Free The Horseman by Marcia Lynn McClure Page A

the
restaurant window as the two young women disappeared through the
front door of the adjoining boardinghouse. “Briney has surprised
me,” she said. “When she and Mrs. Fletcher arrived, I thought sure
the girl had no mind or will of her own. But it was soon clear that
she did; she’d just never been allowed to freely use them. But
since that old biddy died,” Sylvia nodded, “well, Miss Briney has
really begun to come into her own.” She looked at Gunner where he
sat at the small table. “Like goin’ all the way out to see you
today to buy a horse; that took a great deal of courage and
determination.”
    “Indeed it did,” Gunner agreed. He smiled
and, lowering his voice, said, “You shoulda seen her when she first
come ridin’ back in after that three hours. I swear, I couldn’t
determine the difference between the horse’s mane and the
girl’s.”
    He chuckled when Mrs. Kelley laughed.
    “And that tender, fried skin on her face—it’s
gonna peel right off…oh, and be sore tomorrow mornin’!” Sylvia
whispered. “But it seems she enjoyed it.”
    “Oh, she did. She did indeed. And so did
Sassafras,” Gunner offered.
    Sylvia frowned, looking at him in
astonishment. “You sold your mama’s horse to Briney?”
    “Mmm hmm,” Gunner confirmed as he chewed a
delicious piece of cream-slathered peach pie. “Sassy chose Briney
the very instant Briney chose her,” he explained. “I never thought
I’d see the day that Sassy would quit lookin’ for Mama to come
walkin’ into the stables. But today…well, when I walked in and saw
the way Sassy was cuddlin’ up to Briney, I knew that horse was
finally ready for a new rider.”
    Sylvia shook her head in admiration. “You
never cease to amaze me, Gunner Cole,” she said. “You and
horses…it’s like you can read their minds or somethin’.”
    Gunner shrugged. “Naw,” he said. “I just pay
attention is all.” He smiled at Sylvia, explaining, “You pay
attention to people, and I pay attention to horses.” His smile
broadened as he added, “Although I never met a horse that can bake
a pie the way you can, Mrs. Kelley.”
    Sylvia blushed, and Gunner was glad that he’d
pleased her with his compliment.
    “Oh, now don’t you be goin’ on like that,
Gunner Cole,” she said, still blushing. “I already promised I’d
give you another piece to take home with you…one for Charlie too.
No need to soften me up with flatterin’.” She patted him
affectionately on one shoulder and said, “Now you enjoy your pie.
I’m gonna help Bethanne draw a bath for Briney. I’ll be back in a
minute or two.”
    “Sure thing,” Gunner said.
    Once Mrs. Kelley was gone, Gunner exhaled a
heavy sigh of pleasure—for her peach pie and cream were simply the
stuff of heaven. In truth, one reason he liked Mrs. Kelley’s pies
so much—any of her cooking, in fact—was that it reminded him of his
Grandmother Cole’s—his grandmother whom he loved more than anyone
beyond his own mother and father—his grandmother who had once been
a madam in a brothel before she ran away to marry his grandfather.
Yep, Gunner’s Grandma Cole had been the kindest, most nurturing
grandma a boy could ever have had. It was one reason he didn’t
judge folks by their roots or their pasts. His grandma had changed
her life entirely—not the loving, nurturing ways she’d been born
with but rather her circumstances and life of sin. And though there
were a lot of folks that professed to be Christians—good,
God-fearing people that preached repentance and
forgiveness—Gunner’s Grandma Cole had found that most never forgave
others, only themselves.
    Yet she’d been a happy, righteous woman for
all the days Gunner had known her. Gunner’s Grandma Cole had never
scolded him for anything—not even when he tossed a ball in her
kitchen, breaking her bone china teapot. She just enveloped him in
her warm, soft arms, dabbed his tears of sorrow away with her
apron, kissed him on the