He took the book that Jubal had given him and looked over Travis’s suggestions for the program, then the profiles of each of the participants. Seven of the fourteen were married. Six were divorced. One was single. They ranged in age from twenty-four to thirty-eight.
It was well after 1:00 a.m. before he finished.
Unfortunately, his thoughts continually turned to Susan.
He counted all the reasons they shouldn’t.
She embraced life. It was apparent in the inn and all its special touches. It was in her enthusiasm for the vet program. It was in the way everyone not only respected her but felt she was a member of their family.
He, on the other hand, always tried to be an observer. It had been essential as a medic and useful now.
He tried a few more arguments.
She was completely devoted to her life in Covenant Falls. He was completely devoted to his life on wheels.
He didn’t believe in permanence. She obviously did.
He made all those arguments to himself and then told himself he was an idiot. He was only going to be here for a brief time.
To hell with it. He was imagining problems where there were none.
He would simply try to avoid her.
Did she say she would run with them in the morning?
He really was in trouble.
* * *
Vagabond was not a happy cat.
She started complaining the moment Susan opened the door. The food bowl was empty. Neglect was obvious.
Susan apologized profusely but Vagabond stalked away, climbed up on a chair and glared. Susan wondered if Vagabond smelled dog on her.
She shook her head. Vagabond had transformed from feral cat to prima donna.
Susan hurried to fill the food bowl with high-end cat food and added a piece of chicken from the inn’s kitchen. Vagabond was often the happy recipient of leftovers. Today, though, the cat was having none of it. She was in a snit and not easily placated.
Susan filled the water bowl, tried to stroke the cat, but Vagabond jumped down and haughtily stalked to the food bowl where she deigned to nibble.
“Watch it,” Susan said, “there’s a dog in waiting.”
Unimpressed, Vagabond just swished her tail.
Susan shook her head. The cat had not yet forgiven her for bringing little Hobo inside.
She wasn’t going to beg any longer. She went straight to her bathroom. The candle and book were still beside the tub where she’d left them when she was called the night before.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Ross Taylor. He seemed to be a mass of contradictions.
He was a loner who really wasn’t one. He apparently lived alone, rode alone, worked for himself and liked it that way. And yet she’d notice the instant connection he had with Jubal and Clint and Josh’s stepson, Nick, as well as the vets enrolled in the program.
He seemed easygoing and yet she’d sensed an intensity about him when they entered the barn today. He’d straightened his shoulders as one would do when encountering something unpleasant.
All in all, he was a conundrum. An attractive puzzle within a puzzle.
It was a puzzle she didn’t need.
Only her mother’s creative substitution for dammit could describe her frustration.
“Tarnation!” she said with such frustration that Vagabond jumped.
Chapter 9
Ross’s internal clock woke him at a little after five. He glanced at the actual clock. He’d overslept by ten minutes.
He practically leaped out of bed. It wouldn’t be a good beginning to challenge a group of veterans to a 6:00 a.m. run if he didn’t show up.
He took a quick shower, then shaved.
Hobo came next. Ross fed the dog a can of food provided by the dog’s fairy godmother and made a note to himself to reimburse her in some way. He hoped the dog could see the veterinarian today.
Hobo was getting around better, but Ross wanted a doctor to look at the leg before more damage was done.
There was another reason he was loath to admit. He had to find a good home for Hobo before the dog became too attached to him. Or, he admitted, he might get too attached to the dog. He tried to dismiss the thought that he might be nearing the too-late point.
He would call her at nine o’clock. He hoped she would be open then.
He took his running shorts from the saddlebags and pulled them on. He would buy an extra pair of jeans today and keep them at the ranch for riding. Unfortunately running clothes weren’t very useful for riding, nor jeans for running.
* * *
Using the pillowcase and the pocketknife he always carried, he rigged a sling for Hobo. As a former field medic, he’d learned to improvise. Then he went out to the lobby with Hobo limping behind him. It was empty but coffee and cinnamon rolls were laid out on a counter.
He ate two rolls, took another one for Hobo and then gulped down two cups of coffee. He placed Hobo in the sling and started running. It was still dark but a thin gold line was visible on the horizon. It should be splendid in another twenty minutes.
The weather was perfect, and it felt great to be running again. It was his first good run in more than a week, and a daily run was a ritual with him. It was a good time to think, and this morning he had a lot to think about.
After seeing the hope and enthusiasm—along with some apprehension—among the veterans yesterday, he knew he was meant to be here. It was ironic his military service had only exacerbated his childhood trauma.
He hadn’t believed in permanence since childhood. His army service and the pain and death he found there hadn’t helped. His satisfaction now came from aiding the healing process, whether it was an elderly person with a broken hip or a veteran who had lost a leg.
This effort of Josh and Jubal—the two Js—to alleviate some of the emotional wounds of war would change lives. Josh had sent him the profiles of the participants who were in the program. They had been referred to New Beginnings by either the VA or a veterans’ help organization.
He knew many came back to the States unfit and unprepared for existing jobs, and to friends and families that could never understand why they woke up screaming or drank too much to forget what they’d seen or couldn’t go out of the house because a loud noise might paralyze them.
So here he was, ready to help, and his initial reluctance due to canceling his long-planned trip faded away yesterday when he saw the pride the vets already had in their horses. Josh hoped some would make a career in the equine field. There was still a need for cowboys and then there were instructors, trainers, grooms, carriage drivers and other equine-related jobs.
Other participants, it was hoped, would go home with tools to better cope with civilian life.
His thoughts turned to Susan as he neared the ranch. They were doing that all too frequently, which was ridiculous. He’d never known a woman with whom he’d felt so comfortable. Dammit, but he wanted to spend more time with her, and that was dangerous. Their lifestyles were a thousand miles apart, and he didn’t intend to change his.
So why do you keep gravitating toward her?
Ross reached the road into the ranch. The sun was more visible now, layering the plain to the east in gold. He continued to run until he reached the bunkhouse. To his surprise all of the vets, including Kate, whom he had learned had been a former army truck driver, were waiting for him. It was a motley group, some in jeans, some in fatigue pants, some in shorts.
Susan was there with them, and a jolt of adrenaline rushed through him. She wore running shorts, along with a comfortable-looking T-shirt and a light jacket. Her hair was pulled back in one long braid.
She looked fresh and happy as she talked to several of the guys who hung on to every word. He went over to her side. “How’s Vagabond?” he asked.
“Irritated,” she said. “She’s stalki
ng around the house. I think she believes I’m consorting with the enemy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The enemy?”
“Hobo,” she explained. “She apparently sniffed his scent on me. She doesn’t care for dogs. Or cats. Or most people.” She paused, then added, “I like the sling. You’ll have to show me how you did that.”
Before he could answer, she reached inside and plucked Hobo out of the sling. The dog protested and wriggled to get back to Ross.
“What am I’m going to do with him now?” he said. “I can’t keep him in the sling.”
“I have news for you. I called Stephanie last night after she got back. She’ll see Hobo at noon.”
“That’s great. I was going to call when she opened this morning. Thanks.”
Scott, one of the vets he’d met last night, piped up. “I’ll make a bed for him in the bathroom,” he said.
Ross looked at Susan. She nodded. “He’ll be safe, and we won’t be gone long.”
He nodded. “Hobo has to learn to be more independent.” He tried to dismiss the dog’s anxious grunt as Susan handed the pup to Scott. Hobo tried to wriggle out of his hands and the grunt turned into a frantic bark. Ross almost grabbed the dog back, but that would only make Hobo more reliant on him.
“Looks like you’re stuck with him,” Susan said. “He prefers to be jostled than left behind.”
She wasn’t being helpful. “He’ll be okay,” he said, hoping it was true. “Hobo will discover there are good people in this world.”
He tried to erase the image of the dog from his mind and concentrate on the run ahead as Scott and Hobo disappeared into the bunkhouse. “I think one mile is enough for today,” he said to the group. “We’ll add more as we go along.” He turned to Susan. “Which way?” he asked.
“Turn east when we reach the road. It just goes to a few ranches. There’s very little traffic. Probably none at this time.”
“East it is,” he said. He waited until Scott rejoined them, then started at a slow jog. He held back a little until everyone was on the road. After a few minutes, he noticed that Susan fell back. By design, he suspected. She would go to the rear, take care of any stragglers. He had gotten to know her in the past hours. She was the ultimate caretaker. Part of the glue that held the town and community together.
It was scary as hell that he was attracted to her.
He increased the pace. He nodded to the veteran next to him, who was matching him stride for stride.
After they ran half a mile, he turned around. Despite the fact that during their service years they probably ran ten miles without a problem, more than a few were obviously struggling. Despite the cool air, most were sweating as they returned to the bunkhouse.
“Want some coffee, sir?” one of the vets said. His name was Jake and he was from Oklahoma.
“I’m not ‘sir,’” Ross said. “Just call me Ross like you call Luke Daniels Luke and Jubal Pierce Jubal. Tell the others, okay? And I would like coffee.”
‘“I’ll get you one.”
“Thanks. But I’d better learn where it is. I drink too much of it.”
“I’ll show you.” Jake led the way inside to the kitchen area. There was a carafe of coffee on a hot plate and a pile of coffee cups. Ross filled one up and ignored the sugar and cream.
“Thanks,” he said. “I remember you from last night. You have a good voice.”
“Thanks, but Clint is the greatest.”
“I have to agree with that but you’re no slouch.”
Just then he heard loud barking from another room.
“Excuse me,” he said, and headed toward the washroom and opened the door. Hobo was behind one of the commodes even as he barked. Ross picked him up. Hobo was shaking. Ross wished he knew what had happened to him before they’d met. He recalled the scars he’d seen while bathing him. “It’s okay,” he said. “No one will hurt you.”
He sighed. He couldn’t carry him everywhere. Hobo was just going to have to learn that he was safe, that not everyone wanted to hurt him.
Ross fastened the new leash on Hobo, then took his coffee out to where several men stood. “I think my first appointment this morning is Riley.” He looked at the exhausted group.
A lanky man raised his hand.
“Why don’t you get some coffee,” Ross said, “and we’ll grab some chairs outside. When is your riding session?”
“It’s at ten, sir. I mean, Ross.”
“Do you mind the dog joining us?”
“No...he’s good.”
“He’s great with confidentiality,” Ross said with a grin. “Go ahead and get some coffee while I stake out some chairs.
Minutes later Riley was back with coffee. Ross started by asking him about his service.
“I spent four years in Afghanistan,” Riley said.
“Then you saw combat?”
“Yeah. My best buddy was killed by an Afghan soldier who was supposed to be on our side. George was standing next to me. I was wounded. We’d been shot at before. You couldn’t trust anybody...”
“And you still can’t?” He didn’t use notes. They tended to put people off, and now it was just a matter of getting to know them, why they’d come here and what they expected to accomplish.
“I guess so.”
“Why did you sign up for the program?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Meant to stay in the army and put in my twenty years, but after George was killed I couldn’t do that. I kept seeing George’s chest...explode. My tour was up. I thought if I got away from the army, I wouldn’t see it.
“Didn’t work,” Riley continued. “Kept having flashbacks. I started drinking. My wife left me. She got real tired of me waking her up with a yell. I couldn’t get interested in anything. Kept quitting nowhere jobs. A buddy from the army told me about New Beginnings. He was in the first group. It helped him get his head on straight.”
“Ever ridden a horse before?”
“Nope. I was a city kid.”
“Work out at a gym or at home in the past few years?”
“No. Didn’t seem any point in it.”
“You said you were injured. Anything I should know about that might affect different forms of exercise?” Ross asked.
“I was hit in the thigh. Had some pins put in, but it doesn’t give me any trouble.”
“Good. I’m glad you joined us this morning.”
“I almost didn’t,” Riley said ruefully.
“But you did and that’s what is important.” Ross wasn’t a psychologist and didn’t want to pretend to be one. But he thought it was important to know the motivation for coming here.
“How do you like your horse?” he said, changing the subject.
“He’s good,” Riley said but Ross detected a lack of enthusiasm. “But I’m not very good riding him. I feel like a sack of potatoes holding on for dear life.”
“Not for long, I expect.”
“I mean, some people can sing. Some can draw. Some can ride horses. What if I’m not one of the latter?”
“Then I might be in trouble, too,” Ross said. “I’m not very graceful on a horse, either.”
“Can I ask you something?” Riley said.
“Sure.”
“Were you in combat?”
“Yes, same place as you, but I was a medic. I was in Iraq, too.”
“Did you ever have PTSD?”
Ross nodded.
“Did...you get over it?”
Ross considered the question. “No,” he said honestly. “But I can control it better.” He paused, then added, “Exercise helps. Work until you fall in bed. Find something you love doing, even if it takes years to accomplish it.”
He remembered something from the notes he’d been given. It mentioned a woman who trained homeless dogs for vets with sever
e PTSD. He would ask Travis about it. It might help Riley.
“I’ll be hanging around this evening,” he said. “I have an appointment at seven with someone, but we’ll talk about some exercises.”
* * *
Susan smiled as she watched Ross and Riley Conway pick up two camp chairs and carry them to a spot under a big tree. Hobo hobbled behind Ross on the leash she’d bought. She heard little grunting noises. She surmised it was Hobo’s vocal version of happy. The two men sat down and Hobo huddled as close to Ross as possible.
Stop it, she told herself. It was stupid to care. She turned her attention to the remaining vets. They were kidding each other, proud that they had made a mile this morning. Several went inside, probably to change clothes and eat breakfast. She knew they were on their own for both breakfast and lunch, and the kitchen was fully stocked.
She walked over to the barn. Danny had brought the horses in from the paddocks at daybreak and she wanted to say hello to them. She knew most of them, had ridden several.
One man was sitting on a bale of hay. She recognized him, having met him last night at the party. Simon Moore. He’d been the last to return from the run and was the least responsive of the guests. One of the other guys said he was forced into the program by his wife, who’d threatened to leave him if he didn’t get help.
“Hi,” she said. “I was glad to see you on the run.”
“I didn’t do so well.”
“But you pushed yourself. That’s a good start. Wait until six weeks are over.”
He looked dubious.
“You’re riding Sara. She’s a sweetheart.”
He nodded without enthusiasm.
“Want some help in feeding her?”
“She doesn’t like me!” he complained.
“How do you know?”
“She showed me her teeth.”
“Did you give her a carrot?”
“No.”
“I think she might be asking for one.”
Home on the Ranch: Colorado Cowboy Page 11
