nudged Trevor with one elbow. “Come on!” she said. “We’re leaving!” As they hurried out, the two old ladies shot more disapproving glances at them.

  “Well, I never!” one announced.

  “Nor I!” the other answered harshly. “The nerve of these young people today!”

  Ignoring them, Gabby quickly ushered Trevor away. Gabby hustled Trevor outside to see that Wyatt had already crossed the parking lot. She quickened her pace, but already his tie was undone, and he was unlocking the door of his Jaguar. She didn’t want to shout at him, but there seemed to be little choice.

  “Wyatt!” she called out. “Wyatt, wait!”

  Wyatt turned in search of the person who had called out his name. When his eyes met Gabby’s, he stiffened.

  Oh, God, she suddenly realized. Have I just made a terrible mistake? What if he thinks that I’m bushwhacking him again?

  But the die was cast, and so she bravely led Trevor onward. Wyatt remained still as Gabby and Trevor walked up to him.

  “Hello, Gabrielle,” he said politely. “I saw you come into church.” He turned and looked at Trevor. “This must be Trevor, right?”

  Gabby suddenly felt even more flustered. The last thing she had wanted was to seem like some desperate widow, but there was no going back now.

  “Please call me Gabby,” she said. “And forgive me for calling out to you that way! I wanted you to meet my son.”

  “That’s okay,” Wyatt answered. “It’s been quite a while since a pretty woman chased after me.”

  Trevor scowled. “Doubt it…,” he muttered.

  “I’m sorry?” Wyatt asked.

  Gabby nearly died from embarrassment. Coming up behind Trevor, she instinctively grasped the tops of his shoulders, as if she could somehow squeeze only the right phrases out of him and keep all the unwanted ones inside.

  “Don’t mind him,” she said. “You know teenagers! Anyway, Trevor has something that he wants to tell you.”

  Wyatt’s guilt over his decision about Trevor took hold again, but he managed to give the boy a smile. “Okay,” he said.

  To Gabby’s relief, Trevor decided to obey his mother’s wishes. He held out his right hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blaine,” he said. “And I want to thank you for allowing me to join your horse-therapy program.”

  Bless you, Trevor, Gabby thought. Even if it did sound rehearsed.

  “It’s my pleasure,” Wyatt answered. “And call me Wyatt.”

  Trevor shook hands like a man and looked Wyatt straight in the eye, almost as if he was challenging him for some reason. Ram is going to like this kid, Wyatt thought. They’re cut from the same cloth.

  Wyatt wasn’t sure of what to do or say next, and Gabby’s appearance wasn’t helping. Because he had been so upset during their first meeting, he hadn’t paid much attention to her looks. Wyatt had long been a fan of old films, and as Gabby stood before him, he realized that she looked very much like Lauren Bacall in her younger days. Her innocent gaze somehow engulfed him from head to toe all at once, causing him to suddenly feel uneasy.

  Jacobson was right, Wyatt decided. Gabby was a looker, and then some. But what to do now?

  After Gabrielle’s heartfelt rush to greet him, simply saying good-bye and driving away would seem too brusque. He always went to brunch after church—it had been a tradition with him since Krista and Danny’s deaths, and he had had every intention of going there when Gabrielle called out to him.

  Still wondering what to do, he took a closer look at the Powers boy. The kid seemed normal enough, despite his fifties vintage look. And besides, Wyatt reasoned, he would have to get to know these people sooner or later. Perhaps now, in the relatively quiet confines of a restaurant, might be better than trying to do it during the always harried first day of New Beginnings.

  What the hell…, he finally decided.

  “I was headed to brunch,” he said. “Would you and Trevor like to tag along? It’s my treat, of course. I know a place that’s very good.”

  Although Wyatt surprised Gabby, she was far from disappointed. She wanted to accept, but she couldn’t know how much longer Trevor’s false courtesy might last. Deciding to risk it, she nodded.

  “We’d like that very much,” she answered. “Perhaps you could tell us more about New Beginnings while we eat.”

  Trevor’s face quickly grimaced with distaste. “Jesus, do we have to?” he exclaimed. But when Gabby shot him a sharp look that said she meant business, he soon sighed with resignation. “Sorry, Mr. Blaine,” he said quietly. “Brunch would be okay, I guess.”

  “That’s all right, Trevor,” Wyatt answered graciously. “I know it’s probably not your kind of thing, but the food’s really good.”

  Wyatt returned his gaze to Gabby. “It would be best if you followed me in your car,” he said. “We’ll go to Chez Paul. I always see Sunday brunch as a personal reward for sitting through Jacobson’s long-winded sermons! It’s just around the corner, at Mizner Park.”

  “That’s fine,” Gabby said. “We’ll see you there.”

  Soon Gabby was following Wyatt’s Jaguar through downtown Boca. When Wyatt stopped before the parking valet at Mizner Park, Gabby pulled in behind him. She felt decidedly out of place as she parked her dented Honda in the valet line
among the many glittering luxury cars, but being Wyatt’s guest gave her a welcome sense of belonging.

  The three of them walked across the central plaza and toward Chez Paul, where a long line of people wound through the foyer and spilled outside onto the stone patio. The wait to get inside looked like it would take forever.

  “All the snowbirds are still here,” Gabby said. “Maybe we should try another place.”

  For the first time, Gabby saw Wyatt genuinely smile. The real thing was rather conspiratorial looking, and she liked it.

  “That’s okay,” he said. “Leave everything to me. Like I said, it’s my Sunday tradition.”

  With Trevor and Gabby in tow, Wyatt wended his way into the restaurant. When Wyatt approached the hostess, she eagerly kissed him on one cheek. She had an exotic look about her and, as Gabby was about to discover, she and Wyatt knew each other well.

  “Daahling!” she shouted above the din. Her accent was decidedly French, and Gabby found it attractive.

  “I was starting to wonder whether you were coming!” the hostess said. “I nearly gave your table away!”

  “Better late than never, Claudette,” Wyatt said. “We’re three today.”

  Claudette gave Gabby and Trevor a rather surprised look that quickly became one of genuine friendliness. “So I see,” she answered. “You can go straight in, handsome. Your usual table is waiting. I’ll send Jean-Claude right over.”

  “Thanks,” Wyatt said.

  Wyatt led Gabby and Trevor through the crowded dining room. Every table was full, save for theirs. It seemed a welcome oasis in a sea of flashing tableware, well-to-do people, and tinkling glass, because Gabby could almost feel the nasty looks coming from those patrons still waiting to be seated.