She could do it.
She must do it.
Ricky finished cinching the saddle, and she joined him at the horse’s side. Her hand shook as she reached for the saddle horn.
She would’ve been able to mount without assistance, before the accident. But when he offered his help, she gladly surrendered.
She put her booted foot into his cupped palms and steadied herself with her hand as he boosted her into the saddle.
Leather creaked as she settled into the seat. She gripped Prince’s mane. Being so far off the ground had her head swimming. She squeezed her eyes closed. She could do this. She had to do this.
She felt the cowboy’s sure, steady movements as he adjusted her stirrup on one side and then ducked beneath the horse’s head for the other side.
“You sure you’re all right?”
“Yes.” And her voice only shook slightly as she said the word.
He untied the horse from the post and gathered the reins for her. When he pressed them into her shaking hand, he held on.
She should reprimand him for behaving so familiarly again, but the warmth of his hand wrapped around hers steadied her. She met his eyes, noting again the unusual shade of gray.
The steady confidence in his gaze told her he believed she could do it.
And she would.
She turned the horse with only a slight tremble in her legs.
The movements so familiar before, different now without her right arm. But the familiarity was a comfort and by the time she’d walked Prince around the side of the barn, she felt confident enough to lean into a trot as she crested the first hill.
*
Ricky followed Daisy’s Appaloosa on foot until she outpaced him and disappeared over the horizon. She’d been so distracted and upset he didn’t think she even noticed. She never turned back.
He crossed his arms in front of him, the wind chilling him without his coat, but he still stood squinting in the bright morning sun, staring after where she’d disappeared.
He’d been torn when she’d asked him to ride with her. She’d been overreacting to her friends’ surprise visit. Had to be.
He couldn’t imagine any of his brothers giving up on him, just because he’d lost a limb. After interacting with her just a handful of times, he didn’t even notice anymore.
But she was a female, and he knew females weren’t always the most rational of creatures.
She wasn’t ready to face her friends, even though she was totally recovered, as far as he knew.
It was another thing to add to his list of ways he had to help her. Another fear to chalk up to his mistake.
But not today.
Today’s small victory was getting her on the back of that horse.
He’d sensed the strength in her. He knew she could do it alone—but she didn’t know that. And wouldn’t until she tried.
And he’d guessed right. As she’d ridden off, she’d leaned into the saddle, comfortable as only someone with a long history of riding could be. She and the horse had moved as one; her red hair had flown out behind her like a flag.
He’d known she was pretty all along. But this morning, seeing the determination enter her blue eyes had shown her true internal beauty.
She could heal.
And maybe he could help her.
*
Daisy flew over the rolling hills of her father’s property, passing the aspens that clung to their last golden leaves.
Each thud of Prince’s hooves reverberated through her as they traversed the moisture-softened ground and the occasional pocket of unmelted snow. Together.
The cold wind rushed through her hair, which was falling loose behind her. She always needed assistance putting it up now. Usually Belinda helped her with a simple bun or braid, but there hadn’t been time this morning before she’d spotted the quick-moving wagon out her bedroom window.
It was exhilarating. She felt free. Riding Prince was like coming home, like being whole again.
She was doing it on her own. One of the few things she could do without help anymore.
She guided the horse past a dry creek bed and nudged the horse with her heels to spur it into a gallop.
If she could ride Prince...maybe there were other things she could do.
Maybe she didn’t have to be confined to her room or the ranch house.
Her old dreams, before the accident had happened, had included her taking over her father’s ranch, along with the husband she could no longer hope for.
What if... What if she could still run the ranch?
She pulled up at the crest of a hill, looking down on the winter-sun-drenched fields below, dotted with sheep.
Her heart beat loudly, painfully, in her chest as the dream grew.
What if she could still work the ranch?
And then the dream came crashing down around her ears.
When she returned to the barn, she wouldn’t be able to unsaddle Prince.
She could brush him. She could pour oats for him from the bin.
But she couldn’t fork hay for him. She doubted she could bridle him with only one hand.
What was she thinking? Her shoulders drooped as the reality of her situation hit her, hard.
This morning was a nice diversion, and that was all.
All the confidence that had been building since she’d gotten on Prince’s back? Gone.
How had the cowboy known she would be able to ride?
And more important, why did he care? She didn’t know him, other than he’d been a part of getting her out when she’d been trapped beneath the wagon. Her father must have some level of trust for him, or he wouldn’t have let him hire on.
And he seemed to work well with Uncle Ned and the other cowboy.
But if he felt sorry for her...well, she would let him know she had no room for anyone else’s pity. She had enough of her own.
She rode toward the barnyard, satisfied to see that the wagon was no longer there. She guided the horse all the way into the barn, intending to tell the cowboy what she thought of his interference.
Only to find it quiet and empty of any human inhabitants, the still warmth inside bringing an immediate flush to her cheeks in contrast to the wind outside. Several of the horses looked up, shifted in agitation at Prince’s abrupt stop as she reined him in.
She clucked to the animal. “Sorry, boy.” No reason he should feel the brunt of her annoyance.
Then she realized there was no one around to help her dismount. In her before life, she never would have considered getting off a horse a problem, but with only one hand to balance and steady herself...
It took her two tries. Prince remained placidly in place until she finally got her boots on the ground with an oomph!
She was shaking with the last vestiges of adrenaline. She apologized to the horse as she tied him off where he’d been before she’d ridden out. The cowboy would have to come and unsaddle him and brush him down. She hadn’t ridden him hard, so the animal should be all right.
But she wasn’t.
Her dreams were gone. And even the thought of finding new dreams had been stolen from her.
She would never be all right again.
Chapter Four
Nearly a week after riding out on Prince, Daisy was sequestered in the ranch house again.
It was quiet. Unusually so.
Uncle Ned and Belinda had taken the boys to town for Sunday services. She’d been invited. First Belinda had applied a liberal dose of guilt. Then she’d tried cajoling.
But Daisy wasn’t ready. She couldn’t bear the stares she knew she would receive. Nor the things her friends must think of her after she’d avoided their visit. Yes, the twins had given a full report, gleefully retelling how disappointed Ethel and Mary had been.
Now, a half hour after everyone had left in a flurry of scarves and mittens, Daisy wandered through the house, idling away the morning.
She paced the upstairs hallway.
She tarried in
the hall outside her father’s office, then slipped inside.
And gasped.
It looked as if it had been ransacked, and she could only suspect the twins had been bored and done this damage. Papers were strewn across the massive oak desk. Books had been removed from the tall library shelf along one wall and stacked every which way. Behind the desk, drawers stood half-open; their contents obviously had been rifled through.
Daisy set about restoring the room, hand trembling with the force of her anger. Those two had no respect for others’ property! They were a complete annoyance.
Would they act the same when Audra and Papa returned? Or was this a special form of torture for Daisy and Belinda alone?
After a half hour of fuming and resetting the room, Daisy finally allowed herself to stop behind her papa’s upholstered chair and look at what she’d done, letting her fingers slide across the back of the chair. The room smelled of him, of leather and the horseradish candies he hid in one of the desk drawers.
She missed him. The house was different without her father’s boisterous voice booming through its corridors.
The large window behind the desk looked out on his fields, the mountains in the far distance. Fresh snow covered the ground from a snowfall overnight, the landscape dotted with woolly animals.
She squinted, looking for a cowboy out there with them, but she didn’t see either Ricky or the quieter young man she hadn’t met at her father’s wedding. Her sister had spoken of nothing but Beau for several days after.
Daisy couldn’t really picture him. She’d been so self-conscious that day, her first time after the accident being around people other than her immediate family. All she knew was he was dark-haired and quiet.
His coworker, on the other hand...
She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the blond-haired, gray-eyed cowboy. Ricky had looked at her. Seen her.
Challenged her to ride Prince.
The past few days, she’d been too afraid to step foot out of the house. She should tell him that she wasn’t interested in someone feeling sorry for her.
But she was chicken.
She turned away from the window, not wanting to spend another moment trying to identify the cowboy.
Wandering into the kitchen, she turned away from the preparation counter and its painful memories. Belinda had pushed her to try just yesterday. Daisy had dumped a pitcherful of tea across the table trying to pour a glass for herself. She’d broken a crock—one of her mother’s dishes!—trying to help get supper on the table.
She was a failure. Because of her injury.
Back into the parlor. And instead of the pine boughs and bright ribbons Daisy’s mother would have had draped over the mantel, there were two pairs of dingy socks, two pairs of muddy boots, checkers scattered across the floor and one of the books from her papa’s office opened and turned facedown on the sofa.
She shrieked, the frustration boiling over.
She couldn’t stand being inside one second longer, not with the mess those irresponsible twins had left.
*
Ricky didn’t know if something had happened on Daisy’s solo ride, but she hadn’t been back out to the barn to visit her horse in five days.
Maybe his spur-of-the-moment plan had backfired. He was fighting discouragement and tossing hay bales down from the barn loft into the aisle between the two rows of stalls when she stomped into the barn. She was riled up about something, because instead of going to Prince’s stall—the horse had peeked his head over his stall door when she’d come in—she paced up the aisle, skirting the bales he’d already thrown down and then heading back.
And it sounded as if she was talking to herself, though he was too far away, and she was talking too soft, to make out the words. She was clearly agitated, gesticulating and pink-cheeked.
“Watch out below!” he called out, before he tossed the last of the bales down.
They landed in a cloud of dust and by the time he’d scaled the ladder, she was staring at him with big blue eyes. She looked away and wandered over to Prince’s stall, as if she hadn’t just been on a private tirade. She reached her hand beneath the horse’s neck and scratched his chin.
“Morning, miss,” Ricky said with a doff of his hat.
“Good morning,” she murmured. “I didn’t realize anyone was out here.” The bloom of pink in her cheeks darkened. Was she embarrassed that he’d overheard her?
“Your uncle and Beau went to services with the others.” He started hauling the hay to stack it near the back wall. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your little...talk.”
Now she ducked her head, ostensibly to give affection to the horse, but he suspected she was blushing even more.
“You heard that?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He hefted and moved another hay bale while she stayed by the horse, petting its nose. “Something wrong?” he half grunted the words as he hefted the bale onto the growing stack. Having a supply of bales at the lower level would make it more convenient when they needed to load up the wagon over the next few days.
“Not really,” she said quietly, her attention still on the horse. “It’s just...the twins.”
“Thought they went to town with the rest of ’em.”
“They did. But they left the house a wreck. Boots and socks all over the place—you’d think they’d never been asked to tidy up after themselves before.”
He bent to grab the next bale, and it gave him the opportunity to hide his smile down in his shoulder. Sounded about like Ricky’s childhood bedrooms and even the bunkhouse at times.
She blew out a frustrated breath, whirling from the horse, her hand flipping up in the air. With the swirling dust motes around her from the hay he was moving and the motion of her dress, she almost seemed...magical. “It’s not just that,” she said. “They argue with everything I ask of them. One day they don’t want to haul in firewood, the next...”
“They’re what...twelve?” He huffed, picking up the last bale. “No twelve-year-old likes to be told what to do. Ask the schoolteacher in town, she’ll tell you.”
She shook her head, hand parking on her hip. “You’d think they would try a little harder to fit into this new family. It isn’t as if I want them underfoot, either!”
Again he had a strong urge to smile and again he tried to hide it, but he was at an angle to her and she must’ve seen it, because she demanded, “What?”
“You’re just reminding me of when my brother Matty came to live with us—I’ve got six adopted brothers and an adopted sister.”
Daisy had completely turned from the horse now, listening to his story. The black dog Matilda wandered into the barn from who knows where and sidled up to her human friend. Daisy absently stroked her head, still listening. So he went on.
“Matty’s parents had died of some sickness, and he had no one else. So my pa brings him home and he just walks right into the bedroom and puts his satchel on one of the beds—my bed—claiming it as his. Belligerent as can be, daring somebody to tell him he couldn’t have the bed he wanted. Boys don’t talk about their feelings, but every one of us brothers knew he was feeling sad and lonely. Not sure where he fit in.”
He’d finished stacking his hay bales and now stood with one gloved hand leaning against the pile.
“Did you give him your bed?”
“No. We got into a wrestling match and by the time we’d given each other a few bruises, we’d sorted out that he fit right in with the rest of us.”
He couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face when he finished the telling. His brothers were something, all of them.
She looked puzzled, as if the story he’d told her didn’t make any sense. Maybe it didn’t to a girl.
“So the moral of the story is I should...wrestle them into compliance?”
He laughed, a sharp bark of sound that surprised him. She didn’t look as if she thought it was all that funny.
So he stifled his smile the best he could and shrugged. “Sometim
es it takes a little time to adjust to a new family situation.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he felt the weight of her questioning gaze. And then she turned her focus down to the dog.
“Did you want me to saddle up your horse?” he asked when the silence stretched between them.
She hesitated. “No, I... No. Not today.”
There was something deeper behind her hesitation. It was as if she didn’t want to go riding, but she didn’t want to go back to the house, either. His mind spun, trying to figure a reason to keep her from retreating.
“It’s not just the twins,” she said before he’d figured it out.
He waited, just listening. Letting her talk at her pace. “The house isn’t right.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked up momentarily, then back down at the dog. “If my mother was still alive, she’d have brought in pine boughs and wrapped them with ribbons. She’d have had my papa cut a tree and had it decorated. She loved Christmas...”
The sadness buried in her voice resonated with him. He’d lost his mother at age nine. She hadn’t been the best ma—she’d been a saloon girl and he’d mostly been raised in the back rooms of a bordello—but they’d had their own Christmas tradition of spending the quiet night eating a special supper and reading a book by the fire. Usually one of Dickens’s stories.
He shook himself out of the memories. It wasn’t a good idea to dwell on his past. The things he’d done... He knew God had forgiven him, but he didn’t know how to forgive himself.
Daisy ruffled the dog’s ears, and the canine looked up at her as if she was everything good.
“What’s stopping you?” he asked, kicking off of the stacked hay.
She looked up at him, brow wrinkled. “What?”
“What’s stopping you from going and getting some pine boughs—and a tree, right?—and decorating the house the way you want it?”
She frowned. “I suppose when Belinda gets back...”
He took off his gloves and slapped them together. “Not them. You.”
She turned around, visibly bristling. “I’m certain you can see why—”
He shrugged. “Seems like if you can still ride a horse, you can decorate a house.”
A Cowboy for Christmas (Mills & Boon Love Inspired Historical) (Wyoming Legacy - Book 5) Page 4
