The next few weeks were busy. Nolan was building a storyboard for the filming. Rory was finishing the script, then editing it, then rewriting it as a story, then redoing parts of the script because, now that he had a firm grip on the story, the script had to be modified a bit.
It was a story about a gay boy who didn’t fit in anywhere. He’d been disowned by his parents, he was drifting without any purpose, and he ended up at a ranch with a grouchy old-timer who needed someone to take care of a young rescue horse he’d just been given that he had no interest in. The boy and horse bonded, and the horse gave the boy the purpose he was missing. It was a perfect role for Cary, a more mature one, and would be the first time he’d played a gay character.
With Rory working hard on the script, the two boys were left to themselves once they’d moved into the house. Lillian, the previous owner, was still packing up her things, and the boys spoke to her about buying horses. She was the perfect one to ask because she knew all the neighbors. Several of them had horses they raised for sale or rent. Movies that featured horses were still being made, and horses were a profit point for ranchers. Lillian knew who had the best horses, and she directed them there.
That ranch, the Cosgrove place, was a few miles away, and the boys needed transport. That was easy; Lillian called the people there, and they were happy to come pick up the boys as there was a likely sale of two horses involved. “These are good honest people,” Lillian told Cary and Trace. “They’ll name a fair price, and you can trust them. Just watch out for one thing.” She laughed when she said it.
“What’s that?” Cary asked.
“They have a daughter, Sissy. She’s something. You’ll see.”
« »
Cary felt like a big brother to Trace, which was more due to the way Trace acted than because of age differences. They were only a couple of months apart. Trace would turn fifteen in a few weeks. But he was smaller than Cary, and shyer, and lacked any semblance of self-confidence, and though Cary had had the same problems, this summer had brought about changes in him. He was feeling much better about himself now. Being with Rory had helped; Rory only said positive things about him and kept telling him he could do what he didn’t think he could, and that had made a difference.
His growing maturity had also been bolstered when he’d started feeling protective about Trace. It was a big brotherly feeling, he guessed. Now they were being driven to look at horses. Mrs. Cosgrove had picked them up. She was a lady in her mid to late forties, pretty in a mature woman sort of way, and was dressed like Cary assumed ranch ladies dressed: blue jeans and a tee shirt. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and she smiled a lot.
Mrs. Cosgrove brought her daughter Sissy with her, the ‘something’ they’d been warned about. She was a dark-haired girl dressed as though she’d copied her mother. Cary guessed she was thirteen or fourteen, but most of the girls he’d known or spent any time with were girls acting a part, a TV or movie role, and he’d been told the way they behaved on set wasn’t how normal girls did in real life. He’d had very little contact with normal, unscripted girls.
They drove to the Cosgrove ranch and up to a house that was smaller than the one Rory and Nolan had just purchased. There were stables there, too, but they were well away from the house. They all got out of the car, and Mrs. Cosgrove said, “Sissy will show you around. She knows more about the horses than I do. Girls and horses—what can I tell you?”
Cary grinned broadly. He was reminded of what he’d heard a production crew member say when he’d heard that same comment about girls and horses: ‘Yeah, girls like something large and active between their legs, especially when they’re holding the reins.’
Mrs. Cosgrove gave him a look, and he said, “Okay, thanks for the ride. We’ll come get you when we’re ready to go back.”
“I’m sure it’ll be more than an hour. I’ll fix some lunch for the three of you. Sissy doesn’t get much chance to mingle with boys her age and never with such good looking ones.”
“MOM!”
Mrs. Cosgrove laughed and went into the house.
Sissy took over. Cary thought, well, it was her place. But he was still amused. She was younger than they were. That was plain to see. Not a lot, but younger. But unlike him and Trace, there wasn’t an ounce of shyness in her.
“You guys know anything about horses?”
“I rode one once,” Cary offered. Of course, how that horseback ride had ended was what Cary mostly remembered, and he blushed.
Sissy saw the blush and misinterpreted it. “Fell off, did you? Hey, everyone has to learn. I never fell off, though. I guess I need to pick out a couple of gentle ones, though. How about you?” She looked at Trace.
Cary was interested to see how Trace was going to react to a girl who was very sure of herself. He knew how it would go with a boy: Trace would sink into himself. Would he answer this girl at all? Would he blush? Would he look at the ground?
Trace surprised him. “I need to learn to ride and care for a horse. I’m really looking forward to this. I’ve always wanted to learn about animals. Now, maybe I can have my own horse. I want to so bad! If you can help, please do.”
“Wow!” Cary looked at him and grinned. “That was great!”
Trace didn’t even look embarrassed. “What?”
Cary shook his head, then turned to Sissy. “Enough jibber-jabber. Let’s see the horses.”
“You talk funny. And look familiar, somehow. But yeah, come with me. We have some great animals.”
She took them out into a field with a long line of white-railed fence designating it as a pasture. A dozen or so horses grazed there, their heads down while they ignored everything but their breakfast. Sissy reached into a backpack she was wearing and took out several carrots. Then she called out, and the horses looked up. Some went back to grazing. A few came over at the sight of the carrots.
“These are the tamer ones,” Sissy said. The horses were lipping her hand, trying to get at the carrots.
Trace was transfixed. Cary noted he didn’t seem scared or intimidated by them at all.
“Won’t they bite?” Cary asked.
“No, they don’t do that. Here, you want a carrot or not?”
“Yes, please.”
She handed them each a carrot, and while Cary showed some reluctance, Trace reached out to the closest horse. It was a medium-brown color with a white blaze on its face, and large, intelligent eyes. It lowered its head to reach the carrot and took it gently with its teeth, its lips brushing Trace’s finger.
Sissy shook her head and said, “You’ve done this before.”
“No, first time.”
“Amazing. I’ve helped a lot of people feed a lot of horses, and you’re the first one who didn’t pull away when he felt the horse’s lips touch him.”
Trace was looking at the horse, who was still looking at him. He reached up and rubbed its head. “What’s his name?”
“Tatum. She’s—“ she emphasized the ‘she’ “—one of my favorites. I didn’t name her after the movie star with that name. It just sounded to me like a good name for someone with lots of smarts and character. I could see that in her even when she was a foal. There was something special about her. She seems smarter than most of them. And gentler. I’ll miss her, but she seems to like you, Trace, and she’d be great with you. She’s saddle broke, so you can ride her right away. She’s only two. You guys can grow up together.”
“I can buy her?”
“Yep. They’re all for sale. That’s our business. I’ve learned to get used to losing the ones I really like.”
Trace looked at Cary. “Do you think Rory’ll let me have her?”
He nodded. “I think Rory’ll do pretty much anything you ask him to. That’s how he is.”
“Are you going to pick one?”
“I think I’ll let Sissy pick one for me.”
“Excellent,” Sissy said. “Tatum stays near another one; they’re friends. And she’s great, too. Her name is Mandy.” She gave a carrot to Cary, then pointed out which of the horses to give it to.
Cary was a little more skeptical of the large teeth the horse showed than Trace had been. But he was successful, the horse was happy with the carrot, and Cary was happy he hadn’t lost a finger. Sissy took the boys back to her house for lunch.
« »
Two weeks later, Sissy made a point of getting together privately with Cary. She’d been coming to the boys’ house every day, teaching them to ride, teaching them what owning a horse was all about. She’d gone with them to a tack store, feed store and saddle store—actually, one store had everything horse, from stall mats and shavings to tack to Western clothing. Everything for the fledgling ranch hands they now were. Sissy laughed when Cary tried on and bought a Western hat and boots, but Trace was so impressed with how he looked that he bought the same things.
But she needed to speak to Cary, and the next time she came to their house, she pulled Cary aside. This was easy to do because Trace tended to spend as much time as he could with Tatum, and at that moment he was in the stable grooming her. Grooming her while speaking to her, too—he did a lot of that.
Sissy had Cary to herself. “You guys are doing fine now and don’t need me anymore,” she said. “I won’t be showing up every day any longer. This’ll be my last time unless you call me.”
“Why? I like you here. And we still have a lot to learn.”
“That’s right; you do. But you can learn it on your own; it’ll just take a little longer. You’ve got the important stuff down now. And I’m only a phone call away if you need something.”
“Yeah, but why? You like coming here. I can tell. So why stop?”
“I have things to do at home. But, well, you want to know the real reason?”
“Yeah.”
“You want me here. Trace doesn’t. Well, that might be a little too strong, but he’s uncomfortable with me here. You might have noticed—or not—but he follows you everywhere with his eyes. And he’s getting more and more jealous of me. I just think it’s best if I’m not around so much.”
Cary opened his mouth, then realized he didn’t know what to say, so closed it again.
“By the way,” Sissy said, “I figured out why you look familiar. But don’t worry. If you wanted me to know you’re a famous movie star, you’d have said. That means you probably don’t want anyone knowing. They won’t hear it from me.”
“I’m not famous. But, thanks, Sissy. For that and for all the help you’ve been.”
“Just call me if you need me. I like you guys. You don’t cop an attitude about a girl telling you what to do. Most guys your age do.”
« »
Both boys were now exploring the ranch on horseback. Like many young people, they took to being on horseback much quicker than adults did. The ranch had both flat pastureland and rolling hills. Cary had been right: there were a couple of places where they could see the ocean.
They were close enough to Santa Barbara that Rory took them to dinner there at least once a week. He claimed he was an awful cook. In fact, he wasn’t, but he didn’t enjoy doing it, and he had gotten used to fine dining in the time he’d spent in L.A. Santa Barbara had many fine restaurants.
He’d invited Harper out to the ranch several times, but she’d only come once. She said it was just too far a drive for her and told him he should come back home now and then.
He grinned. “Actually, the ranch is feeling more and more like my home now. The boys are loving it, and it’s a long drive.”
Now that Sissy wasn’t spending so much time with the boys, Trace didn’t feel the need to be with Cary every moment of the day. He was spending more time alone now with Tatum. The two were bonding much more closely than Cary was with Mandy.
One afternoon, Rory found the time to talk to Cary privately.
“Cary, I’ve been watching you. I’m so proud of you. At the beginning of the summer, you were much different from how you are now. Your shyness was apparent, and it was holding you back. You were timid and lacked self-confidence.”
Cary nodded his agreement but didn’t drop his eyes from Rory.
“Now, though, that’s not who you are any longer. You carry yourself differently. You stand more erect. You meet people’s eyes; you look and act more mature. You’re now well on the way to being a young man. The few months older you are now doesn’t seem to fully explain the change. But changed you are, and it’s good. Really good. You deserve all the credit in the world for how you’ve become.”
Cary said, “I agree with some of that. I am older, so that might be part of it. But for most of it, it was all that time with you. I tried to copy how you behave. That has to be the largest part of it.”
He stopped, but Rory remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
“Then Trace joined us,” he said, “and I’m trying hard to be a good influence on him. He’s a lot like I was, and seeing myself in someone else makes it much clearer than trying to see it just in myself. I see things in him that make me feel bad for him, and that makes me want even more to stop acting that way myself.”
Cary shook his head. “Self-analysis is hard. Your ego gets involved. But I’ve been trying to change, and I’ve realized it’s true, what you said about playing football, I mean. Doing what scares you takes away the fear.
“I’ve seen how shyness actually makes the person you’re with uncomfortable. I never wanted that to happen. Yet, I’d never have had the courage to try to change if we hadn’t spent the time together we did this summer and without your support.”
He paused, thinking back, then asked, “Remember Huron? And Evan? That was so hard for me, walking over to speak to those kids. I only did it so you wouldn’t be disappointed in me. I might have actually been shaking a little. But I did it! And I learned a lot. I learned I could do it.”
Rory shook his head. “Don’t paste the credit on me. It was all you, Cary. Remember how you used to speak in one-sentence, as-few-words-as-possible snippets? Now you speak in paragraphs. And don’t look timid at all. Really, I’m so proud of you I could spit.”
Cary laughed.
« »
When Rory bought the two horses from the Cosgroves, part of the sale included a soundness exam by a local vet. The Cosgroves all called him Doc. His name was Jeremy Tyler, DVS, but he told the boys and Rory he was fine with being called Doc. He looked to be in his late fifties, early sixties, and there was an air of both friendliness and competence about him.
He’d checked out Tatum and Mandy and given Rory a written certificate of health for each. Then he’d shaken Rory’s hand and said goodbye to the boys. “You have any trouble, now or later, give me a ring. I’m only about ten minutes away. Call-outs are my main business. I have a partner who stays in the clinic and does most of our small animal work. I like the big guys, especially horses.”
It was several days later when Trace came into the house to speak to Rory. “Tatum has a limp. It’s not bad, but we need to call Doc, have him look at her.”
“Okay, I’ve got the number here.” He hunted in his desk, then said, “Yeah, here it is. Give him a call.”
“Huh? Me? I should call him?”
“Yeah. Your horse; your responsibility. What’s the problem with you calling him?”
“Well, I’m a kid.”
“Trace, you’re not a kid. You’re a young man who owns a horse that needs a vet to look at it. This is what you do when you have a problem. You don’t let someone else take care of it for you if it’s in your power to fix it. I’d be taking some of your power away from you if I did this. You’d feel impotent. This way, you keep and increase your personal power.”
“I’ve never called a doctor before.”
“The first time doing something can be hard, and after that, it’s easier. Go ahead. No time like the present.”
Trace called the vet, and Doc came out later that morning. He had Trace walk Tatum a short distance, then said, “Yep, front left fetlock. Let me check it.”
Before doing so, he asked Trace if he knew what the fetlock was. Trace shook his head.
“Some people call it the ankle but it’s really more of an upper knuckle.” He stooped down and felt the foot and fetlock, then asked Trace to do what he’d just done on the left fetlock. Tatum stood still while all this was happening. “Good horse you have here,” Doc said.
“I love her,” Trace said, pride in his voice. “I think she feels the same about me.”
“Okay,” Doc said. He understood how many young boys felt about their horses; he’d seen it often. “Now feel the right fetlock and tell me what you feel.”
Trace did, then said, “The left one is warmer.”
“Right on. That’s what you should do when you see a limp; feel the leg and fetlock and all the way down. Heat means there’s something going on. This is very mild. Probably just a bruised tendon or strain. There are five tendons that attach at the fetlock. That’s an easy area to get bruised. Still, it could be serious. What you want to do is monitor it. That means keep track of it. If it gets worse, call me and I’ll do some tests. And don’t ride her till the limp is gone. That’ll probably be a few days. But feeling the fetlock three, four times a day will tell you how she’s doing. If the fetlock remains warm but doesn’t get any warmer—or hotter for that matter—run cold water from the hose on it for ten minutes after checking it. Keep this up till the heat goes down. If the heat remains or the fetlock gets hotter, that would indicate a possible infection. Call me right away if that happens. But this seems very mild. Good thing you noticed it, though. A lot of people wouldn’t have.”
He told Trace to hose it, then dry it, and then wrap it while he watched after first showing him how to do those things. “You don’t want to wrap it real tight. You just want to provide some support, not cut off the circulation.” He had Trace wrap it and watched and said that was really well done.
Trace did as Doc had asked and, in fact, checked, cooled and rewrapped Tatum every two or three hours. He didn’t even want to come in for dinner when he was called. Tatum was more important than having his dinner on time.
Trace spent much of his time after that tending to Tatum. Cary found he was missing having him around. He’d lost his shadow.