by Jo Ann Brown
When Toby patted Bay Boy’s nose, the horse nickered.
“He misses you, too,” Sarah said.
At her voice, Bay Boy turned to her. She put out her hand for him to sniff, and she smiled when his chin whiskers tickled her skin.
“He seems to have taken a liking to you.” Toby was smiling at her as if the horse’s opinion mattered more to him than any human’s. Most likely that was true.
She stroked the horse’s face. “He’s a gut boy. Mick says he’s settling in well.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” His grin widened, amazing her. “Or are you telling me if a horse can settle in to new circumstances, I should be able to?”
“If the horseshoe fits—”
“Got it!” He stretched forward to touch the horse again.
Moving aside to give the two room, she listened as he spoke to Bay Boy as if the big stallion could comprehend every word. When Mick brought the other two horses, Toby greeted them, too. Her “patient” looked more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. Maybe now that he was reassured the horses were okay, he’d focus on his recovery.
Then he’d leave, and she wouldn’t find herself paying too much attention to a plain man. That attraction could be another thing to come between her and her dreams of studying medicine. That must never happen.
Chapter Six
Sarah stood at the bottom of the porch steps. She made sure she could jump forward, but wouldn’t step on the flowers blooming in front of the porch. Flowers that weren’t poisonous to horses. Any bush or plant that might harm the valuable animals had been banished from the farm.
At the top of the steps, Toby was rising from the wheelchair he despised. Not that he’d complained, but his upper lip had a tendency to curl whenever the chair was mentioned.
She was surprised at his reaction. She’d thought, when she’d first brought him the wheelchair, he’d be pleased. It allowed him to get around the house and outdoors, though no farther than the porch or the ramp, because he couldn’t maneuver alone across the uneven ground.
Without asking, she rushed up the steps and lifted the crutches lying by the wheelchair. She handed them to him, and he gave her a silent nod.
The door opened. Childish voices poured out onto the porch.
Sarah prepared to step between Toby and the youngsters. In their excitement, they might bowl him over or even knock him off the porch.
“Stay where you are,” a stern voice ordered.
Beyond the screen door, Mrs. Hancock stood. As always, she wore a prim gray suit. The skirt’s hem was as long as Sarah’s dress. Her black hair was swept in a French twist, and she wore two pairs of glasses on glittering chains around her neck. An expensive watch peeked out from beneath her unadorned cuffs. It was a gift from Mrs. Summerhays after her previous trip to Europe.
Mrs. Hancock was not much taller than Sarah, but her aura of authority gave a first impression she had the stature of a giantess. Her family had lived in Salem since the village’s founding in the late eighteenth century.
She frowned as she held back the two younger kinder, who were eager to come outside. Was she upset at the kinder or at Sarah, who was working with Toby? Either way, Sarah knew the housekeeper wasn’t happy.
Toby looked over his shoulder and waved. The youngsters grinned as if they hadn’t seen him in months instead of having breakfast with him that morning. When they called to him, he motioned for them to join them on the porch.
“Are you sure?” Sarah asked.
“I’d rather have them in my way than someone else’s.”
She smiled at how he’d phrased that so Mrs. Hancock’s fragile feelings weren’t hurt. Sarah called, “Komm out.”
The kinder exploded from the house, swinging the screen door behind them.
“Whoa! No slamming the door.” Sarah rushed to catch it in the kinder’s wake.
Ethan and Mia glanced at each other as if finding it difficult to believe either of them could have been at fault. When Sarah motioned for them to follow her down the steps, they complied.
She led them in the center of the walk. Putting a finger to her lips, she said, “We need to be quiet so Toby can concentrate on what he learned this morning.”
The kinder had been busy with swimming lessons while Toby had his session with Howard. The physical therapist had to put a halt to the practice on the stairs because Toby wanted to keep going until he was proficient. Only the warning that every additional trip without a break to rest his ankle could do more damage to it had stopped Toby from trying “just one more time.”
Making sure the youngsters wouldn’t be in the way if Toby fell, Sarah signaled for Toby to start but halted him as he started to lower his left foot.
“That’s wrong,” she said.
“I made sure I’ve got my crutches under me before I moved.” Impatience rippled through his protest.
“You can’t lead with your foot. Remember? You put the crutches on each step before going down. Howard said that’s important, so you keep your balance and don’t tumble. He said you need to remember that until you can begin to put weight on your right foot.” Sarah kept her tone light and wished Toby wouldn’t act as if it were a life-and-death matter. “It shouldn’t be hard to remember, ain’t so?”
“Maybe not for you.”
She refused to be drawn into an argument, so she said in her gentlest tone, “Lead with the gut foot going up, and then let the bad one swing through going down.”
“Cuz good things go up and bad ones go down,” said Mia and Ethan at the same time before Ethan added, “See? I remembered from when I broke my leg.”
“So you did.” She smiled at the kinder.
She had to keep her focus on Toby but knew how much mischief Ethan and Mia could get into as soon as her back was turned. Natalie and Alexander were having swimming lessons in the pool behind the house, and the teenager teaching them couldn’t keep an eye on them as well as watch the younger kinder.
So she was grateful Toby was willing to have an audience while he did his afternoon exercises. After he worked on the steps, Sarah instructed Toby to write the alphabet with his right foot. Ethan and Mia copied him. They giggled when Mia made the letter S backward. The little girl started again and wore a proud grin when she did the letter correctly the second time.
Natalie stuck her head, which was wrapped in a colored beach towel, past the door. “Your turn now!”
“We want to help Toby,” Mia argued. “I went swimming this morning.”
“You know Mom wants us to be able to swim when we go to Aruba in January.”
With a sigh that suggested she was sacrificing the most precious thing in the world, Mia shuffled after her brother.
The screen door slammed in their wake, and Toby glanced at Sarah.
She shrugged. “What’s the point of reminding them not to slam the door again when they won’t hear it?”
“It seems like they didn’t hear it the first time.”
“They did, but sometimes it takes a long time for an idea to go from the ears to the brain when those ears belong to someone six years old or younger.” She smiled. “You’ve got to be patient.”
“I’m not sure I could be.”
“Why not? You’re patient with your horses, aren’t you?”
“That’s different.”
“How? You’re teaching a horse to behave as you want. I’m doing the same with the kinder. In either case, we have to keep them safe as we teach them to behave without breaking their spirits.”
He relaxed against his crutches and grinned. “I didn’t realize our work had so much in common.”
“It’s strange, ain’t so?” She moved to the walk and looked at him. “I’m ready when you are.”
Sweat glistened on Toby’s forehead by the time he went down the steps and then returned to his chair. She p
oured a glass of water from the pitcher she’d brought out with them.
Handing him the glass, she said, “You did it.”
“Ja, but I should be doing better than this by now.”
Sarah gave Toby the stern look that worked best with the Summerhays kinder. He ignored it and instead glowered at his right foot.
“It’s only been two days,” she said, hoping being reasonable would help.
It didn’t.
“Two days of doing these exercises again and again. What have I gotten for it? I still can’t put my weight on my right ankle.”
“Two whole days?” She gave him an expression of feigned shock. He wanted a pity party. At least, that was the term Alexander had used when he complained about how Toby wouldn’t do anything but grouse last night during supper.
She’d guessed that Toby would appreciate coming out to the small breakfast room where the kinder had their meals. Not only would he get practice with his crutches, but he’d have an excuse to leave his room.
She couldn’t have been more mistaken. Toby hadn’t said more than a couple of words. Though she guessed his meds were making it difficult for him to think, he could have taken Mia’s and Alexander’s hands when they bowed their heads to say grace.
“I thought you’d have more sympathy for me,” he grumbled.
“I’ve got plenty of sympathy for you, but not as much as you have for yourself. Maybe you’d rather be a racehorse,” she fired back. “With an injury like this, the kind thing would be to put the horse down.”
“I see what you’re doing.”
“Getting you to stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“With reverse psychology. It may work with the kids, but it won’t work with me.”
She gave a terse laugh. “I guess it won’t, though I don’t know what you’re talking about. I guess you’d rather be a horse so you could be put out of your misery. And put the rest of us out of your misery, too.”
“Okay, I’ll put a positive spin on it, if that’s what you want.”
She sat on the other chair and faced him, wondering if all Amish men were dikk-keppich. As stubborn as a pair of mules. Her brothers were hardheaded when they wanted to get their way, as they had been that morning when they cut her off in the middle of her explanation of how she was helping with Toby’s physical therapy so they could remind her they’d forbidden her to study medical matters.
Frustration threatened to overwhelm her. Why had Menno and Benjamin jumped to the conclusion her story was aimed at making them change their minds? It hadn’t been her intention, and she was annoyed they thought she was trying to find a way around their edict. If they suspected she was considering leaving the community... No, she didn’t want to think about that. Better to focus on Toby and his sense of futility than her own.
“What positive spin could there be?” he asked, and she realized she’d been lost too long in thought.
“When you’re training a horse, you don’t expect it to be able to master everything you need it to learn in two days, ain’t so?”
“I’m not a horse.”
Irritated, she snapped, “No, you’re acting more like a donkey!”
* * *
Toby watched Sarah’s eyes widen as her face paled before turning as red as her hair. She hadn’t meant to call him a donkey. Not that he could fault her. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he was tired of doing simple exercises that didn’t bring perceivable improvement.
When she started to apologize, he waved her words away. “You don’t need to ask forgiveness for the truth. I have been acting like a stubborn old donkey, braying and kicking.” He gave her a wry grin. “Well, maybe not kicking. I’m not used to doing nothing and still being exhausted.”
“Are you tired now?” she asked.
Ja, he wanted to shout. He was tired of being an invalid. He was tired of being dependent on others for things he’d done without thinking a week ago. Most of all, he was tired of being inside unless Sarah had the time to take him out to the porch.
He looked at the stairs to the yard. Three steps shouldn’t be a barrier between him and the stables. But without someone to help him, the stables might as well be on the far side of the moon.
When Sarah put gentle fingers on his arm, he was shocked. He’d seen her offer a consoling hand to the kinder, but he hadn’t expected her to treat him with the same familiarity. Or for his heartbeat to erupt into high gear at the light pressure of her warm skin against him.
“I’m sorry nothing is turning out as you’d hoped,” she said. “I know how difficult that is.”
Did she? Had she been thwarted in doing the simplest things as he was? Or, he wondered, was she referring to what made her eyes dim? He was curious what it was Sarah wanted to do when she seemed so content living in the new community with friends she would have for the rest of her life. The longing for roots among plain folk gripped him, but he pushed it aside with disgust. He had his home at J.J.’s ranch. Even the thought of moving somewhere could lead to the nomad life he’d had with his parents.
He aimed his glower at the wheelchair. “Do you know what I hate most? That chair, because if I want to go anywhere beyond the house, I need someone to push me.”
“You don’t like others pushing you around?”
He gave her a scowl in response to her smile, then felt horrible when her twinkling eyes grew dull. “I’m sorry, Sarah. You’re trying to lift my spirits, and I’m acting as if I want you to be as miserable as I am.”
“If that’s not what you want, then what is?”
“I want to be able to work.” He leaned toward her. “I suspect you’d be as impatient as I am if our situations were reversed.”
“You’re wrong.”
“You rush about, chasing the kinder and taking care of them. If—”
“You didn’t let me finish. If our situations were reversed, I’d be more impatient than you are.”
A laugh bubbled inside him for the first time since... He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed, and he wasn’t going to today. Laughter was another invisible thread weaving people together, which was why he’d avoided it.
Pushing the laughter into the dark place deep in his heart where it’d been locked away, he saw she was waiting for his reaction. Sever any chance of connection, ordered the quiet, but annoying, voice that had first sounded in his mind after his daed had come home and insisted they prepare to move, right after twelve-year-old Toby had asked the cutest eleven-year-old girl in his school to sit with him during recess the next day. They never had that chance to sit together. In fact, he never saw her again.
That leave-taking had been the one to persuade him—at last—that he’d be a fool to make friends again. He counted the men who worked for J.J. as acquaintances. Most didn’t stay long but went looking for other work, or whatever they wanted for their lives.
Sarah sat straighter, drawing his eyes to her. “You’re like the Summerhays kids. If there’s something you don’t want to do, you need a goal to convince yourself to do it.”
“What I need to do is be able to walk.”
She laughed, shocking him. He hadn’t guessed she’d be the type to find humor in someone else’s pain.
Stop it! She wasn’t laughing at him. Because he didn’t want to be beholden to her wasn’t her fault.
Making sure his voice didn’t reveal the tumult inside him, he asked, “Okay, what is this goal you’ve got in mind?”
“Something you’d enjoy and what might make your stay here feel as if it’s been worthwhile.”
A kiss? He tried to smother that thought, but it popped into his head as he admired how her brown eyes glowed behind her gold-rimmed glasses.
“Aren’t you curious what I’ve got in mind?” she asked.
“What?”
“If before the racing season ends at
Saratoga next month, in the doktor’s opinion—not yours—your ankle can handle the exertion, I’ll ask Mr. Summerhays to arrange for you to spend a day at his stables there.” She grinned as she asked, “How’s that for a goal? Enough of a challenge for you, cowboy?”
He was astonished how she’d discovered the exact carrot to hold out as incentive for him to work even harder. His efforts to keep a wall between them had been futile. She was able to see within him to know what he’d prize.
Happiness flowed through him, as gentle and inviting as her smile when he replied, “I’m not a cowboy. I’m a groom. A horse trainer.”
“So?”
“So this horse trainer is going to accept your goal. You’ll see. I’ll make it happen.”
“I hope you do.”
As she put her fingers on his forearm again and gave it a kind squeeze, he realized she meant what she’d said.
He was getting in too deep with her and the Summerhays family, but, for once, he didn’t retreat. He was leaving as soon as he healed. They knew that, so why not enjoy a challenge—and her sweet smile and enticing touch—until then?
Chapter Seven
It wasn’t right to be proud of being able to lean at the same time on his crutches and on the top rail of the fence around the pasture where Bay Boy had been turned out while his stall was being cleaned. But Toby was. With the crutches holding him, he folded his arms on the fence and stood as if his ankle had never been hurt.
At last, he was where he belonged. No longer a complete invalid.
He watched the big horse’s gait with a practiced eye. Bay Boy showed no sign of favoring one leg as he’d seemed to on the trailer during the ride from Texas. Had the horse been faking an injury, or had it been so minor it had healed?
Without getting closer to the horse, he wouldn’t be able to tell. The doktor and Howard had instructed him—and Sarah—that Toby must stay away from horses and view them from the far side of the fence until he could walk without crutches. The sight of the metal crutches might spook Bay Boy again.
