A Basket of Trouble (7 page)

and gave him a little push. “Go get your jacket.”

Rubbing her head, Jessica said, “I saw it this morning behind

the port-a-potties and put it in the office. Brittany, could you go with him and get it?”

Looking immensely relieved at being able to retreat from the

line of fire, Brittany held out a hand for Petey and smiled at him.

After he took her hand, she led him to the trailer.

Jessica reached out toward Ana, then hesitated and let her arm

drop. “Please, let’s talk about this. This anger is coming out of your grief. Charley and I are grieving, too.”

Ana crossed her arms. “Charley and you are responsible for

Kyle’s death.”

“How can you say that?” Jessica’s eyes teared up. “Charley and

I would do anything for your family. I wanted to bring you dinner tonight.”

Ana’s shoulders drooped as her resolve seemed to waver.

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Claire thought this might be a good time to step in. “It was an

accident, Ana. Pure and simple. No one’s to blame, not Charley or Jessica or even Kyle—”

She meant to add, “if he startled or hurt Gunpowder,” but be-

fore she could, Ana wheeled on her.

“Kyle! Of course I’d expect you to take their side. You’re Char-

ley’s sister. Kyle has no blame in this. None!” Ana stamped her

foot.

Claire flushed and retreated, taking a step back. Boy, she’d put

her foot in her mouth this time.

Jessica gave Claire a pursed-lip ‘How could you?’ glare then

held out her hands to Ana. “No one is blaming Kyle. That’s what

Claire was saying. We don’t know what happened. We may never

know. Maybe we’ll learn something from the autopsy.”

Ana swiped a tear from her cheek. “And that’s another thing.

I don’t want them to cut up Kyle’s beautiful body, but I can’t stop it.” She choked up, put a fist to her mouth and bit on her knuckles.

“Oh, Ana.” Jessica touched Ana’s arm, but the woman turned

away.

After a moment, she yelled, “Petey! We have to go!”

Petey had stepped out of the office trailer, chatting animatedly

with Brittany, but he stopped when he heard his mother’s voice.

He looked at her then at Daisy, standing in the corral with her

head raised and ears perked toward him.

“I want to say hi to Daisy,” he said tentatively.

Ana let out a big sigh and started walking toward him. “You

can say goodbye to Daisy. I told you. We won’t be coming here

anymore.”

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With a wail, Petey started crying. “No, no, I like Daisy. I want

her.”

He took off running for the corral, his arms opening wide.

Brittany picked up the jacket he had dropped and followed.

Jessica trotted after Ana. “Why can’t Petey continue his therapy, Ana? Look how this is upsetting him.”

Ana wheeled on her. “Because we’ve talked to a lawyer, Jessica.

He recommends we sue you for negligence and wrongful death.

And he’s contacting the city to get them to cancel your contract.

My son is dead and somebody has to pay!”

As if Ana had physically punched her, Jessica staggered back,

putting out an arm.

Claire caught it and held onto her sister-in-law. “Oh, God.”

“The lawyer says we should have no further contact with you,”

Ana continued. “So I’m signing Petey up for another horse ther-

apy program.”

Petey stood sobbing at the corral, his shoulders shaking and his

arms wrapped around patient Daisy’s neck.

Brittany patted his shoulder, and murmured, “I’m sorry, Petey.

So sorry.” When Ana approached Petey and put her arm around

him, Brittany gave her his jacket and withdrew.

“Come on, Petey,” Ana said softly to her son. “We talked about

this. We have to go. I’m going to take you to meet another horse

who’s just as nice as Daisy.”

“Noooo,” Petey moaned.

Ana gently tugged on his shoulder. “Say goodbye now. That’s a

good boy.”

Petey sniffled and slowly released his hold on the horse. He

rubbed a hand on her forehead. “Bye, Daisy, bye bye.”

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Ana turned him and led him toward the parking lot. Petey’s

steps were slow and dragging, but her hold on him was firm.

“Bye, Petey,” Jessica said in a choked voice. “We’ll miss you.”

He turned and waved, then his mother pulled him again.

Jessica clutched Claire’s arm. “Petey’s the innocent in all of this, and he’s being hurt the most.”

Claire wasn’t so sure she agreed with that, as she saw Charley

and Hank approach on horseback from the pasture. If the Mendo-

zas’ lawyer managed to get the city to cancel Charley’s contract to run trail rides through their land and the Mendozas went through

with their lawsuit, his business would be ruined.

And so would Charley.

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four:

trail ride

“This is going to be a blast.” Ellen rubbed her hands together.

Claire nodded. “I’m looking forward to it. It’s been ages since

I’ve been on a trail ride, and, God knows, I need some fun in my

life right now.”

She and Ellen stood inside the corral at Gardner’s Stables Wednesday morning, at one end of a row of ten riders waiting for their horses.

Roger and Dave were chatting at the other end. They had rescheduled their trail ride for this morning. The day had dawned bright and clear, perfect for photos of the Garden of the Gods, with its pink and rust-colored sandstone formations slicing up through a piercingly blue sky.

Ellen ran a hand down her backside. “I just hope my butt’s not

too sore after it.”

“That’s what ibuprofen’s for!” Smiling, Claire waved dust from

her face, stirred up by the horses’ hooves as the wranglers moved them into place. “I’m glad you and Dave could do it so soon. I

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think Charley’s going to need as much income as we can scrape up

for him.”

A frown replaced Ellen’s grin of anticipation. “Why? Is that

young man’s death affecting his business?”

“Yes, and there’s more.” Claire told her about Ana Mendoza’s

threatened lawsuit.

Ellen tsked. “Maybe Charley should talk to Dave.”

“I’ll suggest it.” Claire knew that as a corporate lawyer, Dave

had represented a lot of companies against all kinds of client lawsuits. But she worried about the expense, another drain on Char-

ley’s finances.

Hank came up to them and tipped his hat. “Ladies, ready to

mount your rides?” His dandified Western snap shirt had scrolled

embroidery on the collar, cuffs, and shoulders, and his oval belt buckle was huge enough to have been won in a rodeo competition.

A natural flirt, Ellen batted her eyes and put a hand on her hip.

“So, who’s this handsome cowpoke?” she asked Claire.

Hank winked, swept off his black felt cowboy hat and bowed,

then doffed it again with a pat on the top. “Hank Isley, ma’am. At your service.”

Ellen flopped her hand, letting it casually land on his shoulder.

“Don’t you ma’am me! There’s lots of miles left in this body.” She ran her hand down his bicep and gave it a gentle squeeze. “My,

what muscles. I can see we’ll be in capable hands.”

With a sly smile, Hank smoothed his mustache. “Yes’m, my

hands have handled their share of horse flesh. Especially the fillies, if you get my drift.”

Claire thought the flirting had gone a little too far. “Our horses?”

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Hank reluctantly took his gaze off Ellen. “Oh, yes. Right this

way.”

He led them into the corral. “Mrs. Hanover, since you have

some riding experience, your horse is this gelding here, goes by the name of Pistol.” He patted the horse’s flank.

Claire rubbed the white blaze on Pistol’s forehead and admired

his dark brown mane and tail, white legs and red coat sprinkled

with white. “What a lovely red roan coat he has. Pistol’s a hand-

some guy.”

“That he is. Just like me.” Hank flashed a grin. “And he’s just as frisky. He likes to break into a trot sometimes, so keep a tight rein on him. Can I give you an assist up?”

“I can manage.” Claire grabbed the saddle horn and back of the

saddle. She put one foot in the stirrup and stepped up, throwing

her other leg over the saddle. She felt Hank’s hand resting on her rump, but he removed it quickly after she glanced back at him.

Maybe he’s just safety-conscious,
she thought,
making sure I
didn’t fall backward. But then again, maybe not.

Once she was seated, Hank turned to Ellen. “And Mrs. Red-

ding, you’ll be riding Blossom, this buckskin filly next to Pistol.”

He escorted her around to Blossom’s head so she could get

acquainted with the tan horse with black legs, mane, and tail. He didn’t ask Ellen if he could assist her. He just placed his hands on either side of her waist and boosted her up. Claire noted he took his sweet time removing his hands after Ellen was seated.

Ellen blushed. “Thank-you, Hank, and please call us Claire and

Ellen. Mrs. Redding is my crotchety old mother-in-law, bless her

heart.”

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Hank laughed, then stepped back and tipped his hat to both of

them. “Okay, Claire and Ellen, let me give you a few tips.” He went through how to hold the reins, the standard commands, and how

to prevent the horses from trying to graze along the trail.

“Now you just holler if you need me,” he finished with a lasciv-

ious wink. He moved on to some other customers, a young cou-

ple, who from the moon-eyed gazes they were giving each other,

looked to be honeymooners.

Ellen leaned over toward Claire. “I bet Hank gets good tips

from the ladies.”

Claire smiled with Ellen, though she had found Hank’s atten-

tions to be a bit too much.

Roger waved at them from five horses down the line. “Hi, ho,

ladies. How are your mounts?”

“Just peachy,” Ellen shot back.

“And no flirting with the wranglers,” Dave said.

“Too late,” Claire replied, “Ellen’s already been at it.”

All four of them laughed, but Dave’s seemed forced and he

gave Ellen a thoughtful look.

Uh oh.
Claire realized Ellen and Dave’s relationship wasn’t on firm ground yet.

After the ten riders were all seated on their mounts, Hank got

on his. He addressed the group, introducing Brittany as the group’s rear rider and explaining their two-hour circuit. They would ride down Foothills Trail to the Dakota Trail in the Garden of the Gods, go through the north end of the park, and return to the stables.

While he led the group out of the corral and under the stable

sign, Jessica came out of the trailer to wave to them all. “Have a great ride!”

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Her plastered-on smile couldn’t hide the worry lines on her

forehead and dark shadows under her eyes. Claire wondered if

Jessica had gotten any sleep the night before, or if she and Charley had been up late discussing their troubles. Hopefully today, at least, nothing would go wrong.

The first hour of the ride went smoothly enough, with a taci-

turn Gil following them in the ATV and scooping up manure

droppings until the horses left the pavement. Then he sped off er-ratically back toward the stable. Once in the Garden of the Gods, Hank tossed out some tidbits about the history of the park. The

family of Charles Elliott Perkins gifted the park to the city of Colorado Springs in 1907, upon the urging of General William Jack-

son Palmer. The founder of the city and builder of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, Palmer had the wherewithal to donate more

than 1,000 acres of his own land to become city parks.

Hank stopped the group on Palmer Trail at the Giant Foot-

prints formation, with its huge oval pink sandstone slabs piled

onto a tilted slope. He explained he would take photos of riders on their horses in front of the formation while Brittany maneuvered

and held horses. While snapping photos, he kept up a running

commentary about how beautiful and handsome everyone looked

against the gorgeous scenery and how envious their friends back

home would be.

Claire thought he was laying it on a little thick and rolled her

eyes at Roger, who nodded and grinned. While they waited their

turn at the back of the group, another large group of riders came up the trail from the south.

With a “Whoa,” the lead wrangler halted the column and waited,

leaning forward with his hands crossed over his saddle horn. He

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looked to be in his twenties, with short, light brown hair and a

square jaw. He wore faded Wrangler jeans and a work shirt in a yellow, red and black checked pattern.

A handsome man himself, Claire surmised he must be the

charmer for his stables, Peak View Stables. They ran their trail

rides from the south end of the Garden of the Gods. This group

must have been on a multi-hour ride since they were so far north

into the park.

Hank gave him a nervous glance. “We’ll be out of your way in a

minute, Vince.”

He tried to hurry up the young couple he was working with,

but they insisted on taking multiple poses for their honeymoon

album.

As the minutes ticked by, some of the riders in Vince’s column

started muttering. Annoyed frowns marred their faces.

“C’mon, Hank,” Vince drawled. “You’re hogging the trail. We’ve

gotta take our pictures, too.”

At the sound of his voice, Brittany, who had been engrossed

with running around and managing horses, turned toward him.

She gave an excited little hop and wave, as if she had been waiting for the opening to speak to him. “Hi, Vince,” she said in a honey-toned voice. “Nice to see you again.”