Lone Star Refuge

CHAPTER FIVE

AFTER HER SUCCESSFUL meeting with Clint Cavender, Stella went shopping for horses. She wanted to purchase at least three to add to the two she owned, and she had some pretty good leads through her rodeo contacts. Calling on five different owners, she made offers on two mares that fit the bill perfectly. They were still young enough to work, strong-backed, but both were gentle. Not much fire in their bellies. Stella liked that, considering fire would be a hazard in her riding school. It was three o’clock in the afternoon when she returned home. She sent a text to Buster telling him her plans to pick up the mares that evening and asked if he’d get the stable ready. But, as she hadn’t heard from him, she decided to check the stalls before she changed clothes.

“What the heck?”

The last stall across from Vega was open, and Joiner Temple stood inside it. He was brushing a horse that looked as though he belonged on the cover of Stud magazine, and the horse looked as if he knew it. He snorted at her as she approached.

“Hi there.” The polo player grinned sheepishly. “How are you?”

“Uh, fine, thanks. But, what are you doing, exactly?”

His violet eyes flashed. “Brushing my horse. That okay with you?”

The thoroughbred seemed to glare at her but Stella held her ground. “Sure. I mean, I guess. Who told you to move your horse into this stall?”

Joiner stepped back, still holding the brush in his hand. He looked at her, then gazed off into the distance toward the goat pen. Buster.

Stella turned on the heel of her boot and stomped out of the stable. She found her father in the garden, tilling the ground. He shut off the tiller when he saw her.

“Hey, Pretty!”

It was usually hard for her to be mad at him for anything, but not this time.

“What is that horse doing in the best stall? Right across from Vega?”

He looked at her as if she’d grown horns. “Cooling off from a ride, I imagine.”

“I’ll cool him off.” Stella put her hands on her hips. “What were you thinking? I wanted to use that stall for boarding.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, darlin’, we are boarding. An Argentine Thoroughbred worth lots of money.”

“Why did you not consult me?”

Buster spat tobacco on the ground. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just bein’ a good host, which is more than I can say for you. Vega ain’t gonna get cooties.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to, Prissy Britches. But if you don’t sit down and make some plans with your new ranch hand there may be lots more things you don’t like, because I intend to make him work to earn his keep.” Buster wiped the sweat from his forehead. “And if you don’t need anything done for the school, I could use some help in this garden.”

Stella shook her head. “Did you not get my text?”

“What text?” Buster fumbled in the pocket of his jeans, finally dragging out his phone. He squinted at the screen, then looked back up at her. “Oops.”

“Don’t worry about it. It will give me great pleasure to tell the polo player to get the stalls ready while I go pick up the horses.”

By the time Stella made her way back into the stable, Joiner was just closing the door to his horse’s stall. He turned and saw her standing at the other end, and for a moment they stared at one another, sizing each other up, as if they were about to duel.

Joiner made the first move. He walked toward her, and Stella tried not to notice the muscles that rippled under his sweaty white T-shirt. She straightened her spine.

“I’m sorry if there was a misunderstanding. I can move my horse if you want.”

Was he trying to shame her? Because it was working. “No. Keep him there. I’m sorry. I’m afraid we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. I just want to live in the RV, work and maybe breed out my horse.”

Stella couldn’t help but crack a smile. “You want to live in the RV?”

“Okay, so maybe I’m a little desperate.” Joiner smiled back at her.

“Well, join the club. I’ve got to get this operation going, and it puts my dad and me in weird roles sometimes.”

“I hadn’t noticed any weirdness.” Joiner raised an eyebrow. He was baiting her, but she decided not to bite. “Listen, Joiner. We need to sit down and talk about what I want you to do for Star Stables but right now I’ve got to go pick up two horses. Could you get the stable ready for them?”

“At your service, Boss Lady.” He tipped his hat.

“Thanks. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Any specific stalls you want to assign?”

But her back was already to him and she refused to turn to honor his question with a response.

* * *

AFTER STELLA, BUSTER and Joiner had the two new horses settled into the stable, Buster asked Joiner what he was doing for dinner.

“Alma—she’s my adopted mom—left some homemade tamales with me this morning when she helped me move into the RV.”

“Well, why don’t you save them? I’ve got some T-bones we could grill. It’s a nice evenin’.”

Why didn’t her dad just invite him to live in their house? Stella groused to herself.

“That’s really kind of you, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intrudin’ at all. And I’ll let you do the dishes.” Buster winked at him. “Besides, that way you and Stella can have a chance to talk and hammer out some kind of job description.”

Even though her dad drove her a little crazy, and she wasn’t sure how to manage things with Joiner Temple, Stella had to admit that meeting was a good idea. That was all she would admit, though, even to herself.

She told herself, therefore, that it was simply good hospitality to make homemade lemonade, beer-battered bread, twice-baked potatoes and a fresh Caesar salad to go with the steaks; and also to whip up a homemade apple pie with vanilla bean ice cream and Mexican caramel sauce for dessert. If he was impressed with her cooking, well, so be it. That was no concern of hers....

CHAPTER SIX

JOINER CLEANED UP for dinner in the RV’s shower, which was about half the size of a British phone booth. Fitting his six-foot-two-inch frame in there each day to scrub off ranch grime was going to be one of the challenges of his new life. One of the many.

He bumped his head on the showerhead, which thankfully did have good water pressure, and rinsed the soap out of his hair. Then, squeezing himself out of the contraption and planting his feet on the hooked rug Alma had provided, he dried himself thoroughly and wrapped the white towel around his waist. His five o’clock shadow from yesterday was well on its way to becoming a full-fledged beard. If he didn’t want to join Buster on Cowboy Dynasty, it was time for a shave.

Joiner wasn’t sure what to make of Buster’s dinner invitation. A part of him was ready for some downtime, some rest and a little privacy. He liked people. But he wasn’t used to trusting them very quickly or easily. The benefit—or curse, depending on your point of view—of being Pap’s grandson. And while Buster seemed kind in his intentions, Stella was harder to read. One moment Joiner thought she hated him. The next she was almost friendly. Oh well, maybe tonight he’d at least get some clarity on the role he was meant to play on the ranch and in her riding school.

Besides, this job was just a transition for him anyway. He could do anything—work with anyone—for a short while as long as it got him on his feet. If anything, being a good worker would help him accomplish the one long-term goal all of his brothers had—to restore honor to the family name.

* * *

“TAKE THAT RODEO stuff and put it on the porch, if you don’t mind. Stella can show you what to do with it.” Buster flipped a steak that Joiner judged to be at least sixteen ounces. It sizzled and popped on the gas grill.

“That smells delicious!”

The old man smiled. “You need to eat meat, boy, if you’re ever going to grow up to be any size.”

Joiner made a mental note of the latest Busterism so he could use it on his brothers the next time they had a barbecue.

He carried the tub of rodeo paraphernalia he and Alma had culled from the RV up to the porch and rested it on his hip while he knocked on the screen door.

Stella turned from the sink where she was squeezing lemons. She wore a vintage-inspired cotton dress with tiny pink roses against a white background. A silver pendant hung from a chain around her neck, the same one she’d worn when they’d met. Pink ballet slippers the exact color of the roses on the dress adorned her small feet. It was the first time Joiner had seen her in anything other than boots. She looked soft, feminine.

“Come on in.” She wiped her hands on a towel and opened the door for him. “I hope you like lemonade.”

“Yeah, it’s great.”

Stella glanced down at the tub in Joiner’s arms. “Oh Lord.” She lifted the calendar, which was yellowed around the edges, and then set it back down in the tub, skimming through the other contents. “You mean you can’t use this belt buckle?”

“’Fraid not.” Joiner shifted his weight. “Your dad said you could show me where to put this?”

He followed her through the kitchen and dining room into the foyer and around the stairs. There was a little door there that revealed storage space under the stairs. “Let’s put it in here for right now.”

As she held the door open for him, Joiner caught the scent of her. Nothing flashy or overpowering, just fresh, like rain. Clean. And maybe a hint of lemon.

“That’s a pretty bracelet.”

It jangled as she turned the knob of the little door to close it. Then she held the bracelet out in front of her, fingering it with her other hand. It was made of a thin leather strap, wrapped twice around her wrist, with charms that dangled from it on silver rings. Joiner noted a pink rose charm, a silver cross, a white horse, a red heart and a gold star, among others. “It’s an Andrea Edmondson, ABE Designs?”

She looked a little impressed, but quickly recovered. “My favorite.”

“Yeah, she’s great. I like your necklace, too.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I see what it has on it? Is that a tree?”

She held it out to him, and he leaned in just a bit to see it.

“Oh. It says healing. What’s that about?” Joiner pressed out of curiosity.

“A friend gave it to me when my mother died.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence, and Joiner wished he’d not asked such a personal question. He followed her back to the kitchen. “Anything I can do to help with dinner?”

“You can set the table. We’re going to eat outside on the porch.”

Joiner rolled up the sleeves of his Wrangler shirt. He took the stack of colorful Fiesta plates she handed him, along with silverware and napkins, and went to the porch, where a red-checkered cloth covered the table. Buster met him with a platter of steaks, two enormous T-bones and one smaller one. Soon Stella came out with bread on a wooden cutting board, a bread knife and a big bowl of salad with silver tongs. Joiner followed her back into the kitchen where she directed him to take potatoes out of the oven while she poured lemonade into mason jars.

The evening sun was golden in the sky. Hues of purple and pink streaked the clouds as it began its descent, and the gentle breath of a breeze blew across the porch. The yard, trees and field beyond seemed bathed in the beauty of an emerging springtime. Buster, who sat at the head of the table, held out his hands to Joiner and Stella, who sat on either side of him. “Let’s pray.”

“Lord, thank You for this day. I thank You for my family and for watching over us and taking such good care of us. Thank You for Joiner. I pray You will bless him through his time here on the ranch. We lift up those who are in need tonight, especially Cheryl, and ask that You would heal her and comfort her. We trust You will continue to guide and provide for us everything we need. In Jesus’s name.”

When the food had been passed around, and everyone’s plate was full, Joiner asked, “Who is Cheryl, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“She’s my mother’s best friend. She lives in Arkansas. She was just diagnosed with breast cancer.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Joiner looked down.

“She’s the one who gave me my necklace and bracelet—the necklace when my mother died, and the bracelet for high school graduation. Whenever something significant happens, she gives me a charm.”

Joiner nodded, pieces of the puzzle falling into place. “How cool. She has great taste.”

“She has been a second mother to Stella in many ways,” Buster said. “Even though she lives about six hours from here in northwest Arkansas.”

“Arkansas, huh?”

“Yeah. She’s a Razorback, but we don’t hold it against her.” Buster wrinkled his nose when he said the word Razorback.

“How is she doing?” Joiner asked.

Stella sighed. “It is already stage four, and the statistics are not in her favor. But we are hopeful she will be the one in five who beats it.”

“I hope so, too.”

“If anyone can kick cancer’s butt, it will be her!” Buster declared.

They all ate in silence for a few moments. Then Stella asked, “Joiner, you mentioned an Alma who is your adopted mother making you tamales. Is your mother not around?”

Buster motioned to her by waving his steak knife in front of his neck, but Joiner smiled at him and said, “It’s okay.” He continued, addressing Stella. “I was seventeen, so I think you would have been eleven, too young to remember. It was in all of the papers, but there’s no reason you would have known. My parents were killed in a plane crash in the Apache Mountains.”

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” Stella set down her silverware and fiddled with her napkin.

“Thanks. It was a long time ago. But something you never get over, you know.”

“Yes. I understand.” Her eyes held his for a long moment.

Buster cleared his throat. “Well, shall we talk about something besides disease and death? How about something interesting, like the Ice Age?”

That remark was so random it made them all laugh. They spent the rest of the evening in a lighter mood, as Buster regaled them with his heroic feats as a famous bronco rider in the rodeo.

After Stella served her apple pie to rave reviews, Buster announced he was going to bed. “I’m an old man and I’m tired. But you kids stay up awhile. Get some of these kinks worked out about our new slave laborer and his duties, okay, Pretty?”

“Okay, Pops,” Stella answered, even though she had mixed feelings about being left alone with Joiner. Again. She was beginning to notice that Buster had a pattern, and wondered exactly what his motives were. Was it really about business? Or was her dad so smitten with Joiner that he hoped she would be, too?

* * *

THEY CLEARED THE TABLE together and, back inside the kitchen, Joiner filled the sink with water for the dishes.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes I do. It was part of the arrangement I made with Buster.” He submerged the mason jars and started washing.

“You’re going to have to learn that my dad just blows and goes. He didn’t really mean you had to do the dishes.”

Joiner looked at her with wide eyes. “I’d never have guessed that. Now you’re going to tell me I don’t have to eat steak in order to grow to a good size!”

Stella swatted him in the side with a hand towel.

“I’m just saying you don’t have to do the dishes. I can do them later.”

“I’m not leaving the dishes, Boss Lady. Alma, and my own mother for that matter, raised me better than that.”

Stella joined him and, working together, it didn’t take long to put the kitchen back in order.

“Would you like to talk about work in here, or on the porch?” she offered.

“I’ll take the porch.”

Stella gathered the leftover bones from the steaks and called to Mugsy and Mitzi. She dropped the bones off the porch and into the yard, where the dogs went to town, and then sat down in one of the rockers. Joiner sat in the other one. It creaked. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed his boots. It was not yet dark, but the air was purple. The color of the gloaming, or twilight.

“We’re going to need a candle,” Stella said, pushing herself back up out of the rocker. She returned shortly with a fat pillar candle and a box of matches. She set it on the table between them and lit it, releasing a soft, vanilla-scented glow.

“This is a beautiful place.”

“Thank you. It’s home. I really can’t imagine being anywhere else.” Stella sighed. “That’s one reason why the school is so important to me. I want a job that incorporates my love of this place with a love of horses and people.”

Joiner wished he felt that way about Kilgore—or anywhere, for that matter. He’d never committed a crime. So why did he always feel as if he was on the run?

“Tell me your vision for the riding school. How can I help you with it?”

Stella ran her hands through her gold hair and then folded them behind her head, leaning back in the rocker. “To be honest, my vision is still evolving. I thought I was clear on what I wanted, but it changed a little bit today.”

“What happened today?”

“Well, I knew I wanted to help people, to offer physical and occupational therapy through interaction with horses in a safe environment. That’s really the core of the vision I have. And of course I can teach safe riding techniques to anyone who wants to learn.” Stella sighed.

“Sounds like safety’s a big deal to you.”

“It is. I’ve been all about safety ever since my mom’s accident.”

“Oh. I see.” Joiner nodded. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“But today I met with a potential donor who told me about his son, a child with Asperger’s, whose symptoms have gotten worse since his parents split up. His mother abandoned him...my heart broke hearing his story. So now my vision is expanding to include spiritual therapy, too—a more holistic approach than I first imagined.”

“Hmm.” Joiner felt he was treading some deep water without a life jacket. It was not that he couldn’t be spiritual or a deep thinker. It was just that those things usually led him to places of pain, places he’d rather avoid. That’s why polo suited him so much. It was a game.

“Probably sounds crazy to you.” She folded her hands in her lap.

“Not crazy. It sounds good. But I have no idea how you’ll accomplish it.”

“At least you’re honest. I like that in a slave laborer.”

Was she flirting with him? Two could play at that game. “Ha! Well, at least you make great apple pie. I like that in a Boss Lady.”

Stella turned in her rocker so that she was facing him. Leaning toward the table, she ran her index finger through the candle’s flame. “Did you ever do this when you were a kid?” Her eyes danced. The candle flame flickered, illuminating her face so it seemed as if the glow came from inside her.

Joiner tried it but he burned himself. “Ow!” He shook his hand in the air.

Stella giggled. “You have to do it this way, you goof.” She slowly dragged her index finger through the middle of the flame again, coming out unscathed. “Give me your hand.”

“I am injured!”

Stella reached out her hand. “Don’t you trust me, Joiner?”

Her eyes challenged him. He placed his other hand in her palm. Extending his index finger, she enclosed his fist in both of hers, holding it firm, and then trailed his finger through the center of the flame. He felt nothing. No burning. Well, nothing in his finger.

“How was that?” She held on to his hand while she waited for an answer.

“It was excruciating!”

“What? No!” She turned his finger around, looking for a sign that it was burned.

“You just set me on fire. Now I think you’re going to have to kiss it and make it better.”

Stella squinted at him, but she didn’t drop his hand.

“Really, Boss Lady, you better kiss my finger or I might not be able to work tomorrow.”

She pecked his index finger with her lips and then tossed his hand away as though it was a hot coal.

“Ooh, that helped.” Joiner held his finger in front of his eyes. “I think I’m healed. It’s a miracle!”

A smile stole across Stella’s face.

“No kidding. Maybe you should kiss the other one, too.” He held it out like a dare.

Surprisingly, Stella took it and kissed it softly and slowly, closing her eyes. Joiner leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. Her skin tasted like sunshine.