A Cowboy's Pride

She smirked. “Positive.”

Okay, so he was stalling, but he was really sore. All he wanted to do was sit in the damn chair.

He reached for the thick hemp, the fibers biting into his palms. It was as wide as a candlestick and easy to handle. He didn’t have any problem lifting himself up, either, but the minute he’d pulled himself out of his chair, she jerked the thing out from under him.

“Hey!”

“Won’t do you any good if you sit back down.”

He dangled there like a stupid monkey and all she did was smile. “What am I supposed to do? Hang here?”

“No. I want you to straighten up. Use your legs to stand, then try walking.”

“I can’t walk. I’ll fall on my ass.”

“No, you won’t. Just use the rope for balance.”

He took a deep breath, let go with one hand and slapped a palm farther up the rope. His legs dangled uselessly beneath him.

“Stupid.” He didn’t mean to say the word out loud, but it slipped from between his lips before he could stop it.

“There’s nothing stupid about this. I’ve seen your file. I looked at your scans. There’s no reason why you can’t regain the use of your legs. You just need to learn to trust them.”

His arms had begun to shake. He pulled himself up another notch.

“There,” she said. “Now get your legs beneath you.”

“Can’t.”

“Do it.”

He tried moving them, but as always, all he could do was swing them a little. He had no control. Just useless lumps of meat.

She leaned closer to him. “Move them.”

His heart pounded. His arms had started to hurt.

“No.”

He fell. She caught him, somehow supporting his weight, though how she did it he had no idea.

She smelled good.

“Do it again.”

“No.”

She started to let him go. He flailed his arms for the rope. Once again he found himself dangling there.

“Now move.”

“I can’t, damn it.”

His arms started to hurt all over again.

“Just try.”

“I am.”

How long he hung there, he didn’t know, but he’d be damned if he let go again. Alas, his body had other ideas. His grip began to loosen. He froze.

And fell once again into her arms.

“That’s it.” He huffed. “I’m done. Get my chair.”

Lord, she smelled good.

“I can’t reach it and still hold on to you.” She strained beneath his weight, he could tell. “Grab the rope.”

“I don’t have the strength to lift myself up.”

“Yes, you do.”

He tried moving his limbs. Surprisingly, they worked, so much so that when they kicked into action, his legs shot them both backward. Somehow, she managed to swing his body around, his butt landing heavily in his wheelchair.

“See. I told you. I can’t do it!”

“You can,” she said, stepping back and sounding as out of breath as he felt. “All you need is practice. Come on. Let’s do it again.”

“No.”

She cocked her head sideways. “No?”

He tried to keep his voice level. “It’s no use. I tried the same sort of exercises before coming here, not this one exactly, but close. Nothing’s helped. You’re wasting your time.”

She stared down at him. He wondered if she’d push the issue. She didn’t.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” She bent and picked up the picnic basket. “But I won’t work with someone if they refuse to help themselves.” She slung the thing over her arm. “You have a choice to make, Mr. Anderson. Either you do the exercises I prescribe, or you go home.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t like wasting my time with half-ass efforts.”

“Half-ass?”

“So if you decide to stay, you will do exactly as I tell you to do. If you don’t, have a nice life.”

She turned away.

“Wait. That’s it? You’re just going to leave me here?”

“You know the way back to your cabin.”

She spun around and walked backward. “If you decide to stay, be at the barn tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock.”

“And if I don’t?”

She smirked again. “Like I said. Have a nice life.”

Chapter Six

He wouldn’t show. Alana had bet Cabe her best pair of boots that Trent would leave. She’d even listened for the sound of a car come to pick him up yesterday, or maybe the bus, but she hadn’t heard anything. Last night Cabe had told her Trent had hung out in his cabin all day.

“You’re going to owe me your boots,” Cabe said as he walked into the barn the next morning.

“He’s still here?” She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice.

“Spoke to him this morning. Said he’d see you in an hour.” Cabe glanced at his watch, his face obscured by his cowboy hat for a moment. “That means you have a half hour to tack up Baylor.”

He hadn’t left.

She had no idea why she felt so relieved. Having Trent gone from the ranch would be a blessing. Less of a headache. She could prep for the influx of guests they’d get at the end of the month. But no. The stubborn cuss hadn’t left.

“I’ll be damned,” she muttered.

Rana joined them in the barn, the girl excited about hanging out with her hero again. But when Trent arrived, Alana thought if his face had been a palette, it would have been painted in angry colors. Red. Black. Sienna. They were all there as he came to a stop near the barn’s breezeway.

“Let’s get to it,” he said, not looking her in the eye.

“Mount up,” she told him.

It was Rana who helped him onto his horse, and Rana who kept him company as they all rode out. Alana hung back, observing him, wondering about the best way to help him. Such a stubborn, hardheaded man.

“Do you see that?” Cabe asked, riding up alongside her.

They’d made it to the farthest edge of pasture, the part that began to slope upward, gradually giving way to pine trees and BLM land up above. The view, as usual, was spectacular, with the snow-covered mountains in the distance and the blue sky above. It had finally warmed up.

“If you mean the way his legs are flexing, then, yes, I had noticed.”

From in front of them, they could hear Rana coaching Trent on how to control Baylor with his hips and hands, and Alana would have to admit, he did seem to be trying harder today. He’d been slowly getting the hang of it as they rode the fence line, checking on the level of grass. In the distance, the cows had spotted them, their steady mooing signaling their desire for more food, a definite sign that it was time to move them.

“His mom said scans indicate he should have more control over his lower limbs than he does.” Cabe looked thoughtfully at their only guest.

“I read that in his file, too,” Alana admitted.

Cabe glanced at her quickly.

“What?” She frowned. “I read all my patients’ files. You know that. I also know they’ve been trying to coax him to continue with therapy for months. Now that I’ve seen his attitude, I know why. The man’s so eaten up with bitterness he can’t even see straight.”

She watched as Trent moved his hips, his boot-clad heel lifting as he did so, and not because he’d shifted his weight in the saddle. It was more than that.

“So you think it might be psychological?” he asked.

Alana shrugged, her dark bay horse lifting its head as if anticipating the cue for trotting. “I’m not sure. These injuries. Well, you know...it’s not an exact science.”

They’d learned that all too well with Rana. The doctors had said she’d never walk again. But the doctors had underestimated the determination of a ten-year-old girl who lived and breathed horses.

“You’re going to keep pushing him, aren’t you?” Cabe asked.

“I think I should,” Alana said, but as they rode toward the back end of the pasture, her mind chewed over the problem. If he did have partial use of his lower extremities, that was a good sign, and a definite indication that his issues might be more mental than physical. The problem was how to get the man to cooperate. Still, she knew when to push and when to keep a low profile. She hung back today, letting Rana work with him, her mind spinning.

A half hour later Cabe called out to Rana, telling her it was time to head back. An hour on horseback. That was a good start. But as the teenager and her sidekick rode toward them, she found herself sliding alongside Trent, despite telling herself it might be wiser to leave him alone today. Rana took the hint and joined her father.

“How you feeling?” She made sure to give him the full force of her smile, not that it appeared to have any effect. She had a feeling if he’d been a dog, he would have growled.

“Fine.”

He was still mad about yesterday. Okay. She understood that. He was still here, though, so that meant something.

“Your arms sore from yesterday?”

“No.”

She held on to her patience by a spiderweb thread. The man made her grit her teeth. Worse, he made her seriously self-conscious. Every time she looked into his eyes it took an effort to keep her cheeks from blazing brightly. Why did he have to be so good-looking?

“Didn’t your doctors tell you that you should be able to walk?”

There. She’d said it, although she instantly regretted the words. If he’d wanted to growl at her before, he wanted to bite her hand off now. He thrust his hips forward, hard, but Baylor refused to go faster. She almost smiled at the frustrated glare he shot her.

“Going somewhere?” she asked, knowing it would infuriate him further but wanting to rattle his cage for some reason.

“Obviously,” he hissed, “there’s no chance of me ever walking again. I would have thought you’d realized that yesterday. I can’t even get this damn horse to move.”

“Yes, you can.”

Anger. Bitterness. Frustration. She saw all that in his eyes and more.

“Are you afraid of failing?” Harsh, yes, but the question needed to be asked.

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Good,” she said quickly. “Because I’ve been taking it easy on you up until today. Not anymore.”

His head whipped back around, brows low, gray eyes glittering. “What?”

“The sooner we dig in, the better.”

She reached out and grabbed one of his reins. He tried to jerk them away.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going to trot.”

“No, we are not.” He tried to pull the reins back. “I’ll fall.”

“Not in that saddle.” She smiled at him, but kept a firm grip on the single rein. “All you have to do is hang on.”

“No.”

But Baylor knew what to do. The moment she clucked her horse into a trot, the animal followed.

“Stop.”

It was the worst part of her job—pushing people when they didn’t want to be pushed. She consoled herself, as she always did, by telling herself this was good for him. He didn’t believe he could ride, but he could in their specially made saddle. He could even gallop if he’d put in a little effort learning Baylor’s cues. He was just being stubborn.

So as she trotted off, she ignored his cries of protest. She didn’t look in his direction, either, certain all she’d see was anger in his eyes. The soft footfalls of Baylor’s hooves matched her own horse’s steps. After a few yards, she risked a glance backward, wanting to see if he was bouncing out of the saddle or sitting quietly.

Sitting quietly.

She turned away before he could see the smile breaking across her face. Ah. The man might be holding on to the saddle’s horn like a drowning victim, but he wasn’t moving, a sure sign that his legs still functioned.

They caught up to Rana and Cabe in a matter of seconds, Alana pulling her horse and Trent’s to a stop.

“Whew, I’m getting hungry,” she told the group at large, letting go of Baylor’s reins. “I’m thinking BLTs for lunch.”

Rana chirped a resounding “Yes.” Cabe just smiled. Trent glared.

She should have expected it, she really should have, but it was a bit of a disappointment to realize he was so deep into his self-pity he hadn’t even noticed how well he’d clung to his horse.

And then he leaned toward her. Alana pulled up her horse, slowing it down so Rana and Cabe wouldn’t hear what Trent said. It was a good thing, too.

“If you ever do that again, I swear, I will somehow find a blowgun and shoot your horse in the ass with a dart.”

To which she just smiled. “Well, Mr. Anderson, I’d start combing eBay, then, because I plan to do a lot of stuff like that over the next two weeks.” She’d already wasted one week taking it easy on him. Not anymore.

Before he could say another word, she clucked to her horse and cantered away.

* * *

AN HOUR LATER Trent still fumed. He could have fallen and been killed today.

And wouldn’t that have been poetic?

Killed by a horse and not that stupid drunk driver.

He couldn’t leave fast enough. Trent ignored the scenic view once he shot out of the barn. The pine trees weren’t as thick as they were at the edge of the Jensen property, but they still afforded some shade from the sun as he traveled along the gravel path. Some days he wished he were a vampire, a being that would simply poof out of existence in the sun’s rays.

The path wound through a small meadow with loamy red earth smelling musty and dank, and birds chirping in the trees. One thing about the world, no matter how much crap you were wading in, the damn thing still turned. So did the wheels of his chair, faster and faster, although this part of the property wasn’t as steep a grade as the main road, it just took longer to navigate. Trent slowed down once he was out of view.

He wished he’d had the courage to leave yesterday. He couldn’t. He’d promised his mom he’d try and stick it out for three weeks. His traitorous mother, who’d clearly handed over his medical records to the slave driver Alana. He couldn’t believe she’d sold him out.

When he made it back to his cabin, his hands still shook, making it difficult to dial Saedra’s number.

“I was wondering when you’d get around to calling me.”

He smiled when he heard her voice, the first time he’d grinned in this godforsaken place since arriving. He wheeled his chair toward the giant picture window at the front of his cabin. Sunlight glinted off the nearby river. They appeared to be in a low-lying valley, one surrounded on all sides by small mountains, and in the distance to the northwest was what looked like a volcano covered in snow. Tall pine trees dotted the hills and turned them green. Pretty country, but nothing could beat the beauty of Colorado.

“Believe me. I was tempted to keep you in the dark,” Trent said.

He hadn’t exactly left Colorado on good terms with Saedra...or his mom. If he hadn’t been certain his mother would completely disown him if he called it quits, he would have left on the first plane out of here.

“So, have they put you on a torture rack yet?”

He heard amusement in her voice. “They have me riding in a rocking chair.”

Despite his anger at being all but bullied by his new therapist, Trent’s spirits lifted. He didn’t like being on bad terms with Saedra. They’d been through too much. After the car wreck that’d taken his rodeo partner’s life, Saedra had been a rock, always by his side, urging him on. She’d taken time away from her own thriving business to help nurse him back to health. There was no way he could repay her for that, and if he were honest with himself, it was part of the reason why he’d come to California despite his reservations. Saedra had put the guilt screws into him but good, telling him that after everything she’d done for him, after all the time she’d spent trying to get him well, he owed it to her to at least try one last thing. So here he was.

“What?” He could hear Saedra’s laughter. “What do you mean a rocking chair?”

“It’s the damn saddle they have me riding in. It’s like a rocking chair. It even has a back.”

“You rode today?”

Her words brought him back to the moment, back to the point in time when he’d first climbed on his horse and nearly broken into tears.

“I’ve actually ridden a few times.”

“Oh, Trent.”

Okay, fine. He would admit that it always felt good to get back in the saddle. The only thing he didn’t like was the harridan in charge of rehabilitating him.

“Don’t sound so thrilled. It’s not like I’m running barrels.”

She was silent for a moment. He wondered where she was. Probably still packing up the last of her things from the business she’d sold. His accident had changed more than him. Saedra had watched her best friend struggle to survive, the whole ordeal making her realize life was too short to put a dream on hold—or so she’d told him. So she’d sold Buckaroo Barbecues, her successful catering business in Denver, bought a trailer to live in, and plotted her strategy on the best way to get to the National Finals Rodeo herself.

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