Lone Star Refuge. Mae & Gwen Nunn & Ford Faulkenberry
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to do. He could train and board horses, breed Pistol, teach riding; the possibilities were endless. And that was something Joiner liked—keeping his options open.
“Why not? Why did you place the ad, then?”
Buster adjusted his cowboy hat. “I can answer both of your questions with one word—Love.”
“Something tells me there’s more to it than that.” Joiner leaned closer, prompting the older man to continue.
“Son, if you think love ain’t enough, you got a lot to learn.”
Joiner could only imagine his brothers’ responses when he recounted this story. It seemed straight out of a dime-store novel about some dying breed of cowboy-philosophers. The hooting and hollering among the Temple brothers would be abundant.
Still, in the short time he’d spent with Buster, Joiner had become somewhat impressed with the older man. No one could be more outwardly different from Joiner’s own father, who’d been a doctor, even though his dad and Buster would be about the same age if Dr. Temple had still been alive. But there was a quality there that felt familiar, a certain wisdom. Joiner wondered if there were ghosts that haunted Buster, as his grandfather’s tarnished reputation had haunted his father for years.
“Love?”
“I lost my wife—Stella’s mama—when she was thirty-six years old. She was a rodeo queen who became a hands-on mother after we had Stella. Then one day she got on a horse like she did every other day, only this time she fell off and died. It was a freak accident. She was gone from us, just like that.”
Joiner shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Lily was also a naturalist, loved everything homegrown. She adored this place. It belonged to her family. She rode horses all over it, had her a garden. It was her sanctuary. I was gone all the time, but I like to think because of this land she wasn’t lonely.” Buster sighed. The water rolling over the rocks in front of them seemed to sigh with him.
“She taught Stella at home. Not for religious reasons, like a lot of people around here. With her it was more for personal freedom and what she called ‘independence of thought’.” Buster smiled as he made quotation marks in the air, and then continued, “They were always into these experiments and things Stella never would have done in public school. Lily, that’s my wife, she would take her to the creek here and they’d collect jars of water and come home and identify all of the little creatures under a microscope. They’d go on walks and look up wildflowers in a book to learn their names. They hung artwork all over the house, even painted constellations on the ceiling of Stella’s room. They milked goats and made their own cheese.”
“Wow. That’s neat. And I can vouch for the fact we did not do that kind of stuff at Kilgore High School.”
“Well, I’m not knocking the school. Stella ended up graduating from there and the teachers were good to her. She was only sixteen when her mother passed.”
Joiner felt a pang, remembering how painful it had been to lose his own parents at a young age. “Is that when you retired from the rodeo?”
“Yes. I was fifty, and twenty years past a bronc rider’s prime. It was time for me to hang it up, and Stella needed the stability of a home. I couldn’t take her riding around Texas with me in that RV.”
Joiner swallowed hard. The story was a lot to take in. Finally, he said, “But what about my second question? What did love have to do with putting the land up for sale?”
“Stella. She has this dream and I wanted to make it come true. But I’m not exactly high on funds.”
“What does she want to do?”
“She wants to open a place here where kids with problems can come be with horses. ‘Equestrian therapy’ she calls it.” Buster made quote marks in the air again. “I don’t know about the fancy name, but I am a firm believer that spending time with horses is good for you. I’ve had a couple horses I like better than most people.”
“I can relate to that.” Joiner laughed. “Right now Pistol is pretty much my guiding star. Well, he and my brothers. Since my polo funds dried up, I’m at a bit of a loss as to what to do with the rest of my life. I can’t say I’ll settle down in Kilgore for good, but I’d prefer to be near my brothers while I’m figuring out my next step. And one thing’s for sure—whatever I do next will involve Pistol. We’re a package deal.”
“I like that loyalty. You know, there’s an old Spanish proverb that says a man who does not love a horse cannot love a woman.” Buster sat up, planting his boots back on the floorboard of the pumpkin. “I guess we better head for the house.”
* * *
THEY WERE QUIET for the ride across Buster’s 450-acre kingdom. Mugsy and Mitzi ran along beside them till Buster deemed they were tired out, then he slowed down for them to jump into the pumpkin. When the house came into view, Buster pointed out a barn to the far right of it. Joiner had noticed it when he was driving up—a big horse barn painted red, with a white star above the doors. He saw now that there was a riding arena behind it.
“That’s Stella’s setup.”
Buster didn’t go any closer. Instead, he veered left toward the house, and Joiner noticed the old RV again under the trees.
“Was that your rodeo mansion?” He pointed to it. Surprisingly, Buster drove up close.
“That’s it. We use it as a guesthouse now. Wanna see inside?”
He turned off the motor of the pumpkin without waiting for Joiner to answer. Using a key to unlock the RV, Buster held the door open for Joiner to enter. Despite the dust, it was surprisingly well-kept inside. Kind of like a museum dedicated to the rodeo life of yesteryear.
“You know, since I can’t sell the land, I’d consider renting the guesthouse if you can think of anyone who might be interested. Especially someone with a strong back for work and horses they’d like to board.” Buster tugged at his whiskers. “I don’t want any riffraff, though.”
Joiner didn’t tell the older man what he was thinking, that “riffraff” were the only ones who would be interested in the setup. Except, maybe, for him.
“What about me?” Joiner couldn’t believe the words had come out of his mouth, but he didn’t try to retrieve them. He liked Buster. And something, though admittedly he couldn’t see what, was drawing him to the place.
“You? A pretty boy like you?”
“Mr. Scout, I need a place to live and board my horse, and you won’t sell me any land.” Joiner kicked a clod of dirt.
“Call me Buster.”
“Okay, Buster.”
“You serious?”
“I’m not afraid of hard work. If you’ll let me board Pistol and breed him out of here maybe I can save up the money to get my own place when the right one becomes available.” Joiner raised his eyebrows and grinned at the older man. “One that is actually for sale.”
“You’re a smart aleck, you know it?” Buster held out his hand for a shake. “But I don’t mind a little of that—and I might be able to make a real cowboy out of you. It’s a deal.”
Joiner shook his hand and they hopped back into the pumpkin. Buster sped the rest of the way to the house as if he was late for a party. Joiner liked the older man’s style.
“Stella!” Buster called, opening the back door. “Pretty? Stellllaaaa!”
An image of Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire flashed through Joiner’s mind. He followed Buster into the foyer, where Buster called her again, looking up the stairs.
“I guess she ain’t in here.”
“Well, sir, if you don’t mind, I’ll just get going. I’ll start moving