“Here we go,” Rana called as she scurried out of the arena and joined the crowd on the rail. Saedra guided her horse to the header box, the animal suddenly dancing beneath her. He knew what he was about to do. Sure enough, the minute Saedra turned to the barrels, her horse shot toward them like a guided missile.
“Wow,” Rana cried.
The animal’s ears pricked forward. The first barrel loomed. Saedra’s blond hair streamed out behind her, like some kind of golden flag.
“Now, that’s the way to break from the chute,” Trent said.
She circled the first barrel. Perfectly. She crossed to the short side. They rounded the second one, turning toward the last barrel opposite where they stood. In the blink of an eye she was headed home, her horse’s body seeming to lengthen and lower to the ground he ran so hard.
“Way to go, Saedra,” Mac yelled as she pulled her horse up. “NFR, here she comes.”
Saedra’s grin had to be wide enough to see from space, her horse fighting the pressure of the reins, tossing its head, tail flicking back and forth. Clearly, he loved his job.
“That was so amazing to watch,” Rana said.
“I can’t believe I own this horse,” she heard Saedra say, and if Alana didn’t miss her guess, there were tears in her eyes. “I’m so grateful my business sold and I could afford him. And I’m so glad I came out here to see you, Trent, otherwise I would have never known about him being up for sale.”
“See,” Mac said, “it was meant to be.”
“I’d make the girls on the high school rodeo circuit green with envy if I rode that horse,” Rana said, seeming to sound almost disappointed that she’d never have that opportunity.
“Hey, maybe we should practice some roping, too,” Mac offered. “I saw some steers in the front pasture. Mind if we push them in and throw a few loops?”
Alana’s heart dropped to her toes.
Trent caught her gaze. He must have realized she didn’t like that idea because he said, “I don’t know if I’m up to that yet, and especially not in this saddle.”
“Switch saddles,” Mac said.
“You can borrow mine,” Rana added.
“I don’t even know if this horse knows how to rope.” Trent glanced down at Baylor skeptically.
“He does,” Rana said before Alana could interject. “All our horses are used for ranch work, too. He can head and heel, and drag a calf to the fire.”
That was all Mac needed to hear. The big cowboy all but squirmed in the saddle. “Let’s give it a try.”
“Mac, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” It was Saedra who came to Trent’s rescue this time. “Yesterday was the first day Trent stood on his own two feet.”
“He’ll be fine.” Apparently Mac didn’t want to take no for an answer. “It’s not like we’re at a competition. We can take it slow.”
“I don’t know...” Saedra worried.
“Maybe in a few more days,” Alana added.
The big man proved to be stubborn and Trent appeared torn between wanting to give it a try, and doing as Alana suggested.
“You want to use my saddle?” Rana asked.
Alana shook her head. “Rana, I think we should ask your dad, too.”
“He won’t mind, especially if you say it’s okay.” Rana turned to Alana.
All eyes shifted in her direction. Her cheeks filled with color, although goodness knew why. She only had Trent’s best interest at heart. Right?
“Okay, fine.” But her pulse raced. What if she was wrong? What if he really wasn’t okay? What if this was too much for him? What if he fell...?
“He’ll be fine,” said the ever-confident Mac, the man obviously reading the expression on her face. But it was easy for him to say, she thought. Mac had to be over six feet tall, with matching shoulders and a neck the size of a prize bull. “I’ll go with Rana to get the steers.” Saedra fussed with her new horse’s mane. “He needs a cooldown anyway.”
Mac offered to loan Trent one of his saddles. Trent agreed, but the moment they were alone, he asked, “Do you think I’m ready for this?”
“Honestly, Trent, I don’t know, but I guess we’ll find out.”
He nodded, turned his horse toward the gate. And that was that. In a few minutes they’d know, really, really know, if he was over his psychological block.
He used the ramp to get on and off, although he did that with greater and greater ease, she noticed, and he didn’t use his chair to sit down, just held on to the railing. Progress. It should have filled her with elation, and it did. She couldn’t be happier for him. But for some reason her heart had sunk to her belly, nausea causing her to take deep breaths—or was that nerves?
If he was all better, would he leave? Especially if she insisted he stay? He’d asked her if she could move away for part of the year, but she shook her head. She couldn’t do that. This was her life. Cabe and Rana were her family. She’d worked hard for her independence since Braden’s death—she wasn’t about to give that up again.
“Ready?” she asked once he climbed into Mac’s saddle. The setting sun behind him nearly blinded her, and Alana wondered where the day had gone. Shadows covered the ground beneath the pine trees, a cool breeze blew the blades of grass in the pasture left and then right. She wished she wore her own cowboy hat.
“I think I’m ready to go.”
They locked eyes. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to feel. This could be a turning point for him, she admitted, one that might lead him down a different path, a course that would take him away from her. Forever.
“Be careful.”
But was she talking more to herself than Trent.
Be careful.
* * *
TRENT TOLD HIMSELF he should heed Alana’s words. Mac’s crazy idea to try his hand at roping could easily backfire. So far all he’d done was ride at a walk without his straps. Now he was in a different saddle, on a ranch horse, about to attempt something he hadn’t done in nearly a year.
But it felt right.
As he walked toward the arena he admitted that he was more comfortable in Mac’s roping saddle. The fact that he even felt anything at all had his heart pounding.
What if she were right? What if it’d been all in his head?
He would never ride bulls again, that was for sure. The doctors had warned him against reinjuring his back. Sure, there were rough-stock riders who’d broken their backs and recovered to ride again, but Trent knew those days were long behind him. That meant roping. One event. His best event, as luck would have it, but there would be no more all-around titles in his future.
Could he live with that?
The surge of excitement he felt was all the answer he needed, that and Mac’s smile of encouragement. Alana could barely look him in the eye. Nerves, he supposed.
“I’m going to try trotting around first,” he told his friend. “See how that goes.”
Mac was busy twirling a rope, the nylon strands making a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh as it spun through the air. The sight and sound caused Trent’s palms to actually itch in anticipation. He wanted to twirl a rope, too.
“Good thinking,” Mac said.
“Don’t forget to use the horn if you need to,” he heard Alana call out.
Squeeze, he told himself, sending the command down to his legs.
Baylor trotted.
Hot damn. It had worked.
“Don’t go too fast,” Alana cautioned.
She needn’t have worried. It was like coming home again, his body instantly finding the horse’s center of gravity, his legs lightly clutching the animal’s side, or so it would appear because he wasn’t flopping around, and he wasn’t tilting to one side, either. He sat perfectly balanced. Held in place by his thighs. Maybe he didn’
t even need his calves.
“Whoa,” he told the horse, leaning back.
Baylor instantly stopped.
“You sure don’t ride like you’re disabled.”
It was Mac who’d spoken and Trent agreed. He didn’t. Yes, he might be a little out of breath after trotting around for a minute, but that was to be expected.
“You ready for this?” Mac held up a rope.
“Yup.” He took the nylon coils in his hand, testing the feel of them, uncoiling a loop, then recoiling it, then opening up a bigger loop before swinging it alongside Baylor to see how the animal would react. As Rana promised, the bay horse didn’t bat an eye. He increased the size of his loop, brought it up and over his head.
And he wanted to cry.
It felt so good. So normal to be back on a horse again and twirling a rope. So perfect.
“I’m going to try loping.”
It would be a true test, holding a rope in one hand, the reins in the other, all the while trying to stay on.
“Be careful,” he heard Alana say.
He picked up his reins, thought the word lope, his legs doing...something, a something that Baylor must have felt because the well-trained horse instantly cantered off. He almost clutched the horn, resisted, told himself to relax, maybe to even close his eyes.
Feel the horse.
And he did.
He nudged Baylor’s sides. Or rather, the fenders of the western saddle. The horse sped up a bit.
“Whoa.”
Baylor instantly stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Alana cried.
“I think my calves are working.”
“What?”
He pulled Baylor around so that he faced Alana. “Baylor just responded to pressure from them.”
Alana’s mouth dropped open. Mac said, “Well, I’ll be goll damned.”
Trent swung the rope again, cued Baylor to canter and off they went. He was weak. No doubt about that. Already he could feel the tops of his thighs burning, and his rear. Hell, it was all sore.
But his lower legs. They were working! He might not be able to feel them, but Baylor sure could.
“Here come the steers,” Mac called out.
Trent kept on cantering, swinging his rope, his heart pounding. He urged Baylor to go faster. The horse responded. In seconds he was at the end of the arena, Saedra calling out to him, “Look at you go!”
The corners of his mouth just about touched his ears his grin was so big. Yes, look at him go.
“Hang on a sec,” Rana said. “We’ll get some steers loaded up for you.”
Steers.
The true test. It was one thing to lope around like a pleasure rider, quite another to hang on while a horse shot out from a chute.
Could he do it?
Alana’s eyes were wide, her face nearly as pale as the sand beneath his horse’s feet. She clutched the top rail of the fence as if worried she might fall down.
“Ready?” Mac asked, riding up next to him. The big man appeared concerned, too.
“As I’ll ever be.”
His friend nodded, locked eyes with Saedra, who’d ridden up next to Alana. Rana had tied her horse to the rail and was busy pushing steers down the chute, their cries of protest echoing through the air, her yells of encouragement blending in with the sound.
“What the hell are you doing?”
They all turned. Cabe came storming up to them like a military general about to dress down his troops.
“Alana, what the hell is going on?”
“It’s not Alana’s fault, Mr. Jensen.” Saedra, who was outside the arena, too, jumped off her horse’s back, intercepting Cabe. “We all thought it would be a good idea for Trent to try his hand at roping again.”
Actually, it’d been Saedra and Alana that’d had had their doubts, but it didn’t surprise Trent at all to see Saedra jump to the group’s defense.
“As you can see he’s handling himself just fine,” his best friend added, her hair falling over one shoulder as she quickly turned to face Trent. She gave him a reassuring smile.
Alana’s boss didn’t appear the least bit reassured by her words.
“I wouldn’t give a rat’s patoot if he was wearing a tutu and dancing the samba on the back of that horse.” He stopped in front of Alana. “You should have run this by me first.”
“I know.” She held up her hands. “But this could be big for Trent, Cabe. Sooner or later, he has to try.” Trent saw her study the ground as she whispered, “He has to believe.”
Believe in himself.
That was what she’d said earlier, her desire for him to succeed so great that she’d cast her own fears for his safety aside. Hell, she was willing to stand up to her boss, too, although he’d begun to realize that she looked upon Cabe as more of a brother.
“I don’t like it.” Cabe shook his head.
“You don’t have to like it.”
Saedra’s words caused Cabe’s brows to lift. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Saedra cried. “Lighten up and let him try.”
“Saedra—”
But Trent’s words were interrupted by Alana’s touching Cabe’s arm. The gesture drew Cabe’s attention.
“Stop,” she ordered her friend. “I can tell by the look on your face that you’re about to say something rude.” She glanced at the group in general. “We have guests, Cabe.” She gave him a look meant to bring him in line. “I think we should let Trent try.” She squeezed her friend’s arm, her knuckles blanching from the gesture. “At least once.”
Cabe stared at Saedra, the two of them engaged in a silent battle of wills. Trent almost laughed. Cabe would never get his friend to back down. Saedra wasn’t that type.
“Once.” He glanced at Alana then. “That’s it. And if you fall off and injure yourself, Trent, you better not sue me.”
Trent hooked his rope around his arm, holding up his hand. “Scout’s honor.”
But when he turned his horse toward the roping box, the adrenaline pumping through his stomach nearly made him ill. Mac stood in the heeling box to the right. Rana hadn’t moved back to her position by the rail, but once she heard her dad give the word, she began pushing steers through the chutes again. Trent busied himself sorting out his rope and reins, Baylor’s head lifting when he pointed him toward the ten-by-ten header box.
“Easy.”
The horse knew what was coming. If the steers hadn’t been a dead giveaway, the twirling rope sealed the deal. But he was a good gelding. He didn’t get all hyped up, just calmly walked forward, though his nostrils flared and the muscles in his neck tensed.
“Are these steers fast?” Mac asked Cabe.
“Fast enough.”
Competition steers. Corriente, to be exact, skinny little brown-and-white steers with big horns.
“You ready for this?” Mac appeared every bit as anxious as everyone else in the arena. He’d taken off and repositioned his black hat at least ten times. “If you think it’s too much—”
“Let’s go.”
With a final nod, Mac spun his horse around, waiting until the sorrel faced forward before backing him into a corner, although Mac’s horse gave him far more trouble than Trent’s horse. The animal half reared, and Mac jerked on the reins. When he did it again, Mac said, “Hold on,” before circling and trying to settle the sorrel gelding.
Trent tensed.
Mac’s horse quieted. The steer in the chute grew quiet, too. Rana, who stood off the back of the metal device, met his gaze. Trent inched his hands closer to Baylor’s mane—just in case he needed to hold on.
He nodded.
Rana swung the release.
There was no barrier to break, but Baylor would have come c
lose if there had been one. The big animal shot forward and nearly unseated Trent, who had to clutch mane to keep from falling off.
“Trent!” he heard someone cry.
But it was okay. He regained his balance quickly, had already started to swing his rope, all sound fading away as he homed in on the steer running next to him. He saw everything so clearly in that instant. The hoofprints in the sand. The quarter-size spot on the steer’s rear end. The arena fence shooting by on his left. One twirl, two. On the third he tossed.
And caught.
He almost blew it. Almost forgot to turn and dally, but Baylor knew the drill. The big bay animal leaned to the left, nearly unseating Trent again. Somehow he managed to hang on, to wrap the rope around the horn, Mac coming up behind him, the whiz-whiz-whiz of his twirling rope filling the air just before he, too, tossed.
And caught.
The horse he rode felt the tug on the saddle, slammed on the brakes, spun to face the steer, Trent clutching mane yet again, but he was laughing, and, yes, damn it, his eyes burned, but he didn’t care. He just didn’t care.
“By God,” Mac said, the calf stretched between them before Mac nudged his horse forward and undallied his rope. “We did it.”
By God, they had.
Chapter Nineteen
She was ecstatic. Elated. Thrilled.
Alana turned away from the rail. Deflated, sad and worried, too.
“He did it!”
Saedra’s cry was one of pure joy, but the words were a stab to Alana’s heart. Yes, he’d done it. Done it well. There could be little doubt that even with the damage done to his legs, he could rope again, at the very least.
Saedra jumped in front of her, startling her. “God bless you, Alana McClintock. I don’t know how you got him back on a horse, but God bless you.” She clutched her shoulders and shook them.
“I didn’t do it.” She swallowed over the fear she felt. “He did it. He believed.”
Saedra didn’t have time to reply because Cabe stepped between them. “Congratulations.”
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