The little girl standing in the doorway held a toy horse in one hand and a toy horse trailer in the other. Billie recognized her as one of several children who had come out to the ranch on a kindergarten class trip in May. Billie remembered her as the star of that visit. While the other kids had chased each other around, climbed the haymow, and pretended to be disgusted by manure, this kid had stood at a corral gate, her elbows on the railing, and discussed Billie’s horses with her, asking their names and whether or not they were trained to ride.
“Alice Dean, this is Billie Snow. She lives nearby.”
“I know,” the child said.
“You came out to my ranch with your class, right?” Billie asked. “We talked about my horses.”
“You have a gray horse named Star Wars.”
“Starship. Yes, he’s mine.”
Alice Dean grinned, a smile like her father’s but missing her front teeth.
“Why are you here?” She spoke with her father’s accent. The why pronounced wha. “Daddy?” Alice Dean tugged at her father’s jeans. “Foamy won’t load. I need help.”
Richard dropped to his knees beside her. “Show me what you’ve been doing with him.”
Alice Dean repeated her movements. The plastic horse twisted to the side at the trailer door.
“Maybe you’re asking too much too soon,” Richard said. “Have you let him just stand at the back of the trailer to get used to it?”
“I want him in NOW. Git UP!” She flicked Foamy’s haunch with her fingernail, but he still wouldn’t load.
“Think about what I suggested.” Richard rose smoothly.
“When can I ride, Daddy?” Alice Dean asked. “Now?”
“Honey, it’s late!”
“I want to ride now. Please?”
Richard gave Billie an I’m helpless look and opened the patio door. “BO!” he called. “Bo!”
The boy appeared, ribby and wet in his bathing suit. “What?”
“Get your sister up on Morning Glory, okay?”
“But, Dad—”
“Just do it, okay? You can swim more later.”
“It’ll be dark.”
“The pool has lights, Bo. Take your sister to the barn, okay? Where’s Sylvie?”
“She already went to the barn. Can’t Alice Dean…?”
“She’s too little to go by herself. You take her. Now.”
Alice Dean left her toys on the kitchen floor and took her brother’s hand, smiling.
Richard turned to Billie and said, “At least I can make one of my children happy.”
She wondered what he meant by that, if he was talking about the little tussle she had just witnessed between him and Bo or if he was referring to something bigger.
After they left, Richard started getting food out of the fridge and cabinets. Hamburger, rolls, pickles, mayo, onions, and lettuce. Billie watched without offering to help.
“You quit?” she prompted him.
He looked startled, as if he’d forgotten what they were talking about. Then he got himself another beer and poured her more wine.
“She made me,” he said.
“Your wife?”
“No, Alice Dean.”
“Alice Dean? How?”
“Just by being born, I guess. She came late. We didn’t think we’d have any more kids. Alice Dean was a surprise. One day after she came, I was thinking about how I’d introduce her into the family business, how I’d tell her why her pony pranced and why she was winning blue ribbons. I couldn’t do it.” He shook his head. “I just couldn’t do it.”
“Even though you had done it with your other kids.”
“Right. I don’t know what changed in me. Maybe it was just getting older. I don’t know, but I didn’t want this baby to be any part of that world. So I quit.”
“Just like that?”
He barked a laugh “Not quite. My wife was furious. My parents felt betrayed. My kids hated me. Sylvie still hates me. I don’t know what to do about her. She still rides sore horses. I won’t let her sore mine, so she rides for other people. I don’t know that it would be worth it to really fight with her about it. She’s nearly an adult, so she can do what she wants.” Billie started to say something, but Richard kept on talking. “Bo hates horses and horse shows, so he’s mostly glad I gave it up.”
“You don’t show at all anymore?” Billie asked.
“I only show sound horses now. By ‘sound’ I mean horses that haven’t been sored. I can’t undo what I did, but I can live my life differently from now on. That’s why I’m here in Arizona. I left the scene back east, left all of it. It wasn’t easy…”
He moved closer. Billie could smell the warm cotton of his shirt, a tantalizing hint of clean skin. He took a big breath and visibly forced himself to relax.
“You really don’t do it anymore?” she asked.
“My barn and pastures are filled with animals I train to compete…” He made quotation marks with his index fingers. “‘In compliance with federal animal cruelty laws.’ Unlike just about everyone else in this business, I’m not watching for the USDA inspectors to catch me with sored horses. I don’t need to worry if I’m in compliance with the scar rule, because my horses don’t have scars.”
“What’s the scar rule? I see it mentioned as a reason for disqualifying a horse at a show: scar rule violation.”
“Haven’t you looked that up yet? It’s the rule that spells out what scars are not permitted on a show horse’s legs. The rule that dictates what can and what can’t be done to them. Of course, since I don’t sore, I don’t win. No wins, no customers. No income. No marriage. Mary Lou’s born and bred into that world, as I was. She couldn’t leave it behind—leave her folks, her brothers and sisters, her grandparents. They’re all there, all involved with these horses. It’s her life. And when I left it, I betrayed her. All of them.”
“Dad?” Sylvie’s appearance in the doorway seemed to startle her father. She had a pink cell phone pressed to her ear and a huge T-shirt over bare legs, dripping water.
“Sylvie, hi.”
“Dad, I’m talking to Dale. I’m going to ride for him in the show next week, okay?” Her
