Happy Hour by Michele Scott Page A

there.” He
pointed to a set of wash racks on the other side of one of the arenas where she
could see Maddie spraying off a horse and laughing.
    “There will be a next time, right?”
    “Oh, no. I don’t know about that. Like I said, I can’t really afford it.”
    He nodded. “Did you like it? If you could afford it, would you do it?”
    She stood there for a few seconds thinking about it. “Yes. You know, I
think I would. I wanted to ride as a kid and I think it would be fun and good
for me too.”
    “I have an offer. Saturdays I run a horsemanship for the handicapped
program. I’m always needing volunteers and all you have to do is help the kids
brush and saddle the horses, and then a team of two to three people lead the
horse and kid around.”
    “I don’t know if I could do that.”
    “I can teach you. It won’t take long. I could also knock off a few more
dollars with Maddie’s lessons.”
    “You do this for everyone?” She smiled.
    “Only the pretty ones.” He winked at her.
    “Ah.” She didn’t know how to respond. Was he coming on to her?
    “You seem like a nice woman and it’s obvious you’ve had some rough times.
Let me help.”
    “Pity service.”
    He sighed. “If you’re helping me help some handicapped folks, I don’t
think that I am pitying you. I believe in helping others. Or are you too proud
to accept that?”
    She crossed her arms and studied him. He was right. She had no room to be
too proud and helping others was a good thing. And if it meant that
Maddie could do something she loved a little more often, then who was she to
say no? “When do you want me here to start my training?”

 
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alyssa
    Alyssa closed the gallery to prepare for her art classes, taking up the
largest area in the three sectioned-off gallery spaces.  She covered the
paintings in that area with tarp, as well as the flooring—just in case.
    She set up chairs, easels and all of the supplies. Alyssa loved the way
the rich earthy scent of her oil paints with their acidic overtones assaulted
her senses, signaling that call to arms—pick up that paintbrush!
    Five people, including Danielle, showed up for the Wednesday evening art
class. It was a mixed group, with an age range from nineteen to seventy. They
were a good group, all interested, and some even showing talent as Alyssa had
them do the first sketch—wine or vineyard-related—which would later become
their first oil.
    After a demonstration period and then some questions and answers, the
artists went to work and creativity flowed. This was Alyssa in her element. To
add to the ambience, she put on some old jazz classics. Snapping her fingers in
time to Ella Fitzgerald, she moved around the room, offering advice and
guidance.
    She stood over Danielle. “I like it. You’re pretty good at this.”
    Danielle looked up at her and smiled. “You think so?” Alyssa nodded.
“Thanks.”
    “You okay?”
    “Sure. I’m good,” Danielle replied. “Better. I’m doing better.”
    Alyssa wasn’t convinced. Maybe she’d talk to her at dinner. There was a
lot on her plate right now, but Alyssa wouldn’t push her. If anyone respected
privacy, she did, as she valued hers so much and would never really want to
discuss the things that hurt her most. The past was gone and it could not be
changed, so why bother sharing it with anyone? It was far easier to shove it
aside, try and forget about it, and move on.
    Two hours later, the artists put away their supplies, thanked Alyssa, and
headed back to their everyday lives. Danielle helped her put chairs and easels
away, and take down the tarps.
    “That was great.” Danielle held up her sketch of a wine bottle and a slab
of cheese surrounded by grapes. “I needed that. Some time away.”
    “Good,” Alyssa replied. “I’m happy you could make it over. You have some
real talent.”
    “Speaking of talent, you said that you had a new painting you were
working on.”
    “I’m not quite ready to show