Her Rodeo Hero

“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

“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.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.