No Hero Like Him

Walk again? Of course, he’d walk again!

“Cut to the chase, Dr. Tandy. When can I get back on a bull?”

“Bull riding? No.”

Bull riding, yes! It was all Seth knew. All he loved. “I’ve got to ride, Doc.”

“Is it worth the risk? You could do permanent damage.”

If it wasn’t worth the risk, I never would have climbed on the back of a bull the first time.

“Come on, Doc,” Seth had countered, refusing to accept his fate. “Guys ride after breaking a leg. No big deal.”

“The bone twisted apart in three separate places. If you injure it again…” He’d shaken his head and turned away from the hospital bed, writing on his chart. “Do yourself a favor, Seth. Find another career.”

Seth made himself stop thinking about that. He grabbed his gear bag, went out to his truck and headed to the gym.

THAT EVENING, Libby brought home food from the local café. Seth didn’t say so, but the fried fish, coleslaw and beans were a welcome change from the casserole he’d eaten for three days straight now.

“How did your workout go?” she asked.

Her sincere interest made him feel guilty. Her eyes searched his face and she shook her head, making her short blond hair bounce. “Not so well, huh?”

“I didn’t go today.” He wouldn’t admit that he had driven all the way to Bozeman, only to take in a movie and drive home again.

“Seth, you can’t do that! You have to be consistent with your rehab or you’re never going to make progress.”

“So what? Doc Tandy says I’ll never ride again, anyway.”

“Maybe not, but you’ll do something else, and you’ll want to be healed.”

Libby must have seen despair on his face, because she changed to that firm older-sister voice she always used when he was hurt. “It’s going to take awhile. There’s no overnight fix and you have to have patience. Grab a couple of plates, okay? I’m starving.”

Seth limped to the cabinet, laying napkins and utensils on the table, as well. “Patience,” he griped. “You sound like Doc. If I hear that word one more time, I’m going to blow. And patience for what, if I can’t ride?”

Libby began to eat, her face set in a worried frown. Maybe, Seth thought, he needed to move out, get away from his sister so she wouldn’t feel so…burdened, and he wouldn’t feel so guilty. The problem was, he’d sublet his apartment in Billings for the summer—a decision he now regretted.

“You’re not going to ride bulls again,” Libby said at last, “and you might as well accept it.”

“I don’t accept it!” Seth retorted. “And I don’t intend to.”

Libby put down her fork. “You know, changing your attitude might help a little.”

“My attitude will change when I see progress.”

The two of them ate in silence for a while. When Libby took her empty plate to the counter, she said, “Well, you can’t just lie around this house all summer. You’ll only get more depressed and down on yourself.”

Seth followed her to the sink, where she began to wash the dishes. “Are you kicking me out?” he asked.

She handed him a plate to dry. “You know I’d never do that. But I want you to do me a big favor. I want you to help out a friend of mine this summer.”

“Doing what?” Seth asked skeptically. He leaned against the counter, shifting his weight off his sore leg while he dried. “You know I can’t work on a ranch with this useless leg and that’s about all I know how to do. Besides, I have enough saved up to get by until I can ride again. If you need more rent I can pay it.”

“Certainly not. You’re welcome to stay here for free for as long as you want to—you’re the one who insists on paying room and board.” Libby finished the dishes and pulled the plug, letting the water flow down the drain. “I just hate to see you so low. If you had some sort of job, I think you’d feel better, and Claire is in a real bind.”

“I’ll feel better when I can ride a bull again.” Seth dried the last glass and set it in the cabinet. He handed the dish towel to Libby and she spread it across the double sink divider to dry.

“You’re being stubborn.”

“As always.” He managed a grin. “What’s the deal with your friend?”

“Claire’s the nicest person—and really pretty.”

Seth straightened and gave his sister a warning look. “Do not try to play matchmaker.”

She jammed her hands on her hips. “I’m not playing matchmaker. Claire just happens to be pretty, and she really needs help. She has a camp for at-risk youth starting next week at the Rider ranch, and the guy she’d hired to be in charge of the boys quit today. If she doesn’t have a full-time male counselor in place by early next week, they can’t come to camp.”

“Stop right there. I’m not babysitting a bunch of rotten kids all summer.”

“This isn’t babysitting. These teenagers need help, and Claire’s willing to provide it. She’s worked for three years to get a camp started, and has finally succeeded. Then Barry—he’s the assistant principal at school, who was going to help her this summer—he got a great job offer out of the blue, a position that starts immediately. He quit on her today and she’s afraid she’ll never find a replacement in time.”

“Nice guy.” Seth shrugged a shoulder. “But I don’t have the experience.”

“No, but you’re good with kids. And you could use something to occupy your time this summer.”

“I’m good with little kids—and teenage girls,” he said.

“Seth!”

He grinned again. “You know what I mean. Signing autographs and paying them a little attention, that’s all.”

Libby sighed in exasperation. “Anyway, Claire is concerned about one boy in particular. Micah Abbott. He’s been in a lot of trouble this year. If he can’t attend Claire’s camp, accomplish the work there, he won’t be allowed back in school next year.”

“So what’s the problem with this Micah? Sounds like he needs more than a slap on the back and an autograph. And that’s about my limit.”

“I don’t know much about him other than he has a bad home life. Claire’s camp is his last hope.”

Seth had never minded assisting somebody in need—changing a flat tire or lending a buddy a few bucks. But spending his summer herding a bunch of teenagers was a bigger commitment than he was willing to make. “Libby, I wish I could help your friend out, but I don’t think I fit the bill for what she needs.”

“Would you at least go talk to Claire? Maybe you could just fill in for a few days to give her time to find somebody permanent.”

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay, but don’t think too long. She needs help fast.” Libby’s voice held a rare edge of irritation. “And you could do this one favor for me. After all, I did you one, letting you come here, instead of making you go home to the ranch. I probably should have anyway, so you and Dad could make up. He wants to, you know.”

“No, I don’t know that,” Seth said. “He’s never done anything to make me believe it.”

“And when have you given him the chance? You won’t even talk to him. Even in the hospital you didn’t want him in your room.”

“Why would I? I did exactly what he always said I would. Ended up with my face in the dirt and busted up. I didn’t want him rubbing that in.”

“None of them would have done that. Everybdy was worried to death about you.”

“Yeah, well, Dad had a funny way of showing it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Seth shrugged. “Just something I heard him say in the hospital.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I’ll think about helping your friend.” Seth felt trapped between the frustration of having an injury that prevented him from doing what he wanted to do, and the guilt of refusing his sister after all she’d done for him. He’d always hated being beholden, even to his family. “I’m going to bed. ’Night.”

He gave Libby a peck on the cheek, then hobbled to his room to watch TV and sulk behind closed doors. He slumped into a chair in front of the TV and used his cell phone to call some of his buddies. He wanted to catch up on the latest standings, see if his name had already dropped off the list of forty-five top-ranked riders, but nobody answered.

Were they checking their caller ID and deciding not to talk to him? He hoped not, but had to admit his attitude hadn’t been great lately. He couldn’t travel, and the others had to, or else they made no money. His travel partner, Jess Marvin, had been forced to pick up another buddy to defray expenses, but usually touched base every few days.

Sometimes Seth imagined that he saw wariness in the eyes of friends who visited him, as if what he had might be catching and if they hung around him too much, some of his bad luck might rub off and they could be the next one laid up. A lot of rodeo riders, like many athletes, had an unhealthy dose of superstition. Wearing a lucky hat or chaps. Dropping to a knee on the arena floor to give thanks to God after a ride or a save.

Who needed negativity when you had to go out and ride the next day? So his buddies had gone on with their lives and left Seth behind.

He picked up the Pro Bull Riders schedule from the floor beside his chair and studied it. No wonder they didn’t answer. They were riding tonight and the rest of the weekend, right up the road in Billings. He could drive there tomorrow. Limp around, breathe in the intoxicating scents of livestock, sweat and food from the concession stands. Take in the heady noise of the arena: the screams of the girls in the stands, the excited snort and grunt of a bull eager to get that rider off his back and that flank rope loose, the yells of the other cowboys urging their comrades on…The shouts of the bull riders luring a rampaging animal away from a fallen rider.

Seth remembered that sound well enough. And the pain, and the mortification of knowing he had to be hauled out of a hushed arena on a gurney. Yeah, he could drive up to Billings for all that. Sure.

He sailed the schedule into a corner, where it hit the wall and slid to the floor. No way in hell.

No, he’d just stay here with Libby all weekend and help her weed her flower beds. Hell, he might be doing that the rest of his life, the way things were going.

CHAPTER THREE

“WONDERFUL! You’re doing great. Cluck to her to keep her moving.”

Claire watched as fifteen-year-old Rachel Rider, one of her young volunteers, led a Shetland pony around the dirt paddock behind the Little Lobo Veterinary Clinic. Rachel’s twelve-year-old sister, Wendy, worked as a side-walker, her hand resting on the leg of a tiny helmeted girl sitting in a saddle that was too big for her, even though it was the smallest available. On the other side of the horse, another Rider girl, thirteen-year-old Sam, served as the second side-walker.

Another sister, eleven-year-old Michele, also volunteered for Claire’s therapeutic riding program. Claire certainly appreciated Jon and Kaycee Rider’s dependable girls. Without them, she feared she would be begging for enough volunteers to keep her program going in the tiny community. The family’s generosity was overwhelming. Kaycee let Claire use the stables and paddocks behind her veterinary clinic and Jon had donated a bunkhouse on his ranch for her summer camp.

With her petite frame, nine-year-old Natalie Hughes could have passed for a five-year-old. Thick glasses made her blue eyes look huge. A combination of neurological and physical problems had stunted her growth and robbed her of the freedom of movement normal in children her age. Yet in the months since she had become one of Claire’s pupils, the child had improved dramatically and now could sit unaided in the saddle. Soon Claire planned to give her the reins to learn to guide the pony, although one of the volunteers would have a halter rope to maintain control, and side-walkers would be in place on either side of her at all times. Still, given Natalie’s limited abilities, it would be a major step forward.

“Now, lift your hands over your head,” Claire told her. “That’s good. The girls won’t let you fall.”

Natalie’s body moved loosely with the pony’s easy sway. She was game, and never hesitated to attempt whatever exercise Claire asked of her. She held her hands overhead for a minute, then let them drop.

“Great job,” Claire said. “Now, say ‘Whoa, Sheffield.’”

“Whoa, Sheffield,” Natalie repeated.

The pony obediently stopped near the gate, waiting for Rachel to lead him through. Once in the covered cross-tie area outside the stables, Claire lifted the child down, hugging her for a long moment before settling her into the electric wheelchair on the concrete pad where her mother waited. Claire tried not to question God why kids like Natalie and the others she saw daily in her therapeutic riding program had been afflicted with such dreadful conditions, but their indomitable spirits always amazed her.

“Bye, Claire,” Natalie said, turning her wheelchair on a dime and heading for the family van, where a lift would place her inside, wheelchair and all.

Her mother smiled at Claire. “Thanks…for everything. She’s so much more confident now and happier all around. It’s wonderful.”

“I think she’ll continue to improve as she gets stronger,” Claire said. “She’s almost ready to hold the reins. Maybe in a couple more lessons.”

“Oh, she’ll love that. See you next time.”

Minutes later, the van pulled out of the parking lot, and Claire left the pony in the care of Rachel and Sam, so she could catch up on her administrative work. Claire’s office and the tack room were located down a breezeway connecting the paddock area to the back row of stalls. Three stalls on the inside ell of the stable looked out onto the covered work area, and she had use of five more stalls along the outside perimeter. A nice wash rack was located behind the stables and the covered area was big enough to cross-tie two horses and still leave room for her challenged riders to maneuver.

Before her next lesson Claire had time to update her charts and continue her search for somebody to replace Barry, so she settled behind her desk to get busy.

A few minutes later she heard another vehicle pull into the parking lot, but she didn’t bother looking up. As well as people coming and going at the vet clinic, there was a constant influx of customers for the Little Lobo Eatery and Daily Grind next door, not to mention the bed-and-breakfast behind the café.

The sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention, especially the uneven gait. She put aside her paperwork and went to the door. The man crossing the stable yard walked with a decided limp, favoring his left leg. When he looked up and found her watching him, his face registered surprise and embarrassment.

“Hello. Is there something I can do for you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for Claire Ford.” The deep, confident voice belied his obvious discomfiture. A black Resistol hat sat low on his forehead, and a crisp, starched shirt and creased jeans complemented a lean, strong frame.

“You’ve found her,” she said with a smile. “Are you here to set up therapy?”

He glanced down self-consciously, then lifted his eyes to hers. “Well, ma’am, I probably need a little, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh, sorry,” Claire said. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

He offered a slight smile that brought a dimple to his left cheek. “I’m Seth Morgan, Libby’s brother. Libby wanted me to stop by about some camp.” He crossed his arms. “Doubt I’m what you’re looking for, but I told her I’d come as a favor, and here I am.”

“Seth, nice to meet you.” Claire reached out a hand and they shook briefly. So this was Seth Morgan. That explained the limp. Libby had told Claire about her brother’s injury. What she’d failed to mention was the attitude. Bull rider. Rodeo cowboy. What else should Claire expect? But this cowboy wouldn’t be riding bulls anytime soon. “Thanks for coming by. Libby told me you might be interested in working for me this summer.”

“It’s more like Libby wants me to find something to do. I owe her big-time, but asking me to play wrangler to a bunch of kids is a bit much.”

Too bad he hadn’t knocked that chip off his shoulder when he fell. Claire noticed him favoring his hurt leg. “Come into my office and let’s talk.”

Since yesterday, she’d made a dozen phone calls, with no luck. At this late date, anybody who might have the summer free had already found employment. Unfortunately, Claire hadn’t interviewed anyone for the job beforehand, since Barry had been the perfect candidate—or so it had seemed. Lesson learned. Always have a plan B.

Seth followed her inside and eased down into a chair, his relief obvious as he removed his hat and laid it in his lap. He was a good-looking guy in his midtwenties, around Claire’s age. Light brown hair showed traces of fading sun streaks, and that athletic physique hadn’t come from a gym.

“Like I said, I doubt I’m what you’re looking for.” His brow furrowed. “I’ve never done anything like counseling before.”

Claire toyed with a pen on her desk. “Right now I might gladly take any male over twenty-five.” She realized how that must sound to a stranger, and when he chuckled, the heat of a blush crept up her neck.

“Well, I fit that bill. Looks like we’re both in a bind.”

Boy, did he ever fit the bill—in spades. Golden eyes the color of a cougar’s held her gaze and turned up the thermostat under her skin until she forced herself to break contact and try to concentrate on what the job entailed.

“Look,” she said. “I’m desperate to find an authority figure for one of the boys.”

“Micah? Libby told me a little about him.”

“Yes, Micah Abbott. The guidance counselor won’t allow him or the other boy to attend if I don’t have a man as a full-time assistant camp director.”

“Assistant camp director? You’re getting way out of my league now.”

“Won’t be too difficult. I need a male authority figure to help keep Micah in line, that’s all.”

“And you think just having me around will do that, when the entire school system can’t? Won’t take a smart kid long to test a banged-up cowboy.” Seth’s gruff voice carried a hint of frustration, maybe even anger.

“Even if you were whole, I would expect you to avoid physical force.”

“Number one, I am whole, lady, just broke my leg,” Seth snapped, pushing himself up from the chair and setting his hat back on his head with a thump. “And number two, I think you need to find somebody else to wrangle this kid.”

If his attitude was a reflection of how he would handle students, she might just be creating more problems by hiring him. Besides, the sex appeal oozing from his pores might be too much of a distraction. Still, she had to have an assistant.

“I’m sorry, I should have said ‘even if you were completely healed.’” Claire rose also. “There are other ways of asserting authority besides being physical, you know.”

“No, I wouldn’t know much about that. I’m pretty used to physical.”

“Libby told me you were a bull rider.”

“Am. I am a bull rider,” Seth said, his words clipped with irritation.

“I understood from your sister that you wouldn’t be able to ride again after this injury.”

The color drained from his face and his breathing quickened perceptibly. “Libby’s got no business saying that. That’s my decision to make.”

“I must have misunderstood,” Claire said quickly. “I thought she mentioned that was the doctor’s prognosis.”

“The surgeon is probably the best there is, but he’s not God. I hope you find somebody for your camp.” Seth spun toward the door, and in the process lost his balance. He caught hold of the door frame to steady himself.

Claire’s first instinct was to rush to help him, but she refrained. He froze in the doorway as if paralyzed, and she realized he was in pain physically as well as emotionally. His pent-up frustration and fear were palpable.

Claire’s nurturing instinct kicked in. “Seth,” she called quietly. “I could really use you this summer. Libby almost promised you’d help me out.”

He wouldn’t turn back to her. “She’s got no business saying that, either.”

“I do need help.” Claire eased around her desk. “If I can’t give the guidance counselor a name by early next week, my camp may not be able to open.”

Seth’s grip on the door frame tightened until his knuckles went white. “You need somebody else,” he said between gritted teeth. “Like you said, somebody whole.”

“I wouldn’t offer you the position if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t leave, either.

“And, Seth,” she said, “I could work with you to strengthen your injured leg and improve your balance. That’s what I do for a living, you know. Therapeutic riding. Think about it overnight, okay?”

He shook his head in a brusque, dismissive movement and started for his truck.

“I’ll be here at eight tomorrow morning, if you change your mind,” Claire called after him.

CHAPTER FOUR

“SETH, GET UP.”

Libby’s voice outside his bedroom door startled him awake.

He groaned and muttered, “What?”

“Get up and go tell Claire you’ll help her.”

Seth sat up in bed, the covers pooling around his bare stomach. His sister had harangued him all last night for turning Claire down. “Don’t start on that again, Libby.”

“I just talked to her. She’s at the stables for a few hours this morning. Get your butt dressed and get out there.”

Seth did a double take, staring at the closed door. Libby never used an off-color word, not even butt. “Come on. I told you I don’t want to—”

“This is the way it is, Seth! Either go work for Claire this summer or I’m going to tell Daddy you’re just wallowing in self-pity, and that he should come up here and get you.”

Seth breathed a few choice words that Libby couldn’t hear. Just what he needed—his father and two of his older brothers on his case all summer. Lane, the one closest to his age, might cut him some slack, but his oldest brother, Howdy, wouldn’t. Sometimes Howdy acted as if he thought he was Seth’s father anyway. “Okay. All right. I’m getting up.”

“Good. Get up and stay up.” She was in full schoolmarm mode now and not to be denied. “I’m teaching early Sunday school today. If you get things straight with Claire in time, it wouldn’t hurt you to come to church.”

“Don’t count on that,” Seth muttered.

“What?” Libby said though the door.

“I said I’ll try,” he called. “You can stop the lecturing now. I’m up.”

He heard Libby cross the hall to her bedroom and close her door.

It was 7:00 a.m. He hadn’t been up this early since he’d gotten out of the hospital. Before his accident, he’d never lain in bed past six. Maybe it was time for him to get back to normal. But he hated the thought of facing Claire Ford again after yesterday. She must really be desperate if she was willing to hire him in his current physical condition.

He shook his head. He wasn’t used to a woman studying him with that analytical, sympathetic expression, something akin to pity. Seth didn’t want anybody, especially a good-looking woman, feeling sorry for him.

His jaw clenched as he recalled how other women had reacted to him, screaming his name and cheering while he flung his hat across the arena in celebration of a great ride. Pressing around after the event as he loaded his gear into his truck. Sidling up to him in the bars the cowboys frequented. Offering to come to his hotel room, or inviting him to theirs. Depending on how pretty she was or how drunk he was, Seth had taken some of them up on their offers. They had never looked at him with pity.

His blood pumped hard with rising anger. He sure as hell didn’t want Claire pitying him. He wanted that old sense of power, that cocksure attitude that had carried him to victory in and out of the arena. Sweat popped out on his forehead when he stood, and the ache in his leg threatened to lay him flat again. The anger turned into a hot, fluid rush of terror. What if he never got back to where he had been before the accident? What if it just never happened?