Taking the Reins. Carolyn McSparren

Jake reached up and scratched between the stallion’s eyes, then gave that angelic smile again. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a mix of joy and loss in one expression.

      “Picard was obviously pleased, so don’t worry about it.” She walked beside him back toward the common room. “The colonel mentioned you grew up on a farm. Did you drive draft horses?”

      He looked away, the smile replaced by a rictus of pain. “I plowed my first furrow behind a Percheron when I was seven. By the time I left home, I could plow all day with a six-across team of Belgians.”

      Charlie blinked. The idea of driving six draft horses across a single line was mind-boggling. She laughed. “Maybe you should be teaching this course.” She knew the minute the words left her mouth she’d said the wrong thing.

      He froze. “No,” he said, and walked ahead of her into the den.

      Ms. Big Mouth, Charlie thought. He might not have driven any kind of equine for years, but driving draft horses was like riding a bicycle. Hadn’t taken Charlie long to get her skills back after she and Sarah moved in.

      He was probably a better driver than she was, and a better horseman, as well, considering Picard’s reaction. He’d be a great second in command if she could convince him to come out of his shell.

      How could she get through to him? She’d do anything to see that smile again and hear the gentle voice he used with Picard. She intended to know the officer he must have been, even if she had to drag him kicking out of the shadows.

      * * *

      SEAN SETTLED JAKE in an empty seat on the banquette under the windows.

      “Okay,” the colonel said, “here’s the deal. You five signed up to be test cases in a pilot program.” He held up a hand. “Sounds better than guinea pigs, doesn’t it? A similar program to train veterans to drive carriages has been a success in northern Virginia, and I think it can work down here. If you succeed, we already have jobs lined up for you.”

      “What kind of jobs?” Hank asked.

      Mary Ann’s hand went up. “How can we make a living driving horses? Who even does that anymore?”

      “Can you say weddings, girl?” Mickey said. “Don’t see how you can fit a wheelchair on one of those Cinderella carriages, though.” He grinned at her. “Can’t you just see me hauling the bride’s train up to the church? Get that net stuff wound around my wheels and she’d wind up on her butt.”

      “Shut up, Mickey,” Sean said without heat.

      “We’ll talk about the opportunities over the next few weeks as we figure out your particular skill set,” the colonel continued. “Take the rest of the day to unpack, settle in and learn your way around. This wing of the stable contains your living, dining and cooking area.”

      Mickey raised a hand. “How come you have a dormitory in your barn?”

      The colonel smiled. “My father ran training courses where people could learn to farm with draft horses. This is our first course since his death some years ago.”

      “We’ll set up a roster of chores both for the living areas and the stable,” Charlie said. “Or you can make your own. You’re not simply going to be driving. You’ll be mucking stalls, cleaning tack—maybe even a little farriery. Learning everything it takes to become a horseman. For the first few weeks, you will be the only people working with the horses. After that, our regular grooms come back.”

      “How about food?” Mickey asked. He had that perpetually famished teenage look. Charlie guessed that no matter how much he ate, he’d always be hungry and skinny.

      “There’ll be breakfast makings sent over from the main house every morning,” the colonel said. “Cereal, juices, bagels, rolls. If you want to cook, there are eggs and bacon in the refrigerator.” He gestured to the doublewide steel refrigerator in the small but well-equipped kitchen area open to the main room. “Make your own coffee. Clean up after yourselves. There’s a dishwasher. The lunch and dinner dishes will be sent over from the kitchen in my house on a trolley. They’ll either be picked up after dinner, or one of you can take the trolley back. There’s a bigger dishwasher at the house. Anything special you want, there’s a whiteboard beside the refrigerator you can write on. We’ll try to accommodate you as much as possible.”

      “Beer?” Hank asked.

      “Within reason,” the colonel said. “I don’t recommend wine or liquor. And don’t overdo it. Working in the hot sun long-lining a seventeen-hand Percheron while nursing a hangover will be plenty of punishment for getting drunk.”

      “So how do we get it?” Hank asked. “We’re prisoners out here working our rear ends off to run your operation and all we get is room and board.”

      “Plus a small weekly stipend,” the colonel said. “You all knew the rules going in. It’s not much, but it’ll give you spending money in town.”

      “Do we have to hitchhike?” Hank seemed intent on being belligerent, and Charlie wondered where his anger came from.

      “There’s a couple of pickup trucks for farm use,” Charlie said. “I see no reason why we can’t have a weekly pizza run. Maybe Chinese or sushi.”

      “Our cook, Vittorio, will provide lunch and dinner over here six nights a week,” the colonel added. “Saturday night you’re on your own. I’ll join you for the occasional meal, but this is Charlie’s baby, not mine. It is imperative that you all have lunch and dinner together. That’s when you’ll discuss the day’s instruction, get assignments and handle problems. Now, there should be sandwiches for lunch today already in the refrigerator.”

      “We can set stuff out on the counter,” Charlie said. “I’m starved.” She turned to ask Mary Anne to help, then realized she had chosen her because she was a woman. “Hank, give me a hand, will you?”

      “Sure.” He flashed her a smile. Huh. So he argued with male authority figures and charmed the females. She could use that.

      “Silverware’s in that drawer, place mats in the one under it.”

      Hank was already pulling glasses and plates out of the cabinets above the sink. He was apparently over his pet for the moment. Maybe it was only the colonel who annoyed him. If he had a problem with authority figures—and many rodeo cowboys did—why did he join the military? And how on earth did he get to be an officer?

      By now everyone was helping to set out lunch. Everyone except Jake. He sat with his hands loose in his lap and his face turned toward the window and the pasture beyond. It wasn’t that he was avoiding the job. He simply didn’t seem to be aware it needed doing.

      When the food was ready, everybody sat down except Jake, who didn’t look up. Charlie gave a slight shake of her head at Sean, who was about to call him over. “Let me,” she whispered. Jake didn’t react as her shadow fell across him. “Time to eat, Jake. Aren’t you hungry?”

      He made no move toward the table.

      “Come on, join us,” she said.

      As the platters of sandwiches were passed around, he ignored them.

      Charlie took a sandwich from each platter, put them on his plate, poured his diet soda into his glass and asked, “Would you like mayo and mustard?”

      He didn’t respond.

      “Yeah. And pickles and potato chips.” Sean took the plate. “I’ll do it for him.” When Charlie raised her eyebrows, Sean added in a whisper, “He doesn’t eat with people.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “He’ll go outside on the patio or up to his room, but he won’t sit at the table with us.”

      “But he has to. It’s one of the few hard and fast rules the colonel’s set up for this group.”

      Sean