Taking the Reins

“Yes, ma’am. Sure better than at the halfway house.”

“Or the hospital,” Mary Anne said. “I love gazpacho.”

“The tomatoes and corn on the cob are from the farmer’s market in Collierville,” Charlie said. “The corn’s Silver Queen.” Her stomach rumbled. That sandwich at lunch had been years ago.

“Have one,” Sean said. “There’s plenty.”

“Thanks, but the colonel expects me for dinner.” She could see the lights of the big kitchen in the main house across the patio. Vittorio would be furious if she came in late. Charlie had come close to snatching an ear from the students’ platter, but managed to quiet the rumblings of her stomach. That sandwich at lunch seemed a long ago memory. The heat of the day was finally beginning to diminish as much as it ever did between Memorial Day and the end of September. It wouldn’t get cool enough to manage without air-conditioning even in the middle of the night, of course, but it was still cooler than daytime.

The heat flat wore everybody out and increased appetites at dinnertime. The colonel demanded the family sit down together and was adamant that the students do the same thing. Even after her mother died, he kept up the custom, although he and Charlie sometimes didn’t speak to each other from entrée through dessert. Of course, when he wasn’t around, which was often, Charlie could con whoever was looking after her into letting her grab a sandwich and leave.

For Sarah, used to running in and out between sport practices or hanging out with BFFs, the formality of evening dinner was a new experience. She endured it because she was eating Vittorio’s cooking and not Charlie’s. And at the moment she had nothing better to do than fool with the computer in the evenings.

Charlie’s mind hovered at the other dining table tonight and she only half listened to Sarah and her father bicker. As soon as she could, she escaped to check on her students.

She worried about Mickey. He might give Hank as good as he got, but Hank didn’t tease—he went for the jugular. Seeing Mickey must be a constant reminder of how close he had come to losing his ability to walk as well as ride.

In any case, it wasn’t acceptable.

Her father had explained to her her that Mickey wasn’t actually paralyzed, although the nerve damage to his back and hips was extensive. He had rods and pins in his legs where the bones had been fragmented, as well. Still, if Mickey kept at his strength training, he might eventually be able to dispense with the wheelchair and use braces and a cane full-time. Maybe giving Hank the task of getting Mickey on his feet would provide him with a vested interest in Mickey’s success.

According to the colonel, once he took his leg braces off, Mickey could pull himself up, stand and swing around to get into bed. He could handle bathroom chores and dress himself. But could he actually walk unaided for any distance with his braces? Charlie knew what his enrolment forms said, but then, Mary Anne had sworn she’d ridden horses, so who knew?

Charlie found the students’ dishes neatly stacked on the rolling cart in the common room, the kitchen clean and the table scoured. She rolled the cart back to the kitchen, where Vittorio and Sarah were loading the dishes from the colonel’s table into the dishwasher.

Vittorio, who seldom spoke even when he was happy, merely rolled his eyes at her, sighed deeply and began to unload the trolley.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said. “We’ll work something out so you don’t have to stay late to clean up this mess.”

“Good,” he said. “Go.” Sarah started to strip off her apron. Vittorio pointed a stubby index finger at her. “Not you. You eat, you clean.”

“Mom...”

“Hey, it’s his kitchen. Thanks, Vittorio. Leave the sweet rolls out. I’ll heat them up tomorrow morning for the students.”

“Huh.” He turned away with an empty platter in his hands. “These people—they eat. Even that skinny girl with the scars.” Eating his food was the biggest compliment anyone could give Vittorio.

“Wait until I start teaching them. Then they’ll eat us out of house and home.”

She walked back to the stable, knocked on Mickey’s door and found him tucked up in bed with a graphic novel. “You manage okay?” she asked, then immediately regretted her words. “I mean...”

“I managed,” he said with a grin. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t break my neck.”

“What’s with you and Hank?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment. She had started to turn away, when he said, “The colonel says he’s jealous. I may be messed up, but at least I’m physically whole.”

“So he undercuts you and tries to make you fail?” Charlie said.

“Hey, Charlie, it’s his problem. Don’t sweat it, okay? I can take care of myself.”

After she said good-night to Mickey, she stopped by Mary Anne’s door, heard her moving around, but didn’t disturb her.

She figured Sean would check on Jake. She really didn’t want to tackle Hank at the moment. But she would soon. He needed an attitude adjustment bad.

She walked back to the house. Man, she was tired. She really hadn’t worked that hard physically today. Starting tomorrow, when she had to teach her students, she’d be totally exhausted by lunch.

So why did she feel as if she’d been dragged backward through a knothole?

Because emotional labor was harder than physical labor. Because she already cared about these people as people, not just students. Especially Jake. Now where had that come from?

She was too keyed up to sleep, no matter how badly she wanted to. She needed some quiet time without anybody asking her for decisions or direction. She wanted to think about her students.

One of them, at any rate.

She walked out onto the dark patio behind the den and sank onto the glider. She stretched her legs in front of her and rested her head on the back. If she weren’t careful, she’d fall asleep out here and wake up unable to straighten her spine.

F. Scott Fitzgerald was right—nights like this couldn’t be called anything except tender. A cool zephyr toyed with the hair at the nape of her neck and played across the skin of her throat and arms as gently as a lover’s caress.

She closed her eyes and listened to the soft sounds of the evening. In mid-August such breezes were an unusual blessing. Normally, the temperature wouldn’t drop more than five degrees after the sun went down. The nights were steamy, the air a mosquito-laden miasma that wouldn’t relent until late September.

But on a clear night like tonight, so many stars shimmered in the Milky Way that they tumbled like celestial milk poured from a pitcher. Charlie sighed deeply, and let the beauty seep into her bones.

* * *

UNABLE TO DECIDE whether to slip silently back into the common room or speak to her, Jake stood in the small stand of oaks and maples behind the patio and watched Charlie. He’d come out to see if he could recapture that peace he’d felt gazing at the stars at home when he was a kid. Instead, he was troubled by the same memories of those that hadn’t survived.

He hadn’t expected to see anyone else.

He could either melt back into the trees or say something to Charlie. If he didn’t choose one or the other, he might stand here until morning when Sean found him.

The colonel kept reminding him that he couldn’t avoid choice, and that he should make small ones that didn’t matter. He wasn’t crazy enough to believe that if he killed a butterfly in Mexico, he could trigger a tsunami in Samoa, but something warned him that where Charlie was concerned, his smallest decision might cause a personal earthquake for both of them. His decisions hurt people and left him alone. She had enough on her plate without adding him to the mix.

She straightened and looked into the dark. “Is somebody there?”

She’d made his decision for him. “Just Jake,” he said. He came out and walked up to the patio. When she motioned to the glider, he sat down beside her. The roses around the patio smelled sweet, but the scent of pure woman was headier by far.

Where his thigh lay along hers he felt his skin tingle. How long had it been since he’d reacted to the nearness of an attractive woman? After the attack, his body had shut down along with his mind. The doctors told him it was his way to heal faster by pulling whatever energy he had into his core. He didn’t believe them.

He was used to being numb, but if he allowed himself to feel, could he control the intensity of his emotions? Or would they wake hungry for sensation like a newly wakened grizzly starved for blackberries?

Charlie had caught her breath when he sat beside her, and her shoulders tensed. Even though she’d invited him to sit with her, she might be afraid of him. That would be funny if it weren’t so disturbing.

Her hand lay on her thigh. He could reach over and take it. If he chose. She wouldn’t make that decision for him.

She’d probably slap his hand away and bolt for the house. He wouldn’t be able to stay here if that happened, and he admitted he wanted to stay. A small choice but a choice all the same. This woman, this place, were already beginning to smooth out his soul.

When she realized he didn’t intend to touch her, she relaxed and asked, “Where did you learn to drive draft horses?”