If Wishes Were Horses. Carolyn McSparren

      “In what way?”

      He took a deep breath. “I can’t explain, but she isn’t.”

      “Fragile bones? Fragile psyche?”

      “She’s been ill. She’s fine now, but I...oh, hell.”

      “Tell me. If there’s anything I should know...”

      “I’ve said too much already. I promised her I wouldn’t tell you or anyone else.”

      “The kids don’t know?”

      Mike shook his head. “Not even her teachers at school know.”

      “What can’t she do? Surely you can see I have to know her limitations.”

      “The doctors say she’s perfectly well, completely healthy, but I’m her father. I worry.”

      Liz looked into those cold eyes. Didn’t seem so cold when he spoke about his child. “She doesn’t have the stamina to keep up with the other children? Is that it?”

      He snorted. “At the moment she has enough stamina to run me ragged. That could change if she got sick. This is not exactly a sterile environment.” He waved a hand at a pair of cats snoozing in a patch of sunlight.

      “The rest of the world isn’t sterile either,” she said. “Mr. Whitten, I have several clients who are asthmatics and one who is actually allergic to horses. With medication they manage fine. Is Pat on medication?”

      “No. Listen, I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. If Pat finds out I’ve talked to you she’ll kill me. Think of me as being here to worry about her so that you won’t have to.”

      “What a truly comforting thought.”

      Mike’s heavy jaw tightened. Those eyes of his had gone glacial again.

      Liz continued before she lost her nerve. “I have to establish my authority with these kids if I’m going to get anywhere with them. That goes for Pat as well. Oh, hell, let the child have some space, why don’t you? You saw how the other kids treat her. Is that what you want for her? Total isolation?”

      “Of course not.”

      “Then please go to work, Mr. Whitten. And try not to worry. You can pick her up this afternoon.” He made a sound deep in his throat that sounded to Liz like a pit bull about to attack, then seemed to think better of it.

      He turned on his heel. “Her nanny, Mrs. Hannaford, will pick her up. She’ll have identification with her.”

      “Oh, really.”

      “Surely you wouldn’t release a child to a stranger?”

      “No, no, of course not. But the other kids ride in the van.”

      He said over his shoulder, “My child will not ride in the van. She will be picked up.” He got into his car and slammed the door so hard that Liz jumped. He dug a six-foot gash in the gravel as he peeled out.

      Liz’s heart was pounding. She could almost feel the acid attacking her stomach lining. She’d won this round, but she suspected the man didn’t retreat often. Liz took a deep breath and went back into the barn. She looked down and saw that she was running her fingers over her arm where Whitten had held her. He hadn’t grabbed her hard, but she still felt his fingers on her skin. He had strong hands. She grinned. No doubt they were a hell of a lot softer than hers and a darned sight better manicured.

      THE MORNING WAS BUSY, but by ten the campers knew what was expected of them, what they could and could not do. They’d made a passable job of grooming and tacking up one of the beginner horses and the old campaigner pony. Vic and Liz were now ready to take the kids—two at a time—to either end of the arena to lunge.

      “Just thirty minutes each?” The towheaded boy, whose name was Josh, sounded disgusted.

      “Trust me,” Liz answered. “Thirty minutes on a lunge your first morning is plenty. Once everybody has had a turn, we’ll have lunch, rest in the cool for a while, and then if you’ve got the energy and there’s time, we’ll do the lunge-line routine for another thirty minutes. Depending on how well you do, we can assign your horses tomorrow.”

      “I’m ready now!”

      Liz shook her head. She looked up and caught Albert’s eye. He nodded. If young Josh wanted to keep busy, Albert would make certain he went home with his tail dragging.

      Eddy, the other boy, was an entirely different matter. He was tall for his age and shy. Liz suspected he’d be a timorous rider who’d need a gentle hand and some extra nurturing. She fitted all the kids except Pat with hard hats owned by the barn. Pat had her shiny new one. It stood out like a sore thumb among the ratty hats parceled out to the campers.

      Despite her objections, Janey was first in the saddle. Liz showed the kids the basics—then she smashed a broad-brimmed straw hat onto her mop of hair, picked up the lunge line and walked Janey and the pony to the ring with the other kids trailing.

      Liz noticed that Pat dragged along sulkily. She had her father’s jaw, if not his eyes. Hers were hazel and were emphasized by her short, straight brown hair.

      This was a different kid from the one who had bounded onto the arena fence the day Mike came out to see the place. Liz understood that the other children had elected her group freak. Having been the freak in her own sixth-grade class, Liz felt for Pat.

      Liz had managed to break out of the mold. Pat could, too. She simply needed to make a couple of friends. But unless Pat stopped acting like Mrs. Astor’s Plush Goat, that would not happen.

      Liz concentrated on Janey and the pony. Wishbone was a real packer who could teach kids in his sleep. She could tell immediately that Janey had done more than gallop bareback around her grandmother’s pasture. She’d had lessons from a good teacher. Liz was so impressed she clicked off the lunge line and let Janey trot and canter on her own.

      Liz had a sudden idea. Janey would be perfect for the gray pony, Iggy Pop. He’d be a challenge for her, and she’d be good for him. Liz had not planned to use him for the campers, but having somebody like Janey work him would teach them both. Liz glanced at Vic, caught her eye, mouthed “Iggy” and received a nod of agreement.

      Liz motioned to Pat.

      “I want to go last,” the girl said.

      “My stable, my choice,” Liz told her. “Come on, Wishbone is all warmed up for you.”

      “I want Traveller.”

      “No way. Come on. I’ll give you a leg up.”

      “Fraidy-cat,” the girl with the red hair, whose name was Kimberly, whispered to Pat’s back as she passed. Liz saw Pat stiffen, but the girl said nothing. Liz decided to speak to Kimberly later.

      Pat reached the pony, who turned his head to stare at her with chocolate eyes. She stepped back.

      Kimberly was right, Pat really is afraid, Liz thought. I was. sure she’d be raring to go.

      Liz held Pat’s stirrup. After two tries Pat got close enough to the pony to actually put her foot into the stirrup. As her bottom hit the saddle, Wishbone snorted. Pat froze. “What’s the matter with him?”

      “He’s lazy. He’s just realized he’s going to have to work some more for his supper.”

      “He’ll be mad.”

      “Wishbone? He doesn’t know what mad is.”

      “I don’t want him. I want Traveller.”

      “You’re not ready for Trav...Iggy. Start with the basics. Ready?” Wishbone walked to the end of the line and began to circle Liz at a walk. Liz watched Pat with narrowed eyes. She could see Pat’s chest heaving. The girl held tight to the front of the saddle. Her lower lip trembled.

      Suddenly she hauled back on the reins so hard that