K.N. Casper - As Big As Texas

The first time trotting was scary; he could see doubts and fear clouding her eyes.

“Same thing. One length,” he said.

She kicked Fiddlesticks halfheartedly without results.

“Loosen up on the reins a little.” When she did, he clicked his tongue and ordered the horse into a collected trot. Heather grabbed the saddle horn and bounced violently in the saddle. At not quite the halfway point, Ethan called the horse down to a walk.

“That was a real good start,” he assured her as she returned to her place. “Next time, tighten your knees more and you’ll do even better.”

Brad’s turn.

“Keep your legs straight and tighten your knees. Ready?”

The boy nodded.

“Now give Joker a kick to get her going.”

The look of shock on the boy’s face at the first violent bounce was inevitable, but he instinctively clamped his knees. After initially grabbing the horn, he released it and held the reins in front of him. Ethan watched his eyes. The kid was intense, his attention focused exclusively on what he was doing.

He’s going to be all right. Instead of one length, Ethan let him trot home.

The girls clapped their hands in approval, surprising Ethan with their generosity. He praised the boy and watched his eyes light up. How long had it been since anyone had given him real encouragement?

While the children resumed riding in a circle—theoretically cooling their horses down—Ethan nudged Cinco over to the sidelines.

Noah looked up at him, smiling pleasantly. “You’re making those kids very happy.”

Ethan swung out of the saddle. “They’re doing okay.”

“I’m Noah Kelley.” They shook hands. Noah’s grip was firm. “You probably don’t remember me. It’s been a while—”

“What brings you out here, preacher?”

Ethan sensed Kayla stiffen at his abrupt manner. Noah seemed not to notice.

“Kayla was telling me what a terrific job you’re doing with these kids, and I thought I’d come out and see for myself.”

“I’m not one of your parishioners, padre. You don’t have to check up on me.”

Noah snorted, seemingly more amused than offended by the remark. “Actually I’m here as an envoy.”

“Well, why don’t you go ahead and deliver your message.” And leave.

“Not a message, a request. Some of our parishioners have children with special needs. After hearing what Kayla had to say Sunday about the great job you’ve been doing here with Heather and Brad, they’re wondering if you’d be willing to give their kids horseback lessons, as well. They’ll be happy to pay you,” he added.

“How many kids?”

“Six altogether.”

Seven paying students instead of one. The income would certainly be welcome. He’d have to juggle his schedule…. “Why didn’t they ask me themselves? Why send you?”

Noah shrugged his muscular shoulders. “They were afraid you’d turn them down, I reckon.”

“And they thought you might have special influence?”

Noah flashed his pearly whites. “Pretty naive, huh?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan caught Kayla staring at him. He knew he was acting like an ass, but Kelley wasn’t a name he had reason to respect.

“What are their ages and problems?”

Noah reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I’ve written it all down for you. Names, ages, physical or mental impairments, as well as telephone numbers in case you want to talk to their parents or guardians.”

“Do they understand that I’m not a therapeutic riding instructor?” Ethan asked. “I have no credentials, no particular training. For all they know, I might be doing their kids more harm than good.”

“You obviously have a way with children, Ethan. They respond to you because you genuinely care about them.”

“That’s a pretty glowing evaluation after just a few minutes of observation.”

Noah smiled. “It’s not my judgment, Ethan, it’s Kayla’s. She’s been impressed with what you’ve been able to do with Heather and Brad.”

Ethan glanced at her. She nodded a bit tentatively, apparently unsure of his response.

He folded the paper and stuck it in his hip pocket. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. If you decide to take on just one or two of them, perhaps as a start, that’s fine.” Noah extended his hand, forcing Ethan to take it again. “Thanks for hearing me out.”

He tipped his hat to Kayla, turned and sauntered back to his truck.

WHEN ETHAN TOLD Kayla Monday afternoon after his lesson with the children that he was calling off Wednesday’s session, he offered no explanation, and she didn’t ask for one. He was, after all, entitled to a personal life, plus running a horse ranch was probably a lot more complicated than just feeding horses and cleaning stalls. But she was curious.

Her father furnished the answer later that night by handing her the Homestead Herald.

“Page two,” he said and shuffled off to bed.

The local newspaper was small, only a few folds and seemed to contain the same advertisements for the feed store, the general store, the hardware and drugstore in the same spots every week. Why not? Not likely to find many sales or bargains in a town of fewer than fifteen hundred people. The closest competition was in San Antonio, thirty miles away.

The heart of the paper was local news and gossip. Because the Home Free program was so important to the community, legal notices were also posted—along with the names of the people who were getting land, where their property was located, what the new owners intended to use the land for, and perhaps most importantly, how many children they had. One of the reasons behind the program had been to lure families back to the shrinking town, since its schools were in danger of being closed. Nobody wanted their kids bussed miles away to other communities.

The brief article on page two announced that Ethan Ritter had been granted official permission to transfer his father’s remains from the public cemetery in Homestead to the family plot on the Broken Spoke, and that the reinterment was scheduled for Wednesday afternoon.

The revelation came as a shock to Kayla. It meant the ranch had previously been owned by the Ritters, undoubtedly for a long time, since there was a family graveyard on it. Yet she was sure she’d been told Ethan was part of the land giveaway program.

Time for research, and who better than Millicent Niebauer, who seemed to know everything about everybody and had few qualms about sharing it.

THE NIEBAUER PRESS, which published the Homestead Herald, was a throwback to a bygone era. Its ancient offset printing presses were still in place, too big to be moved. Except as collector’s items, they probably weren’t worth more than their weight in scrap iron. Nowadays, Millicent Niebauer, a sparrow of a woman, wrote all the articles for the newspaper on a computer, and they were printed in the back by her husband, Hiram. The tall, scrawny man was as taciturn as she was talkative.

Kayla was well aware that her exploratory visit to the paper would require tit for tat. Smiling, she entered the old-fashioned print shop fully prepared.

“Mrs. Price—” Millicent didn’t have to pause a heartbeat to remember Kayla’s name “—how very nice to see you. I’ve been hearing all sorts of wonderful things about that vineyard you’re planting.”

“Please, call me Kayla.”

“Heard your daughter is taking riding lessons from Ethan Ritter, too, even though he wouldn’t sell you Birdsong. Can’t say I’m really surprised, of course.”

“He said he couldn’t in good conscience sell me a thirty-year-old horse.”

Millicent’s right brow went up. “Yes, I reckon that’s as good an excuse as any.”