The Gift: A Horse, a Boy, and a Miracle of Love Read online

  “Just a minute.”

  He could hear her rustling around, a television playing in the background. So Jonah was eight, one year older than Tim when the accident happened. Strange how he still dated everything from before and after the accident that changed his life.

  “Okay, sorry for the delay, I’m ready.”

  “Where are you coming from?”

  “The apartments on Valley Boulevard.”

  “Okay, stay on Valley—it becomes 202—take that until you turn right on Cummings Valley Road, take that through the jog to Pellisier Road, south across the valley to Banducci and turn left. You’ll see my sign, McNeally’s Plumbing, on the right. Just follow the drive right on up to the house. And that’s Cody out in the pasture. Don’t be afraid of the dog. He’s all bark. When would you like to come?”

  “What about tomorrow after three? That’s when school is out.”

  Mac checked his calendar. “I can be here by three-thirty.” While he said the words, he mentally computed all that had to go right on the job for him to get home on time. His helper could finish up whatever he didn’t get done—at least he hoped his helper could do that. It all depended on whether or not he showed up for work. “May I have your name and phone number in case something accidentally comes up?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Rebecca Wilkinson.” She gave him her phone number, too, and after the good-byes, they hung up.

  Mac stared at the phone. Strange and interesting all at the same time. Why did he have a feeling that something was wrong with the boy? All she’d said was he—What was his name? Mac closed his eyes to think better and run the conversation through again. Ah, Jonah, that’s it. All she’d said was he was eight years old and small for his age. Oh, and that he’d never been around horses.

  Bungee yipped at his knee and, placing both paws in Mac’s lap, stared into his eyes.

  “It’s okay, Boy. In fact, tomorrow you will be delighted. A boy is coming to visit.” Mac ruffled the dog’s fluffy ears and rocked his head from side to side. “I wonder if his mother, Rebecca . . .” He tasted her name on his tongue. “. . . If she will want to stay and watch? Sometimes kids do better without a parent around, at least at first.”

  Bungee whined, but Mac deflected the tongue that aimed for his nose and let it kiss his hand instead.

  By two the next afternoon, Mac knew he was in trouble. In fact, he’d known it by noon. Randy, his helper, showed up late with some cockamamie excuse. The electrician wanted to get going early. The owner of the house decided to add a commode and sink in the laundry room. And his favorite drill motor went AWOL.

  When he tried the phone number Rebecca had given him, the machine clicked on, so he had no idea if she got his message or not. By the time he drove up the driveway, four o’clock had come and gone. He thought spitting nails sounded like a welcome relief.

  A blue SUV waited in the turnaround. Bungee left his self-assigned place beside the driver’s door and bounded over to Mac’s three-quarter-ton pickup, loaded with work boxes, pipe racks, and one irate driver.

  He parked by the SUV and climbed out, slapping the dust off his jeans and retrieving his felt Western hat from the bench seat. By the time he came around the end of the truck bed, his guests had climbed out of the SUV. Mac extended his hand. “Sorry to be late. I sure hope you got my message and just arrived.”

  “No. We’ve been waiting since three-thirty.” Rebecca shook hands with him, all the while keeping a wary eye on the dog, who wagged himself into a frenzy. “I’m Rebecca Wilkinson and this is Jonah.” Her other hand kept her son on the opposite side of her, well away from the dog.

  “Sorry I’m late. It’s been one of those days. I’m Turner McNeally, but I go by Mac.” He shifted his attention to the boy. “Jonah, this is Bungee, and that wriggling rear of his and laughing face should tell you he can’t wait to make your acquaintance.”

  “I wasn’t sure. I mean, I don’t know much about dogs, so I didn’t dare get out of the car.”

  “I see. You can pet him. He’s got a lightning tongue, but he’d never bite. He likes his ears rubbed.” Mac smiled at the boy with brown eyes who reminded him of the big-eyed children portrayed in popular art some years before. “Bungee, sit.” The dog sat, his bit of fluff tail whisking the ground and his front feet beating a tattoo on the gravel.

  Jonah looked from the dog to his mother and, at her nod, stepped forward. He laid a tentative hand on Bungee’s head and earned a clean chin for his efforts. Taking two steps back, he again eye-checked with his mother, scrubbed at his chin, and slowly raised his hand back to the dog’s head.

  Mac watched the boy and the dog, all the while conscious of the woman. Worry or fear pinched her eyes and ridged her wide forehead. If she wasn’t careful, she wouldn’t have any lower lip left. And her hands, lovely hands with long fingers, hadn’t caught a still moment since she’d shaken his hand. He’d forgotten how soft a woman’s hands could be—soft skin, but with a firm handshake. However, her wide-set eyes struck him the most. Her dark lashes shielded amber pupils with gold flecks that had lost their sparkle. He had observed them with a momentary scan, but they left the imprint of a red-hot branding iron.

  “Mr. McNeally?” Her voice seemed a matching brand—rich, like warm cream—yet with a hesitancy that brought out whatever protective instincts he had left over from caring for Danielle.

  “Ah, yes. Shall we go meet Cody?” McNeally, where is your head? Get with the program before she thinks you’re some kind of dodo. Flashes of a young Danielle, laughing at the word dodo and giving it intonations from high to low to deep bass, interfered with his view of the two beside him.

  Concentrate, Man. The inner voice went from teasing to drill sergeant orders.

  “Nice place you have here.”

  “Thanks.” Oh, man of few words, he thought with a snicker.

  “Be careful, Jonah. You might trip on those rocks.”

  Mac turned enough to see her reach for her son, who had, totally boylike, jumped from one to another of the flat rocks that lined the path. The boy flashed her a smile, but when he caught Mac looking at them, he stepped off the six-inch high rocks and walked close enough to his mother to make her put a hand on his shoulder. Something strange is going on here.

  “How do you like school?” Mac asked.

  Jonah smiled again, this time with a slight shrug.

  “Who’s your teacher?”

  “Miss Swenson,” Rebecca answered.

  Why don’t you let him answer? But, as they reached the fence, Mac held back from voicing his response and whistled for Cody. “This is Cody, my daughter Danielle’s horse. He’s a leopard Appaloosa, used to be pretty good on the barrels, and he’s still a great trail horse.”

  “Barrels? Trail horse?”

  Oh, a real city slicker. “Danielle ran Cody in barrel racing, a highly competitive event. Trail horse refers to riding up in the mountains or hills, anywhere there might be trails instead of corrals or open fields. They competed in trail-riding competitions also.”

  “Are you sure a horse with that kind of training would be safe for a little boy?”

  “I’m sure, but you can see for yourself.” Mac dug in his vest pocket to see if there were any horse treats left. He found two and gave Jonah one. “Here, I’ll show you how, and you can give Cody a treat. He likes this about as much as you like candy.”

  Jonah took it in his hand, but his eyes gave him away. Flat-out fear. Why should he be afraid if he’s never had anything to do with horses? Mac knew his questions were stacking up like firewood for the winter.

  Cody trotted up, his lower lip bobbling, mane flopping, and his ears pricked forward. Cody liked treats, but he also liked kids. He arched his neck over the rail that rode the top of the fence posts and whuffled, his nostrils fluttering in the near-silent greeting.

>   “You hold your hand out flat with the treat on your palm. See the way I’m doing it?” Mac pushed Cody’s nose away from the treat. “You want to keep your fingers stretched out like this so he doesn’t mistake them for something to eat.”

  At the woman’s swift intake of breath and the boy’s step backward, Mac realized he’d just said the wrong thing. “Not that Cody would bite you. He’s really wiser than that, but I want to teach you good habits right from the beginning.”

  Cody stretched out and nuzzled Mac’s shoulder.

  “See, he likes treats and he can smell we have some.” Mac held his hand flat and set the tan biscuit in the center of his palm. “Like this. Show me yours.” The boy did exactly as Mac showed. “Good. Now I’ll give him mine first so you see how gentle he is.” Hoping the woman got the hint also, Mac held out his hand. Cody lipped the treat and crunched, the sound loud in the stillness, as if both boy and mother were holding their breath. I should have one to give her to try, too, kill that fear thing before it gets out of hand.

  Cody tossed his head and nudged Mac’s shoulder.

  “See, he wants more. Your turn now.” He kept his hand on the long bones of Cody’s nose to slow down the interaction. “Good.” The boy held his hand flat like he’d been shown, treat in place, and extended it to the horse. “Good. Okay, Cody, help yourself.”

  Dainty as a parasoled lady taking tea, Cody lifted the biscuit with barely a whiskery lip brush against Jonah’s palm. The boy’s eyes flew wide open. He rubbed the center of his hand with his fingers and beamed up at Mac, his round face reflecting the sun that would soon be behind the hills. He grinned at his mother, too, and took his first step closer to Mac.

  When Cody’s nostrils fluttered again, the boy looked up at the man beside him. Questions covered his face.

  “That’s his way of asking for more. Dani, my daughter, called it ‘Cody talk.’ He can nicker, which is a friendly sound; neigh, which can be much louder; and whinny, the loudest.” Mac decided not to mention the scream of a stallion or a horse in pain. At times, some things were better left unsaid. Why isn’t he asking the questions I can see all over him? Is he that shy? Must be it. Mac looked at the boy’s mother, who had eyes only for her son.

  “Would you like to pet him?”

  Jonah flashed his mother another of those permission looks before nodding.

  “Cody likes to be petted, here around his ears, down on his neck, his cheeks, and down his nose.” Mac indicated each area as he said the name. “He likes firm petting; otherwise, he thinks you are tickling him or might be a fly.” Demonstrating long smooth strokes, Mac waited for the boy to gain his courage. Finally Jonah stepped closer to the man and reached to the side of Cody’s head. His smile widened as he patted the horse, first tentatively, then with more firmness, mimicking Mac perfectly.

  “Would you like to learn to brush him? Cody’s in bad need of a good brushing.”

  Again, that quick look for permission before nodding. Mac followed the boy’s glance to see Rebecca with her shoulders hunched, hands in her jacket pockets. She looked about to duck before she was struck by a blow.

  “I’ll show you where we keep the grooming equipment. Dani took over part of the feed room as her tack room.” At the questioning look, Mac added, “Tack is what we call the saddle, saddle blanket, and bridle.” This kid doesn’t miss a thing. Wonder what he’d be like without his mother along. Is she so strict with him that he can’t speak for himself?

  “I’m afraid we can’t stay much longer. It’ll be dark soon.”

  “Oh, okay. Maybe we should put off the brushing until another day. Jonah, how would you like to measure the grain for Cody instead?” Lady, we do have electricity out here.

  After the usual glance toward his mother, Jonah nodded.

  Mac led the way to the feed barrel, lifted the lid, and handed Jonah the plastic scoop. “Fill that about half full. You can stand on that block of wood, and I’ll show you where to dump it. Cody will be there waiting.”

  Jonah scooped out mixed grain, eyed it, and dumped some back, giving Mac one of those questioning looks that earned him a nod and a smile. He followed Mac to the rear of the barn, where the horse came through an open, sliding door into a shavings-carpeted stall with two-by-sixes for the bars. Cody nickered, very clearly demanding his feed. Mac pointed to a wooden manger set in the wall, and Jonah dumped the feed in.

  “Good job, Jonah.” Mac clapped him on the shoulder, and the two headed back for the tack room, where Rebecca waited, arms now crossed against the chill or with trepidation. Mac wasn’t sure which. If she was so worried, why didn’t she come along?

  As they left the barn and headed for the cars, she sighed. “Thank you, Mr. McNeally. We appreciate your time and assistance.” Formality seemed part of her ingrained suit of armor.

  The thought fit with his earlier assessment.

  “Mac, remember?”

  “Okay. When would it be all right for us to come again?”

  He’d been half-expecting her to say good-bye and thanks for the effort—but this was enough. “I’d like to say tomorrow, but this job I’m on is having some problems. So would Saturday be all right? Say around ten?”

  She paused for a moment, then nodded. “We’ll see you at ten.”

  Mac, with Bungee at his side, watched them raise a dust cloud down the drive, not a hard thing to do, dry as it was. “Bungee, there’s something strange here. How long, you think, before she lets me in on the secret?”

  Four

  “Did you like that?”

  Jonah’s face lit up the car. His nod set his bangs to bobbing.

  “Good.”

  Now to call Mr. McNea—Mac, Rebecca corrected herself, to explain things. Now to quiet her deeply buried secret wish that Jonah would have said something to the horse or the man or the dog. She’d hardly been aware of the wish, but any little change in their lives always triggered the dream, which inevitably wormed its way through all her barriers and defenses. Sometimes, she wished she had the kind of faith Gordon had had; but if he was right, he was celebrating now. She took her faith out, dusted it off for Christmas and Easter, and then, in spite of good intentions, let other things bury it securely back in its box.

  Would that help me any with the loneliness?

  Forget that, Kid. You just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and you’ll come out all right in the end. She could hear her father’s voice as plain as if he were sitting right beside her.

  Back in their apartment, when Jonah started on his homework, she went to her bedroom/office, picked up the phone, and checked the phone number she’d written on the pad she kept handy. Wishing she were somewhere else wouldn’t help, so she obeyed her father’s strictures to get the worst over with first. Then, the rest would be easier. Easier yet might have been telling Mr. McNe—no, Mac, face to face, so she could see his reactions. Would he think less of her son? Might he cancel the arrangements because he couldn’t handle someone different? But then, he said his daughter took Cody to be ridden by handicapped kids. Surely she’d learned that kind of caring from her father. Or her mother. If she had a mother, why hadn’t she come out when they sat waiting in the car for Mac to return? Or perhaps they were divorced or she had a job that kept her late.

  Get with it! Rebecca sat at her desk and dialed the phone with a sigh.

  “McNeally here.”

  “Hi, Mac, this is Rebecca Wilkinson.”

  “Well, hello.” The warm timbre of his voice sent a shiver up her back.

  “I want to thank you for taking the time with Jonah.”

  “You already did.”

  “Oh.” Come back, Brain, where did you go? “Yes, well, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “All right.”

  “It—it’s about Jonah. I know you are wondering why he ne
ver answered your questions . . . .”

  “I thought maybe he was mighty shy.”

  “No, he doesn’t talk.” There. She’d said it.

  “Oh?”

  “Not since his father was killed in the military.”

  “Ah.”

  “Jonah was four; and after we had the funeral, he never said another word.” She swallowed as the tears, which still came so easily at times, burned her eyes and flooded her throat and nose.

  “Poor kid.”

  “Yeah. They say there is nothing physically wrong, but some switch flipped in his brain. We keep hoping something will throw it back the other way. I just wanted to tell you so . . .”

  “So . . . ?”

  “So.” She heaved a sigh. “So you won’t think he’s weird or something.”

  “I’d say in spite of his tragedy, he’s a bright and observant child.”

  “Oh.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling to try to stave off fresh tears. Kick me or yell at me and I’ll deal with it, but be nice to me and I fall apart. “Thanks. We’ll see you on Saturday. Bye.” She dropped the phone on the desk and after snagging three tissues from the box by the lamp, she buried her face in them and let the tears flow. She fought to cry silently, but even so, she felt a small hand on her shoulder. “D–don’t worry, Sport. I guess I just need a good cry. I’ll be all right in a few moments.” As the sobs subsided, like she knew they would, she thought back to the phone call. How rude she’d been to cut him off like that. Now he must think she was weird. Or a crybaby. Or—or—She shook her head and blew her nose. Better get dinner going. Tonight was broiled chicken night, thighs for her, drumsticks for Jonah, along with macaroni and cheese, one of their favorite meals.

  He was happiest if she didn’t try to force the vegetables’ issue. Just like his father. So many things about her son reminded her of Gordon. The cleft in his chin, the way he turned to look at her when he was worried, the color and shape of his eyes, his curiosity that never took a moment off. If only he could talk.

  She spent the evening catching up on the backlog of work for her clients. One good thing about bookkeeping, thanks to the computer and Internet: She could live anywhere and still keep her clients. They sent her their receipts and account information; she did the work and e-mailed the finished product.