by Karen Rock
And he would never know her.
That girl disappeared long ago. Amberley had spent her lonely childhood with her horses until she’d worked her way up into competitive barrel racing and become the winner whom Jared respected. Liked. And winners didn’t complain.
They got the job done.
“It just was one of those days when I needed to take it to myself and focus on what I needed to do.” Her look clicked against Jared’s for a minute. “And it scared me on the first barrel today. I knew that it was going to be tight, and I was thrilled we got around it.”
The rain fell heavier, in weighty splats, not that Hank seemed to notice. She shivered in her soggy shirt as he forged ahead with his next question. Would this interview end before she caught pneumonia? If not, her next interview could be from an ICU bed.
“And another world championship for Colorado today. What do they say about you up there in the Rocky Mountains?”
Jared mouthed something obnoxious—it had to be, given the wicked twinkle in his eyes—and she fought back a giggle. He was the worst.
“I don’t know what they’re going to say.” She earned an eye roll for that. “I hope I made them proud. I know I’m proud to be a Rocky Mountain rider. And I have to thank all of my fans today. They’ve been awesome. I love that they came down and cheered me on. It meant a lot.”
That, spoken directly to Jared, wiped the grin off his face and did something funny to his large, wide-spaced eyes, darkened them somehow. For a moment, she glimpsed the heartthrob her girlfriends gushed about, and it unsettled her. Sure, she recognized his attributes. Every female with a pulse appreciated his lean, square-jawed, gorgeous face, his towering height, slim hips, muscular torso and endless legs that turned a pair of worn jeans into a work of art. He had the kind of red-blooded American male good looks that made a gal want to salute and thank God for everyday miracles.
She wasn’t blind, despite her recent vision hiccup.
But she wasn’t stupid either. Fruit flies lived longer than Jared’s romantic relationships, if you could call them that. Conquests was more accurate a term. Their friendship worked because she inoculated herself against his lady-killer charms. The only woman to see the frog and not the prince. In fact, she preferred the goofy frog to the prince. Their friendship meant too much and she’d never want him in any other role, especially after losing the only other important man in her life, her dad, to cancer two years ago.
Nope. No way would she ever jeopardize their friendship.
She tore her eyes from Jared and peered at Hank through the steady curtain of water dripping off her hat brim.
“A 13.95 average through ten rounds.” Hank whistled. “Pretty neat day. Brings you that average title. How important was that to you?”
“You know, it was real important to me. Every contestant that comes here dreams of winning and that, of course, is one of my goals, and so to achieve it is huge. Though it’s surprising, I’ve worked really hard for this and I just have to thank everyone who’s helped me get here.”
The rain had turned Jared’s long lashes into dark wet spikes around his golden-brown eyes. He didn’t blink, just stared right back at her for a long moment with an unreadable expression she should be able to decipher. She usually knew almost every thought inside his pretty head. “They all helped me get through this week and all through the year. I just can’t thank them enough.”
Jared mouthed something and pointed to the parking lot where his pickup waited. She didn’t have to read his lips to guess he’d said something like, “Let’s go.”
“Final numbers were one hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars on the week, and that leads you to another world title,” pressed Hank.
How many followers did his blog have? Millions? As much as she wanted to please her fans, she needed out of this weather. She felt a sneeze coming on, held it in, then jerked as it exploded in her sinus cavities.
“How does this one stack up?” Hank asked, undeterred.
She took a deep breath and launched into what she hoped would be a good enough answer for him to quote and move on. Please...
“Well. You know. The first one is always special and so unreal and indescribable. But this one feels so much more hard-earned. And that’s what it felt like all this year. Harley got injured right before the season started, so that was a challenge. I didn’t think I had a chance to even be thinking of a world title.”
Especially with her eyes failing.
A tremor lanced through her.
Jared gave her a firm, “you got this” nod that bolstered her. He’d said those words when she’d worried she and Harley wouldn’t be competition ready in time for the season. Every chance he got, he’d come home to work with her and Harley until they got up to speed. She and Jared had always been each other’s number one fans.
Would he still stand by her if she had a serious vision problem? She kicked the dumb thought aside. People her age didn’t up and go blind for no good reason.
“And I have to give credit to all the girls here because they put on a great barrel race all week and they’re tough competition,” she concluded and shot Hank a hopeful look.
Got enough?
“World champion barrel racer Amberley James,” Hank intoned into his recorder. “Congratulations on another great year.”
She ducked her head and sent a shower of water on her rain-splattered boots. “Thank you.”
Please let this be the end. Her heavy lids drooped momentarily, and the ground seemed to tilt a little bit. Or was that her?
“Hank, good to see you,” she spied him now standing just a couple of feet away, shaking hands briskly with the lingering blogger.
“Well.” Hank’s ruddy face turned tomato. “Didn’t expect to get a double scoop here.”
“Oh, I believe Amberley’s done a great job of giving you all the material you need,” Jared drawled, polite, friendly and respectful as ever, with just the right amount of firm. “Y’all have a good night, now.”
He swept an arm around her waist and led her toward the parking lot.
“Any special reason you came out here? Are you two going to make it official?” Hank called.
Jared halted and peered down at her. She blew out a long breath. Why couldn’t men and women just be friends? They’d battled the misimpression they were a couple for years, right down to rumors claiming they dated, held hands, kissed even. She blushed a bit thinking how they’d come close to doing just that right before her father got ill. Luckily, they’d come to their senses and avoided a huge mistake.
“I’d be a lucky man if that were true, but Amberley and I are just longtime friends. If that changes, I’ll be sure to give you the exclusive.” He tipped his hat and pulled her into the unlit, mostly deserted parking lot.
Under cover of darkness, they ran, hand in hand, splashing through puddles, laughing, soaked and breathless when they arrived at his truck.
“Why’d you do that?” she asked, one heel up and back on the step bar.
He placed his hands on the wet body of his truck, boxing her in, and leaned down. The clean, masculine scent of him, leather, soap and a hint of spice, had her breathing deep.
“To rescue you. Plus, I owe you for bailing me out at the bachelor’s auction last week.”
A bright laugh bubbled up from within. It felt good after so much worry. “Still not sure if I got my money’s worth...”
“Chili dogs and chips?” he scoffed, looking not the least bit offended. “That took a lot of effort. Planning.”
She pressed lightly on his muscular chest. “Yeah. Right.”
He trapped her hand against his heart, and for a breathless moment they simply stared at each other.
Tell him about your eyes, urged the angel on one shoulder.
Keep quiet, the devil on her other shoulder whispered.
&nbs
p; She cleared her throat and ignored the strange sense of letdown when he released her and stepped aside. “Anyway, I had to even up the score.”
“Never,” she shot back, forcing a teasing tone, needing to lose this strange awareness tugging her from the friend zone.
He angled his head and raised his thick, perfectly shaped brows. “As in you don’t want me rescuing you or pulling ahead in the tally?”
She lifted her chin and ignored the twinge inside about her eyesight. “Neither. Do I look like someone that needs rescuing?”
“Not a chance.” He chucked her gently under the chin and considered her. “It might be what I like about you best.” Her heart flailed at the deep, serious timbre in his voice. “That and your burned grilled cheese sandwiches.”
She laughed, but it didn’t break the intimacy swelling between them. “It’s an acquired taste.”
“Acquired? Maybe. Taste? That’s debatable.”
The air in her lungs faltered at his tease. Strategic withdrawal time.
She hopped into the truck but left the door open. Today had been a strange day with lots out of focus, especially these all-over-the-map feelings for Jared. Friends didn’t look at each like that.
“Get me out of here, you fool.”
“Always a fool for you, darlin’.” Deep dimples appeared in his flashbulb smile, and for a moment, she almost believed him. He winked, then shut the door.
She leaned her forehead against the window and watched her breath fog the glass. Flirting was as natural and necessary to Jared as breathing.
It didn’t mean anything.
And if she ever let herself think so, then she’d be the biggest fool of all.
Chapter Two
“STARGARDT’S DISEASE?”
Amberley strained to bring the wavy lines of her ophthalmologist, Dr. Hamilton, into focus. Shameful tears pricked the back of her eyes. It’d been a long six weeks of appointments and tests since she’d returned home and begun searching for an answer about her failing eyesight, and now this...some strange name that seemed like it had nothing to do with her.
Dr. Hamilton’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “It’s a genetic disorder that causes macular degeneration.”
Her heart dropped all the way to the floor and splattered.
Was there a cure?
Lately, her central vision had deteriorated at a terrifying rate, hobbling her at home, her spirit and independence vanishing with it.
“Should we have discovered this when she was born?” her mother asked in what Amberley called her “Interrogation Voice.” She’d been a Carbondale county judge for almost ten years and a prosecutor for fifteen before that.
Out of the corner of Amberley’s eye, she spied her mother’s white face in sharp detail. A line where she hadn’t blended her makeup. A mole the size of a pencil eraser. A few strands of gray-brown hair that’d escaped her braid and fell across her cheek.
Strange that while the center of her vision failed, her peripheral vision still worked fine.
“Not necessarily. The condition appears, symptomatically, in childhood with some vision deficit that’s correctable with glasses or contacts. However, the loss of sight increases rapidly in the twenties, in some instances progressing to legal blindness.”
Her gasp cracked loud in the ophthalmologist’s office.
A hand—her mother’s—fell on Amberley’s knee. Squeezed.
Suddenly it became hard to breath.
“Am I going blind?”
Dr. Hamilton moved his head toward her. That much she could tell, but if he nodded or made a face, she didn’t have a clue. He appeared as just a fuzzy blob of tan and brown wearing something white—a lab coat she guessed.
“Complete blindness?” He paused—maybe waiting for her to affirm the question? Her mouth froze along with the rest of her, her heart beating down deep in a block of ice. “That would be rare, but we can’t rule it out.”
Panic rose. Would her vision be this way from now on? Forever? The world had morphed into a carnival fun house full of twisted, stretched and squashed reflections.
“There isn’t a procedure that could help? An implant? Gene therapy?” Her mother’s crisp voice turned sharp.
Another knee squeeze.
A drumming sound signaled Dr. Hamilton tapping on his desk. Then a long sigh.
“Gene therapy studies are still too early to be conclusive. Charlotte, I wish I had a better prognosis for Amberley. This is a heck of a thing.”
“So—so that’s it?” Amberley’s voice shook.
“We can arrange for a service dog.”
“I don’t need a dog,” she cried. “I need my eyes back.”
My life.
“The Lord doesn’t give us more than we can handle—”
Easy for a sighted person to say. Amberley shook off her mother’s hand, shot to her feet, stepped forward, then bumped into the desk with her thigh. Hard. Her teeth ground together. She’d become a hermit these last few weeks for this exact reason. At home, she navigated the space well enough, keeping the tormenting sense of helpless, hopeless at bay.
But here—here she couldn’t hide from it. In the real world, her vision blossomed into a bigger problem and she shrunk into someone incompetent, dependent, weak, a person she never wanted to be.
“I can handle a fifteen-hundred-pound stallion at fifty miles an hour. But this—I can’t deal with this. What am I supposed to do with my life?”
She’d been planning on trying out for the ERA Premier tour team again at their end-of-summer qualifiers. Now she’d never be good enough to ride with them.
Or ride at all...
The life she’d always wanted ended before it’d even started, and she had no contingency plan.
“Honey, let’s not think so far ahead.”
Dr. Hamilton made a soothing noise. “Your mother’s right. Take it day by day.”
“And what do I do with those days?”
Unable to pace for fear of smacking into anything else in her obstacle course of a world, she dropped back into her seat. A sense of helplessness washed over her. Crushing. Unfamiliar. Did her life matter anymore? One without riding? Competing? Winning?
If you aren’t first, you’re last. Her father’s words floated inside, stinging.
What am I if I can’t compete?
Nothing.
No. Less than nothing.
You may as well not even exist.
She dropped her head in her hands.
“There’s plenty you can do,” her no-nonsense mother protested. Staunch as her pioneer ancestry.
“Like...”
After a painful beat of silence, her mother cleared her throat. “You could come down and assist my office clerk.”
“Doesn’t that require reading?”
Metal grated on metal. A drawer opened by the sound of it. Then Dr. Hamilton said, “There’s an equine therapy program for people with disabilities.”
“I can’t help people with disabilities,” Amberley protested. “Not when I’m...”
Silence. Shifting in chairs. A light cough from Dr. Hamilton. A short exhale from her mother.
And then it dawned on her. She had the disability. She was a disability. And a liability. The realization settled in her chest like pneumonia, cold, dense and painful.
A strange urge to seek out her gelding, Harley, and share the news seized her. He’d always been her rock. Her confidant. Him and...
Jared.
Suddenly she pictured her best friend’s wide-open smile and his teasing, amber eyes. What would he think of her if he knew her marginalized status, someone without a purpose or real worth? A loser. Not a winner at all.
She hoped she’d never find out.
Sidelined by an injury last season, he’d return to the Bronc
os’ preseason training in a few weeks. Until then, she’d continue dodging his texts and calls and hole up in her room.
After that...
Her future stretched ahead of her, as narrow, bleak and distorted as her vision.
“So what do I do now?” she asked when the silence in the room stretched to its—her—breaking point.
“I’ll give you the number for the equine program and write you a referral to an occupational therapist. They’ll help you regain your independence and improve your quality of life.”
Her fingers curled around the worn wooden edge of her seat. Her quality of life? That made her sound a hundred years old. Then again, maybe the description fit: someone barely hanging on to a life that was, for all intents and purposes, over.
“No, thanks.”
“Excuse me?” Dr. Hamilton’s chair scraped and he stood.
“We’ll take the number and the referral, Doctor,” her mother interjected smoothly, in a brook-no-argument voice which had secured her status as the state’s most successful prosecutor turned judge.
Amberley’s nose tingled and her eyes ached with the effort to hold back her grief. She needed to get home, crawl into bed and bury herself under the covers.
“Is our time up?” She headed in the direction of the door, unmoored. Her life whirled, out of control, her independence—gone. She couldn’t even take off when she wanted—not when she couldn’t drive. And she missed her other Harley, a 2010 black Breakout that matched the one Jared bought the same year.
No more hopping on her bike and chasing down sunsets, free, the wind on her face, blowing through her hair, as close to flying as any human could get. No. With her wings clipped, she just wanted to duck under her covers and hide.
Her foot connected with the bottom of a tree stand. It tilted forward and fell on top of her.
“Amberley!”
Her mother and the doctor rushed to help, and she balled her hands at her sides.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
