Another Kind of Cowboy (21 page)

APRIL 22

ALEX LOOKED AT
the front door for the fortieth time in ten minutes, willing it to open.

“When is he coming over?” Maggie asked.

“Pardon me?” said Alex, trying to pretend he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Oh please,” Maggie said. “You can't fool us. We know you're waiting for Chris.”

“What I'm doing is
your
lunch dishes,” said Alex.

“You're staring at the door like you're waiting for a million dollars to arrive.”

Alex made a dismissive noise and before he could help himself stole another look at the door.

“Don't forget about Fergus's birthday party this afternoon. It's at two o'clock,” said Grace as she
applied silver polish to her nails at the kitchen table.

“Are we all out now?” May asked Alex, leaning against the counter with a dish towel draped over her shoulder.

“Are we out of what?”

“Out,” said May. “If you're out, that makes us out, too.”

“Homosexuality is a family affair,” said Maggie.

“I'll give you five dollars to never say that again,” said Alex.

“We're a gay family now,” said May.

“Good for you,” said Alex. “But the question is, are we a dishwashing family?”

“Alex, you have to appreciate their efforts to understand your journey as a young, gay man,” said Grace.

“Can we please stop talking about this?”

“Chris is your boyfriend,” said May in a satisfied voice.

Alex shot yet another look at the doorway.

“We're friends,” he said in a low, warning voice. “Me and Chris and Cleo and Sofia. We're all friends.”

“I don't think gay people should have to have moustaches,” said Maggie.

“What?”

“Wasn't Cleo your moustache? So no one would know you were gay?”

“The term is ‘beard,' and no, she wasn't my beard. God.”

“High school is such an alienating place for gay, lesbian, bi, and transgendered youth,” said May sadly. She always mentioned all the different groups because she wanted to be inclusive.

“You all have to stop talking immediately and bring me your plates.”

 

Five minutes later Chris arrived.

“Hi, Chris.” Maggie and May threw open the front door before Alex could take a step away from the sink.

Chris smiled at them and then over at Alex, who had to suppress a huge and ridiculous smile.

“Can we see your drawings again?” asked Maggie and May. Chris brought his square black sketchbook over to the table and opened it.

“That's so cool!” said May.

“That's us!” said Maggie, as though she hadn't already seen the drawing of her and her sister a dozen times.

Finally Grace intervened. “Okay, you two. Go get
in the car. I'll drop you off at practice on my way.”

She turned to Alex and Chris. “I'm off to do Vanessa Pringle's hair.”

“Coach Pringle? From Stoneleigh?” said Alex. “I would have guessed that she cut her hair with horse clippers.”

“I think she does. That's why I'm stepping in. Anyway, I'll see you at Fergus and Ivan's later.”

Alex and Chris nodded.

When the room was finally quiet, Alex turned to Chris. “You want to go for a walk?”

They walked along the road and turned up toward Ms. Reed's. Since they'd begun spending time together, they'd gone for many walks and almost every one ended up there. On their walks Chris talked about applying to art school and about the music he was working on, about bands that excited him. Alex was pleased he was able to nod knowingly, thanks to his research on the Internet. Alex talked about what dressage had meant to him, what horses meant to him. About how much he missed riding dressage.

When they reached the edge of the fence line, Alex whistled and Detroit, who'd been standing at the far corner of the pasture, lifted his head and whinnied. Alex whistled again and Detroit trotted toward
them and then broke into a canter.

When he skidded to a stop at the fence, Alex grinned and rubbed the horse's black-tipped nose and scratched his ears.

Chris reached over and patted Detroit's neck under his mane.

Then he reached into his messenger bag and pulled out his sketchbook.

“I have something to show you,” he said. “I came by here the other day. By myself.”

Chris flipped open his sketchbook to the last page.

Alex saw that Chris had drawn Detroit, standing, just like he was now, with his head over the fence, his ears pricked with interest, his mane tangled in the breeze.

“I know you miss him so I wanted to give you this. I don't know. It's something, anyway,” said Chris.

Alex couldn't speak for a moment, so he just nodded and bit his lip.

The two boys stood in the shade of a big maple tree at the corner of the paddock. They stood shoulder to shoulder. Alex reached over and took Chris's hand in his. Without thinking about it or turning to
see if anyone was watching, Alex leaned over and kissed him. They kissed until Detroit started snuffling their hair and broke it up.

 

The driveway was full of cars when Chris and Alex arrived at the party.

“Hasn't taken Fergus long to make friends,” said Alex, thinking ruefully that it had taken him almost seventeen years to make four.

“You're here!” said Cleo, coming out of the barn to give each of them a hug. “You will be disgusted to learn that I
bicycled
over here,” she said. She raised one of her legs to show off the thick, white tights she wore under her kilt.

“Aren't they revolting!” she said. “But I had no choice. They're being very strict right now about keeping us in our uniforms when we go out in public.”

Alex noticed that the right leg of the tights was ripped and covered in grease.

“Did you wipe out?”

“Totally! I'm even worse on a bike than I was in a car. Somehow I got my tights caught in the chain of that piece of crap. I can't believe that's the best transportation the school can provide. Considering how
much tuition we pay. Lance Armstrong probably couldn't ride that bike. But I'm helping Phillipa to get in shape and part of that means riding bikes.”

“And part of it is you losing your license,” said Phillipa, coming up behind Cleo.

“Oh, that,” said Cleo.

“Okay, we should head down to the house,” Alex said.

 

The party was nice enough and it was good to be surrounded by people he knew and liked, but he couldn't shake the left-out feeling that came over him whenever he spent any time at Limestone Farm. He wanted to talk about dressage but to do so made him heartsick. Plus, he had the uncomfortable feeling that everyone wanted him to leave. Maybe they felt bad for him. Finally he took the hint and asked Chris to drive him home. Then he was offended when Chris acted like he couldn't get rid of him fast enough. Chris practically pushed him out of the car after making some feeble excuse about having to get home for dinner.

After Alex had recovered from the indignity of being dumped off so unceremoniously, he noticed a hole in the yard where his father's motor home
used to be. His heart sank. Had his father run off, unable to cope with sobriety, not to mention his gay son? Was he driving drunk around the streets of Nanaimo in a giant recreational vehicle? Alex's stomach cramped at the thought.

He ran into the house and called but got no answer. He walked quickly out to the barn. As he was opening the gate, his father appeared in the doorway of the barn.

“Where's the RV?”

“Sold it,” said his father shortly.

What was going on?

“Is everything all right?”

“It's fine. There's something in the barn. Something I want you to see.”

That sounded ominous. Maybe his father had found a real cowboy to be his son, a rough-and-ready guy who liked big-haired cowgirls. A son his dad could brag about down at the pub. Maybe the new son was waiting in the barn to bash Alex over the head and hide his body in the manure pile.

“Just come have a look.”

Alex walked slowly into the barn. The first thing he saw was a refined head poking over the second stall door. Alex looked back at his father.

“There's a horse in there,” said Alex, realizing as he said it that it wasn't the sharpest comment he'd ever made.

“That's right.”

“Whose…?”

“Yours,” said Mr. Ford.

Alex tried to take in what his father was saying.

“Where'd it come from?”

“Her. It's a mare. Your friend Cleo told me about her. I guess some girl at that school of hers had to leave it behind.”

Alex looked carefully at the horse. “Is this
Jenny's
horse? Rio?”

“That's right. That's her name,” said his father.

“But she's a top jumper.”

“Should be for what I paid for her. You can use her for your dressage. That lady coach up there at the school said she's real athletic.”

Alex walked over to take a closer look. The mare was nearly as tall as Detroit had been. Her coat shone coppery red over her muscles.

He looked back at his father as a thought came to him. “Is this why you sold your motor home?”

“This, and I had to get the business straightened out.”

Alex glanced back at Rio. Good jumpers were expensive and Rio was a great jumper.

“Plus, I thought it was time I moved back into the house,” added Mr. Ford.

Alex glanced at Rio again. It was like his eyes were adjusting to the sun. The red mare got more beautiful every time he looked at her.

At that moment May came barreling into the barn. “Is it over?” she gasped.

“Did we miss it?” asked Maggie, who was right behind her.

“What?” asked Alex and Mr. Ford.

“Only the most touching family moment ever,” said May. “Where the depressed boy gets his dream horse!”

“Now will you let us use Turnip as a stunt horse?” said Maggie.

Grace, who'd come in and was leaning against the doorway near her brother, crossed her arms over her chest. “See, shit like this is why I'm reluctant to get my own place,” she said.

 

Mr. Ford came back into the barn later that night as Alex was putting Rio away. Alex had given the mare a thorough brushing and spent some time
getting to know her. She had a quick intelligence in her eyes that he liked very much. Dressage uses different muscles than jumping and requires a different mind-set, but working with her was a task he looked forward to.

“So, you think she'll work out for you?” Mr. Ford said.

Alex let himself out of Rio's stall and slid the latch shut. Then he gave Turnip, who'd been watching the goings-on with great interest, a scratch behind the ears.

“She's a beautiful horse,” he said. “We'll just have to see if she likes dressage.”

“If anyone can bring her around, I figure you can. You've always been real good with horses.”

Alex nodded while staring at the floor. He felt uncomfortably full of emotion. He didn't want to do something dumb like cry, so he bit his lip.

“It's like Rudy Chapman down at the Wheat Sheaf used to say. Just ride her straight.”

Alex shot his dad a wry look and Mr. Ford blushed.

“Well, you know what I mean.”

Alex nodded. He knew exactly what his dad meant.

“Anyway, your friend Cleo's here. She's with the girls right now. I told her I'd let you know she was here.”

“Okay, thanks, Dad.”

Alex watched his father walk away and then he looked back at the two horses staring at him over their stall doors. For a moment he was afraid to move. Afraid that it was all too good to be true. Afraid that if he took a wrong step it would all come crashing down.

“Practicing your statue impersonation?” asked Cleo as she walked into the barn.

Alex turned and gave her a small smile. “Nah, just looking. She's amazing, Cleo.”

“I know. I'm glad she's got a good home. What am I saying? She's landed in the best home in the world.”

“I just wanted to say thank you. I know this was your doing.”

“I just planted the seed. Then I watered it and gave it sunlight. That's all.”

Alex laughed and Cleo's small face lit up with pleasure.

“Are you coming in? You promised you'd watch videos with me.”

“Okay. I'll be right there.”

“I should warn you that there are no horses in these videos. No dressage.”

“That's fine.”

“What they do have is Owen Wilson.”

“That's more than fine, then.”

Alex turned out the hall light and took a final glance at his horses. Then he turned and followed Cleo out of the barn.

THIS BOOK WOULDN'T
have been possible without generous help and advice of the following people:

Paul Forster, whose advice and encouragement were essential; Stephanie Dubinsky for her insights and cheerleading; Meg Cabot for encouragement and excellent suggestions; Deborah Fox of Foxborough Farms, a fine horsewoman and dressage coach, who helped in a hundred ways; Jennifer Brownlow for sharing her extensive knowledge of horses and the sport of dressage; Mike McGuire and Angela Quek for allowing me to lease Mike's horse, a gentle giant called Edward the Grey. Ed rekindled my love of riding, and Mike and Angela reminded me of all that is wonderful about horse people; Selena Pellizzari, who read an early draft of the book and whose riding abilities continue to inspire me; Elena, Leigh, Annette, and Lucy Bonar, who took such wonderful care of my horse, Tango, and read early drafts of this book; Robyn King who runs Cedar Creek Farms, where Tango currently and very happily
resides, as well as Colleen Purcell, Pam Williams, and Rose Locke, my fellow boarders, all of whom “test rode” the manuscript. I'd like to thank Susan Harrison at Queen Margaret's School, who allowed me to take a tour of their riding facilities. I must point out here that although seeing Queen Margaret's gave me the idea to set part of the novel in a girl's equestrian school, the fact that both are girls' equestrian private schools on Vancouver Island is where the resemblance ends. QMS, as it is known, is one of the finest schools in British Columbia and a source of much pride in the Canadian equestrian and educational communities. Stoneleigh, my fictional school, and its denizens are entirely a product of my fevered imagination.

I'd also like to thank the usual heroes: Bill Juby, who read the manuscript approximately four hundred times without complaint; Wendy Banta for pep talks and votes of confidence; Marjorie Phillips for welcome opinions; Diane McIntosh for her unique genius; my agent, Hilary, for everything; Lynne Missen for her encouragement and input; and, of course, Ruth Katcher, my editor, who didn't throw up her hands in despair but instead pushed me to get it right.

I'd also like to thank my early riding instructors and mentors and last, but not least, I want to express my gratitude to all the horses who have put up with me over the years. I will never cease to be amazed by the generosity of spirit, grace, and dignity that are the hallmarks of the horse.