Palomino

35

The next morning Sam called Martin Pfizer and told him what Timmie had said. She also told him some of the other things he had told her, about the beatings and the neglect, things he had kept inside for a long, sad time. Pfizer shook his head.

“I hate to say it, but it doesn't surprise me. All right, I'll see what I can do.”

But by the next day he knew that he could do nothing. He had spent two hours with the woman, tried to reason with her, had talked to her counselor at the facility where she had been incarcerated, but he knew that it was useless to say more. With a heavy heart he called Sam that evening and found her alone in the big house.

“She won't do it, Miss Taylor. I tried everything, reason, threats, everything. She wants him.”

“Why? She doesn't love him.”

“She thinks she does. She spent hours telling me about her father and mother, how her father beat her, her mother whipped her. It's the only thing she knows.”

“But she'll kill him.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But there isn't a damn thing we can do now until she tries.”

“But can I sue for custody?” Sam's hand trembled as she waited.

“Yes. That doesn't mean that you have a chance. She's the natural mother, Miss Taylor. You're a single woman, and a-a handicapped person.” He caught himself quickly. “That won't look well in court.”

“But look what I've done for him already. Look at the life he could have here.”

“I know. That makes sense to you and me, but there's an element of precedent involved, and you'll have to convince the judge. Get yourself a lawyer, Miss Taylor, and give it a try. But you have to be realistic. Treat it as a test case, an experiment. If you lose, you lose, if you win, you get the boy.” Was he crazy? Didn't he understand that she loved Timmie and he loved her?

“Thank you.” Her voice was chilly when she hung up, and she spun around the room half a dozen times, mumbling to herself and thinking, and it drove her nuts that she had to wait until morning before she could call.

But when Timmie turned up the next morning, she gave him several errands to do for her, so that she could call Caroline's old lawyer and see if he could refer her to someone who might take the case.

“A child-custody suit, Samantha?” He sounded surprised. “I didn't know you had children.”

“I don't.” She smiled grimly into the phone. “Yet.”

“I see.” But of course he didn't. But he gave her two names of lawyers he had heard of in L.A. He knew neither of them personally, but assured her that their reputations were first-rate.

“Thanks.” When she called them, the first lawyer was on vacation in Hawaii, and the other was due back from the East the next day. She left a message for him to call her and spent the next twenty-four hours on pins and needles, waiting for him to call. But he did, as his secretary had promised, at exactly five o'clock in the afternoon.

“Miss Taylor?” The voice was deep and mellifluous, and she couldn't tell if he was young or old. In as little time as she could, she explained the problem, told him what she wanted to do, what Timmie wanted, what the social worker had said, and where Timmie's mother was. “My, my, you do have a problem, don't you?” But he sounded intrigued by what she had told him. “If you don't mind, I'd really like to come out and see the boy.” She had told him that both she and Timmie were bound to wheelchairs, but she had explained to him about the ranch and how well Timmie had done. “I think an important part of your case would hinge on the surroundings, and I should see them if I'm to make any sense. That is, of course, if you decide that you'd like me to represent you.” But so far she had liked what he had said.

“How do you feel about the case, Mr. Warren?”

“Well, why don't we talk about it at greater length tomorrow? On the surface I'm not overly optimistic, but this could be one of those highly emotional situations that get resolved in a most unorthodox way.”

“In other words, I don't have a chance. Is that what you're saying?” Her heart sank.

“Not exactly. But it won't be easy. I think you know that already.”

She nodded. “I suspected that much from what the social worker said. It doesn't make any sense to me though, dammit. If that woman is a junkie and a child abuser, why is she even considered a possibility as Timmie's custodial parent?”

“Because she's his natural mother.”

“Is that really enough?”

“No. But if he were your son, wouldn't you want every chance to keep him, no matter how screwed up you were?”

Samantha sighed into the phone. “What about the good of the child?”

“That's going to be our best argument, Miss Taylor. Now tell me where you are and I'll come and see you tomorrow. Route Twelve, you said? Let's see, how far is that from…”

She gave him the appropriate directions and he appeared the next day at noon. He was driving a dark green Mercedes, wore a pair of dark brown slacks and a beige cashmere jacket, an expensive silk tie, and a very good-looking cream-colored shirt. He was a man clearly in his mid-forties. His watch was Piaget, his hair was iron-gray, and his eyes were steel-blue. His full name was Norman Warren. And Samantha couldn't resist a smile when she saw him. She had worked for too many years among people who looked so much like him. She held out a hand from her wheelchair with a grin.

“Forgive me, but are you from New York?” She had to know. But he laughed right out loud.

“Hell yes. How did you know?”

“So am I. Not that you can tell anymore.” Nonetheless she had worn a soft lilac sweater with her jeans today instead of her usual flannel shirt, and her dark blue cowboy boots were brand-new.

They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, and she led him to the big house, where she had prepared sandwiches and hot coffee, and there was a hot apple pie she had “stolen” from the main hall when she took Timmie to lunch there a few minutes before. He had been very annoyed when she had left him but she had explained that she was expecting a grown-up for lunch at the house.

“Why can't I meet him too?” He had pouted ferociously as she left him with Josh and the handful of kids who weren't in school. They all accepted Timmie as their mascot, he was the youngest in the place and he looked so much like Samantha that somehow they regarded him almost as though he were her son, and of course she did too.

“You'll meet him but I want to talk to him first.”

“What about?”

“Business.” She grinned at him in answer to the question he didn't quite dare ask. “And no, he is not a cop.” Timmie laughed his bright little laugh.

“How did you know that was what I thought?”

“Because I know you, silly, now go eat.” He had gone off with the others, complaining because they were eating leftover stew. She had promised to come and get him when they were finished talking business.

And as she sat over her own lunch with Norman Warren, she told him everything she could about the child. “May I see him?” he finally asked. When they went to find him at the main hall, Warren looked around himself with interest and eyed the dazzlingly beautiful woman in the lilac sweater, perfectly at ease in her chair. Just being there was an experience for Norman Warren, he could see from the way the place was kept, and from the happy people he saw around them, that what Samantha had done was a success. But nothing had prepared him for what he saw when he met Timmie, or when the boy mounted a palomino with Josh's help, or when he saw Sam ride beside him on Pretty Girl, or when the others came home from school and took their lessons. Norman Warren didn't leave until after dinner, and when he did, he did so with regret.

“I want to stay forever.”

“I'm sorry, I can't adopt you too.” Samantha laughed with him. “And fortunately you don't qualify to come here as a student. But anytime you'd like to just come and visit and ride with us, we'd love it.”

He looked sheepish and almost whispered, “I'm scared shitless of horses.”

She whispered back, “We could cure you.”

Another sotto voce, “No, you couldn't. I won't let you.” And then they both laughed and he drove off. They had come to terms on the agreement-she would pay him a fee of ten thousand dollars to represent her in her suit. She liked him very much, and he seemed to like Timmie, and there was every reason to hope that she at least had a chance to win him, and if she didn't, she could appeal it. He stressed once again that it wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't impossible either, and there were a lot of sympathetic factors in her favor, not least among them the way she and Timmie loved each other, and he hoped the fact that they were both in wheelchairs would add drama and sympathy to her side rather than work against them. But that remained to be seen. She had signed papers that afternoon. He would file the complaint in Los Angeles the next morning, and they would get a hearing date as soon as they could.

“Think he can help us, Sam?” Timmie looked up at her sadly as she accompanied him back to his room. She had explained to him who Norman Warren was and what he was going to do.

“I hope so, love. We'll see.”

“What if he can't do it?”

“Then I'll kidnap you and we'll hide in the hills.” She was teasing but his eyes sparkled as she pushed open the door to his room and turned on the lights for him.

“Okay.”

Only when she left the room did she begin to wonder the same thing… what if he couldn't… but he had to… he had to win the case for her. She couldn't bear losing Timmie. And by the time she got back to her own room, she convinced herself that she never would.