“You can watch from over there,” Alana said a few minutes later. Trent turned back in time to see her smiling face again, her long dark hair mussed, the matching lashes perfectly setting off her light eyes.
Gorgeous.
She pointed. “There’s a little berm over there.”
For people in wheelchairs.
She didn’t need to point out the obvious. His face colored, and he wheeled himself away again. Even just wearing a pair of jeans and an off-white button-down top, she looked sexy.
Shoving his hat down low, he told himself so what if she’d kissed him? It hadn’t meant anything. The woman had just been grateful. That was all. Nothing more.
“What do you want me to do?”
The question came from Rana, who’d ridden over to his side, the horse she rode the color of a strawberry smoothie. Good-looking animal. Low to the ground, stocky and pretty energetic based on the way it danced around.
“Let me see you break from the box a few times.”
He saw Rana frown, and he could have sworn her shoulders slumped, but she turned her horse toward the gate and the roping chute nonetheless. The moment she entered the twelve-by-twelve area, the animal began to balk.
Rana pulled back on the reins. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”
He could tell it was all the girl could do to keep the horse pointed in the right direction.
Okay. So that wasn’t going to work. Was that why Alana had begged him to work with her?
“Why don’t we forget the box for now?” Trent called out. “Just circle him in the arena.”
She was trying to turn the animal, but the more she tried, the more the horse became wound up, half rearing at one point.
“Is he always like this?” Trent asked when Cabe and Alana joined him.
“Never used to be,” Alana said, her blue eyes troubled. She flicked her hair back over her shoulder. “But lately...”
They all watched as Rana tried to soothe the animal; all attempts failed. When she turned Scooter toward the box once more, the animal spun on his hoofs and bolted.
“Whoa,” he heard her cry out.
The horse ignored her. It wasn’t until she made it to the other end that she finally got him slowed down.
“We’ve tried everything.” Cabe appeared troubled, too, his eyes narrowing as he watched his daughter. “For the past week she’s just been walking around the arena. Hasn’t even tried getting him near the box.”
Alana, next to him, shook her head. “It hasn’t helped.”
She lifted a foot and placed it on the bottom rail, the jeans she wore stretching across her rear and cupping her—
Trent!
Man. What was wrong with him? He acted like a man who’d never been around a woman before.
Forcing himself to focus, he tried to keep his gaze trained on Rana. He would have to give the girl credit. She was one hell of a rider. She clung to the gelding like a burr, turning Scooter around by sheer force of will. The animal tried bolting back to the gate, but she held him tight, her knuckles whitening as she clutched the reins. The roan horse’s veins popped, his hooves kicking up sand and leaving behind tiny dust clouds, eyes wild.
“Has he been like this at competitions, too?”
Alana nodded, but she wasn’t paying any attention to him. It took everything Trent had to keep his eyes off her rear end and on Rana, not that Alana would have noticed his ogling her. Her gaze was focused on Rana, and he could tell she was crestfallen.
“It’s okay, honey,” she called out.
When the girl got nearer, he could see she fought back tears.
Okay. Focus.
He’d dealt with this problem before. “Do you have any grain?”
Alana’s brows drew together. “Grain?”
He rubbed the area just above his knees. Damn phantom pain. Drove him nuts, but his doctor had told him it was common in both paraplegics and amputees.
“Get a bucketful. Well, not full, but enough that he can hear the corn rattlin’ around.”
Her face cleared. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”
Alana shot off, Trent watching her backside—despite telling himself not to.
“What are you thinking?” Cabe asked.
I’m thinking that is one sexy woman.
“I think the horse needs to learn not all roping boxes are for work.” He waved his arm. “Rana, bring him on over here.”
“I’ll try,” Rana said, her voice thick with unshed tears.
“Get off if you have to,” he said.
It wasn’t something he normally encouraged. It taught the horse that bad behavior meant no human, but this one time wouldn’t hurt.
Rana seemed only too happy to get off Scooter’s back. The horse’s transformation was remarkable. His head instantly dropped, his muscles relaxing—as if he were a balloon and someone let the air out of him. His nostrils still flared as he sucked in breaths, but he was no longer Thunder, Stallion of the Wild.
“I just sent Alana off to get a bucket of grain,” he told the teenager when she came up to the rail. “For the next few weeks, I want you to feed your horse out here.”
When the girl lifted her brows, Trent noticed she looked a lot like her dad. Hard to believe she’d been paralyzed a few years ago.
“In the arena?” she asked.
“In the roping box. Every morning and every night. Today we’re going to get him in the box, with you on him, using grain. Bribe him, if you will. He’s going to learn to stand still, and when he does, he’ll get a reward.”
She nodded.
“I’ve dealt with this problem in the past.” He gave the girl a smile meant to reassure her. “You’ll need to take him to some practice pens. Get him off the property. Don’t get on him when you’re there, just get there early, hang a hay net and leave him.”
The girl’s tears had faded. “How long should we do it for?”
“At least a couple weeks.”
“She has a competition in two weeks,” Cabe said.
Trent nodded. “That should give you enough time. Next week, saddle Scooter up and lead him to the box, but don’t get on, just feed him.”
Cabe was smiling. “Psych him out.”
“Exactly.” His gaze hooked on Alana, who’d returned with a bucket of corn. “How was he out of the box before he started having problems?”
“I was leading the year-end points,” the girl said sadly.
“You will again.”
A smile burst upon her face, one that heaped a pile of guilt on him for treating her so poorly. He hated when kids cried, and he would bet he’d made this one cry. Stupid legs. The frustration he felt always there, right beneath the surface, once in a while rearing its ugly head. It made an appearance now, too. If he’d had the use of his damn legs, he would have gotten on the horse and made him get in that box, damn the horse’s crazy antics. But he couldn’t, and for a moment it was hard to breathe.
“You want me to feed it to him?” Alana asked, and something about the way she stared down at him made Trent wonder if she sensed his frustration. Her gaze had softened, her eyes peering down at him with something resembling pity.
He sucked in a breath. “I’d like Rana to get back on and for you to get in the box and shake that bucket.”
She stared at him for a moment, the pitying look slowly fading. “Okay.” She nodded, but in such a way that Trent thought she knew how much her pity bothered him. “Got it.”
Rana mounted and Scooter’s head lifted, the animal trying to turn around while she was still swinging her leg over its back.
“Go ahead and shake the bucket,” he told Alana. Scooter didn’t appear to notice. The animal was too busy trying to run off with Rana again.
“Scooter, stop it,” Rana co
mmanded.
“You might need to bring the grain to him.”
Alana, already on the move, swung the bucket. It took a few attempts on Rana’s part to get the horse turned around, and a few more shakes of the pail for Scooter to realize that a treat was on hand. His whole attitude changed when he spotted the grain. It was almost comical the way his eyes widened, his nose flaring for a whole different reason this time.
“Careful you don’t get run over,” Trent cautioned as the horse began to power walk in Alana’s direction.
“No kidding.” She quickened her pace.
Scooter had a one-track mind, and that mind was now on food. He walked into the box without a problem.
“Just feed him by hand.” Trent moved his chair a little so he could see better. Damn it. He hated sitting on the outside.
“Good boy.” Rana patted her horse’s neck.
“Now walk in and out a few times.”
It reminded Trent of a pony ride, Scooter following Alana around as if she was his new best friend—and in his eyes, she probably was.
“Okay. Head back to the box.”
In and out the pair went, and when the grain bucket was empty and Alana walked out of the arena, Scooter appeared to have forgotten all about his earlier spastic attack.
“Go ahead and get off him,” Trent called. “Give him a big pat.”
Rana’s smile was every bit as bright as the sun. So was Alana’s when she came back to the arena without the blue bucket.
“That was great.” She was one of those women who went from pretty to gorgeous when she smiled. “Scooter completely forgot about running out of the box.”
“You’d be amazed how food can motivate a horse.”
“Thank you.” It was Rana who’d spoken. Somehow she’d managed to scale the fence in record time. “You make me think that maybe we can fix him.”
She all but knocked him in the chin when she bent down, her arms wrapping around his middle and pulling him forward a bit. She squeezed him so hard it became hard to breathe.
“Whoa, there.”
She drew back. “You’re my hero, Trent Anderson.”
He couldn’t move for a moment.
You could be a hero to someone else.
Alana’s words came back to him as, for the second time since he’d arrived, Trent found himself choked up.
“Yeah, well, you say that now, but we still have a lot of work ahead of us.”
“Whatever you tell me to do, I’ll do.” Rana straightened. “I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“Good.”
He used his hands to push himself back.
And felt a pain in his leg.
He froze. Pain? Impossible. He hadn’t felt anything but a nagging ache for months—phantom pain—that was all it was, his doctors had assured him.
“What’s wrong?” Alana came forward. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He rubbed his legs again. “Nothing.”
She didn’t look as if she believed him. Her eyes had shifted to his legs, following the motion of his hands.
“Just tired, is all.”
He turned his chair away and almost gasped. His calf cramped.
Chapter Ten
“Trent, what’s wrong?” Alana knelt in front of his chair, her heart banging against her chest when she spotted the look of agony on his face.
“Nothing,” he gasped.
“Is it your back? Is it hurting?” She placed a hand on his leg...and he winced.
Winced.
“It’s your leg,” she said, squatting down so she could get a better look at it. “Your muscles hurt?”
His lips had begun to lose their pinched appearance. “It’s my calf. And it’s just a phantom pain. I was getting those a lot in the hospital.”
She stared at the limb in question. “In the hospital? But not since?”
His eyes flicked to hers in such a way that she knew he’d figured out where she was going with that line of questioning.
“It’s nothing.” He started to wheel himself away.
When Alana straightened, Cabe’s and Rana’s eyes were wide, their gazes shifting from Trent to her and then back again. She gave them a look, one that was the nonverbal equivalent of stay here.
He was halfway to the barn when she caught up with him. “Trent, wait.” He seemed to shove on his wheels even harder. “Trent.”
He slowed down, his shoulders slumped in resignation. When he turned to face her, she could tell he wasn’t pleased that she’d followed him.
“What if it’s not phantom pain?”
“It is.”
“Can I take a look at your legs?”
His shoulders pulled back so fast, it was a wonder he didn’t topple over backward. He didn’t answer her.
“We can do it right here—”
“No.” He turned around again, and Alana realized he was headed for the pathway off the back of the barn. She let him go this time, turning around and walking back to Rana and Cabe.
“You think he’s getting better?” Rana’s face showed her surprise.
“I think he’s been better for a while.” She met Cabe’s gaze. They both turned and watched as Trent disappeared between the trees.
“He’s hiding something and I’m going to find out what.”
Cabe and Rana didn’t say a word. She drove by them a few minutes later, waving. It had started to cool off, the sun on the verge of sinking behind the mountains, the trunks of pine trees splashed by an orange glow. She didn’t rush. She wanted to give Trent plenty of time to arrive, although she knew he wouldn’t be glad to see her.
He wasn’t.
She crested the small hill as he reached the ramp of his cabin, his chair instantly swiveling in her direction, cowboy hat tipping back as he peered up at her. She gunned the accelerator. He spun toward his cabin.
“Trent,” she called, the vehicle picking up speed as it motored down the hill.
He opened the door and disappeared inside.
“Damn.”
She didn’t let his attitude deter her, though, as she slid to a stop in front of his cabin. This was a make-or-break moment. She knew if she backed away now, she might never get a second chance.
“Trent?” she called, knocking on his front door. She glanced right, trying to spot him through the cabin’s picture window, but he’d drawn the drapes. “Trent?”
Frogs sang a noisy chorus from the banks of the river behind her. The orange glow began to fade from the sky, replaced by darker shadows that formed puddles in the deep corners of the porch. She hesitated for a moment before grabbing the handle of the door and pushing.
“What the—”
He still sat in his chair. Still wore his frown like a no-trespassing sign. Still wore his clothes—thankfully—but no hat. That he’d tossed on the couch.
“I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, lady.”
“Take off your pants.”
If she hadn’t been so perturbed, she might have laughed at the way his eyes widened.
“Excuse me?” His hands found his wheels and slid his chair backward...away from her.
“Take off your pants.” She placed her hands on her hips.
“I will not.” She saw his chest expand, his dark blond hair mussed, his jaw thrust forward, shoulders so tense she could have bounced pennies off them.
“I need to look at your legs.”
He pushed his chair back even more. “Not today.”
“Do I need to take your pants off for you?”
“No.”
She approached slowly, as if he were a fractious calf in need of doctoring. “I’ve watched you ride. Both
Cabe and I spotted the telltale signs of muscle control as you clung to Baylor’s back. You were flexing your legs. Not always, but enough times that I suspect you have something there.”
“Impossible.”
She took another step. “And if that’s the case, then I swear to you, Trent, I will not rest until I have a shot at helping you heal, and the first step I need to take in helping you is examining your legs.”
His head flicked up. “Why?” She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Why do you care?”
She closed the distance between them, slowly squatted down by his side. “Because inside that damaged body of yours is the heart of a good man, one that cared enough to help Rana today. That heart might be hidden behind anger and bitterness, but it’s there, I know. And that heart is huge, I can tell, and you’re going to need it to combat what’s going on up here.” She tapped her head.
His eyes had begun to shutter like an old building, wooden boards all but crossing the surface of his face. His lips were tight, hands clenching and unclenching.
“So you’re saying I have mental issues?”
“No.” She leaned closer to him. “I’m saying your accident damaged more than your legs.”
She rested a hand on his thigh. Did he feel it? She knew he had some use of his upper thighs, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. He peered into her gaze so intently it was hard to notice anything other than the spectacular color of his eyes.
“It’s not in my head.”
Had he been told that before? Would he resist her now? Was he afraid of what she might find?
“Trent, as your therapist, I’ll need to examine your legs sooner or later. Please. Let me have a look at them.”
He wanted to refuse. She saw the muscle in his jaw clench with tension. He broke eye contact.
“Fine.”
* * *
HE COULDN’T BELIEVE he was doing this, Trent thought a few minutes later. Outside his bedroom Alana waited for him to strip out of his clothes—a long, tedious process that could have been helped along by Alana if he’d thought for one moment that he could have remained unaffected by the sight of her unzipping his jeans.
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