“I can’t loan you anything of Jess’s without written permission. My luck, whatever I gave you would turn out to be her favorite pants. You’d fall in another cow pie or snag them on something in the barn, and I’d be a dead man.”
His words said with a straight face and a tinge of fear rippling in his voice made her smile. Humor? What an odd, but not unpleasant, combination with his take-charge attitude.
“You’re afraid of a sixteen-year-old girl?” she teased back.
“Damn right. You were that age once. Don’t you remember what you were like with your clothes then?”
“What was I thinking?” At that age she’d been on a hit TV series. Her image had been everything, and yes, she’d been fanatical about her clothes.
“A smart man knows when not to press his luck.” He took the clothes from her and placed them on his enormous bed. Then he pointed to the door opposite the closet. “There’s the bathroom. The towels are in the linen closet and the soap’s in the shower. My robe’s on the back of the bathroom door. Try the clothes or put on the robe. I don’t care which.”
Then he told her where to find the washer and dryer, and said to join him and Ryan when she could. He was out the door before she could even comment.
Stacy found Colt’s bathroom in the same pristinely clean and organized fashion as his bedroom. After she washed up, she grabbed the forest-green terrycloth bathrobe off the hook and slipped the garment on. An earthy smell mixed with a spicy scent flowed over her as if the man had wrapped her in his strong arms.
Not good.
Wearing his robe was way too intimate. She smoothed her hand down the fluffy fabric. How could she feel a connection with a man by putting on his bathrobe? It was silly, but in slipping into the garment, she felt exactly that—connected.
A vision of Colt, strong and confident, standing in this room, wearing this same garment filled her vision. While the robe reached her ankles, the garment would hit him just below the knees. She could see him, the robe gaping to reveal his muscled chest, standing in front of the sink shaving that stern chin of his. Then she saw his clear blue eyes focused on her as a woman in this room.
Wrong move. Afraid of the ache pulsing in her body, she scooped up her dirty clothes and headed for the bedroom door. She had to get out of his room. Intent on escape, she flung open the door and almost barreled into a dark-haired teenager with caramel-colored eyes, a Chihuahua clutched in her arms. Except for her strong chin, she looked nothing like her father.
She must be the exact image of her mother.
“Are you Jess?” After the teen nodded, Stacy continued to introduce herself. “I’m Ryan’s sister. Thanks for showing him the ropes at school.”
“He told me about the movie you’re making. I can’t wait to see it in the theater. Maggie said I can be an extra in a couple of scenes.”
Not knowing what else to say, Stacy said, “Cute dog. What’s its name?”
“Thor.”
“That’s an interesting choice for a name.”
“I know. It drives people crazy.” Jess tossed Stacy a saucy grin. “You were one of the finalists when Griffin was on Finding Mrs. Right.”
“That was me.”
“Getting dumped on national TV had to suck.”
Sure did. Thanks for bringing up the pleasant subject. Being on that show and some comment about the disastrous finale would end up on her tombstone. Some bad decisions kept on giving. “It wasn’t a lot of fun. For a while I was the punch line to some pretty nasty jokes.”
“It hurts when you get made fun of for someone else’s choices.”
She knows because she’s been there. The words to ask what had happened with Jess sat perched on her tongue. No, she wouldn’t ask. No attachments, remember? She was only here for ten weeks. Get in. Do the job. Get Ryan the help he needs and get out.
“Luckily there’s a new scandal every five minutes in Hollywood, so everyone moved on pretty quickly.”
“Dad sent me to see if you need anything.”
“I’m good, but thanks for asking.” Stacy nodded toward the wadded clothes in her hands. “I was just going to put these in the washer. I’m not sure I can salvage them, but I’m going to try.”
“I heard about your fall. The first thing I learned when we moved here was to always watch where I step.”
“I could’ve used that info earlier,” Stacy joked as she followed the teenager downstairs to the utility room where they tossed her clothes into the washer. “I’m a little taller than you are, but I could also use something to wear. Maybe some sweatpants and a T-shirt? Your dad said he couldn’t loan me anything of yours without written permission.”
“He knows better than to mess with my clothes. One time I put a load of my stuff in the washer before I left for school. He came along and put them in the dryer. I didn’t talk to him for a week after my favorite jeans shrank so much I looked like I was ready for a flood.”
“That hurts. A shirt can be replaced. That’s easy, but jeans?”
“I know. It’s about impossible to find a pair that fit right and look good.”
Stacy nodded in feminine understanding. “Guys don’t get that.”
“Especially a cowboy. Any pair of Wranglers is fine with them.” Together they headed upstairs again. When Jess opened the door, Stacy realized looks weren’t the only way this girl differed from her father. Clothes, books and papers littered every surface. Obviously she hadn’t inherited her father’s neat-freak tendencies.
After digging through her dresser, Jess pulled out a pair of gray knit yoga-style pants and a plain white T-shirt. “These should work and don’t worry about getting them back to me right away. I only wear them to sleep in.”
“Thanks. I want to see how Ryan’s doing, and I can’t go to the barn in a bathrobe.” Jess handed her the clothing. “Your dad said I could put on a pair of his jeans and one of his shirts.”
Jess laughed. “Sure, that would work. The pants would end up around your ankles.”
“That’s what I said.” Stacy shook her head. “His solution was to hand me one of his belts.”
“My dad’s a great guy, but sometimes he’s such a guy.”
That was one thing Colt Montgomery was. All man.
* * *
IN THE BARN, Ryan leaned on his walker and looked at Colt. The haunted look in the teen’s gaze reached out to Colt, reminding him of the look he used to see in Reed’s eyes at that age. This kid had seen way too much and been hurt a time or two.
“Thanks for telling my sister to lighten up. She’s gotten a little overprotective since my accident.”
“I picked up on her being the worrier type, but I bet it’s only while she’s awake.”
Ryan smiled, and some of the tension left his face. His shoulders relaxed, too. “She’s always watched out for me. Our dad died when I was a baby and our mom’s worthless. It was just the two of us.”
Like him and Reed. Two kids clinging to each other through the storms of life that tossed them around. Now her protectiveness made sense.
“That’s why we went to court to get her named my guardian.”
Colt wondered about why she’d legally taken on the parent role with her brother when he read the application. That told him a lot. How many sisters would do that? She could’ve turned eighteen, moved out of the house and went on with her life without giving her brother much thought. She could’ve left him to fend for himself.
Like he’d done with Reed.
Until recently, Colt hadn’t known how bad things had been for his brother after he left home and enlisted. One night things got so bad Reed nearly beat their old man to death. Then damned if the bastard didn’t want to press charges for assault. If it hadn’t been for Nannette’s husband, Ben, Reed would’ve been arrested for assault. Ben McAliste
r had been one damn fine man. He’d been there for Reed when Colt hadn’t been.
Unlike him, Stacy stuck around for her brother.
“She’s especially concerned about me doing this therapy,” Ryan continued. “Our father was thrown from a horse on a movie set. That was how he died.”
“And she’s letting you get on a horse? How did you talk her into that?”
“It wasn’t easy, but she knows this is my best chance to walk on my own again.”
Still, that took guts on her part. Then he thought about the movie Maggie was making, The Women of Spring Creek Ranch. “The movie she’s starring in is about female ranchers. Won’t she have to ride a horse for the movie?”
“She said none of her scenes have anything to do with horses.” Ryan’s hands tightened on the walker handles. “Do you think you can help me get rid of this thing?”
“A local physical therapist and I went over your doctor’s report to develop activities geared toward your physical issues. I can’t promise you’ll get rid of that thing by the end of your sessions, but I know we can help you.”
“I bet you’re wondering why I’m here, cause you see people who are so worse off than me.”
“Everyone has the right to get the most he can out of his life. We help whoever needs us whether it’s a little or a lot.” He motioned for Ryan to follow him. The tap-scrape of the walker echoed through the barn. “Being a teenager is tough enough without having to deal with medical issues. What were you into before the accident?”
“I ran track and played basketball. My friends and I used to rock climb a lot.”
The unsaid words hung in the air between them. And now they do, and I can’t.
“I have a couple of good buddies who were hurt in Afghanistan. It’s a tough adjustment. It changed their lives completely.”
Being there changed mine, too. Just not in the same way.
“I’ll give you the fifty-cent tour,” he said to Ryan. “We’ll get some of the busy work out of the way. Then you can have your first session tomorrow.”
Colt led Ryan into the tack room in the center of the barn where the shelves were stacked with helmets. He handed one to the teenager. “Try this on.”
“I’m seventeen and have to use a walker. Now you want me to wear this? Dork of the month calendar, here I come.”
The kid still had spirit. Good. That would work in his favor. “Sorry. It’s the rules. Every rider wears one.”
Ryan tossed on the helmet and snapped the chin strap. “If a picture of me in this thing ends up on Facebook, I’ll kick your ass.”
Colt laughed. “Fair enough.” Then he checked the fit. Two tries later, and they had the right one. “Our next step is picking out a horse for you. How tall are you? About five-eleven?”
“I guess.”
“I think you and Chance will get along well. Come on. I’ll introduce you.” They walked through the barn to the horse’s stall. The animal sauntered over and pressed his nose against the window bars. Colt rubbed the animal’s head. “You ever been on a horse before?”
Ryan shook his head and moved closer to the stall. “Can I touch him?”
Colt nodded, and explained what the therapy would entail. “You two are going to become good friends. You’ll be working on using your body to direct Chance. That will help you regain control of your own body.”
“Ryan, where are you?” Stacy called out.
“Over here,” Ryan responded.
“We’re in the first row of horse stalls.”
A minute later she joined them, but she shied away from the stall door, keeping as close to the larger open area as possible. “I see Jess loaned you some clothes.” Ones a bit too small for her. His daughter’s knit pants and T-shirt molded to Stacy’s lush figure, leaving no doubt about her feminine curves. A body like hers could make a man break out in a cold sweat and damned if Colt wasn’t doing just that.
“This is Chance,” Ryan said as he stroked the gelding’s head. “Colt thinks he and I will do well together.”
Stacy leaned forward and glanced in the stall. “He seems nice, but isn’t he awfully big? What about another horse? A smaller one?”
She had the nerve to question his judgment about horses? That hit a sore spot. “We may be a new program, but we have done this before. Ryan’s not our first client.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you or criticize the program. This is all new to us, and I have some questions. Maybe you could set aside some time to talk with me about my concerns.”
“Send me an email and I’ll answer them the best I can.” Stacy might have let her brother sign up for the therapy, but her watching him mount a horse wasn’t going to be easy. Colt’s job was to make sure she didn’t interfere with his program or Ryan’s therapy. Somehow he didn’t think that would be simple, either.
“I’d rather talk in person, especially since I’m here right now.”
Colt glanced at his watch. “Ryan and I are done here, and I’ve got to get ready for my group class, so let’s see how tomorrow goes. If you still have questions after Ryan’s first session then we’ll talk.”
As Colt walked away he couldn’t help but think that Ryan’s sister was a worrier, and no doubt about it, the woman was trouble.
* * *
WHEN STACY AND Ryan returned to Healing Horses the next afternoon for his first therapy session, the coffee she downed at lunch to perk up churned in her stomach, leaving her queasy. For the past twenty-four hours she kept telling herself Ryan would be okay. That nothing would go wrong, but doing so failed to keep her nightmares in check. They started out with her as a child with her father. Then a giant horse materialized. Its enormous hooves crushed her father before her eyes. Fog floated in as she raced to him. By the time she reached his body, she found herself kneeling over Ryan.
She wished Colt had been willing to talk to her about her concerns before Ryan started therapy, but he’d fobbed her off instead. That made her even more edgy.
As they made their way toward the barn, Ryan glanced at her, his eyes filled with concern. Now she’d done it.
“Are you going to be okay? I know how hard this is for you, but I’m not going to be doing any crazy stunts on the horse. The most I’ll be doing is walking around trying to get Chance to go from one side of the ring to the other. If things get really wild I might stop somewhere and throw some bean bags at a target.”
He shouldn’t have to worry about you. Pretend you’re in a movie. Slip into the role of a big sister who’s sure everything will be fine and doesn’t have a care in the world.
’Course it might take a performance worthy of an Academy Award, but she’d give it a try. “Sounds pretty tame, almost boring.” She smiled and tried to relax her shoulders. She was hunching them again. “It’s not so much that I’m worried about you. I’m just tired because we ran so long shooting yesterday.”
At least that part was true.
“Colt’s going to be mad that we’re late.”
“I couldn’t help it. The director switched the shooting schedule on me.”
By the time they reached the barn, she’d managed to get her nerves under control, at least outwardly.
Colt met them inside the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest, a frown darkening his handsome features. “You’re late.”
Ryan glared at her. “I told you he’d be mad.”
“It won’t happen again.” If she could help it.
Colt led them to a small room with a battered leather couch, an equally beat-up fridge and a TV. “Here’s the family waiting room. Ryan will be back in about an hour.”
“You expect me to stay here? I want to be there during his therapy.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“I don’t need you there to hold my hand, Stacy.”
No, Ryan didn’t. This wasn’t about what he needed. Despite knowing that, she couldn’t stem her concerns now that she was here.
She ignored her brother’s comment and addressed Colt instead. “I didn’t read anything in the material you gave me that said I can’t be present during the session.”
“Most people take my word for it when I’ve said it’s better if they wait here.”
Everyone else hadn’t watched their father get trampled to death. “I’m not most people. Now we can stand here wasting more of everyone’s time or we can get on with Ryan’s therapy. Which is it going to be?”
“We’ll give it a try, but there better not be any trouble.”
When they reached the mounting block area in the barn, Colt introduced them to Nikki, the young woman who would be the leader for the session, and her friend Sarah, who’d act as the sidewalker. Then Ryan clip-clopped up the steps to stand on the block. When Nikki led the massive horse, saddled and ready to go in front of him, Stacy started chewing on her lip. She knew from her research what everyone’s job was, but that failed to ease her anxieties.
From the information she’d read on Healing Horses, she knew Colt was a registered instructor. That meant he ran the session and worked with a physical therapist to create a program suited to Ryan’s needs. He was trained. Certified. Regulated. But the others helping with the session were volunteers.
The leader’s responsibility was the horse. This volunteer maintained the horse’s pace and kept the animal calm. The sidewalker’s role was to help the client with balance. But Stacy couldn’t let go of the fact that they were volunteers. How much experience did this skinny cowgirl have? She was only a couple of inches taller than Stacy’s own five foot six, and couldn’t be more than twenty-one. “Colt, excuse me. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Was that squeaky, panicked voice hers?
He stalked over. “First of all, calm down. If your voice gets any higher only dogs will hear it.” He nodded toward the horse. “If you get upset and agitated Chance will sense that.”
“Then maybe he’s not the right horse for Ryan. I know I mentioned this yesterday and you weren’t concerned, but he seems even bigger out here than he did in his stall yesterday. Don’t you think Ryan might need a smaller horse?”
Roping the Rancher (Harlequin American Romance) Page 5
