K.N. Casper - As Big As Texas

“Yay!”

Kayla drove away wishing she could do more for the sad little girl.

ETHAN WAS PLEASED with the girls’ progress over the next week. Megan’s desire to improve was starting to shape her albeit undiminished enthusiasm. As for Heather, not only was her riding stronger as she took control of the reins and used her legs, but she was beginning to open up, to talk with him and Kayla. Nothing dramatic, but there were occasional exchanges that came close to conversation.

On Friday, as Ethan and Kayla were helping the girls down from the horses, Heather said Brad wanted to know if he could come out and ride, too.

“Who’s Brad?”

“He lives with me at the Rayborns’.”

Not home, Ethan noted, but at the Rayborns’. “How old is he?”

“Nine, but he’s in the same class as me.”

“How come?”

“Cause his father wouldn’t let him go to school. Said he was bad.”

“Is that the foster father you’re living with?”

“Uh-uh. His last name is Estes. He lives with us because his daddy’s in jail. His mommy is, too, or maybe rehab. Leastways, he can’t live with her.”

“Has he ever been on a horse before?” At that age Ethan was already an accomplished rider.

“Nuh-uh. His daddy wouldn’t let him, and now he’s afraid nobody will.”

“Why’s that?” Ethan asked.

“’Cause he’s only got one foot.”

That stopped him for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear that. Was he born that way?”

Heather shook her head. “When he was six his daddy got mad at him for not standing still, so he nailed his foot to the floor and they had to cut it off.”

Ethan wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Children sometimes exaggerated or even made things up.

He set her on the ground. “Is that true?”

She looked up and nodded sadly, and Ethan had no doubt she at least believed it was.

While Megan and Heather cleaned their tack and put out the feed Carter had measured for them beforehand, Ethan drew Kayla aside.

“Do you know anything about a boy named Brad Estes?”

“Heather told you about him?”

“Did his father really—”

“Nail his foot to the floor? Yes. He walks with a limp sometimes, and my dear indefatigable daughter, who hasn’t yet learned the word discretion, asked him why. He showed her his artificial foot and told her how he got it. I was skeptical, too, so I asked some people at church. Apparently his father was on drugs. By the time his mother took the kid to the emergency room, gangrene had set in.”

Ethan gritted his teeth and hoped the boy’s father didn’t get out of jail for a very long time. “Heather says he wants to ride. Could you talk to Mrs. What’s-her-name—”

“Rayborn. You want me to see if she’ll let him come out, too?”

“Yeah. Speaking of which, how safe is Heather in that foster home?”

“I checked with Child Protective Services. The Rayborns have been taking in kids for about eight years and have a good reputation. I’ve met Leona. I wouldn’t call her one of the warmest people I’ve ever encountered, but she and her husband, Randy, seem to take good care of the kids they foster.”

“Why does good not sound good enough to me?”

“It’s not a perfect situation for those children,” she agreed, “but some of the alternatives are worse.”

He wasn’t pacified. “See if Brad can come to ride, too.”

THE FIRST THING Ethan noticed when Brad showed up the following Monday with Megan and Heather was that he was small for his age and skinny. He was polite enough and excited about coming out to the ranch, but he was leery, as well. A kid on perpetual guard.

Ethan didn’t notice any limp. Maybe Brad only had one when he got tired or hurt himself.

Ethan quickly discovered the boy was also strong. He clamped his knees tightly against the saddle when told to, and he had the natural dexterity and coordination of a decent athlete. His handicap didn’t have to restrict him. There were, after all, one-footed football kickers, one-handed baseball players, athletes who had only one eye. Handicaps were regarded as challenges these days, not impediments.

“You have three students now but only one of them is paying,” Kayla said the following Wednesday afternoon when the kids were doing their barn chores, which they seemed to relish. “Doesn’t seem very profitable.”

“It’s also not costing me anything,” he pointed out. “Besides, this isn’t about money.”

The children came running out of the barn, circled a wheelbarrow full of manure and ran back inside. All three were laughing.

“No,” she said, “I guess it isn’t.”

She kept watching him, and he had the feeling she was trying to see inside him.

Don’t, he wanted to tell her. What you find you won’t like.

He strode to the barn, as if he had something important to do. He did—get away. Being close to her made him uncomfortable. He liked the opposite sex. Always had. But he didn’t fool around with married women or divorcées with children. Much too complicated. He didn’t have anything to offer a woman with responsibilities. He was a good-time sort of guy, nothing more. He’d messed up his own family. He had no intention of messing up anybody else’s.

The following Wednesday he was sitting atop Cinco giving the three youngsters a lesson in the big outdoor arena—Megan on Birdsong, Heather on Fiddlesticks and Brad on Joker—when he heard the gurgle of a diesel pulling up the driveway. He swiveled in the saddle but didn’t recognize the maroon pickup that stopped next to Kayla’s Toyota. Didn’t immediately recognize the driver, either. He and Kayla, however, greeted each other familiarly.

The visitor wasn’t exceptionally tall even in cowboy boots, but he had the brawny bulk of someone who worked out with weights. After shaking Kayla’s hand, he stood behind the fence, gazing out at the children riding inside the oblong arena. It wasn’t until he removed his Western hat and brushed back his wheat-colored hair that Ethan recognized him.

Noah. Holden Kelley’s son. He’d been on the football team with Ethan’s brother, Jud. Ethan knew Noah had taken over the pulpit of St. Mark’s Church after his father had suffered a second stroke a couple of months ago. A chip off the old block, no doubt.

Turning away from him and Kayla, Ethan asked the children to reverse direction and continue at a walk. After ten minutes, Megan was growing bored with the slow pace—the kid was always on the move. Even Heather seemed anxious to trot, and Brad had enough natural ability, in spite of his size, to handle it.

“Okay, kids, line up at the far end.”

They obeyed quickly and eagerly.

“We’re going to learn to trot now.”

“Yay!” Megan sang out.

Ethan rode around the arena, demonstrating the proper form.

“To trot, you have to squeeze with your legs, let up slightly on the reins, then give the horse a little kick with your heels to make him go faster.”

He trotted another full circuit and drew to a halt in front of them.

“You first, Megan. Trot from where you are to the other end of the arena, then slow to a walk and turn around.

He wasn’t surprised when she bounced like a puppet with half the strings broken. She didn’t fall off, but she came darn close, and he could see the sheer terror on her face as she clutched the saddle horn. Ethan still couldn’t understand how such an eager student hadn’t learned to trot in a year of lessons. He shrugged off the thought and found a couple of good points to praise—she’d kept her shoulders back and only lost one stirrup—and gave her several pointers on what she needed to do to improve. Heather’s turn.