The Cowgirl Meets Her Match (Elk Heights Ranch)

by Kristin Vayden

“One more time.”

  “Do it again.”

  But she was a hell of a lot better to look at than any of the officers he’d ever served under.

  Even if she was a hardass.

  “One more time!” she yelled as Sterling circled the pen.

  As he finished up the round, she called out again. “You can do another.”

  He’d heard that before, and he was damn well certain that she’d shout out the same thing for the next ten times.

  But odd thing was, it made it easier. It wasn’t ten more; it was just one more.

  One more time.

  One more round.

  And somehow, it had translated to his life.

  One more morning.

  One more try.

  One more day.

  One more was always more manageable than a million more.

  Even when a million was probably closer to the accurate number.

  As he rounded the pen again, he reminded himself. Just one more.

  He could do it.

  He could do one.

  And someday, he’d find out that one had turned into a million.

  And that million times had made him stronger.

  Better.

  Whole.

  He had to hope.

  CHAPTER 2

  Harper watched as Sterling wiped the sweat from his forehead and leaned forward again in the saddle. “Back! Lean back. Slouch a little. It won’t kill you.”

  “Unfortunately,” he shot back, though the morbid answer was softened with a smile.

  Damn, that smile was lethal.

  And scared the shit out of her.

  But she wasn’t going to retreat or turn her back on him just because he was too hot for his own good. Sterling Garlington was even more damaged than her, and two damaged people didn’t make a whole. They just made a mess.

  And she had enough of a mess to deal with on her own, thank you very much.

  But that didn’t prevent her from enjoying the view.

  “If you clench your jaw any harder, you’ll crack your teeth. Relax!” she shouted too loudly, just to irritate him.

  He shot her a glare and unlocked his jaw a little. Harper could only imagine how much it hurt him to go through the simple therapy. His injury wasn’t small, and he had a long road ahead of him before he’d be in the same shape he was before the shrapnel hit him. But he would recover, someday, and sooner rather than later, if she had anything to do with it.

  She knew all too well the helpless feeling.

  It hadn’t been more than two years ago she had been in a similar condition.

  Bruised.

  Broken.

  Bitter.

  It had been a long road, too, and she was still on it, the end not in sight yet. But the people who’d refused to give up on her, when she was more than willing to give up on herself, had saved her from the darkness that threatened to swallow her.

  She was a survivor.

  She was stronger now, and each day she felt a little more alive, a little less worthless.

  Abuse was more than what you learned in high school psychology class.

  It systematically disabled you, piece by piece.

  It wasn’t one black eye. It wasn’t one mean comment—though those were certainly aspects.

  It was the shift to believing your abuser was speaking the truth about you.

  That you deserved each hit.

  Each word.

  Everything.

  That you really were as worthless as they said.

  Because you could only fight back for so long before you started to wonder—what if?

  What if they are right? And that small sliver of doubt would grow. It didn’t happen overnight, but it did happen. It was the reason why people stayed in abusive relationships.

  Why would anyone else want me if I’m this worthless? He might hit me but...

  Till it’s too late, and you find yourself being pushed down the stairs.

  Waking up in a hospital room, your heart monitor beeping—with only one heartbeat.

  When yesterday there had been two.

  Harper took a deep breath, focusing back on Sterling, pushing the pain away, shoving it down inside.

  Some wounds never healed. And she was pretty sure that losing her baby was that type of wound.

  She blinked against the warm tears that threatened whenever she went back to that place and forced herself to focus on the skyline.

  The sound of the horse’s hooves on the dirt.

  The call of a red-tailed hawk.

  “Head in the game, Harper!” Sterling called out, slicing through her attempt to find a Zen moment.

  She swallowed her emotions and strained a dry grin. “Giving you some privacy. You’re cute, but I’d rather not stare at you all day.”

  His gray eyes slid to her, his face crinkling into a sly grin. “You think I’m cute? Not sure if that’s a compliment or insult.”

  “I’ll let you decide.” She shrugged, watching as he rolled his eyes.

  “I’m going to go with insult, based on what I know about you.”

  The comment raised her hackles, yet she refused to let it show. “Good guess.”

  He circled the pen once more, his form sorely lacking, probably from fatigue and more than a little pain.

  “Last time.”

  “Sweeter words I’ve never heard.” Sterling sighed, his face pinching into a frown as he rose on the stirrup to post.

  “Be a man about it, finish strong,” Harper instructed as she jumped down from the iron fence.

  Sterling cast her a glare but clenched his jaw and corrected his form. Damn, it had to hurt, but she also knew that going easy on him wouldn’t actually help.

  It would only enable him.

  And rather than heal, he’d stay right where he was.

  Plus, if there was one thing she was absolutely certain about, it was that Sterling didn’t want her pity, he didn’t want her to go easy on him, and he sure as hell didn’t want to show weakness.

  And the part about being weak was that you have to fight to become strong.

  And Sterling was a fighter.

  In more ways than one.

  He just had to remember that. Harper was certain his struggle was more against himself than his body. His battlefield was in his mind.

  She knew, because that was the same place hers was as well.

  She recognized that same expression in his eyes, that determination, that steely resolve, that need.

  To conquer, to fight, to win.

  And the person you’re fighting is yourself.

  “That’s all.” Harper strode out to Margaret.

  Cyler’s horse was as sweet as they came and perfect for what Sterling needed. Poor guy was scared shitless of horses, even if he’d never actually admitted it out loud. Margaret was too wise to bolt and too old to try even if she wanted to. As Harper took the reins from Sterling, she patted down Margaret’s neck and caressed her jawline to her velvet muzzle. The horse leaned into her hand, breathing deeply. Margaret needed to feel Harper’s calm in contrast to Sterling’s tension. As Harper stroked her nose, the mare relaxed.

  As did Harper.

  It was her therapy.

  Horses.

  “Why don’t you stay up there till we get to the barn, and you can help me take off her saddle. It will train you to balance awkward weight,” Harper suggested, glancing up to Sterling.

  As if he’d say no.

  Sometimes it was fun to work with a person who didn’t back down from a challenge.

  “Sure,” he replied casually. But the tic in his jaw gave away his tension.

  “Easy there, you’ve already worked Margaret into a lather with your stressed-out self.”
r />   “Sure, worry about the damn horse.”

  Harper led her from the round pen. “I like her better.”

  Sterling snorted. “Surprising.”

  “Not really.” Harper couldn’t resist.

  As she led Margaret into the barn, the scent of old leather, tractor oil, and hay flooded her senses. It was a comforting smell, one that reminded her of home and her own barn where Spartan, her barrel-racing gelding, waited.

  As she tied the lead to the stall rail, she backed away. “Go ahead and get down.”

  Sterling shifted his weight to his foot, his gaze focused as he balanced his body over his good leg, but the difficult part came when he had to step onto the ground, his weight completely on his bad leg.

  Harper edged around to his back, just in case.

  The first time they tried this, he’d fallen into a heap, swearing a blue streak the entire way.

  She had spotted him ever since, even if he had never needed her help after that.

  It sucked to fall.

  After all, don’t we all wish someone was there to catch us?

  “Easy now.”

  Sterling didn’t reply but slowly rested his boot on the floor of the barn, his breath hissing out as he shifted his weight to the leg. Swiftly he took his other boot from the stirrup and evened out the heaviness.

  “Someday, I’m going to jump off this damn horse like the Easter bunny, and it won’t hurt.” Sterling gave her a slight grin that didn’t reach his eyes; they were too clouded with pain.

  Soon it dissipated though, and Harper simply nodded. “Someday you will.”

  “Okay, so how do I take this thing off?” Sterling asked, turning toward Margaret.

  Harper came to stand beside him on the left side of the mare. The scent of sweat, man, and old leather assaulted her senses. His body radiated heat that called to her to inch closer. Doing her best to ignore her instincts, she put a hand on the saddle horn. “It’s easy, but your therapist had mentioned that balance is important right now, and this saddle isn’t heavy, but it is kind of awkward if your balance isn’t up to snuff.”

  “Which mine isn’t.”

  “Yup. So here, loosen the cinch.” She tugged the leather strap under the stirrup and then stepped back, watching as Sterling followed her instructions. Soon they had unstrapped the saddle, and it rested untethered on Margaret’s back.

  “Slide the saddle off on the left side, always the left side,” Harper coached. “You’re bigger than me, so you’ll probably want to carry it in front of you. I balance it on my hip.”

  Sterling cast her a wary glance then zeroed in on the saddle. His strong hands gripped the leather, causing it to squeal slightly as he planted his good leg in the dirt of the barn floor. With a slight wince, he slid it from the mare and took a step back as the full weight settled in his arms.

  His biceps strained his T-shirt, drawing Harper’s attention to the soaring eagle tattoo hiding just beneath his shirt sleeve. Her focus shifted to his eyes, watching as his brow furrowed. He shrugged the saddle into a more comfortable position.

  He paused then started walking toward the tack room. As he turned, she lost sight of his face, but a sharp intake of breath alerted her that it wasn’t an easy process for him. She followed, keeping enough distance to protect his pride, but close enough she could help if he needed it.

  It was a thin line.

  Pride.

  Protection.

  Harper wondered, not for the first time, if Sterling had ever been on the receiving end of the protecting, or if he’d always been the protector.

  She assumed the answer was no.

  “Where do I put this damn thing?” Sterling asked with only a slight tension to his tone.

  “On the rack, the vacant spot in the middle.” Harper pointed to the location and watched as Sterling planted his good foot then set the saddle on the correct place.

  He turned to her and shrugged. “Cake.”

  “Sure it was.” Harper rolled her eyes. “But it was good for you, and last week you couldn’t have done that. We’re making progress.” She slugged him on the shoulder.

  “Sometimes I wonder if you’re actually encouraging me or patronizing me.” He arched a sarcastic grin then limped from the tack room and toward the barn door.

  “Eh, probably a little of both. Don’t want you thinking I’m going soft on you,” Harper replied, earning a low chuckle as Sterling walked into the sunlight.

  “Yeah, you don’t need to worry about that. I have no misconceptions for how much you love to cause me pain.”

  “Hey! It’s working!” Harper jogged to catch up with him. “You move fast for an old man.”

  Sterling glared at her. “I’m what, maybe five years older than you? Not enough to be called old man. Besides, age is a state of mind.”

  Harper bit back a laugh. “Giving yourself license to be immature your whole life?”

  “Damn, I walked into that one.” Sterling shot her an irritated glare that melted into an amused smile. “Fine. You win. All I want is to watch the rest of the preseason Seahawks game and not move for at least an hour.”

  “Wear you out?” Harper asked as they walked toward the house.

  “Dealing with you is mentally exhausting.”

  Harper snickered, thinking of several smartass replies, but her attention was arrested by the sound of a truck coming up the drive.

  Cyler’s pickup pulled into its usual spot, and soon he and Laken were striding toward the house.

  “How did it go?” Laken asked, her gaze raking over her older brother as if answering the question before he could.

  “Fine, fine. I’m improving and missing the first quarter right now. Cyler? You in?” Sterling jerked his chin toward his brother-in-law.

  “I’ve been dreaming of the couch, a cold beer, and that game all day.”

  “Whew, way to dream big,” Laken teased, bumping her husband with her hip.

  “Hey, I did. I got you.” He kissed the top of her head and then turned toward the house.

  “Still not used to that.” Sterling gave a wry grin to his little sister.

  Harper held back a laugh as Laken scrunched up her face.

  “Deal with it.”

  Sterling raised his hands in defeat.

  Laken turned to Harper. “Do you want to stay too?”

  Harper shook her head. “Thanks, but I gotta head home. I have a race this Saturday, and I need to get Spartan out of that barn and get him exercised.”

  Laken nodded. “Got it. Well, it was nice to see you. Say hi to your brother and Kessed. Because you see her more than I do these days.” Laken rolled her eyes.

  Harper glanced to Sterling, watching as his gaze flickered to the ground; then without a word, he started toward the house.

  Talking about Kessed still had to sting.

  “Fine, I didn’t want to say goodbye to you either!” she hollered, knowing that irritation toward one person was a preferable feeling over remembering the sting of rejection from another.

  Sterling turned and waved, giving an annoyed grimace. “Bye, Harper.”

  “That’s better. I’ll see you Friday.”

  “Can’t wait,” he replied dryly.

  As he disappeared into the house, Harper turned to Laken. “Someday we’ll be able to talk about them and not have him freak out... But today is not that day apparently.”

  Laken rubbed her lips together, her brow pinched in concern. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth. I swear, I’m usually more aware of things, but it’s like my brain is on vacation half the time. Gah. So frustrating. I’ll talk with him.”

  Harper held up a hand. “Let it go. I wouldn’t want to talk about it. I’d want to forget about it. I’m assuming Sterling feels the same.”

  Laken nodded. “Since he’s
inside, how’s the progress?”

  Harper shrugged. “He’s improving, but it’s not as quick as he’d like. He’s determined though, and I can’t ask for more than that.”

  “Thank you. I—we—really appreciate you coming out here to help him. I’ve done some research on this type of therapy, and I think it’s going to help him improve between Seattle visits.”

  Harper shook her head. “It’s not a big deal. I’m happy to do it. Jasper doesn’t need me as much now that he has Kessed doing the appointments and the paperwork part of the veterinary business. I’ve got the time, at least right now. After Jasper and Kessed’s wedding I’m going to look for a job, but I figure I’ll wait till they’re back from their honeymoon. That way I can take care of things at the clinic while they’re gone.”

  Laken nodded. “I’ll keep my ears open if I hear of someone hiring.”

  “Thanks.” Harper lifted her hand in a wave and started to her old white Chevy pickup. The door squeaked as she opened it wide; then it crashed shut in the way only old trucks could.

  As she drove toward home, she turned up the country station and sang along, drowning out her own thoughts.

  She’d learned that you couldn’t always trust them.

  And she’d traveled down memory lane enough for one day.

  All she needed to do was make it home.

  Then she could saddle Spartan and run.

  Leaving everything behind.

  At least for a few hours.

  And that would be enough.

  It had to be.

  CHAPTER 3

  Sterling stepped out from the shower, the steam filling the room in billowy clouds as he dried himself off. As he slid the soft towel down his leg, he studied the scars. Red, shiny, and twisted, they curled around his calf muscle, giving it a strange shape. The pain wasn’t as severe as it had been, but it ached—and never stopped. Always pain, always hurting, always on the edge of his mind and never fully able to be ignored. Unless he took the meds, which he almost never did since he’d been discharged from the hospital.

  Damn it all to hell.

  He didn’t know what was worse. The fear of getting addicted, or the constant pain that drove him crazy.

  He shifted his weight slightly and walked with as little limp as he could manage till he reached the mirror. Sliding a hand down the condensation, he studied his reflection.