One to Love. Michelle Monkou

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СКАЧАТЬ shook her head. “It’s worse.” She scrunched her nose.

      “Worse than having to pay out money?” As far as Belinda was concerned, things couldn’t get much worse than starting a new business, specifically a nonprofit.

      Mentally, she ticked off what she could tout as a new owner. One employee—Tawny. No real clients to speak of...yet. In this one-room converted barn-turned-office, they shared the work space and had carved out a storage area. Belinda framed her office with thin drywall and equipped it with a salvaged door that was more for aesthetics than for privacy. Other than her desk and two chairs, a single column of file drawers that hopefully soon would contain a large number of clients’ information filled a corner in her office. A small clay pot with a thriving ivy plant draped the top.

      “Got a response about my complaint.” Tawny’s mouth pursed. “The secondhand store where we bought these so-called antiques won’t give us back our money. Stuff wasn’t even fit for a yard sale.”

      “At least we were able to decorate the welcome room. And part of the donation went to a good cause.” Belinda wasn’t surprised. The hodgepodge furniture selection was from one of the large thrift stores in the city.

      “Please. You need to check to see if the soup kitchen did get any of that money. Those people saw an easygoing, prone-to-guilt woman. And they got paid. Next time, don’t buy anything based on online pictures.”

      Belinda waved off Tawny’s constant dig that, when it came to her business, she should stop giving her heart and soul. That she needed to toughen up. It was funny how the advice sounded similar to what she’d said to Dana, her youngest cousin, who now ran the family media empire.

      Tawny cleared her throat. “Not done.”

      “Okay, bring on the bad news. In an hour, we have a prospective client coming in to see the facility and get more information. I want to make sure that she’s blown away with the work in progress. More important that she’s willing to sign up.”

      “Once we start, those good reviews will roll in, and we’ll be busier than you could’ve ever imagined.” Tawny flopped into the only chair. She pulled out the letter and unfolded it. “From the Brandywine Gazette, ‘Dear Mrs. Belinda Toussaint—’”

      “Good grief. I’m not married. I’m thirty and single. They’re giving me bad news and don’t give a damn to address me correctly.”

      “‘We have enjoyed being a part of building the Dreamweaver Riding Program. Your dedication to assisting young people to overcome challenges with equine-assisted therapy solutions is admirable. We treasure this opportunity beyond measure.’”

      “Get on with it,” Belinda prompted. Her fingers on one hand restlessly chipped away the ragged polish on her other hand.

      “‘Due to budgetary constraints, we are unable to continue to be part of the sponsorship program. We look forward to working with you in the future. Good luck with your endeavors.’”

      “You could’ve paraphrased all of that into we’re screwed.” Belinda leaned back in her chair and swiveled around to face the wall that held her vision board for the riding program.

      Her ideas, from small thoughts to grand dreams, covered the wall in the form of pinned drawings and pictures. In a separate space, a timeline displayed the renovations for the stable and riding ring and arrival dates of three additional horses, along with the training and rehabilitation equipment. In big, bold letters, the launch date mocked her goal to have a facility to open in three months.

      This massive undertaking hadn’t been a smooth one. Many times, she’d had to adjust the timeline. Once she’d suffered a major meltdown and wanted to quit. Her cousins Fiona and Dana had rallied around her until her fears had retreated, somewhat. Their push was enough to get her mind back firmly on the goal.

      At the start, this riding-therapy program would cater to children and teens experiencing physical, cognitive and even emotional stresses and disabilities. Success rested with using the right-tempered horses in the program. The animals had been documented to successfully help with patients’ physical and emotional challenges. Moreover, the beasts’ gentle natures coaxed children to emerge from behind their shells of shyness or low self-esteem, to learn to trust in their own abilities and to show them, through caring for the horses, how to develop connections outside of their comfort zones, with others. Eventually, her program would expand its services to include adults, especially war veterans, a need that she’d realized recently after completing research.

      Right now, she had a small number of clients who used her horses for their once-a-week or weekend rides. However, regardless of her best intentions, it took money to run the operation. Where insurance or income couldn’t pay the fee, she expected donations would fill the gap. Starting at the beginning of this year, under the Dreamweaver logo, she’d held a small number of fund-raisers, strategic PR advertising and networking events that had netted a handful of donors and their financial pledges. Of course, there was more money in the flashier charities. Donors with the deep pockets preferred the major publicity that came as a result of their newsworthy gifts. All she could offer was a sincere thank-you, a glowing write-up in the local newspaper that no longer would be a donor, and a heavy piece of crystal with their name etched for all posterity to see.

      She turned back to her desk, reached for the chewable antacids and waited for them to take effect.

      “Don’t worry, Belinda. It will happen. What you’re doing is a really good thing.”

      “Yeah, but sometimes good isn’t good enough.” The current operations cost a fortune. Her plans to expand would take her expenses over the edge. Chasing donations wasn’t her shtick. Tawny was a good organizer and cheerleader, but she hadn’t shown any prowess for prying dollars out of prospective donors, either. And that wasn’t why she had been hired. Dana had helped provide part-time volunteers for fund-raising, but it was time to have a full-time person on staff solely dedicated to fund-raising. An added expense to the profit and loss statement. She sighed.

      Tawny held up her hand. “More news.”

      “We’re still on the bad stuff, right?”

      Her assistant nodded. “But not as bad. It’s a tweak and could work out to be better. I think—”

      “Oh, for heaven’s sake, get on with it.” Belinda rubbed her forehead and waited for the next drop of the hammer.

      “Ed Santiago, your contractor, called a few minutes ago. Actually, his wife. Ed is on bed rest. Angina.”

      “Oh, no. Should he be home? He shouldn’t mess around with heart issues.”

      “He’s got to follow up with his doctor. For now, he’s home and they’ve adjusted his pressure meds.”

      “I’m glad that it wasn’t worse.” Belinda didn’t want to think of the dire possibilities.

      “Not to worry, though. He’s sending his son Jesse to finish managing the renovations.”

      Belinda waved off the additional news. “I’m going to send him flowers.”

      Tawny nodded. “I pulled up a couple arrangements on my computer. Pick the one you like and I’ll have the order there by tomorrow.”

      “Thanks.” Belinda hated to hear about the nosedive СКАЧАТЬ