Mistletoe Twins. Lois Richer
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she’d be named Gina, for her sister.
You’ll be there for them, but who will be there for you?
Adele pushed away the painful thought. Right now, whatever was wrong, Mac needed her as his friend. She’d concentrate on that.
* * *
After dinner with his folks, Mac wandered outside, drawn automatically to his beloved miniature horses. They stood in a corner of their small paddock, huddled together against the cool of the autumn evening. At less than thirty-four inches tall they were the perfect height for petting. Their noses nuzzled him as if to say, “Welcome home.”
Delighted when two of his favorite mares began poking his pockets in search of the sugar lumps he always carried, Mac moved from animal to animal, bestowing the gift on each, totally at ease here, even without his other hand. Miniatures were so gentle. They didn’t prance or act up or need constant attention. They always seemed perfectly content to be exactly where they were. He envied them that.
Adele had phoned to say she was bringing the twins tomorrow. Since all eight of his miniatures were in excellent condition, Mac figured he’d saddle his two favorites and see if he could teach Francie and Franklyn to ride.
In another phone call tonight, Adele’s sister Victoria had again urged his dad to instigate a trail riding program for The Haven using the Double M’s horses. His father wasn’t interested but Mac was, especially after a glance at the ranch books. Their income needed a boost and since their ranch hand, Gabe, had experience using horses in an equine training program for kids, trail riding seemed doable.
If he took over the ranch...
“You be nice to Francie and Franklyn when they come,” Mac told his horses, veering away from making that decision, smoothing their backs as he spoke. “In the morning I’ll give you a special currying so you look good.”
Here among his pets, as he talked to them and smoothed their flanks, his restless soul slowly calmed and he could think more clearly. Was the Double M where he belonged? He wasn’t sure, and though he tried to pray about it, God’s leading seemed dulled by the guilt he felt.
“I want to do what the parents expect. I want to take over for them, give them a break, even keep their legacy going. But what if—”
And that was the problem in a nutshell. What if? What if he couldn’t take the lifestyle? What if he messed up the ranch like he’d messed up his copilot Dave’s life? And his own. What if he needed a bigger, better, faster thrill to satisfy the empty hole inside him? And what if because of Dave and that undeserved medal the military had issued him, Mac never got past the lump of guilt that lay in his gut like a ball of cement?
If he told Adele the whole truth, she’d push him to seek Dave’s forgiveness, make things right with his bosses. But giving back the medal would raise too many questions and revive the crash that he only wanted to forget. His parents would be ashamed and appalled by his behavior.
Dave wouldn’t be so willing to forgive the man who’d made him a paraplegic, either. Hearing his blame given voice would make the guilt ten times worse. Besides, what good would it do now? Mac had lost his hand. Dave had lost the use of his legs.
Frustrated and confused, thoughts muddled by too many questions without answers, Mac made sure the horses were safely enclosed, then walked back to the house. He was going to have to talk to Adele’s aunties soon. He needed their advice to figure out his future.
The hard part would be living up to Adele’s expectations.
“Good old Snowball.” Adele laughed the following afternoon when, after not receiving a treat, the miniature horse stamped her hoof against the ground and whinnied. “Pretty girl doesn’t look much older than when I last saw her.”
“She’s a grandmother now.” Mac’s eyes softened as he patted the shaggy white horse. “Those are her children. Diver was her first. Then Flyer, both geldings. And this little one is Princess.”
“She looks like a Princess. I remember when Snowball was your first and only miniature.” Adele smiled as the dainty mama pushed her head against Franklyn’s shoulder.
“They’re like big dogs,” Franklyn squealed, backing away.
“They gots different colors.” Francie at least wasn’t afraid of the horses. “Why?”
“Different breeds.” Mac held Snowball’s bridle and encouraged the children to pet her.
“But those other horses don’t gots lots of colors. How come?” Francie’s focus was on the corral where the Double M’s full-size horses had gathered to watch them.
“I know why.” Adele thought that here among his pets Mac seemed totally content and at his most charming. “Lots of horse breeds allow only certain colors. But minis can have Appaloosa spots, pinto patches or tan buckskins with dark legs and manes and tails.”
“I’m impressed you remembered.” Mac grinned, then hunkered down to Francie’s level. “People who own miniature horses like all the colors. Some horse shows even have competitions for the most colorful miniatures.”
That grin—Adele drew in a calming breath. Why did she keep having these unusual reactions to Mac? He was just a friend, a good friend, but...
“Did your horses ever win?” a wide-eyed Franklyn wondered.
“Mac’s won tons of ribbons and trophies for his minis,” Adele told them proudly, then chastised herself. It wasn’t as if she’d helped him win them. All she’d done was be there to cheer him on.
“Would you like to ride one of my little horses, Francie?” Mac asked after the twins had petted each one.
“Can I?” The little girl’s eyes grew huge.
“I polished the saddles in case you’d want to.” Mac glanced at Adele, apparently noticing, like her, that Franklyn didn’t seem as enthusiastic about riding as his sister. “Would you mind waiting for your turn until after your sister has ridden?” he asked the boy.
Franklyn jerked his head in a quick nod of relief. Adele drew him with her to stand near the fence where they could listen in on Mac’s quick lesson to his sister.
“This is Esther. She likes to be ridden by children, though she hasn’t done it for a while.” Mac led the dappled mare toward a saddle flung over the top rail. With ease he grabbed it with his one hand and set it on Esther’s back, patiently explaining his actions to the curious twins as he quickly fastened the many buckles. “Okay, she’s ready. Are you?”
“I guess.” Francie’s face scrunched up. “How do I get on?”
“I’ll give you a boost and you swing your other leg over Esther’s back. Put your feet in these. They’re called stirrups. Ready?” At her nod he cupped his hand and encouraged her to put her foot in a stirrup and grab the saddle horn.
For Adele it was déjà vu. Mac had taught her to ride in exactly the same calm, assured way.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.” Francie gave Adele an excited grin, then prepared for the next direction.
“Good. These are the reins. Hold them in your hand, not too tightly, and very gently press your heels against her side. That tells Esther to start walking,” Mac said. “Ready? Go.”
Adele noted how Mac kept his hand on the horse behind the saddle, either to calm the animal or reassure the child, or both. As Esther moved, he walked along beside her, constantly encouraging Francie. Though Adele knew he’d taught many kids to ride the larger Double M horses, as he’d taught her, she’d forgotten how gentle he was, correcting in a way that enhanced the experience for the rider. His entire focus was on