The Paddock
Attention is directed where it may not belong
Previously on Between Corners: An errand leads Charlotte to an unexpected discovery
The conference room in the Federal Highway Administration’s Austin office was cold, the fluorescent lights humming. I took the last open chair. A topo map of the region’s road grid was pinned to the wall, corners curling.
Marlene Garcia, the FHWA regional engineer, flipped open a binder thick enough to stop a bullet. Two bullets.
“Alright,” she said. “Roads first.”
She clicked her pen.
I clicked mine.
“FS 511 is still washed out at the creek crossing. The temporary fill the Forest Service pushed in after the October storm is gone. Culvert’s crushed. We’ll need a full replacement, and we don’t have the budget this quarter.”
She turned a page.
I took a note.
“FS 526 – the clay section on the north end – is impassable again. Two trucks from the timber sale got stuck last week. Contractor’s blaming the Forest Service, the Forest Service is blaming the rain, and the rain doesn’t care.”
Another page.
Another note.
“FS 533 has a sinkhole forming under the west shoulder. Probably an old, failed culvert. If it collapses under a pickup, we’re going to have paperwork for the rest of our lives.”
She exhaled.
“Signage is still a mess. Visitors keep driving down non‑system spurs and calling dispatch when they get stuck. We need new posts, new boards, new everything.”
She tapped the binder with the pen.
“And the grader’s down again. Hydraulic leak. Shop says two weeks, maybe three. So, whatever’s rutted stays rutted.”
She looked around the table.
“That’s it for roads. Questions?”
There was a moment of silence. Someone slurped coffee.
I finally spoke. “We can help with the culvert replacement package on 511,” I said. “If you can get us the hydrology notes, I’ll draft a preliminary design and run it through our review side. Might speed things up.”
Marlene nodded, grateful for the assistance.
Nobody else spoke.
The meeting droned on. I took out my phone.
I tried to remember something. Then it came to me.
Burton Road Equine Therapy.
I tapped that into the browser. A website came up. A photo of Charlotte alongside two horses. An address.
I checked my watch. The meeting was due to end at three. I had time.
The place was not hard to find. Out in the country – rolling hills and ranches, the occasional oak or cedar. I parked. A farmhouse fifty yards away. A large barn. A corral, or paddock, or whatever they call it.
My car thermometer had said 85. It hit 85 in Portland all the time. The air here felt like 95.
I walked over and leaned against a rough wooden rail. I was alone. Charlotte stood ten yards away, in the center of the enclosure. She was bending slightly toward a slim brown-haired girl. A dappled horse stood nearby.
I could hear her murmuring to the girl but could not make out the words.
The horse looked composed. Shook its head once.
I inadvertently sneezed. The horse jumped.
Hay fever.
Charlotte looked in my direction. She seemed to flinch a little, then settled.
Like the horse.
I gave her a wave. She returned it.
I wanted more of that. But I wasn’t sure how to get it.
An idea came to me. I had business cards in my shirt pocket. Took one out. Scribbled on the back.
Charlotte’s session lasted another thirty minutes. She got the girl up into the saddle and walked her around the paddock.
She passed me close. Three times.
With the saddle and blanket off and the girl brushing the horse, Charlotte walked over to me, then leaned on the opposite side of the railing. She was wearing blue denim jeans, a plaid Western shirt with a red and black pattern, and a battered Stetson.
I always thought that kind of outfit was faintly comical. I suddenly saw its appeal.
“This is a surprise,” she said. “How did you find the place?”
“Not hard. Remembered your business name. Very catchy. Plus, I had some time to kill. Thought I’d watch for a bit. Interesting operation.”
“You should have let me know. This is not a riding camp. These girls are clients.”
“Sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
She seemed to soften. “It’s OK,” Charlotte said. “But please don’t do it again. Not without letting me know.”
“OK.”
A moment.
“Who is your client today?”
“I can’t tell you her name – confidentiality. But she’s been coming regularly. Anxiety problems from social media. She deals with harassment, bullying. I see it every day.”
“I see. How do the horses help?”
“They’re neutral,” Charlotte said. “They offer no judgment. People talk to them differently than when they talk to people.”
I nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Sometimes it takes weeks to see a difference. Even months. These kids are really struggling.”
I looked at her. She had blue-gray eyes. “Got more clients today?”
“I do.”
Another pause.
“Well,” I said, holding out my card. “This is just an FYI. I’ll let you get back to your clients. You look like you are in your element here.”
Charlotte slipped the card into her pocket.
“I am,” she said.
She extended her hand. I took it for a moment.
“And Christopher,” she said, still holding my hand. “I appreciate the fact you stopped by.”
I walked back to the Tahoe. My hand felt warm.
I was in the kitchen when I heard Charlotte’s Ranger park outside. She came in a minute later, sweating a little in the warm air.
She blew me a kiss, trotted upstairs. I heard the shower run – she wanted to get the barn smell off.
In ten minutes she came downstairs. She moved into the kitchen next to me and took a sniff.
“Mmm – that smells wonderful,” she said. “What is it?”
“Chicken with coconut milk and green curry.”
As she watched, I tossed some julienned eggplant into the simmering mix. Then I handed her a glass of Chablis. She sipped it gratefully.
“Busy day?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Five clients. Two new ones.”
“Good. Sounds like word is getting out. Now have a seat. This is about ready.”
She went to the table and sat.
“Douglas…” she finally said.
“Yes?”
She frowned.
“Something weird happened today.”
“What?”
“Christopher. He came by.”
“The house? I didn’t see him.”
“No. The therapy center.”
“Why?”
“Not sure. He said he was curious about what I did there. But I was with a client. It felt off.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“I did.”
“What did he say?”
“He apologized.”
“Did he leave?”
“Not right then. He left me his card.”
I saw her take a card out of her shirt pocket and look at the back. Her eyes widened. Then she tucked it into her jeans pocket. Her face seemed to redden.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. Not his card after all. I don’t know where it is.”
“A different pocket?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Whose card was it?”
“Client’s mom.”
I dipped a spoon into the green sauce. Tasted. Added salt. Stirred the mix slowly. I picked up a handful of basil and began to mince it.
“Well,” I said. “I don’t know what to say. From what I remember, Christopher can be kind of pushy. Especially around women.”
More than pushy.
I took the lid off a saucepan. Steam curled out.
“I kind of sensed that.”
I scooped some rice onto plates, spooned the curry over it, topped it with shredded basil.
“Here you go, hon.”
The curry steamed.
She took a bite. “Mmmm…good. Not too spicy. I love the basil.”
I sat and began to eat too. My body language gave something away.
“You OK?” she asked.
I paused.
“Christopher is a nice guy. We’ve been friends a long time.”
She took a bite of curry and gave me a thoughtful look.
“But be careful with him, Charlotte. OK?”
“Careful about what?”
“Just…careful.”
I could trust Charlotte. I would watch him.
In the morning, I looked at my digital calendar. Full day. Plus, I had some errands to run – mainly to the tack shop.
Horses need a lot of stuff.
When I reached the therapy center, I saw my assistant Molly outside with Daisy, giving her some exercise. Or that is what Molly always said. She liked Daisy. We all liked Daisy. And Daisy benefited.
“Hey Mol, how’s going?” I called across the paddock as I walked to the barn.
“Good, Char,” she replied. “How are you?”
“Great,” I answered. “How’s our best girl?”
Daisy’s head bobbed. She knew.
Molly laughed. “She’s good. Just giving her a walk.”
“She appreciates it.”
I walked to the little desk in the barn, set my phone on it. Then I thought of something. Or rather, a thought returned.
I stuck a hand in my jeans pocket. Nothing.
Wrong jeans.
I had half jumped out of my skin last night. Pulled Christopher’s card out right in front of Douglas. Saw the note he had written.
“Coffee?”
Maybe had over-reacted. Christopher seemed harmless. Flirty. But so are a lot of men. I’d seen Douglas flirt a hundred times. His approach was to make women laugh.
Christopher flattered.
I liked to laugh.
I also liked being noticed.
The first client arrived. One I knew well. Well enough I let Molly take over so I could go to Dover Saddlery.
Douglas had his Fine Lumber & Plywood, with its purpleheart boards and Eastern hard rock maple, its shellac and wood chisels. I had Dover. The smell of saddle soap and leather. The familiar halters. The dog-eared catalogs on the main desk.
I didn’t need much. Three new hoof picks – they kept disappearing. And a nylon halter in Navy. That color hides the dirt. And some new riding gloves – mine were torn.
I was back at the center and watched Molly finish with the client. She was good with the horses – and the kids, too. A good hire.
The rest of the day went smoothly. A sandwich for lunch, three afternoon clients, mucking out the stalls and checking the horses for saddle sores, lame feet, anything else. Horses were big, strong animals. Also incredibly vulnerable. An odd dichotomy, I always thought.
Douglas had written down some grocery items, and I had the list with me. I stopped at Central Market on the way home. I bought the list, and two nice tenderloins.
He appreciated that. Pan-seared them in a cast-iron skillet, then made a garlic butter. I mixed a salad.
We had become a good team.
We didn’t trip over each other.
And I liked playing games with him.
“What was the coolest thing you saw today?” I asked him.
He smiled. “Well, that’s an odd one.”
“I know. Go ahead.”
He thought.
“Something on the news. A black lab’s owner was in the military – gone for a year. While he was away the dog went blind. When the guy came home the dog smelled him. Went absolutely nuts.”
“Awwww,” I said.
“I know. We don’t deserve dogs.”
He looked at me.
“OK, what made your day?”
That was easy.
“The horses. I just love being around them. And the clients love them too.”
He smiled again. “Good answer.”
After we did the dishes, we curled up in the living room and turned on the TV. A baseball game – Rangers versus Angels.
At 10 I stretched. “Bed for me,” I said. “Come up soon?”
He had picked up a book. “Deep Survival,” by Laurence Gonzales.
“Soon.”
I looked at the cover.
“You read weird stuff.”
“Don’t mock me. I may survive something that you don’t.”
I gave him a kiss. “Come to bed soon. I’ll give you something to survive.”
His eyebrows went up.
I went upstairs. Remembered something.
I found my other pair of jeans. The card was there.
I went to bed. Held my phone.
I set it down.
“Coffee?” I read again.
Flipped it over. For the number.
I picked up the phone.
Began to text.
I heard footsteps on the stairs.