think
horses give a damn what I wear,” hissed the fourteen year old, finding her
voice.
“Don’t look so
mortified. Ed’s right, you forgot to put on a bra this morning.” Maggie’s mouth
turned up slightly. “Besides, there aren’t any boys out here to attract.”
“Mom!”
Watching her
teenage daughter stalk toward the house, Maggie wondered why Carolyn hadn’t put
on a bra. The only male to see her was Ed Harrington and he was old enough—she
shivered—to know better, that was for sure. A mother daughter talk was in order,
most definitely.
She and Ed
Harrington would at least agree on that. His overreaction earlier began to make
more sense. He’d been enraged at Carolyn’s brazenness. That was understandable,
yet he did seem overly protective of all of them. Yes, each of them would
probably be stepped on or kicked at some time. Ed couldn’t prevent that from
happening.
Turning to speak to
Johnny, Maggie shrugged seeing the boy had already returned to brushing the
mare. Ed stood next to him clucking about something. Damn, she was getting
tired of the tension. She knew it wasn’t all caused by the horses, saving the
land, or girls without bras.
Whether he’d admit
it or not, she’d gotten under his skin just as he was definitely under hers. He
was like an itch that wouldn’t go away; trying to ignore the annoying ache didn’t
seem to be working at all.
Later that evening,
Maggie sat across from her pouting daughter in the small room she
affectionately called her office retreat. After Mason’s death, she’d turned a
tiny bedroom into a den of sorts. Slouching piles of bills and ledgers sat on
one corner of an oak desk. A computer took up space on another corner. Dust across
its keys attested to the amount of time she devoted to learning how to use it. That
was the problem. It took less time to enter the figures in a ledger than it did
to learn how to manipulate a spread sheet. On the floor beside the desk and in
front of the small sofa across from it, where Carolyn sullenly waited, sat
piles of tattered magazines and books on horseracing.
Supper had been a
silent affair. Ed stayed away; no one seemed in the mood for conversation.
Reluctantly,
Carolyn had joined her mom. She sat rigidly, refusing to soften her defiant
stance.
Maggie glanced at
the framed picture on her desk. It had been taken at a family picnic three
years earlier. Everyone seemed so happy then. Did the picture lie? Just a
little? Sure, there had been conflicts. Most families had some, just like most
family pictures lied, a little bit. Three years ago no one could have foreseen
what was to happen—Mason’s death, Anderson Racing Stables, a haggard stranger
becoming her hope for saving the land, that same stranger wreaking havoc on her
mind and body. The picture remained an important memento of the past; it had
nothing to say about the future.
Frowning, Maggie
wondered what Mason would have said to his daughter about her untoward
behavior. She shook her head. It didn’t matter what he might do. She was the
only one there to deal with the situation. Patience. She needed patience.
“Well, what were
you trying to do going down to the barn without a bra on?” Maggie inquired
gently, trying not to accuse. “You’ve grown to be a young woman. You have to
dress like one.”
Carolyn’s sulk
deepened. Was this the beginning of the dreaded teenage rebellion? They had
been spared most of that, so far. She’d always enjoyed their mother daughter
confidences. Now, she feared part of who they’d been was slipping away. “We’ve
always been able to talk. I’m more upset with your withdrawing from me than
about the show you put on at the barn.”
A trace of a smile
crossed Carolyn’s lips.
“Not wearing a bra
was a deliberate choice wasn’t it?”
Her daughter’s eyes
went wide with fear; then she nodded hesitantly.
“Why? Surely, you
don’t think Mr. Harrington…”
“Oh, Mother,” Carolyn
interrupted, crossing
horses give a damn what I wear,” hissed the fourteen year old, finding her
voice.
“Don’t look so
mortified. Ed’s right, you forgot to put on a bra this morning.” Maggie’s mouth
turned up slightly. “Besides, there aren’t any boys out here to attract.”
“Mom!”
Watching her
teenage daughter stalk toward the house, Maggie wondered why Carolyn hadn’t put
on a bra. The only male to see her was Ed Harrington and he was old enough—she
shivered—to know better, that was for sure. A mother daughter talk was in order,
most definitely.
She and Ed
Harrington would at least agree on that. His overreaction earlier began to make
more sense. He’d been enraged at Carolyn’s brazenness. That was understandable,
yet he did seem overly protective of all of them. Yes, each of them would
probably be stepped on or kicked at some time. Ed couldn’t prevent that from
happening.
Turning to speak to
Johnny, Maggie shrugged seeing the boy had already returned to brushing the
mare. Ed stood next to him clucking about something. Damn, she was getting
tired of the tension. She knew it wasn’t all caused by the horses, saving the
land, or girls without bras.
Whether he’d admit
it or not, she’d gotten under his skin just as he was definitely under hers. He
was like an itch that wouldn’t go away; trying to ignore the annoying ache didn’t
seem to be working at all.
Later that evening,
Maggie sat across from her pouting daughter in the small room she
affectionately called her office retreat. After Mason’s death, she’d turned a
tiny bedroom into a den of sorts. Slouching piles of bills and ledgers sat on
one corner of an oak desk. A computer took up space on another corner. Dust across
its keys attested to the amount of time she devoted to learning how to use it. That
was the problem. It took less time to enter the figures in a ledger than it did
to learn how to manipulate a spread sheet. On the floor beside the desk and in
front of the small sofa across from it, where Carolyn sullenly waited, sat
piles of tattered magazines and books on horseracing.
Supper had been a
silent affair. Ed stayed away; no one seemed in the mood for conversation.
Reluctantly,
Carolyn had joined her mom. She sat rigidly, refusing to soften her defiant
stance.
Maggie glanced at
the framed picture on her desk. It had been taken at a family picnic three
years earlier. Everyone seemed so happy then. Did the picture lie? Just a
little? Sure, there had been conflicts. Most families had some, just like most
family pictures lied, a little bit. Three years ago no one could have foreseen
what was to happen—Mason’s death, Anderson Racing Stables, a haggard stranger
becoming her hope for saving the land, that same stranger wreaking havoc on her
mind and body. The picture remained an important memento of the past; it had
nothing to say about the future.
Frowning, Maggie
wondered what Mason would have said to his daughter about her untoward
behavior. She shook her head. It didn’t matter what he might do. She was the
only one there to deal with the situation. Patience. She needed patience.
“Well, what were
you trying to do going down to the barn without a bra on?” Maggie inquired
gently, trying not to accuse. “You’ve grown to be a young woman. You have to
dress like one.”
Carolyn’s sulk
deepened. Was this the beginning of the dreaded teenage rebellion? They had
been spared most of that, so far. She’d always enjoyed their mother daughter
confidences. Now, she feared part of who they’d been was slipping away. “We’ve
always been able to talk. I’m more upset with your withdrawing from me than
about the show you put on at the barn.”
A trace of a smile
crossed Carolyn’s lips.
“Not wearing a bra
was a deliberate choice wasn’t it?”
Her daughter’s eyes
went wide with fear; then she nodded hesitantly.
“Why? Surely, you
don’t think Mr. Harrington…”
“Oh, Mother,” Carolyn
interrupted, crossing
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