If Wishes Were Horses. Carolyn McSparren

      So why should Liz Matthews with her crooked nose and her grubby jeans attract him? She was so damned sure of herself, so career oriented. She crashed into his life like a freight train.

      He set the empty beer bottle down on the coffee table as the realization hit him. Damn. All those qualities were exactly like Sandi. She’d spend all weekend designing one of her fancy Puget Sound houses and forget to eat or sleep. She dragged him to art galleries and theater and ballet and the opera—and taught him to love all of it. She’d exploded his miserable life like a rotten melon.

      Four years out of Yale he’d been bored with making money, fed up with the ruthless negotiation and cliffhanger days when ten minutes might make the difference between a million lost and a million won. He’d needed something—or someone—new in his life.

      He remembered the night he first saw her. He’d been alone, as usual, propping up the wall of the office reception room while a cocktail party raged around him, waiting until he could go home without seeming too rude.

      She wore a loose red silk dress and the highest heels he’d ever seen outside of a topless bar. She stood out like a peony among all those navy and gray suits. Her long black hair was pulled back tight in a heavy bun on the back of her head. She caught him gaping at her, worked her way through the crowd until she was close enough to lay her hand on his arm. She said, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

      He stammered, “I do now.”

      He took her to bed two hours later, and six weeks later they were married. She was two years older than he, but that made no difference. They had six years of happiness. He bought her a forty-six-foot sailing sloop. Her career as an architect took off. He regained his pleasure in the money game. They seemed to live in a golden glow where everything they attempted turned out perfectly.

      It had ended in four hours on a rainy Friday afternoon. She’d gone into premature labor, had an emergency C-section and burst a blood vessel in her brain that killed her twenty minutes later and left him with a two-pound baby daughter that he never intended to see.

      He’d felt only rage. Rage at himself for giving in to her and getting her pregnant, rage at the child who had killed her, at Sandi for leaving him with this tiny little thing on his hands, at the doctors, the hospital, heaven itself.

      He sailed their sloop out into the Sound so that he could open the sea cocks, sink the boat and join his wife.

      He’d never doubted that it was Sandi who stopped him as he reached for the first plug. He turned the boat around, sailed back to the dock and drove at once to the hospital. He stood outside the neonatal intensive care unit looking at his blue-black stick figure of a daughter as she fought for her life. She was the ugliest small animal he’d ever seen.

      As he stood staring in at his child, Sandi gave him her final gift. She filled his heart with love for this child for whom she had died. He sat down with his back against the wall and howled so loudly that two interns tried to sedate him.

      He’d had his one great love. He couldn’t expect another. In the years since, he’d only sought to find a friend, a colleague, an ally to share his life and help raise Pat. Most marriages had considerably less going for them than friendship and collaboration.

      Liz Matthews wasn’t his ally or colleague, and she didn’t act as though she’d ever consider him a friend. Yet she stirred his blood. He felt a tremor of disloyalty to Sandi, then he seemed to hear Sandi’s laughter. She never let him get away with nonsense like that.

      Suddenly he had to get out of the apartment, drive. somewhere, anywhere. He told Mrs. Hannaford he’d be back in an hour or so and escaped from the apartment as though he were being chased by the devil himself.

      “TRAVELLER’S MY PONY,” Pat screamed and started up the ladder to the hayloft.

      “Get down from there,” Liz said. “I don’t feel up to climbing today.”

      “I won’t.”

      Liz sighed and began to follow, groaning at every step.

      Halfway up the ladder, Pat stopped and glared over her shoulder at Liz. “You really hurt?”

      “I am stiff and sore, thank you.”

      Pat said nothing for a moment, then she started down. “Get out of the way.”

      Liz stepped off the ladder and stood waiting in the aisle with her hands on her hips. “Come into the lounge so we can discuss this properly.”

      Pat slouched ahead of her, dropped onto the leather couch, crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

      “Did we or did we not have an agreement about tantrums?”

      “You gave that stuck-up Janey my Traveller. How could you?” Pat wailed.

      Liz blew out her breath and sank gingerly into one of the chairs. “Janey is an experienced rider. I’m too big to work Iggy, and Vic doesn’t ride. Every step Janey takes on that pony teaches him.”

      “But I want to ride him now.”

      “Forget it.”

      Pat set her jaw and glowered. Liz did not react.

      After a moment Pat sighed and said, “Okay. But only if I can stay late for an extra lesson every day this week.”

      “God, you drive a hard bargain. Anything for a peaceful life.” Liz pulled herself to her feet. “So go get Wishbone tacked up and get yourself into that arena.” She walked out.

      Pat uttered a deeply put-upon sigh and heaved herself off the sofa just as Vic stuck her head in the door.

      “You’re in my class today,” Vic said. “I warn you, I don’t put up with bad manners. One fit and you’re out.”

      “Everybody’s always trying to throw me out.”

      “No, we’re trying to keep you in. You just make it darned difficult for us.” She put her arm across Pat’s shoulders. “Listen, you’ve got the makings of a good rider.”

      Pat shook off the arm. “How come you don’t ride? You’re scared, right?”

      Vic caught her breath. “Boy, you go for the jugular, don’t you? Okay,” Vic continued. “I used to think I stopped riding because I was scared for myself. That’s not it. I’m terrified that somebody else will do something stupid and will get hurt because I’m not good enough to get out of the way. I can’t take that chance again.”

      “That’s silly.”

      “You asked. I told you. Now get Wishbone ready. We’re ten minutes late.”

      

      PAT’S LESSON WENT smoothly enough. She did everything Vic asked of her including trying to post at the trot. Toward the end she seemed to click into the rhythm. She did have the makings of a rider.

      Janey, meanwhile, handled Traveller beautifully. At the rate she was taking him, he’d be jumping small fences in a week.

      At four o’clock Liz found herself hanging around inside the barn waiting for Mike Whitten to pick up Pat. When the silver Volvo pulled into the parking lot ten minutes later she felt her heart lurch. It sank as a plump lady climbed out of the driver’s side.

      “Hey, I’m Melba Hannaford come for Pat.” She presented a note from Mike.

      “Oh? Where’s Mr. Whitten?”

      “Had to go out of town for a couple of days.”

      Pat saw Mrs. Hannaford, and after a moment’s hesitation, took her on the same tour of the barn she’d dragged her father on.

      She wasn’t so lucky at dragging out her visit, however. “No. I’ve got to stop by the store and get dinner in the oven,” Mrs. Hannaford said. “You’ll be back tomorrow.”

      Pat stormed off to the car, climbed in and slammed the