Lone Star Refuge
Joiner felt a pang, remembering how painful it had been to lose his own parents at a young age. “Is that when you retired from the rodeo?”
“Yes. I was fifty, and twenty years past a bronc rider’s prime. It was time for me to hang it up, and Stella needed the stability of a home. I couldn’t take her riding around Texas with me in that RV.”
Joiner swallowed hard. The story was a lot to take in. Finally, he said, “But what about my second question? What did love have to do with putting the land up for sale?”
“Stella. She has this dream and I wanted to make it come true. But I’m not exactly high on funds.”
“What does she want to do?”
“She wants to open a place here where kids with problems can come be with horses. ‘Equestrian therapy’ she calls it.” Buster made quote marks in the air again. “I don’t know about the fancy name, but I am a firm believer that spending time with horses is good for you. I’ve had a couple horses I like better than most people.”
“I can relate to that.” Joiner laughed. “Right now Pistol is pretty much my guiding star. Well, he and my brothers. Since my polo funds dried up, I’m at a bit of a loss as to what to do with the rest of my life. I can’t say I’ll settle down in Kilgore for good, but I’d prefer to be near my brothers while I’m figuring out my next step. And one thing’s for sure—whatever I do next will involve Pistol. We’re a package deal.”
“I like that loyalty. You know, there’s an old Spanish proverb that says a man who does not love a horse cannot love a woman.” Buster sat up, planting his boots back on the floorboard of the pumpkin. “I guess we better head for the house.”
* * *
THEY WERE QUIET for the ride across Buster’s 450-acre kingdom. Mugsy and Mitzi ran along beside them till Buster deemed they were tired out, then he slowed down for them to jump into the pumpkin. When the house came into view, Buster pointed out a barn to the far right of it. Joiner had noticed it when he was driving up—a big horse barn painted red, with a white star above the doors. He saw now that there was a riding arena behind it.
“That’s Stella’s setup.”
Buster didn’t go any closer. Instead, he veered left toward the house, and Joiner noticed the old RV again under the trees.
“Was that your rodeo mansion?” He pointed to it. Surprisingly, Buster drove up close.
“That’s it. We use it as a guesthouse now. Wanna see inside?”
He turned off the motor of the pumpkin without waiting for Joiner to answer. Using a key to unlock the RV, Buster held the door open for Joiner to enter. Despite the dust, it was surprisingly well-kept inside. Kind of like a museum dedicated to the rodeo life of yesteryear.
“You know, since I can’t sell the land, I’d consider renting the guesthouse if you can think of anyone who might be interested. Especially someone with a strong back for work and horses they’d like to board.” Buster tugged at his whiskers. “I don’t want any riffraff, though.”
Joiner didn’t tell the older man what he was thinking, that “riffraff” were the only ones who would be interested in the setup. Except, maybe, for him.
“What about me?” Joiner couldn’t believe the words had come out of his mouth, but he didn’t try to retrieve them. He liked Buster. And something, though admittedly he couldn’t see what, was drawing him to the place.
“You? A pretty boy like you?”
“Mr. Scout, I need a place to live and board my horse, and you won’t sell me any land.” Joiner kicked a clod of dirt.
“Call me Buster.”
“Okay, Buster.”
“You serious?”
“I’m not afraid of hard work. If you’ll let me board Pistol and breed him out of here maybe I can save up the money to get my own place when the right one becomes available.” Joiner raised his eyebrows and grinned at the older man. “One that is actually for sale.”
“You’re a smart aleck, you know it?” Buster held out his hand for a shake. “But I don’t mind a little of that—and I might be able to make a real cowboy out of you. It’s a deal.”
Joiner shook his hand and they hopped back into the pumpkin. Buster sped the rest of the way to the house as if he was late for a party. Joiner liked the older man’s style.
“Stella!” Buster called, opening the back door. “Pretty? Stellllaaaa!”
An image of Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire flashed through Joiner’s mind. He followed Buster into the foyer, where Buster called her again, looking up the stairs.
“I guess she ain’t in here.”
“Well, sir, if you don’t mind, I’ll just get going. I’ll start moving in tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“I wanted to let you and Stella do some talking. You’ll mostly be working for her, you know. Getting her business up and running.”
“Oh. Well.” Joiner reached out for the banister. This was a little more than he bargained for. A mixture of curiosity and acid from his lack of breakfast churned in his stomach, but he needed the arrangement to work. He was running out of money, and no other interesting options had popped up.
Joiner straightened himself up and grinned, offering his hand to Buster again. “You just tell her I am at her service.”
The front door opened, and Stella walked in on them.
“Well, now you can tell her yourself!” Buster clapped his hands together.
“Tell me what?” Stella demanded.
“Joiner is going to live in the RV and be our new ranch hand.”
Stella took this news as if she’d been punched in the face.
“What?”
“I decided not to sell the land, but he’s going to live here and help us out on the ranch for a while.”
Stella’s eyes widened as the news sank in.
“You’re not selling?” She smiled, but her smile was for Buster only.
“No.” Buster shook his head. “But we’ve made an arrangement where he can board his horse here and help with chores, and he’ll be help to you with the school. You won’t have to pay as much for a ranch hand, and he won’t have to fork over lots of money for lodging. It’s a win-win.”
She seemed to bristle at this idea.
Buster grabbed the front doorknob and turned it. “You two probably ought to talk a little bit among yourselves. I’ve got to go check my chickens.” He let the screen door slam behind him.
What a crafty old goat, Joiner thought, hoping he hadn’t made a big mistake in agreeing to live and work here.
Stella motioned to Joiner. “I guess we could sit on the porch?”
He followed her through the screen door and sat down in one of two rockers that flanked a small table. She took the porch swing, the farthest seat away.
“So, your dad told me about your school. I think it’s a great idea.”
Her head snapped to attention. “What did he tell you?”
“Just that you want to help people through therapy with horses.”
“Did he mention safety?”
“Um, no. We didn’t really go very far into it.”
“Safety is my first concern with the school—and I saw the way you drove in here like you were in a high-speed chase.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
She continued, “I don’t know what you’re used to with polo, but I’d imagine it will be a lot different than what I’m doing here.”
Joiner was sure it would aggravate her, but he couldn’t resist. “I’m used to having fun on horses.”
She snorted. “Well, I hope my clients have fun on our horses, but my first priority is that they are safe at all times.” Her brown eyes bored into him. “It will have to be your priority too while you work here.”
“Okay,” Joiner said, and then added in his thoughts, which probably won’t be very long.
CHAPTER THREE
“YOU’RE DOING WHAT?” Mac demanded as his eyeglasses clattered to the tabletop.
The four Temple brothers sat around a table on the back patio of The Wild Horse Saloon, a honky-tonk joint that also served the best steaks in Kilgore—apart from Hunt’s restaurant at Temple Territory, of course. Most of the action was clustered around the stage inside where the band played. Locals, including students at Kilgore College, crowded the dance floor to do the Texas two-step and unwind after a busy work week.
Hunt’s wife, Gillian, and Sarah, a young widow who’d recently wed Hunt’s twin, Cullen, had taken Sarah’s three daughters to Longview for a movie. The brothers saw this as an opportunity for a Meeting of the Brotherhood, as they affectionately called their impromptu men-only gatherings. They’d been calling them that as long as Joiner could remember, when he and Mac initiated the younger twins into the clubhouse that used to be in their parents’ yard.
“I’m moving into an RV on that place I wanted to buy. Buster Scout’s place.”
Mac picked up his rectangular wire-rimmed glasses from the table and set them back on his nose, as if to see Joiner better. “The place you’re not buying? You’re going to squat there in an RV?”
Joiner shook his head. “The RV is a guesthouse of sorts on the property. Mr. Scout is renting it to me in exchange for some help on the ranch. Plus, he has a place I can board Pistol and hopefully start breeding him so I can save some money.”
“Is that what this is about? Joiner, I told you if you needed money—”
“And I appreciate that you agreed to cosign the loan with me for the land if I could buy it, but Mr. Scout decided not to sell it. And that’s probably for the best right now. I can keep what little I have left in the bank and add to it, get back on my feet. Then maybe when the right place comes along down the road, I won’t need a cosigner.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me.” Hunt’s gray eyes danced as he helped the server distribute the plates. Each brother had ordered a T-bone, but they all preferred their own degrees of doneness.
The waitress—a girl with big blond hair—studied Hunt’s face for a moment as she handed him a plate. “You look just like my favorite professor!”
Hunt grinned and flung out his arm to announce that Cullen was across the table. She promptly turned all of her attention to him.
“Dr. Temple! How are you doing? I was in your American History class last semester.” The girl made no effort to conceal her admiration.
“I remember you, Katie. It’s nice to see you again.”
When she finally exited the patio after several minutes of chatting with Cullen, Hunt cackled. Then in a falsetto voice, he said, “Oh, Dr. Cullen! Your lectures are so enthralling! I only fell asleep three times! But it’s such a shame you’re not as good-looking as the Cowboy Chef!”
Cullen rolled his eyes in Hunt’s direction.
“I thought it was pretty funny that she compared the Cowboy Chef to Dr. Cullen, and not the other way around.” Joiner cut into his steak. “That must burn.”
Hunt frogged Joiner in the arm. “You just wish you were our triplet, pretty boy.”
“Well, I can tell you I don’t get admirers very often, even though I’m obviously the more attractive twin.” Cullen forked a bite of steaming baked potato that was dripping with melted butter. “Did you find out anything on the history of Buster Scout’s place while you were there?”
“Only that it belonged to his wife’s family. She died a long while ago in a freak accident with a horse, and I guess it went to him and his daughter. It’s a heck of a place.”
“I think I remember something about that accident.” Mac rubbed his chin. “It happened right after I moved back here and set up shop. I consulted with Mr. Scout over some tax issues, helped him get things with his wife’s will straightened out. Nice guy. Kind of an original, as I remember.”
“That’s him. He could have his own reality show, he and his daughter. They’re like the Texas version of characters from Duck Dynasty.”
“And now you’re joining the show.”
“Well, I would hate for Hunt to be the lone star in our family.” Joiner couldn’t resist the pun.
His three brothers groaned in unison, then Cullen asked, “What time do you want us there to help you move in the morning?”
They all looked at Joiner. He’d always been able to count on the Brotherhood, no matter what.
“Thanks, guys, but I don’t have anything to move besides a few boxes and Pistol. It won’t be any big deal.”
* * *
“NO BIG DEAL?” Stella, remembering her earlier conversation with her father, set down her book a little too loudly and whipped off her red reading glasses. Mugsy jumped down from the couch and regarded her with suspicion.
Buster, who had kicked back in his leather recliner, didn’t stir from his comfortable position. Mitzi was sprawled out across his chest lengthwise, snoring.
“I can’t believe you think this is no big deal,” she repeated.
Buster opened one eye and Stella glared into it.
He closed it quickly, like pulling down a shade.
“Pops! You should have consulted with me first before offering to let him live here. Instead you let him sweet-talk you. And I’d like to have seen his horse before you said he could board him in our stable. What if the horse is dangerous?”
“Good grief, woman. We’ve been through this.” Buster raised his head slightly so as not to disturb Mitzi. “He didn’t sweet-talk me. It was practically my idea. And I thought you’d be happy to have some free labor. At least I didn’t sell him any land.”
“I am happy about that.” Stella shrugged and put her glasses back on. She smoothed her cotton pajamas and tucked her feet up under her. Then she remembered something. “But isn’t there some scandal with the Temple family? I wouldn’t want that to affect my school.”
Buster sighed heavily. “Anybody who still cares about that scandal is nobody I’d want on my ranch, school or no school.”
Stella raised her eyebrows.
Buster continued, “Pap Temple did steal oil, but the big oil companies were so greedy there was no real harm, in my opinion, in Pap taking a few million barrels. Those were different times.” He snorted. “In fact, I admire his gumption for doing it, and his guts in taking his punishment after he was caught instead of filling his wells with cement like some others did to avoid prosecution.”
“I didn’t know all of that,” Stella said quietly.
As though sensing the storm had passed, at least for the time being, Mugsy jumped back onto the couch and resumed his post at her side.
* * *
WHEN STELLA AWOKE the next morning, she was glad she had a busy day ahead. Maybe the work she had to do to get Star Stables Equestrian Therapy up and running would distract her from Joiner Temple’s invasion of her property. Until he brought his horse into her barn, that is—a high-dollar thoroughbred stallion. Having that kind of horse join her operation was not at all what she had in mind. His presence would probably be as obnoxious as his owner’s. No, what Stella wanted was a few other horses like Daisy, her mother’s old mare, who were gentle enough to be trusted with the special-needs children Stella planned to serve.
But the agreement had been made, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it now but continue with her own plans. She picked out one of her nicest shirts, a lacy cowgirl-chic top with bell sleeves that was the color of gunmetal. Pairing it with her distressed skinny jeans, she tucked the jeans into a pair of tall, vintage, gray halter boots. The brushed silver amulet she wore, a custom piece by Andrea Edmondson, perfectly complemented the color of her shirt. Her hair was easy—shoulder-length and chic—and she didn’t need any makeup other than a little lip gloss. Her mahogany eyes were framed by dark lashes and brows even though her hair remained the color of a palomino.
Stella waved at her father, who was out milking the goats, as she climbed into the farm truck. She planned to grab something for breakfast at Common Grounds. A potential donor from a local family well-known for its oil money was meeting her there for coffee. She really had high hopes that she could convince him to donate to her school. Star Stables was the one thing she wanted with all of her heart—everything important to her was tied to it. It was something she could do on her own land, at home with Buster. It was a way to give back to her beloved community. And it was a way to help people—to give them better lives, and especially, to teach them how to be safe.
* * *
STELLA ROSE FROM the bistro table where she was sitting with her mocha cappuccino when the man who had to be Clint Cavender walked into Common Grounds.
“Mr. Cavender?”
He turned his gaze to her.
He was wearing Armani and some kind of lizard-skin boots. Nice.
He held out his hand. “Stella Scout? Call me Clint.” Perfect teeth, dark hair, milk-chocolate-colored eyes. Stella felt as if she was talking to a movie star. She needed to get herself together.
“Please, have a seat.”
“Sure, but I think I’ll order first. Can I get you anything to go with your coffee?”
Stella didn’t want him to buy her food. “I’ll just join you.”
He set down his Louis Vuitton laptop bag on one of the oak-and-iron chairs at her table and they walked together to the counter, which was just a few feet away.
“I’d like some steel-cut oats with fruit.”
The guy at the counter rang her order into the cash register. “And for you, sir?”
“These are separate orders.” Stella held out her debit card, but Clint Cavender shook his head.
“I’ll have a ham, egg and cheese panini and a latte with two shots, please.”
He paid for their order with a twenty-dollar bill, dumping all of the change into the tip jar. They waited while it was prepared.
“You didn’t have to pay for my breakfast,” Stella said.
“Oh, no problem.”
Clint’s phone vibrated and he took it out of his pocket. “Sorry. I always have to check in case it is the school.”
He carried their tray back to the table, and set her oats in front of her before removing his own order. “That looks good,” he commented, then set the tray on a nearby table.
Stella straightened her shoulders. “Clint, thank you for meeting with me. I know you have a very busy schedule and I appreciate you taking the time to listen to my proposal.”
“It’s a pleasure.” His eyes were warm. “Let’s hear about these plans of yours.”
“Well, I am opening a facility for equestrian therapy on my family farm just outside Kilgore. We will offer hippotherapy as well as therapeutic riding for people with disabilities. My focus is geared more toward children, but I’d like to be able to offer services to all ages eventually.”
Clint leaned forward, eyebrows knitted. “Wait a minute. You lost me. I thought we were talking exclusively about horses. What exactly is hippotherapy?”
“Hippo is the Greek word for horse.” Stella laughed. “So hippotherapy is just a term that encompasses all kinds of therapy that uses the horse’s movement. I want to offer physical, occupational and speech therapy using horses.”
“So I’m assuming you’ll employ professionals in these fields?”
“Yes. I have a master’s degree in physical therapy myself, and I’ve already contracted an excellent occupational therapist assistant named Daune Holzman and a speech therapist named Jacob Hunnicutt. Of course, the amount of hours they are able to spend at the school will depend on how things work out with funding.”
“It sounds very interesting.” Clint took a sip of his latte. “Are there any other programs similar to this in the state of Texas?”
“Ours will be the second, and the first in East Texas. The other one is in Austin and partners with the University of Texas. I trained there and it is very cutting edge.” Stella stirred her oatmeal. “These techniques have been used in Europe for about fifty years, but they are just now starting to catch on in the United States.”
“It sounds like you have the vision and the expertise to really help some people.”
“I believe I do.”
Clint leaned back and draped an arm over the ironwork back of the chair beside his. “Stella, one reason I agreed to meet with you is that I’ve heard your story. You may not realize it, but you’re something of a celebrity in this little town.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I know you’ve battled hardship and overcome a lot yourself. I was away at the height of your rodeo fame but I heard about how you brought the people of Kilgore together.”
“Oh, that.”
“To hear my parents talk, we might as well have changed our name to ‘The City of Star’ instead of ‘The City of Stars’.”
Stella blushed. “I wouldn’t go that far. I didn’t really do anything. It was the people of the community who blessed my family and me over and over with their support.” Her heart warmed at the memories of barbecue suppers, parades and the cards and letters that wallpapered her room at home. She also remembered the flowers that had poured in after her mother’s death. Lilies. “I guess that’s why I never want to move anywhere else. And in a way, this venture is a chance for me to give back to the people who have done so much for me.”
Clint smiled, seeming to understand. Then he said, “The other reason I’m interested is my son, Cade. He has Asperger’s syndrome. The symptoms have gotten worse since his mother left. I’ve done everything—spared no expense—but we’ve not found any therapies that have helped with his particular case.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Stella looked into his eyes and saw deep pools of pain she had not noticed before. “I’d love it if we could help him,” she said softly.
“Me, too. Tell me more...”
CHAPTER FOUR
“DIOS MIA!” ALMA MADE the sign of the cross as she stepped across the threshold of the RV. “Joiner, mi cariño, are you really so poor that you must live here?”
Joiner pulled the door shut behind them and plopped down on the red velvet couch, spreading out his arms and crossing a boot over his knee. “Home sweet home!”
Alma rolled her eyes. As the Temple family’s housekeeper, she was the closest thing to a mother Joiner and his brothers had had since the plane accident that killed their parents when Joiner was in high school. She and her husband Felix had been their legal guardians until they came of age—and were still the glue that kept the family together.
“I thought you said it was in good shape.” Alma ran a finger over the counter top and held it up for Joiner to see. The dust was thick on her soft, tawny fingertip.
“It’s not that bad, is it? I mean, after you work your magic?”
“Magic? It’s going to take more than magic to make this place livable. It’s going to take elbow grease!”
“Well, I don’t want you working too hard, Alma. Let’s just get it livable. I probably won’t be here very long.” Joiner brought in her cleaning supplies from the truck while Alma opened all of the windows. Under her instruction, he vacuumed the red shag carpet that filled the living area and bedroom, and then scrubbed the toilet, shower and sink, as well as the linoleum in the tiny bath and kitchen.
Alma dusted the RV from top to bottom, removing all of the curtains to take home and wash, and beating the couch cushions outside with a broom. She stripped the bed of its velvet horse-print spread, remaking it with a new mattress cover, Egyptian cotton sheets, and Woolrich plaid comforter set she’d gotten from Gillian. It was a tasteful blue, red and green pattern with leather-trimmed matching pillows. She also scrubbed the small stovetop and oven and cleaned out the cabinets. Buster’s shot glass collection went into a Rubbermaid tub along with various other things she collected from around the RV: an old wall calendar of famous bronc riders, several trophies, cassette tapes of country music, an enormous belt buckle.
“Whew! Let’s take a break.” Joiner leaned on the mop and stretched his back.
“Just a few more things first.” Alma wiped her hands on her apron. “Take this tub of junk out.” She handed it to him with a look of disgust. “Then, bring in those kitchen things we got at Target, and also get your bathroom stuff set up. You can put your clothes in the bedroom, too. I still have to wash all of the windows.”