Lone Star Refuge. Mae & Gwen Nunn & Ford Faulkenberry
have the vision and the expertise to really help some people.”
“I believe I do.”
Clint leaned back and draped an arm over the ironwork back of the chair beside his. “Stella, one reason I agreed to meet with you is that I’ve heard your story. You may not realize it, but you’re something of a celebrity in this little town.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I know you’ve battled hardship and overcome a lot yourself. I was away at the height of your rodeo fame but I heard about how you brought the people of Kilgore together.”
“Oh, that.”
“To hear my parents talk, we might as well have changed our name to ‘The City of Star’ instead of ‘The City of Stars’.”
Stella blushed. “I wouldn’t go that far. I didn’t really do anything. It was the people of the community who blessed my family and me over and over with their support.” Her heart warmed at the memories of barbecue suppers, parades and the cards and letters that wallpapered her room at home. She also remembered the flowers that had poured in after her mother’s death. Lilies. “I guess that’s why I never want to move anywhere else. And in a way, this venture is a chance for me to give back to the people who have done so much for me.”
Clint smiled, seeming to understand. Then he said, “The other reason I’m interested is my son, Cade. He has Asperger’s syndrome. The symptoms have gotten worse since his mother left. I’ve done everything—spared no expense—but we’ve not found any therapies that have helped with his particular case.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Stella looked into his eyes and saw deep pools of pain she had not noticed before. “I’d love it if we could help him,” she said softly.
“Me, too. Tell me more...”
“DIOS MIA!” ALMA MADE the sign of the cross as she stepped across the threshold of the RV. “Joiner, mi cariño, are you really so poor that you must live here?”
Joiner pulled the door shut behind them and plopped down on the red velvet couch, spreading out his arms and crossing a boot over his knee. “Home sweet home!”
Alma rolled her eyes. As the Temple family’s housekeeper, she was the closest thing to a mother Joiner and his brothers had had since the plane accident that killed their parents when Joiner was in high school. She and her husband Felix had been their legal guardians until they came of age—and were still the glue that kept the family together.
“I thought you said it was in good shape.” Alma ran a finger over the counter top and held it up for Joiner to see. The dust was thick on her soft, tawny fingertip.
“It’s not that bad, is it? I mean, after you work your magic?”
“Magic? It’s going to take more than magic to make this place livable. It’s going to take elbow grease!”
“Well, I don’t want you working too hard, Alma. Let’s just get it livable. I probably won’t be here very long.” Joiner brought in her cleaning supplies from the truck while Alma opened all of the windows. Under her instruction, he vacuumed the red shag carpet that filled the living area and bedroom, and then scrubbed the toilet, shower and sink, as well as the linoleum in the tiny bath and kitchen.
Alma dusted the RV from top to bottom, removing all of the curtains to take home and wash, and beating the couch cushions outside with a broom. She stripped the bed of its velvet horse-print spread, remaking it with a new mattress cover, Egyptian cotton sheets, and Woolrich plaid comforter set she’d gotten from Gillian. It was a tasteful blue, red and green pattern with leather-trimmed matching pillows. She also scrubbed the small stovetop and oven and cleaned out the cabinets. Buster’s shot glass collection went into a Rubbermaid tub along with various other things she collected from around the RV: an old wall calendar of famous bronc riders, several trophies, cassette tapes of country music, an enormous belt buckle.
“Whew! Let’s take a break.” Joiner leaned on the mop and stretched his back.
“Just a few more things first.” Alma wiped her hands on her apron. “Take this tub of junk out.” She handed it to him with a look of disgust. “Then, bring in those kitchen things we got at Target, and also get your bathroom stuff set up. You can put your clothes in the bedroom, too. I still have to wash all of the windows.”
Joiner shook his head and grinned at her before obeying.
By noon the RV was passable by Alma’s standards, which were far higher than Joiner’s. It still needed power-washing on the outside, she said. But the interior gleamed. She spread out a quilt over the picnic table that sat adjacent to the RV under a tree and opened her basket.
“This table is convenient.” She handed him a tortilla filled with chorizo. “If you are camping.” Her brown eyes flickered with humor and something else.
Joiner grabbed an orange Fanta out of the basket and sat down to eat across from her. These were the tastes of his childhood. This woman and the sun had warmed every season of his life for as long as he could remember. “Do you still have that bracelet?”
Alma pulled up her sleeve. She wore the bracelet Joiner had made her for Mother’s Day long ago—a strap of brown leather with a hammered metal piece that read, Sky above me, Earth below me, Fire within me. It had weathered to the caramel color of her skin. “I never take it off.”
Joiner squeezed her hand from across the table. “Thank you, Alma. For everything.”
“You are welcome, mijo. De nada.”
* * *
AFTER HE DROVE Alma home, Joiner loaded up Pistol at Hunt’s barn. He was glad to be finished moving himself into the RV. This way he could make sure Pistol got all the time he needed this afternoon to become acclimated to his new surroundings—and hopefully Joiner could become a little more acclimated himself.
He still wasn’t fully comfortable with the idea of working under Stella. From what he could tell, she seemed pretty rigid. He wasn’t used to walking around on eggshells and he didn’t intend to start now. But it was what it was. At least Buster seemed to like him.
“Hey, buddy!” Buster swaggered out of the stable as Joiner was pulling up. Joiner jumped out of the truck and strode toward him. Buster shook his hand. “I thought we’d put your horse in here.”
He led Joiner through the stable, pointing out an old mare with gentle eyes named Daisy who had belonged to his wife. Beside Daisy was Stella’s horse, a white quarter horse named Vega. Across from Vega was the roomiest, best stall at the end of the row. There was new hay spread across the floor, oats in the feed bin and fresh water for drinking. The older man cocked his head to one side to gauge his reaction.
“Thanks, man,” Joiner said. “This is a great setup.”
Buster walked with him back to the horse trailer to unload Pistol. When Joiner led the shining black stallion out into the lot, he heard Buster catch his breath.
“That’s a good-looking horse.” Buster squinted into the sun. He pulled down his hat and then touched Pistol gently on his star. “Gosh darn, that’s a fine animal.”
Pistol held his head high and flared his nostrils. Then he shook his mane, pawing the ground with his front hooves.
“Do you mind if I take him for a ride around the place?” Joiner could feel the energy pulsing in Pistol’s neck, and it mirrored the nervousness in his own veins. They were both in need of an outlet, an adrenaline rush. It had been a few days, and Joiner was desperate for it.
“Go for it.” Buster grinned. “Just don’t get lost.”
While Joiner saddled Pistol, Buster walked over and held the gate that opened into the pasture. Joiner and Pistol cantered through, and