Carolyn McSparren - If Wishes Were Horses

Because all the kids were staying late, there was no extra lesson for Pat in the afternoon. She really didn’t need one. She had worked hard all week, and was progressing as well as everyone else.

Much to Liz’s amazement, Pat and Janey were becoming a team. They giggled together, ate together, played with the kittens together. Pat had become accustomed to Wishbone, but Liz caught her looking at Traveller wistfully, particularly now that Janey had progressed to trotting the pony over poles on the ground and cantering low jumps.

Liz knew Pat was still scared, although she hid it well. She did fine at the trot, but so far she’d categorically refused to try to push Wishbone into a canter. Each day she told Liz she’d try, and each day she reneged.

Now the barn was spiffed up, the horses were. groomed and fed, the barbecued ribs and shoulders were turning over a slow hickory fire in the parking lot, the tables and chairs were set out and ready.

Parents and clients began to arrive at six, and within minutes, pandemonium reigned as proud youngsters introduced their parents to the horses.

Liz, who usually loved parties and liked meeting new people, found herself strangely absentminded. Mike Whitten was late. She was curious about his date. Probably some long-stemmed beauty with painted toenails and expensively streaked hair.

At seven the silver Volvo pulled into the parking lot. Liz held her breath. Mike climbed out and walked around to open the passenger-side door. Liz blinked. He was wearing tight black jeans, a black linen shirt open at the neck and polished loafers without socks. He really did have a great body. She gulped, saw the woman emerging from the car and began to laugh.

Melba Hannaford climbed out and pulled a new sleeping bag and duffel from the back seat. She loaded Mike down with his daughter’s gear, turned, saw Liz, smiled and waved. Mike saw her at the same moment. He frowned.

“This is against my better judgment.” he said without preamble.

“Good grief, why?” Liz asked.

“Pat sleeps in filtered ionized air. She’s not used to sleeping on the floor surrounded by dust and pets.”

“Maybe it’s time she started.” Liz took the duffel off Mike’s arm. “Come on, Melba, meet the crowd.” She led them into the party.

Mike hated parties. He was lousy at making small talk with strangers. He glowered. That generally kept people at a distance.

Not tonight. A tall, graying man with a cherubic face and pink cheeks strode up to him with hand outstretched. “Hey, Mike. You may not remember me. I’m Kevin Womack. Your locker is two down from me at the club.”

Womack clapped a hand on Mike’s shoulder and began to introduce him around. Everyone was speaking at once and seemed to be having a great time. Mike searched the crowd for Pat, who had vanished.

“She’s in the hayloft with Janey,” Vic said from behind his left shoulder. Mike began to make his way through the crowd. He wanted to see his daughter.

As he turned the corner, he heard one Edenvale father say to a rotund, middle-aged man, “That’s Michael Whitten. Increased the endowment three hundred percent. I’m glad he’s on our side. I hear he’s a bad enemy.” Mike smiled grimly. At least his reputation . was intact.

“Pat?” he called up to the hayloft. He was answered by a pair of squeals. A moment later two heads, Pat’s and a dark girl’s, appeared over the edge of the hayloft.

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