Книга - Her Rodeo Hero

Her Rodeo Hero
Pamela Britton

Laura Altom Marie


TOUGH LOVEColton Reynolds can tame the wildest of stallions, so how can working with Natalie Goodman be this hard? Colt tries to keep his distance while helping the former equestrian champion overcome a serious injury, but her feisty spirit and tender heart prove to be an irresistible combination.Natalie knows that beneath his surly demeanor, Colt is haunted by his past and his time serving as an Army Ranger. He believes he's too scarred to love…or be loved. But she won't give up easily. Just as Colt is determined to help her find her way back into the ring, Natalie is doing everything she can to find a way into his heart.







TOUGH LOVE

Colton Reynolds can tame the wildest of stallions, so how can working with Natalie Goodman be this hard? Colt tries to keep his distance while helping the former equestrian champion overcome a serious injury, but her feisty spirit and tender heart prove to be an irresistible combination.

Natalie knows that beneath his surly demeanor, Colt is haunted by his past and his time serving as an Army Ranger. He believes he’s too scarred to love...or be loved. But she won’t give up easily. Just as Colt is determined to help her find her way back into the ring, Natalie is doing everything she can to find a way into his heart.

ALSO INCLUDED IN THIS VOLUME

A Home for Christmas by Laura Marie Altom


“I had nothing left.”

Natalie took a deep breath for courage and looked Colt in the eyes.

“When I got out of the hospital I was up to my eyeballs in debt and barely able to walk.” Just talking about it brought it all back. The fear. The sorrow. The hopelessness. “And then I went out to the barn to see Playboy. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my head in his mane and I knew that somehow, someway, I’d ride him again.”

She felt the familiar burn of tears in her eyes. He started to move past her again, but Natalie snatched his hand and tugged him toward her, silently begging him to understand with her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she admitted, holding his gaze. “I don’t expect you to understand...” She squeezed his hand and then turned to leave. But something changed.

One moment he was immovable, cold. The next he’d pulled her up against him and dipped his head down toward her.

With his thumb, he brushed away a stray tear on her cheek. “I do understand.”


Dear Reader (#ulink_6d347db3-d91f-5437-acb4-52c0776576a6),

It’s no secret I love horses. As a child I used to read books by Marguerite Henry, gobbling up tales of Misty and Stormy and Justin Morgan. I firmly believe reading provided early training for my career as an author.

I can’t tell you how proud I am to be a writer. It’s a dream job for someone like me—someone who loves to read. I call myself the author of grown-up girl horse stories. Each one of my books features the animals I love. Sometimes those stories are light on horses, sometimes they feature more prominently.

Her Rodeo Hero is one of my personal favorites. Perhaps it’s because it’s not about horses as much as it’s about a woman who’s been injured by one and her fight to get back in the saddle. It’s also about a man with his own scars, one whose love of horses helps him to conquer inner demons and find a love of his own.

I hope you enjoy Her Rodeo Hero. I loved rereading it during the revision process, something that doesn’t happen as often as you might think. When it does, it’s usually a sign of a good book. I hope you think so, too. And I hope Marguerite Henry is proud.

Best,

Pam




Her Rodeo Hero

Pamela Britton





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


With more than a million books in print, PAMELA BRITTON likes to call herself the best-known author nobody’s ever heard of. Of course, that changed thanks to a certain licensing agreement with that little racing organization known as NASCAR.

But before the glitz and glamour of NASCAR, Pamela wrote books that were frequently voted the best of the best by the Detroit Free Press, Barnes & Noble (two years in a row) and RT Book Reviews. She’s won numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award and a nomination for the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award.

When not writing books, Pamela is a reporter for a local newspaper. She’s also a columnist for the American Quarter Horse Journal.


In memory of Troy Parke, a man who embodied the word hero. The world lost an angel on earth when you passed away, Troy. You are missed.


Contents

Cover (#ud8aa7cb1-7011-544a-907a-d0961a0bcf0d)

Back Cover Text (#uf55e0cbd-d545-5482-9ddf-64f2a27cd786)

Introduction (#u59b2ee0f-3fb7-5de8-9466-4b94aef6f9eb)

Dear Reader (#u9fee0216-28d7-5de7-ad06-5b613e458d56)

Title Page (#u92afdc4b-da0e-5b1a-9236-8ac3224a419e)

About the Author (#ue95c2ef1-52b3-5f48-981c-9100ae6195f0)

Dedication (#uea22b88c-cabe-536b-aa7c-8b92d3fab35a)

Chapter One (#u17397e3e-c45b-5b61-b308-6e874f8f6f56)

Chapter Two (#u4fd216ee-8a72-5cf3-89d0-628b6f732295)

Chapter Three (#uc2b27779-8f9c-5be2-b847-adc0f6d29f50)

Chapter Four (#u40c0a69b-1514-596c-9486-be9a33d1d922)

Chapter Five (#uad5904c6-0c84-531a-80ea-4793ec33e096)

Chapter Six (#u09daa144-0484-55ff-a3e1-7b2157b99d25)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_5603cf4f-f2f1-566f-be94-2c9fcf519935)

Amazing.

Natalie Goodman watched from the grandstands, mouth slack, as Colton Reynolds stepped back from the black gelding, lifted his arms and gave the cue for his horse to rear one more time.

“See.” Jillian Thacker, one of Natalie’s best friends, leaned in toward her. She had to yell to be heard over the appreciative roar of the crowd around them. “What did we tell you?”

The gelding pawed at the air, mane flying like a royal banner, nostrils flaring. The horse was clearly listening to Colt’s commands—or did it watch for them? Natalie couldn’t tell.

The man in the arena seemed a mysterious figure in his black hat, black jeans and black shirt, a conjurer come to ply his trade with a magic wand. The only thing missing was a cape to complete the image. A day’s growth of razor stubble covered his square chin, but the rest of his face remained in shadow. Yet something about the man’s stance told Natalie all she needed to know, just like last time. She’d met him once before, at a wedding. She hadn’t been impressed. Today she couldn’t look away as she watched him lower his arms. The horse’s front feet returned to solid ground. The crowd that lined the rodeo arena went wild again.

“He’s the real deal, Natalie.” Jillian’s fiancé, Wes, tipped forward so he could peer around Jillian, his handsome face glowing with approval. “If you’re looking for someone to help train your horse, he’s your man.”

Train her horse. Because she couldn’t. Or shouldn’t. Doctor’s orders—no more horses. But Jillian and Wes didn’t know that; they thought she only needed help to learn a new sport. They had no idea she’d been forbidden to ride, period.

“The trouble is getting him to agree,” Wes added.

That didn’t surprise her. The time they’d met he’d been about as friendly as a stepped-on dog. That was before, back when she’d been one of the top riders in the country, slated to represent the United States in international competition. She’d had her whole career mapped out, and then... Bam! The wreck. The recovery. The restructuring of her life. She’d lost everything but her sense of determination.

She refused to think about that. Instead she focused on her surroundings inside the Arroyo Grande Rodeo Grounds. The sky had blossomed a deep blue this morning, and a few wisps of fog had floated through a field of bonnets. The crowd let out a gasp of surprise as Colt’s horse suddenly bowed, its nose touching the ground. Natalie hadn’t even seen the man give the command. Nor did she see him signal for the horse to get back up and then head toward an open trailer parked in the middle of the ring, one with Colt’s name emblazoned on the side along with the words Rodeo Misfits in an Old West–style font.

“I’ve seen him take some of our rescue horses and turn them completely around...” Jillian had to wait to finish because the crowd had erupted again when the black gelding climbed into the horse trailer without so much as a by-your-leave from Colt. “He’s a miracle worker.”

A year ago Natalie wouldn’t have believed that the day would come when she’d need help training a horse. A year ago she’d been riding high after winning a silver medal at the Pan American Games. A year ago she hadn’t been recovering from the worst riding accident of her career.

A lot could change in a year.

“Does he train professionally?” she heard herself ask.

Jillian’s black bob brushed her cheeks as she shook her head. “No.”

If Natalie didn’t miss her guess, her friend’s eyes lost some of their luster. “He’s a bit of a recluse, but Wes can bring him around.”

“You hope.”

“No. He will.” She smiled and clutched her fiancé’s forearm. Wes tipped back his straw cowboy hat and gave his wife-to-be a kiss, after which Jillian said, “Wes and Colt go back a long way.”

Natalie hated the thought of asking anyone for help, especially a reluctant someone, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Was that relief she spotted in her friend’s expression, too? She hated to admit it, but it probably was. Jillian had been present when she’d attempted to ride her horse without a bridle the first time, something that might seem crazy, but was actually an emerging sport. To say it hadn’t gone well was an understatement.

Down in the arena Colt waved to the crowd, the white bucking chutes behind him contrasting starkly against his black attire. Natalie thought the act was over, but she was wrong. Just as Colt went to swing the trailer door closed, the black horse came bolting out. She thought the animal had made a mistake, but something about the way Colt acted, the way he placed his hands on his hips and then shook his fist at the animal, told her that this, too, was part of his skit.

Sure enough, the animal came barreling back toward him, and the crowd gasped yet again when it seemed as if the horse might run him down. It didn’t. Instead the animal snatched a black handkerchief, something Natalie hadn’t spotted before, out of Colt’s back pocket and ran off with it. Colt spent the next few minutes making a big show of trying to get it back, much to the crowd’s amusement. Natalie continued to be amazed as the animal expertly played its part. Finally, Colt appeared to give up. He climbed into the driver’s seat of his truck, pretending to be so mad he’d decided to drive off with the trailer door still wide open. Natalie saw why a moment later. As he drove out of the ring, the black gelding followed, leapt for the open door, and then whipped around, still holding the black handkerchief. The horse waved it at the crowd as if saying goodbye.

“Amazing,” she heard herself say.

“He is.” Jillian and Wes applauded as loudly as the rest. Heck, even the cowboys who sat or stood behind the chutes gave him a hand. “Wes can go down and talk to him right now.”

Natalie stood up. “That’s okay.”

Jillian’s pretty green eyes dimmed. “Are you certain? Colt would never so no to Wes.”

She smiled tightly. “He won’t say no to me, either.”

* * *

DAMN SPURS. THEY ALWAYS seemed to hang up in the carpet of his truck, Colt thought. He’d nearly fallen on his ass when one of the rowels snagged a loop as he hopped out. He’d be glad when he could take them off. He never used the damn things anyway—they were all for show. Part of the act. Jeans, black chaps and black cowboy hat. City people seemed to expect that.

“Get on out of there, Teddy.”

The gelding stood just where he expected—at the back of the trailer, head hanging out, handkerchief still clasped in his mouth.

“Come on. Show’s over.”

He could swear Teddy understood, because the horse dropped the handkerchief, lowered his head to examine the ground before gingerly stepping out of the trailer—looking for all the world like a toddler exploring new surroundings for the first time—and came over to Colt. Soft puffs of breath emerged from the black muzzle as Teddy attempted to sniff out the treat he knew Colt would have stashed somewhere. Finding which pocket was part of the game, and it didn’t take the gelding long. Within seconds he was nuzzling Colt’s left hip, darn near knocking the halter Colt had hanging on his shoulder to the ground.

“Peppermint.” Colt reached into his pocket for the treat, unwrapped it, and offered it to the horse. “Your favorite.”

The gelding suckled the mint as if wanting to make it last. It made Colt smile. He fingered the wrapper, thinking back to the time when he couldn’t even get near the creature. That’d been two years ago and there’d been days when he’d been ready to throw in the towel, but he hadn’t given up. The horse wasn’t the only one with an abusive past. He understood more than most what it took to overcome that kind of adversity.

“We got you turned around sure enough, though, didn’t we?”

“You sure did.”

Colt looked past the horse and right into the eyes of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Scratch that.

He’d seen her before, at Zach and Mariah’s wedding, and he’d done a double take back then, too. He’d noted the blue, blue eyes. The heart-shaped face and wide lips. The only thing different was her thick blond hair. She’d cut it off. Still no makeup, though. Women as attractive as she was didn’t need anything to help them look better.

“You’re—”

“Natalie Goodman,” she finished for him with a small smile.

“That’s right.” It wasn’t like him not to look at a person directly, but for some reason he couldn’t maintain eye contact with this pretty blonde. “English trainer or something,” he said, slipping the halter on Teddy.

His friend Wes had mentioned her a few billion times. Wanted them to meet, thought they’d get along, yada yada yada. His friend didn’t understand. Beautiful or not. Animal lover or not. Smart or not. Colt wasn’t the relationship type. Never had been, never would be. His past was just too...messy. Military. Crazy dad. It’d all left a mark. Things never worked out, and that was okay. He didn’t need anybody or anything. Just his horses.

“Hunters and jumpers.”

He peeked back at her. She smiled even wider. He patted Teddy’s head. “Well, nice to see you again, Miss Natalie Goodman. I hope you enjoyed the show.”

With any luck, she’d leave. She didn’t. He glanced over at her again. Off-white shirt—peasant blouse, they called it—and skin tight jeans. Too good-looking for her own good. He didn’t think he’d made a good impression the first time they’d met, and judging by the way one side of her mouth lowered, he would bet he wasn’t earning any bonus points now.

He began tying Teddy to the trailer. “Something I can do for you, ma’am?”

“Actually, yes.” She forced the wattage of her smile back up a notch. “I need a favor.” But her grin was as precarious as a butterfly perched on the edge of a flower, and an instant later it slipped, that sweet face of hers rearranging itself into an expression of resignation. “Wes and Jillian suggested I talk to you.”

Colt could well imagine what was behind that suggestion, considering the number of times Wes had hinted at getting them together. He forced himself to look her full in the face.

“What kind of favor?”

“I need a horse trainer.”

He had to have misheard her. “Sorry?”

She took a step toward him and brushed her short hair over an ear, almost as if she’d forgotten for a moment that it wasn’t long anymore. “I need a trainer. Someone who can make horses do things I can’t.”

Teddy nudged him, almost knocking him over, reminding him that he’d been in the process of tending to the horse. Wasn’t like him to lose focus like that.

“Sorry, but I must be slow on the uptake. From what I’ve heard you’re the best thing since sliced bread. Horsewoman of the year. International fame. What could you possibly need me for?” He lifted a brow. “Thinking of chucking it all and starting your own rodeo company?”

The side of her mouth tipped upward again, the beginnings of a smile, a real smile, brightening her blue eyes. “Something like that.”

He finished tying up Teddy. He really didn’t have time to sit around and chat. He had to get on the road fairly quickly if he wanted to be up north before dark. He had a show in Sacramento tomorrow.

“So?” He bent to check one of Teddy’s front feet. “Do you have a problem horse or something?”

“I have a problem life.”

He set down Teddy’s foot. Join the club. “Okay, spill.”

Oddly, or maybe not so oddly since he made his living watching things closely, he found he could read her like a book. He spotted the way her desire to ask for help warred with her sense of independence. She didn’t really want to be there, standing in a parking area for rodeo competitors, talking to him.

“I’ve decided to take up a new discipline of riding.” The grin she wrestled onto her face didn’t seem to want to cooperate. “Freestyle reining, preferably without a bridle.”

He’d been about to cross to Teddy’s other side. Instead he froze and looked at her from beneath the angled brim of his cowboy hat. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

“What—did jumping lose its appeal?”

She looked down to the ground, but not before he caught the subtle flinch. “I need a change.”

Need? Not want? “And you can’t make that change yourself.”

It wasn’t a question, more like an affirmation of facts, but she didn’t seem to like the words because her head swung up. “Reining seems pretty straightforward compared to what I used to do, but in order to be competitive, I need help. And riding my horse without a bridle isn’t coming along as quickly as I’d like. I need someone to tell me what I’m doing wrong. Shouldn’t take you more than a visit or two.”

“Why do you want to ride bridleless?”

She lifted her chin. “Because it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. I want to master it.”

And he’d always wanted to fly jet planes. Didn’t mean it would happen. “That can’t be done in a visit or two. Teaching a horse to trust you, to listen to you out of love and not because you demand it, something like that takes time.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“But I’ve got a full schedule. This time of year, summer, is my busiest season. I’ll be lucky to be home three days this month.”

“Could you spend one of those days with me?”

He almost laughed. Did the woman not understand? He spent most of his life on the road. The last thing he needed was one more thing to do when he managed to get home. “Not without rearranging a lot of stuff.”

“Just one lesson.”

He shook his head. “I told you. One lesson won’t be enough.”

“Then two. I’ll pay you for your time.”

“Don’t you have enough to do with your jumping career?”

Direct hit. Disappointment poured from her eyes. Disappointment and sadness and resignation. She tried to hide it, or maybe even to ignore it, but it didn’t work.

“I can’t jump anymore.” She tapped her head. “Bad wreck last year, right after Zach and Mariah’s wedding. I almost died.” She broke the connection of their gaze for a moment, clearly battling memories. He watched her take a deep breath before meeting his gaze again and saying, “I lost all my clients, had to sell the horses I jumped, gave up the lease on my riding facility. When I got back on the one horse I still owned it was like learning to ride all over again. I can train people on the flat, from the ground, and I have a few new clients now, but nothing like I had before. I need to keep all four feet on the ground—all four hooves, that is. No more jumping. It’s just not physically possible for me. So here I am, starting over, and reining is what I want to do.”

Don’t do it, he warned himself. Don’t you get sucked in by pity. Or a pair of pretty eyes.

“You really think you’ll never jump again?”

The chin tipped even higher. “I told you. Never.”

He glanced at Teddy. Though he told himself not to go down that road, he found himself wondering what he would do if he were told he could never perform with his animals again. If he was forced to stop doing the thing he loved, the thing that was his sanity. His calm in the storm of life. His saving grace.

Damn it.

“I can maybe give you one or two nights this month, if—” he stressed the word with an index finger “—I’m in town.”

“Oh, thank you!” She took a step forward. He knew what she wanted to do, and he stepped back just in time. The move stopped her cold, and it also brought puzzlement into her beautiful face.

“I’ll call you when it looks like I’ll be back.” He untied Teddy and headed for the rear of the trailer.

“Do you want my number?”

“I’ll get it from Wes.”

She nodded, her smile bursting forth like the sun over the horizon. “You won’t regret this.”

Too late, he thought as he loaded up his horse. He already did.


Chapter Two (#ulink_de8f52d3-b6c6-5f7d-bd1e-b9fba9fc0cc4)

The one good thing, Natalie thought, the only blessing, was that she’d found some new clients recently. Granted, they were all at a backyard barn in a not-so-good part of Via Del Caballo, but she’d given it her all and had been rewarded with half a dozen 4-H kids and a few adults.

No more million-dollar horses. No more big-ticket clients. No more fancy riding facility.

She tried not to think about that as she groomed Playboy, the horse she’d bought a few months before the accident. It was only by the grace of God, and a lot of help from her friends—Wes and Jillian, Zach and Mariah—that Natalie had held on to the gelding. Despite what she’d been told about the future of her riding career, she’d refused to give him up. Everything else had been sold to help pay medical bills.

Stop thinking about it.

She heard tires crunching on gravel, turned away from where Playboy had been tied to a single rail hitching post, and spotted Colt’s fancy black truck with all his sponsor logos splashed across the front. It looked out of place when he parked next to her beat-up Ford F250, like a new shoe sitting next to an old one. There were days when she definitely missed her previous truck, Lola. She watched as he glanced over at her vehicle, no doubt wondering why she drove such a jalopy. He was parked in front of an old lean-to stall, one with tattered fencing that had once been painted white, but was now more brown than anything else.

“Is that the guy?”

Laney, one of her 4-H kids, a girl with more passion for horses than half a dozen of the spoiled brats Natalie used to train, paused in the middle of mucking out her horse’s paddock. This was a self-service facility. No more grooms to take care of everything.

“That’s him.”

“I looked him up on Google last night,” Laney said, her blond ponytail sliding over one shoulder. “Did you know his dad was some kind of rodeo cowboy, too? He used to be really famous. Performed in movies and everything. Colt took over the family business.”

Yeah, if rodeo clowns could be famous. Not that Colt was a clown. Not really. A specialty act, they called it, and he was good. That’s what she needed to remember if she were ever to perform on the back of an animal again. If she ever wanted to hear the roar of the crowd and feel the pride that came from being united with a four-legged creature, Colt was her only hope.

“Wish me luck,” she said to Laney.

“Can I watch?”

“Sure. Why not?” Maybe the two of them would learn something together.

Colt had spotted her. He’d pulled up not far from where she’d tied Playboy. He gave her what seemed like a half-hearted wave.

“Here we go,” she softly told the gelding, stepping back and eyeing the horse objectively. He’d changed a lot in the year and a half she’d had him. His once mousey brown coat now had dapples. His mane had gotten longer, too, and he’d grown. He was nearing sixteen hands. Big for a Western horse, but she was nearly five-eight and he fit her perfectly.

If she could learn how to ride him again.

“Nice place,” she heard Colt say as he slipped out of his truck.

It wasn’t a compliment and it immediately got her dander up. “It’s affordable.”

She glanced around, trying to stem the flow of embarrassment that threatened to overcome her. Two years ago she would never, ever have considered keeping a horse in such a ramshackle facility, now here she was. Two years ago she would have stuck her nose in the air at the lean-to fencing, dirt road and uncovered arena. Not anymore.

“I bet.” He tipped back his cowboy hat. “But is it safe?”

Was he purposely trying to make her feel bad? It’d taken forever to get him out to the ranch. He’d handed her one excuse after another, and she’d resorted to calling Wes and begging for his help in the end. That had done the trick, but she wondered if Colt resented her forcing his hand.

“I went over every square inch of Playboy’s pen.” She patted the dark bay gelding’s neck. “I spent days cleaning out all the old muck. And another day replacing old boards. It’s in as good a shape as possible.”

Colt must have realized he’d offended her because he softened his gaze. “I’m sure you did.”

Her nerves made her edgy. And irritable, too. She hated that she’d had to ask for help. Hated that she was in some backwater barn working with a cocky cowboy who clearly didn’t want to be there any more than she did. At times such as these she ached for her old life with a ferociousness that left her feeling sick.

“This is Playboy,” she said into the silence. Well, as silent as a horse stable could be. In the background a horse nickered. Chickens ran wild. Off in the distance you could hear the sound of cars from the nearby interstate.

“Nice-looking horse.”

It smelled at the Lazy A Ranch, too. Not like pine shavings and saddle soap like her old place. No. More like horse poop and wet dirt. The other owners weren’t as good at mucking stalls as she was. As she and Laney were. She glanced over at the young teen, sure she was listening to every word.

“I bought him at the Bull and Gelding Sale last year. The one up in Red Bluff.”

He moved close enough that he could place a hand on Playboy’s neck. She saw it then—kindness filled his eyes as he leaned toward the horse. It took her by surprise, that look. It reminded her of her friend, Jillian, when she “spoke” to animals.

“Is he cutting bred?”

Colt’s gaze lightened as sunlight angled beneath his cowboy hat and caught his eyes. Hazel. The kind that turned green, gold or brown depending on his mood. He had the square-shaped face of a comic-book hero and the muscular build of a navy SEAL. Something about him commanded attention and she couldn’t figure out if it was his height, his broad shoulders or his piercing eyes. He stepped back, scanning the horse up and down like a used car salesman would a vehicle.

“He is. A kid trained him before me. I figured he must have a pretty good mind if he’d let a little boy break him.”

“What have you done with him?”

She tried not to let her embarrassment show. “Not a whole bunch lately. I was flat on my back for a while, but when I climbed back onto him last month he seemed to remember everything I’d taught him.” She was the one who’d had problems...still had problems. Balance. Vision. Equilibrium.

“And you tried to ride him without a bridle?”

His look seemed to say it all. And, okay, maybe it hadn’t been one of her best ideas.

“Before my accident I was riding him every day,” she said in her own defense. “He was listening to vocal commands and everything, but when I took his bridle off, he seemed to forget everything.”

“Let me guess.” A small smile came to his face. “Runaway pony.”

“Something like that.”

She hoped he didn’t see the momentary flare of remembered panic that came to her eyes. She thought he hadn’t, but then, just as quickly as it’d arrived, his grin faded away.

“How’d you get him stopped?”

“I had a friend in the arena with me.”

He crossed his arms. He wore the same black outfit as before, right down to the hat, and she wondered if he’d come straight from a rodeo performance. It was the weekend and late enough in the afternoon that she supposed it was possible.

“You mind me asking why you picked reining? Surely Western pleasure would be better?”

She’d asked herself the same question at least a million times. “Have you ever seen freestyle reining?”

“I’ve seen a lot of things.”

“Then you know what it’s like. Breathtaking. I was hooked the moment I saw a video on YouTube over a year ago. It’s like pairs ice skating or synchronized swimming or a ballet performance. Your horse becomes your dance partner. You, the music and your animal. Dancing.”

She couldn’t see his eyes beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, couldn’t see if he understood. If she hadn’t known better she would swear he was hiding his gaze from her.

“It’s going to take a lot of work.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Then let’s get started.”

* * *

ONE LESSON.

He’d said the words over and over again on the way to the Lazy A Ranch. He absolutely didn’t need a project, especially a female project and her horse. He had his own baggage to deal with—the ranch, all the repairs, his full rodeo schedule.

“Should I saddle him up?” she asked.

“Nope. We’re going to do some groundwork first.”

She glanced over her shoulder toward the young girl behind her, the one who tried not to be obvious about listening as she diligently cleaned her horse’s stall. The same spot she’d been cleaning the entire time.

“Do you mind if Laney watches?”

“Nope.” Colt glanced around. “This place have an arena?”

“It does.” He thought he heard her mutter, “Sort of.”

He glanced down at Natalie, sunlight reflecting off her short hair. She waved her young friend over, completely oblivious to the way he studied her. It had occurred to him earlier that her hair might be short because of her accident, and his friend Wes had confirmed it. She’d been wearing a helmet when she’d had her wreck during that jumping competition, but it’d been cracked clean in half. Video of the accident showed she’d been stepped on after the horse had flipped over on her. There’d been talk that she’d never ride again. Clearly she’d proven her doctors wrong, but just the thought of it, of what she’d been through, made him shudder. Wes said she had a scar on her head. Colt had scars, too, although his were mostly on the inside.

Don’t be getting soft.

One lesson. He had a busy life and he preferred to live it on his own schedule.

“So what are we doing?” Natalie asked.

“I told you, ground work.”

“I’ve already done all that.”

“Not this kind.”

“You going to teach Playboy how to bow?”

“Nope.” His dad used to teach his horses how to do that. But as Colt thought back to the methods dear old Dad had used, the way he’d tie a rope to a horse’s front leg, forcing it forward while at the same time pulling down on the halter—not just any halter, but one with metal staples in it—he resolved yet again never to treat his horses that way. Ever.

“Do you need me to go get a lunge line? I still have a surcingle, too.”

She’d stopped outside what he presumed was the arena, one with sagging boards and dirt footing. The wooden gate didn’t look as though it would open, and if it did, that it wouldn’t stay on its hinges for very long. It was rimmed by ramshackle wooden shelters and sad looking horses—like their own equine audience. Crazy. He suspected it wasn’t really an arena. More like a dirt patch everyone used because there was no place else.

“He’s wearing all he needs.”

The hinges held, miraculously, and the kid Natalie had signaled to earlier leaned against the top rail of a fence stripped bare of paint. Surprisingly, it didn’t collapse beneath her weight. Someone really should spend some money to fix up the place, he thought. He would swear they’d used recycled garage doors to make the horse shelters.

“Okay, now you’ve got me curious,” Natalie said.

“Go on and walk him forward.” He watched her for a moment. “Now stop.”

She did as asked, and just as he expected, Playboy took three or four steps past her.

“Make sure to say ‘whoa,’” he called out. “Do it again.”

She repeated the process one more time, only this time she used her voice. Didn’t help. The horse still moved past her.

“He’s not listening to your verbal commands.”

“Yes, he is. I’m barely pulling on the lead rope.”

“He should be stopping the second you do. Not one second later, and especially not two. Right away. Bam.” He slapped his palm. “He has to be listening to not just your voice, but your body, too. Once you’re in tune with each other, he’ll be able to read the direction of your eyes. You’ll be able to tell him which way to step with just a slight tip of your head.”

“He’ll follow my eyes?”

“He will. I’ll give you some exercises to help him with that, but we’ll start on the ground. Trot him out for me.”

She stared at him oddly. “Trot?”

“Up the middle of the arena.”

“As in run alongside of him?”

Why did she stare at him so strangely? “Yeah, that’s generally what one does when one trots a horse.”

She shifted her weight to her other foot. “Okay.”

She ran like a three-legged moose. He couldn’t believe it. She seemed so lithe and svelte he would have sworn she’d move like a ballerina.

“I don’t jog too well.”

She was out of breath and clearly embarrassed. That was an understatement. “We’ll need to work on that.”

“I’m sorry.” She sounded so sincere, so genuinely contrite that it made Colt feel like a jerk. She might run like a drunk, but she was still beautiful. Still in need of his help. Still clearly desperate.

“Good thing you already know how to ride.”

Her chin ticked up a notch. “I can do better.”

“Okay then. Let’s try it again. Be sure to use your voice. Tell Playboy to stop.”

She did as he asked, and maybe she ran a little more gracefully this time, but it was hard to tell.

“I’ve never really been good at running,” she admitted after a few more attempts. “Maybe there’s another exercise we could try?”

There it was again—the apology. She really was trying. Even so, Playboy had a hard time reading her body language with her wobbling this way and that. Worse, after watching her a few times, Colt realized this wasn’t going to be one lesson or even two. She would need someone to teach her grace and fluidity, something he’d assumed she already had. That meant training. He might even need to ride her horse himself. That would mean interacting with her a lot more than he’d expected, and something about that made him uncomfortable.

Son of a—

This changed everything...and not for the better.


Chapter Three (#ulink_515125e0-2806-5d80-b5e1-feab935aa0c9)

Colt hadn’t looked happy. He’d given her three more exercises to work on and then left. Natalie wasn’t certain he’d ever be back.

“Damn.”

She watched his truck make a left out of the boarding stable’s driveway.

“Did you know he’s performed in front of royalty?”

Natalie turned to Laney, curious despite her disappointment. Once again she reached to shift her long hair over her shoulder, but it wasn’t there. It was like losing a damn limb, having her hair chopped off. She swore she’d never get used to her short-cropped locks.

“He has a website.” Laney held up her cellphone as if expecting Natalie to read the screen herself.

“Really?”

Laney couldn’t hide her excitement. “I stumbled on it while he was working with you. He has, like, all kinds of pictures and stuff on it. Did you know he’s a regular at the National Finals Rodeo? And that he’s a saddle bronc rider, too? He took over the family business when he left the military. He was twenty-six when he left the Army to help his dad, and four years later it’s more of a success than ever.”

Saddle broncs? That explained the cowboy swagger. And, yes, she’d known he was something of a big deal in the rodeo world—Wes had made that perfectly clear—but for some reason she’d been under the impression he’d done the rodeo thing for his whole life. Military? She’d had no idea.

“Next time he comes out here I’m, like, totally going to get his autograph.” The teen continued to peer down at her screen. “He has printable fan cards. I’ll bring some out here for you and me.”

If he ever came back out again. To be honest, she didn’t have much hope of that, and the admission caused the sick feeling to return. It was the same sickness she’d felt when he’d asked her to run alongside her horse.

“Come on. You can help me put Playboy away.”

Laney jumped to the task so quickly it brought a smile to Natalie’s face. She reminded her of Kate, one of the grooms she’d had at Uptown Farms, back when she could afford to pay someone to help her. Rather than fill her with bitterness, though, the memory served to firm her resolve. She wouldn’t let Colt quit on her. She would overcome her physical ailments. She had to.

It only took a couple of phone calls to find out where Colt lived, although her friend Jillian cautioned against dropping in on him. Natalie ignored her friend and two days later set off on a field trip of sorts. It dawned a perfect day for a drive. Blue sky—the kind of blue that only happened after a recent rain—so crystalline and vivid it seemed Photoshop had lent God a hand.

She pointed the truck toward a section of town where she’d always wanted to live, only she couldn’t, not even back when she could afford pretty much anything she wanted. Situated at the base of the mountains that separated the town of Via Del Caballo from the ocean, the land along the bowl-shaped valley had been owned for generations by ranchers. Parcels rarely became available in the low-lying foothills covered year-round by grass and majestic valley oaks whose branches brushed the ground. It took a half-hour to get out there, and as she approached she could see the Santa Ynez Mountains looming in the distance, as barren and brown as the valley was soft and green below.

There were so few driveways out to the east that it was easy to spot Colt’s, but even if she’d been in doubt as to whether or not she had the correct address, the sign above the entrance would have made it clear. An iron oval bearing the words Reynolds’s Ranch were suspended between two telephone poles, and below it stood a pair of ornate black gates, each with an R cut into it.

Jillian hadn’t warned her about this. Should she climb over? But she had no idea how far the ranch was from the front gate and all she could see from her vantage point were spotted pasture and old barbed-wire fencing.

She pulled out her phone and texted Jillian.

You don’t happen to know the pass code, do you?

What pass code?

To the electronic gate.

What gate?

I’m at Colt’s ranch, sitting outside the front entrance.

If her phone had been a cricket it would have been chirping into the silence. Clearly, either Jillian didn’t approve, or she didn’t know what to say. Natalie didn’t wait for a response.

“To heck with it.”

She hadn’t driven all the way out to Timbuktu, or spent money she could barely afford on fuel, just to turn around and go home. She pulled farther forward, but she hadn’t angled her truck properly. Her power steering had gone out recently, which meant getting her vehicle any closer to the intercom would be like wrangling a hippopotamus next to a mailbox. She opened the truck’s door, the hinges creaking in protest, and stepped out on the asphalt. She tried the obvious first, pressing zero on the keypad, and was surprised at the almost immediate “Hello.”

“Colt?”

Silence. She didn’t think he could possibly recognize her voice and so she said, “It’s me, Natalie.”

“I know who it is.”

He knew? How? Was there a camera, too? She glanced at the sign hanging overhead and smiled, just in case. “Can I come in?”

She felt like an idiot. Maybe she should have listened to Jillian. Maybe she should have called ahead first, made an appointment.

She pressed the button again and spoke into the intercom. “Hello?”

The gates started to open, a beeping sound emerging from somewhere. Natalie was impressed by the high-tech-ness of it all.

Well, all righty then.

She went to shove a hank of hair out of her face, only to realize—yet again—that she had none, so settled instead for running her fingers through the short strands. At least he hadn’t told her to leave. She was about to get back in her truck when she heard, “Veer right at the Y.”

She didn’t waste any time, gunning it so that her tires chirped on the blacktop, her struts and springs popping and moaning when the asphalt ended beyond the gate and turned into gravel. A glance in her rearview mirror revealed the gates already closing, which made her wonder if there were pressure plates. Somehow she hadn’t figured Colt to be a big fan of new fangled devices. Clearly she’d been wrong.

The road led toward some low-lying hills. Grass and trees were the only things she could see as she got closer, her truck leaving a rooster tail of dust behind her. But like theater curtains, the hills seemed to part. Up ahead the road split into a Y, the branch on her right ending at a place she couldn’t see. The road to her left, well, she couldn’t see where that went, either, at least not at first. Soon buildings came into view. Big house at the end of the road with a massive oak tree in the front yard, barn to the right. Huge rose bushes lined the front, the kind that had been there forever, the home seeming to have been randomly plopped down in the middle of nowhere. Prairie grass stretched as far as the eye could see.

She’d taken her foot off the accelerator, slowing down so she could observe. Trucks and trailers were parked in front.

Crud.

He had company. Oh, well, she thought. He wouldn’t have buzzed her through if he hadn’t wanted her to intrude.

She turned her attention to her surroundings. The two-story homestead seemed old, but she would bet at one point it’d been considered a mansion in these parts. It was painted white, and was perfectly square but for a small portion that jutted out on the right side in a hexagonal shape. There were windows all around it and the cutest little gingerbread roofline. Along the lower left side of the home sat an old-fashioned porch, the kind with blooming potted plants hanging between fancy scalloped braces. It wrapped around the side and front edges of the home.

Colt had parked his trailer next to the porch, which seemed dumb considering it probably blocked his view of the rolling foothills and nearby mountains. Natalie’s gaze moved to the barn to the right. Nothing fancy, just what appeared to be an old hayloft converted into a horse stable—she glimpsed stalls inside. By far the newest addition had to be the arena off behind the barn. State of the art by the looks of it, with a matching round pen outside. Both training areas had sand footing and high wooden rails that had been left natural in color so that they matched the big barn.

When she pulled up next to one of the four trucks parked out front she couldn’t help but admire their shiny exteriors. Her own truck was at least twenty years old and looked the part.

Feminine giggles.

They were the first thing to greet her—that and the sound of a bluebird warbling off in the distance. She didn’t know why the laughter took her aback. She’d figured Colt wasn’t the type to spend time with female company, had assumed the horses she saw saddled inside the trailer belonged to men.

No, he just didn’t want to spend time with you.

Okay, fine. Back when she’d been her old self, she’d been a little miffed that he’d given her the cold shoulder at Zach and Mariah’s wedding. She wasn’t used to men doing that and, quite frankly, when she’d first met him she’d kicked herself for not agreeing to go on a date with him. He was a handsome cuss. Not that he’d asked, but Wes had offered to set them up at least a half-dozen times. She hadn’t wanted a thing to do with a cowboy back then. Not her type. And then she’d met him and been instantly struck by that tingling in the pit of her belly, the only thought in her mind: oh my.

She rounded the open doorway of the barn and drew up short. Women. Five of them. All good looking. All cowgirls judging by the tight-fitting jeans and T-shirts. All standing in the middle of the barn, a row of stalls to their left and what must have been three tons of hay piled high to their right. The women turned to stare at her as though she was a poppy seed stuck in someone’s teeth.

“Hey.” She hated sounding so uncertain of herself because standing just beyond them was Colt in a black button-up and pressed jeans. “Sorry to drop in on you like this.” She pointed over her shoulder. “But I was hoping we could talk.”

He didn’t seem angry that she’d tracked him down at his ranch. He didn’t seem anything at all, although it was hard to gauge the emotions in his eyes beneath his cowboy hat. He stood just inside the barn, in front of the first stall.

“Natalie, meet the Galloping Girlz. Trick riders. They’ll be performing with me out on the road.”

Trick riders. Ah. They had the look of performers. Pretty. Skinny. Self-confident. She estimated most of them to be younger than she was, although one of them, a brunette, seemed about her age. Inside the barn it was dark, the only light coming from the massive front entrance, but when that brunette narrowed her gaze, her lashes following the lowered sweep of her eyes, it wasn’t too dim for Natalie to spot the curiosity spilling from their blue depths.

“Samantha here is their leader.”

“Hi.” The woman charged toward Natalie and clasped her hand in her grip like a cowgirl wrangling a heifer. “Call me Sam.” She pointed a thumb in Colt’s direction. “Colt’s the only one allowed to call me Samantha.”

Natalie would have to be deaf not to hear the possessiveness in the woman’s voice. She had long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, the strands around her head held back by a crystal-studded headband that caught the light and sparkled in a way that matched the rhinestones on the front of her shirt. The woman was pretty, for all that she seemed to have the wrong idea about Natalie and Colt.

“We were actually just talking about you,” Colt offered.

When Natalie caught Colt’s gaze she still couldn’t tell what ideas ran through his head. He didn’t seem happy to see her. Then again, he didn’t seem upset, either.

“Uh oh.” She shot Samantha a smile meant to project: Friendly! Nice! Not interested in Colt! “I hope that’s a good thing.”

“Sam’s been trying something new.” Natalie watched to see if Colt reciprocated Sam’s feelings, but the man was good at hiding his thoughts. “She wants to jump through a flaming hoop, but she’s having trouble.” Natalie couldn’t be certain, but she thought that might be amusement she saw in Colt’s eyes. “I told her she’d be lucky if she didn’t set herself on fire.”

“Colt.” Sam made a big show of punching him in the shoulder before turning back to Natalie. “Colt tells me you used to be some big, famous jumping person.”

Internationally famous. Ranked first in the world. Everyone had said 2016 would have been her year, the year she’d represent the United States in the games. And then the accident.

“I did okay.”

There were times when disappointment and sorrow came out of nowhere and smacked her in the face. This was one of those moments, though she tried to hide it. When she met Colt’s gaze, his amusement faded.

“We were hoping you could help.” He gave her a small smile, one meant to tell her without words that he understood.

She took a deep breath, got hold of her emotions, and pulled her shoulders back. “Well it’s a good thing I showed up here then, isn’t it?”

“So you’ll do it?” Sam asked.

“Of course.”

“Wait, wait.” Colt held up his hands. “I told Sam she had to give you something in return.”

Sam’s whole face lit up with excitement. “I’m going to teach you to trick ride.”


Chapter Four (#ulink_7c60f8bd-5b03-5566-a1bc-bfdf6d3bc28a)

He thought she’d be thrilled. Working with the Galloping Girlz would be an excellent way for Natalie to build upper body strength, not to mention recover her center of gravity.

Natalie didn’t seem thrilled. She seemed terrified.

“Oh, wow.”

But the subtext of her words clearly indicated she’d rather jump out of an airplane—without a parachute.

“We can talk about it later.” He motioned to the Galloping Girlz. “I think Sam would appreciate some help with Roger today.

“I would. He keeps stopping and I don’t know why.”

“Why don’t you unload your horses?” Colt eyed the girls. “I can talk to Natalie about my idea alone.”

“Sure,” Sam said, corralling her teammates, but not before shooting Colt one last smile, a grin that slid off the edge of her face when her eyes fell on Natalie. Colt made a mental note to set the record straight with Sam even though he’d told her half a dozen times already—he wasn’t interested in dating anybody.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your plans for the day,” Natalie ventured.

For some reason Colt had a hard time meeting Natalie’s eyes. Now that he thought about it, he’d had trouble with that since the moment he’d first met her. Something about her pretty blue gaze made him uncomfortable.

“No. It’s okay. I should have called you before now anyway.”

“But you weren’t going to, were you?”

He prided himself on being honest in most situations, but he wouldn’t be human if he didn’t get a little hot under the collar thanks to the guilt her words evoked. “Tell you the truth, I wasn’t. Well, I was. I was going to call to tell you to find someone else.”

She seemed surprised by his frankness, her long lashes parting a bit before swooping down to shield those amazing blue eyes from his stare. “But now you want me to work with Sam. What changed your mind?”

“You showed up at my front gate.” He shook his head. “And that tells me you’re stubborn, and that you probably wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“But you’re scared.”

That caught her off guard. “What makes you say that?”

“The look on your face when Sam volunteered to teach you trick riding.”

“I told you my equilibrium is all messed up.”

It wasn’t just that. He could tell that she was holding something back. “Are you afraid of falling off?”

Her blue eyes suddenly grew two inches wide.

“You are, aren’t you?”

She pulled her gaze away once again, as if sensing he could read the thoughts in them. “Well, I should be a little cautious, don’t you think? I mean, I’m basically learning how to ride all over again.”

Cautious, yes. Terrified, no.

But he had some experience with how she felt. He’d taken a nasty tumble off a bronc once. Took him nearly a year to get back into the groove of things. And then even more recently, when he’d been caught in a fire fight near the border of Benghazi, it’d taken months before he could head out to patrol without getting the shakes. The thing with the military, though, was that you didn’t have a choice. He might never have gotten over his fear if he’d been allowed to slink away.

“They say the best thing is to get back on the horse, and in my experience, that’s proven to be true.”

“I didn’t fall off the last time I rode,” she protested.

“No. Playboy took off with you. In some ways that can be worse.”

She didn’t deny it, but he could tell she still didn’t want to try trick riding.

“Look, when I was younger I started riding broncs. I don’t know if you know or not, but there’s no steering a bucking horse. Took me a while to get used to having no control. It’s going to take a while for you, too.”

“But that’s just it.” She splayed her hands. “Bridleless reining is all about control.”

He shook his head. “When it comes to horses, control is an illusion. They can always do what they want if they decide to. They’re bigger, faster and, in some cases, smarter than a lot of humans. But all that doesn’t matter because first you have to learn how to trust them or none of your goals will be possible.” He crossed his arms in front of him. “Riding with the Galloping Girlz will be the best thing for you.”

“What will I be doing?”

“That’s up to Sam. She’s the pro.”

She didn’t want to do it. Not at all.

“This is a deal breaker for me, Natalie. Either you let the girls help you out or I’m done.”

He could see that she didn’t take kindly to his ultimatum, but he was doing it for her own good. Just like in the military, sometimes it was better for people if they weren’t given a choice. Tough love, so to speak.

Those eyes of hers had gone from big and uncertain to narrowed and annoyed. His words seemed to serve as a challenge. “Fine.”

“You’ll do it?”

“It seems I have no choice.”

Good for her. He had to squelch the unexpected surge of admiration he felt. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I can see the fear in your eyes. It makes me wonder if you’re ready. Maybe you should take some time off. Learn how to knit or something. When you’re ready to get back on a horse you’ll know.”

“I’m not afraid to get back on a horse.”

Tell it to the judge.

But he didn’t say the words aloud. “Good,” he said instead. “Because I think you should start working with Sam today.”

“Today?” Her lips went slack.

“No time like the present.”

He left her standing there because damned if he didn’t want to tell her everything would be okay. That he’d been in her shoes. That it would all work out. And even crazier, he had to fight the urge to pull her into his arms and reassure her with a hug.

I must be going soft in my old age.

* * *

IT’LL BE ALL RIGHT. You’ll be okay. Colt won’t let you fall on your head.

And die.

“You really don’t need a helmet,” Sam said, the bay gelding she held standing by her side patiently. “I promise not to let you fall on your head and die.”

The words so closely echoed Natalie’s thoughts that she almost let out a burst of laughter. Of course, it might sound a little hysterical right now, but at this point she really didn’t care.

“Where I come from if you don’t wear a helmet, you’re considered insane.” She saw Sam’s eyes flash. “Not that I’m calling you insane, it’s just a mind-set kind of thing.”

Sam glanced at Colt, and Natalie could perfectly interpret the look she gave him. It was one of shared amusement. Only Colt didn’t seem amused. He peered at them from his position alongside the rail of the arena. They stood in the sand, the other girls already on their horses and riding around. The first time she’d seen one of the pretty blondes stand on top of a saddle she’d felt physically nauseous.

There was no way they’d ask her to do that. Not yet, at least.

“Go on. Climb aboard.”

It was at that moment that Natalie admitted to herself that Colt was right. She’d lost her nerve.

“I’d still feel better if I had something on my head.” She pointed toward her hair. “I just had a traumatic brain injury.”

Her chest felt tight. Anxiety. No denying it.

Sam had begun to study her closely, perhaps a little too closely. Did she know how near Natalie was to panic? “Colt, don’t you have a helmet in the barn? I thought I saw one hanging there.”

“I do.” Without another word he turned to go get it.

It was a way to stall, the helmet issue, Natalie acknowledged inwardly. Well, not really. She truly didn’t want to ride without the proper safety equipment, but the temporary delay gave her time to gather the reins of her nerve and analyze why she felt the way she did. Yes, she’d fallen off. Ironically, she’d been critically injured but the horse she’d been riding had been just fine, so she wasn’t afraid of hurting another horse. Besides, she’d ridden Playboy recently and she hadn’t been half as afraid as she was now.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

When Natalie looked up, Sam’s eyes had lost their edge. She peered at her with something close to pity on her face. “We can do something else to get you back into shape, something that doesn’t involve a horse.”

Was her fear that obvious?

“No, no.” Damn it. She could do this. She would do this. She turned toward the gelding next to her. “At least your horse is low to the ground. I won’t have to look like a rock climber trying to scale Half Dome.”

Humor. A defense mechanism. Before a big competition she’d always been the one to crack jokes. Laughter helped ground her. It reminded her that life shouldn’t be taken too seriously. Everyone was going to die. One should enjoy the moment.

Just then one of the Galloping Girlz went by on her horse. The woman hung upside down off the side of her mount. Natalie gulped.

“I’m not doing that.”

Sam followed her gaze and smiled. “Not yet.”

Not ever.

“Here you go.”

Natalie turned. Colt stood there with the helmet. An ugly white thing that resembled the top of a golf ball.

“Thanks.”

When she met his gaze, she tried unsuccessfully to shield her thoughts from him.

You’ll be all right.

The words were unspoken, but she heard them anyway. And suddenly she knew everything would be okay. He wouldn’t let her get hurt. That wasn’t his style. The man was a protector. A warrior. A good guy.

She tipped her chin up. “Let’s do this.”

She slipped on the helmet. It was a little too big, but it would do. Sam held the reins as she prepared to mount. She paused before getting on. Sam’s patient gelding cocked an ear in her direction.

Nothing to be afraid of. The arena floor was soft. Even if she did fall off, chances were she wouldn’t strike her head on the ground hard enough to jolt her brain. Thereby causing a seizure. One that might lead to permanent damage or even the end of her life.

“What’s his name?” She grabbed the saddle horn. Although the horse was small by her standards—she was used to animals at least a foot taller than this one—it still felt like climbing a mountain.

“Roger.”

“So this is the horse that refuses to jump?”

“It is.”

She swung aboard. The way her heart pounded against her ribcage one would have thought she’d saddled a wild tiger. Good heavens, what was with her? She’d never been afraid of a horse a day in her life.

She caught Colt’s gaze. He knew what a struggle it’d been for her to climb on, and the realization humiliated her. It shouldn’t matter what he thought—she didn’t even think he liked her—but for some reason it did.

“Too bad you can’t take him over some fences for me.” Sam met Natalie’s gaze. “Colt told me you were in a horse wreck. What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Natalie fingered a strand of Roger’s black mane. “I was told my horse slipped before a jump, but I don’t remember anything.”

“Wow. Was the horse okay?”

“He was fine. Me? Not so much.” It still freaked her out that she couldn’t recall the accident. No matter how hard she tried—it just wasn’t there. “They have it on video, but the angle’s all wrong. He might have chipped a bit, might have slipped, might have spooked at something. All I know is he took off wrong and landed in the middle of a five foot fence.”

“Five feet?”

Talking was good. Talking meant she didn’t have to move. When she put a horse into motion she began to suffer dizzy spells. It wasn’t so bad if she walked, but anything faster and she might as well be riding the Tilt-O-Whirl at the fair.

“Fortunately it wasn’t during a jump-off or it might have been higher.”

“Why don’t you take Roger out to the rail?” Sam suggested.

They both glanced toward Colt and Natalie could tell nothing escaped his notice. He knew she was stalling for time. Could he see the way her hands shook? Had he spotted her pulse beating at her neck? The way her hands clenched and unclenched on the reins? She would swear her heart could be heard outside her body.

“Come on.” She clucked, but the moment the horse took a step forward she wanted to throw up, and not just because of the way moving made her feel. There was the fear she battled back. The sickness at realizing she wasn’t the same as before and might never be. The shame of knowing she hadn’t been honest with Colt and the admission that she owed him the truth.

“Whoa.”

The horse obeyed instantly, his head lifting a notch as she pulled back on the reins.

“What’s the matter?” Colt asked from the rail.

She’d had a traumatic brain injury, damn it. She’d damaged her inner ear.

“I just need a moment.”

“Time out.”

Natalie’s head snapped up, causing her to clutch mane. “I don’t need a time out. I just need a moment to adjust to the sudden change in elevation.”

Too late. Colt walked toward her. He eyed Sam. “Give us a second, would you, Sam?”

The woman nodded, shooting Natalie a look of encouragement before taking Colt’s place on the rail.

“When you said you had balancing issues, exactly what did you mean?” He asked.

“I told you, I can’t ride English anymore. Lifting my body up and down makes me so dizzy I nearly came off the first time I rode.”

“You also said you could ride Western.”

“And I can.” She held Colt’s gaze, a part of her wanting to tell him the truth, the whole truth, but if she did that, she knew she’d lose her last best chance of ever riding again. “Like I said, I just need a moment.”

“You haven’t even broken a walk and you’re already clutching mane.”

She immediately released the strands of black horse hair. “All better.” She lifted her hands. “See?”

He didn’t look as if he believed her, his golden eyes nearly as dark as the black felt of his cowboy hat. “Exactly what happened when you rode Playboy without a bridle?”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to know the details. Were you walking? Trotting? Galloping?”

She didn’t want to answer because by doing so she would reveal more than she wanted him to know. “I was just walking.”

He crossed his arms, tipping back to stare up at her in a way that had her wanting to break the connection of their gaze. “And had you ever trotted since your accident?”

And there it was. The question she’d feared. “No.”

He tipped back farther. “Cantered?”

She took a deep breath. “No.”

“So all you’ve done since your wreck is walk?”

Another deep breath. “Yes.”

“And you decided on that day to practice walking without a bridle?”

“You make it sound like I’m crazy.”

“What happened when you dropped the bit?”

“At first, nothing.”

“And then?”

One of the girls in the arena galloped by again, this one hanging off the back of her mount so that her head rested near her horse’s tail. Dear Lord. Never mind how painful it must be to have the cantle of the saddle digging into your—

“Natalie?”

“Once he realized he had no bridle Playboy started to trot.”

“Were you able to hang on?”

“At first.” Her fingers found mane again and she dug her hands into the silky strands. “But then he started to canter, and the up-and-down motion, well, let’s just say it made things more difficult.”

“Exactly how difficult.”

“I nearly blacked out.”

“Son of a—” If he’d been the demonstrative type she had a feeling he would have thrown his hat at her.

“But I hung on.” Somehow she had, although to this day she didn’t know how. She couldn’t recall Jillian running into the arena, or her friend stepping in front of Playboy and somehow managing to get him stopped. She half-suspected she’d had her eyes closed the whole time. All she knew was that one moment the horse had been running full-tilt and the next she was being helped down to the ground.

“I vomited afterward.”

If Colt had been a character in a sitcom he would have stormed off set. Instead he just stood there, mouth partly open, and though she sat above him by a good two feet, she somehow felt about three feet smaller.

“Why is it every time I talk to you I discover something new? Something I’m not happy to discover. Something that smacks of dishonesty?”

Because she had been dishonest. About one thing at least.

“Because if I told you the whole story, you’d never have agreed to help me, would you?”

She had him there. The brim of his cowboy hat lowered so that she couldn’t see his face. He appeared to be watching one of the Galloping Girlz, this one on a sorrel. Natalie watched, too, because the woman had hooked her foot into a loop near the skirt of the saddle. She anticipated what would happen next and sure enough, the pretty blonde stood up, hooking her other foot through a matching loop on the other side. She stood. No reins. No control. No fear. It took Natalie’s breath away because it was both awe-inspiring and death defying, the woman’s blond ponytail streaming out behind her.

“I won’t be doing that anytime soon.”

Colt’s gaze shot to her own. She saw a flicker of amusement, but only for a moment.

“Probably not.”

His shoulders lifted and then relaxed, as if he’d taken a deep breath, one filled with resignation. Her own breathing slowed.

“All right, look, we’re going to work on some simple balancing techniques today. I’m going to put you out on a lunge line, have you close your eyes, keep you focused on staying aboard, not what your head is telling you might happen.”

She used to do that to the kids she taught. The five-year-olds.

Now, now. You have to start somewhere.

“And tomorrow?”

“More balancing exercises.”

She nodded. “Whatever we have to do.”

“But I can’t work with you every day. Maybe Sam can, but I have performances most weekends.”

“I know.”

“But I’ll do what I can. And we can talk to Sam and see if she can help you when I’m not around.”

Natalie wanted to cry, except she couldn’t because if she did she’d seem like a sissy and she had a feeling Colt didn’t deal well with sissies.

“You’re going to feel like a kid learning to ride all over again, and when you’re not working with Sam or me, I think you should sign up for a rehabilitation program, one that specializes in hippotherapy.”

Hippotherapy. Translation: equine therapy. She’d resisted doing that, hadn’t thought it was necessary. Clearly, she’d been kidding herself. She trusted Colt, and if he said she needed outside help, well maybe it was time to put her pride aside.

“In the meantime bring Playboy over here and I’ll start working with him for you. It’ll be easier for me to prep him for reining competitions.”

Her eyes burned. She realized that she was fighting back sudden tears. She had to blink a few times. “Thanks, Colt.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He slapped Roger’s neck. “Let’s see how you do today before you start getting excited.”


Chapter Five (#ulink_fcdcd79f-d803-566b-aad1-f332b926f109)

He’d tortured her for an hour.

Natalie had been a saint through it all. Colt had known his ultimatum would leave her with little choice but to do as he asked, and truthfully, he’d half-hoped she’d say no so he’d be off the hook with very little guilt. She’d agreed, though, and then worked hard, despite having to stop from time to time to settle her stomach. Afterward, she’d spent a good hour working with Sam and Roger over a few pieces of wood. She called it ground work, but it wasn’t the kind he was used to. Natalie had said that using the wooden obstacles was the first step to teaching Roger how to jump.

“You look lost in thought.”

Colt glanced up at his sister, Claire. They were sitting in her kitchen, him about to embark on babysitting duties, her heading off to town to run errands. Claire lived on the property, in what had been called the cowboy bunkhouse back when their dad had run a few hundred head of cattle. She’d converted the place into a home, and the siblings now lived a good mile away from each other, Colt at one end of the two-hundred-acre parcel and Claire at the other. He’d always liked the spot where she lived—at the base of a small hill, surrounded by a grove of oak trees with a year-round creek within walking distance—better than the site where his grandfather had built the main homestead, out in the middle of nowhere so he could keep an eye on things, or so Colt had been told.

“I was thinking about that woman I’m helping,” he answered.

“Natalie, right?” Claire swept her long, black hair over one shoulder, the strands twisting in a way that somehow made it look thicker. “Wes and Jillian’s friend.”

He fingered the tab top of a soda can, twanging it as he recalled his first lesson with Natalie. “She popped in on me today.”

Wide, sweeping black brows lifted. “Oh, yeah?”

Adam, Colt’s five-year-old nephew, sat in the small living area near the front of the cozy but comfortable open-concept house. He was busy snapping together some kind of Lego war craft, probably from the latest superhero movie, Hawkman. The boy loved comic books. When Adam glanced up, Colt found himself smiling, once again surprised at how much he looked like Claire. That was a good thing. Not just because she was good-looking, but because he couldn’t imagine Claire having to stare at Marcus’s face day in and day out.

“We ended up tormenting her in the arena.”

Claire took a pull from her own soda, clearly not in any hurry to set off on her trip to town.

“We being you and your new harem,” she said, a teasing glint coming into her bright green eyes.

“Claire!”

Her smile could light up a room and right then, it did. “What? You know it’s true. Sam has had the hots for you since you came back from the Middle East.”

“Not interested.”

“Why not? She’s pretty, that’s for sure.”

“You know why.” He peered at Claire in a way she couldn’t fail to recognize.

Her smile faded. “You’re still convinced you’re damaged goods.”

“It’s proven to be a little more than a theory by now.” But he didn’t like to think about his failed romances, nor the scars that fire fight near Benghazi had left behind. “Anyway, we worked Natalie pretty hard.”

He could tell Claire wanted to continue the conversation about his love life, but she wisely changed her mind. “What do you mean? I thought you were helping her with her horse?”

He really wished his soda was a beer. He could have used a long swig of something stronger right then. “Turns out she needs as much work as her horse.”

“I thought she was some kind of famous English rider.”

“She was. She had an accident.” He tapped his head. “It’s messed up her balance pretty good.”

As he thought back to earlier in the day, and how hard Natalie had fought not only to stay atop Roger, but to keep herself from getting sick, something damn near like admiration made one side of his mouth curl.

“You like her.”

His head jerked upward. “Excuse me?”

“This woman. You like her. I saw the way you just smiled.”

“I didn’t smile.” He leaned back in his chair and peered out the window by the kitchen table where they sat. “It was a smirk.”

“I can tell the difference between a smirk and a smile.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be confusing admiration with interest.”

“Why not? They’re two sides of the same coin.”

“It’s not like that.” Colt shot his sister a glare.

“Is she pretty?”

Instantly, Natalie’s jewel-like eyes came to mind. They were blue-tinted stained glass windows to her soul. Not just pretty. Stunning.

“She is, isn’t she?” Claire wriggled in her chair. “And you—” she made quotes with her fingers “—admire her. This ought to be interesting.”

Colt ignored her. “Do me a favor. Go on and get out of here. I’d like to spend some quality time with my nephew, if you don’t mind.”

It was her turn to smirk, but Claire was smart. She knew when to push an issue and when to pull back. So she stood and reached behind her, pulling the cowhide straps of her brown purse over her shoulder.

“Fine.” She leaned down and kissed the top of his head, the gesture so reminiscent of when they had been kids, it brought a lump to Colt’s throat. “I won’t be gone long. I just need to pick up some dog food from the feed store and run by Adam’s doctor’s office to sign some insurance papers. I shouldn’t be gone more than an hour.”

He lifted a hand in acknowledgment. His nephew hadn’t been feeling well lately. Some kind of persistent flu, but Claire had told him Adam had been bouncing off the walls earlier so he planned to take the boy back to his own place, put him up on one of the horses, and help him burn off some energy.

“But for the record.” Claire paused with her hand on the old-fashioned knob. “I don’t think you’re as damaged as you think. I think you’re one of the most amazing men I know. Well, aside from Chance.” Her smile turned sad for a moment because she missed their little brother, a man who’d dedicated his life to the military in a way Colt might have, too, if he hadn’t been pressured to come home when their dad had gotten sick. “But that goes without saying. Anyway, my point is that someday some woman is going to challenge you to be the man I’ve always known you could be. I just hope I’ll still be living here so I can be around to see it.”

* * *

COLT HAD TOLD HER to bring Playboy over the next day and Natalie wasted no time in taking him up on the offer. These days she had to borrow a trailer—yet another thing she’d had to sell—from a friend. Playboy didn’t seem to mind.

Colt had given her the gate code so she drove right in unannounced. She worried Colt would be out, but it turned out she’d feared needlessly. His pretty truck with all its fancy logos sat right where it’d been parked yesterday, but today there was another truck next to it. She wondered if he had company. A girlfriend perhaps? And why did that give her pause? Whether he dated someone such as Sam or this month’s cover girl, it didn’t matter. At least there weren’t a million different vehicles out front. Ergo, she wouldn’t be goaded into riding today. She couldn’t imagine getting on a horse again so soon. Yesterday had been bad enough. All they’d done was walk, but even that had been difficult. It was her peripheral vision that messed her up—they’d figured out that if she closed her eyes, she didn’t get as dizzy. It’d been something of a breakthrough and she had Colt to thank for figuring it out.

She pulled up in front of the barn. A horse inside neighed, and Playboy answered the call. It’d dawned overcast and cold in the morning, but the clouds had burned off leaving behind a glorious day. In the distance behind Colt’s house, the grazing cows lifted their heads, eyes clearly peering in her direction. She turned her attention back to Playboy.

“You ready to learn how to be a trick horse?” She paused near the side of the trailer. The horizontal slats afforded her a perfect view of her animal in his rope halter. He didn’t pay much attention to her; too busy looking around, ears pricking forward, then back, then forward again.

“Don’t be nervous.” She climbed up on the side of the wheel well, reached through the slats and rested a palm on Playboy’s dark neck. “Colt’s about as nice as they come.”

To animals.

He’d been a harsh taskmaster yesterday. When she’d gotten one of her dizzy spells, he hadn’t let her stop. He’d insisted she keep going. Told her to close her eyes and hang on, and if she started to fall he’d catch her. She hadn’t fallen. Truth be told, it wasn’t just the fear of hitting the ground that had kept her on board. It was pride. She’d be damned if she’d fall off in front of Colt and the Galloping Girlz.

She glanced toward the house, fully expecting to see Colt coming toward her. Surely he’d heard her pull up. The cobblestone path leading up to his front door stood empty. Guess he didn’t hear me arrive, she thought, setting off in the direction of his home.

She heard the woman’s voice before she saw her through the picture-frame window set beneath the home’s front porch overhang. A dark-haired woman. Sam? Had she spent the night? Something curdled in Natalie’s stomach. Had they talked about her after she’d left? Did they think her pathetic?

Stop it.

She took a deep breath. She might be broken, but she wasn’t beaten, and she wasn’t ashamed of her disability.

She found herself in front of a door the color of leather with four squares of beveled glass set into its center. All she could see through the panes were light and dark shadows. She lifted the horseshoe-shaped brass knocker and let it swing.

“Just a minute,” Colt called from inside.

Goodness, she hoped they weren’t half undressed. That would be embarrassing. No sooner had she had the thought than she spotted a dark shape approaching through the glass. The door swung wide and a harried looking Colt appeared before her.

“Sorry.” He ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Bad time.” He peered toward the stable area. “If you just want to put Playboy in the first stall on the left, I’ve already cleared a space for him.”

“Actually—” A woman as beautiful as a Bond girl appeared behind Colt. She had clearly been crying. “I think I’ll be heading home.” She held the hand of a little boy, one with dark hair and dark green eyes like his mother. The woman shot Natalie a small, moisture-filled smile, before turning to Colt. “I had things to do today, and I just thought...”

The woman’s words trailed off as tears reappeared on her lashes. She looked steadily at Colt, multiple emotions floating through her eyes, emotions that Natalie couldn’t put a name to. No. That wasn’t precisely true. She recognized pain. Sadness. Fear.

What was going on?

“Claire, no. You should stay here. Let’s talk some more.”

“Mommy, I’m tired.”

They both looked at the little boy. Natalie’s whole body tensed when she spotted the same sort of emotions in Colt’s eyes.

“Of course you are, baby,” the woman said, and she shot Colt such a look of helplessness that Natalie found herself stepping back.

“I’ll go put Playboy away.”

Colt stared at Natalie and it was the first time she had seen him looking so vulnerable. She gave him a small smile, the reaction instinctive, the urge to say something comforting nearly overwhelming. She had a feeling she’d interrupted something important. Something life-changing. Whatever it was, she knew she should leave and give them some space.

It was almost a relief when they closed themselves back inside. She paused at the top of the steps, hearing the quiet murmur of voices resuming, and glanced up at the sky. She remembered when she’d woken up in the hospital, unable to move, helpless, and how she’d looked out her hospital window and thought how odd it seemed that the sun still rose in the east and set in the west. People still went to work every morning. Life went on, but her life, her small slice of the world, had been changed irrevocably in the blink of an eye. At the very least there should have been a clap of thunder.

She would leave, she thought, unloading Playboy. Come back later when whatever calamity had beset Colt’s life had had time to sink in. But as she unclipped the lead, tapping Playboy on the withers to send him inside his new stall, she knew that might be a while. When she turned to leave, she had a moment of dizziness, her hands instinctively reaching for the stall door she’d been about to swing closed.

“Careful.”

And suddenly he was there, supporting her, making sure she didn’t topple over, and she was looking into his eyes and thinking it wasn’t fair that there was so much sadness in the world.

“I’m okay.” She’d clutched Colt’s forearms, and the material of his denim shirt felt coarse beneath her fingers, his muscles hard. When she met his gaze, she heard herself ask, “Are you?”

She hadn’t meant to pry. Truly she hadn’t. The words felt as if they’d been pulled from her by something bigger than she was, something that recognized the look in his eyes as one she knew. Grief.

“I’m fine.”

He pushed away, ostensibly to peer at Playboy, his face in profile. The only light in the barn came from the massive front entrance. She saw Colt’s jaw tick, the muscle flexing in a way that told her he was clenching his teeth as firmly as he was his hands.

“Colt, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. His hand relaxed. He threw his shoulders back as if facing off with an inner demon only he could see.

“It’s nothing.”

There was one thing she’d learned from her accident and that was to live in the moment. Perhaps that was why she reached for his hand, why she slipped her fingers into his. She didn’t know him all that well, but she recognized a human in pain.

Outside, a truck started. He jerked his hand from hers and turned toward the entryway. A second later the woman drove by. The little boy in the front seat waved.

“Adam,” she heard Colt mutter. “Son of a bitch.”

She took a step back, so much pain, so much fear, so much sadness in his words it was like a physical slap.

“Goddamn son of a bitch.”

He waved at the disappearing truck until he couldn’t see it anymore. Then he turned back toward the barn. Natalie had no idea what he was about to do until he did it, picking up a bucket and pitching it at the hay pile hard enough that it clattered and fell to the ground, startling the horses in the barn.

“Colt.”

It sounded as if the bucket had broken. He didn’t seem to care, just moved to the pile, turned his back to her and stood there. She heard a horse snort, then nothing. Silence descended.

That was when she heard it, his voice so low she would have missed it if it hadn’t been so quiet outside.

“My nephew has cancer.”


Chapter Six (#ulink_ef05660b-5b9f-58a1-86ed-080cfe3ab44f)

“Oh, dear Lord.”

Colt heard Natalie’s words, but told himself not to say more. It wasn’t any of her business. He could handle his own problems, like he always had.

Adam had cancer.

He wasn’t certain he could handle that.

“How bad?” she asked.

He shouldn’t have said anything, damn it, didn’t want to talk about it. “Bad enough that he has to go in for a battery of tests this week.” Colt’s breaths came faster and faster. “Goddamn it. He’s just a kid. He should be playing with his Hawkman action figure, not dealing with a deadly disease.”

“I’m sorry.”

How could it be possible? How could his curious, rambunctious five-year-old nephew have cancer? Cancer was for old people. For people who smoked or who tanned too much. It wasn’t for little children.

“What kind?”

He rounded on her. “They don’t know yet. Some kind of blood something.”

Natalie had taken a small step back, blue eyes wide, and it occurred to him that she’d been through her own kind of personal hell and didn’t deserve his anger. That’s what he was—angry. No. Enraged. His poor sister had been through enough already what with the death of Marcus. She’d spent enough time in hospitals. She didn’t deserve this. Adam didn’t deserve this. None of them did.

Colt hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes until he felt Natalie’s hand on his arm again. He told himself to pull away, but when he opened his eyes to do exactly that, something in her gaze caught him.

“What can I do to help?” she offered.

He took a deep breath, tried to calm his emotions. “Saddle up your horse so I can ride him.”

Work. Work was the best thing for him. He had a rodeo this weekend and he’d been planning on heading out early. Now that wasn’t possible. He wanted to be around for Adam’s tests. But he could work here at home. He could keep himself busy, keep himself from thinking dark and horrible thoughts.

Natalie did as he asked without question. He had no idea how she’d known which saddle to use. He had several of them, but she’d picked his work saddle, although he didn’t recognize the bridle. Must have been hers. When she’d finished she stepped back.

“He’s pretty light in the bridle.”

He didn’t comment. His hands shook as he reached for the reins.

Adam had cancer.

He wanted to wrench the reins from her hands. To jump aboard and gallop off into the distance. To forget what he knew with the help of a long ride. Alas, the words in his head and the dark, terrible thoughts they roused weren’t going anywhere.





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