Rancher and Protector

by Pamela Britton

  He seemed angry. Or frustrated. Or…something. “Haven’t you ever worked with beginners before?” she retorted.

  He didn’t answer her.

  “Haven’t you?” she pressed.

  “No,” he finally admitted.

  That got her attention. “Then how the heck did you get this job?”

  “Frankly, I don’t know. Luck, I guess.”

  “No way,” she said.

  “I faxed in a résumé last Monday, had a phone interview on Tuesday. They did a background check and verified my references by Thursday and here I am today.”

  Today being Sunday. But she’d known Gil and Buck had been desperate to find someone to help out. Scuttlebutt was that finding qualified horse personnel in the middle of San Francisco had been a challenge, especially someone willing to work with special needs children.

  “So this is your first time teaching people to ride?”

  He nodded. “And so I guess we all have something to learn.”

  She squared off with Flash. “Well, all right then. Tell me what to do, cowboy.”

  He crossed his arms, the motion highlighting the muscular bulge of his biceps. She liked the way his shirt hugged him, emphasizing how fit he was.

  “Okay,” he said after a moment’s pause, as if he’d been mentally gearing himself up for the task, too. “Put your left foot in the stirrup.”

  “And my right foot out?”

  She could have sworn he fought back a smile.

  “So after the left foot, then what?”

  “Grab the saddle horn and pull yourself up.”

  He made it sound sooo easy.

  It was not.

  She felt as if she was playing a game of Twister. Once she managed to get her foot into the stirrup, it slipped out the minute she went to grab the saddle horn. Forget about pulling herself up.

  “This is impossible,” she said. “You’d have to be double-jointed to get close enough to drag yourself onto a horse’s back.”

  “Try facing the front of the animal,” he said.

  Amazingly, that seemed to do the trick. But even after getting her foot into the stirrup and taking a firm hold of the saddle, she couldn’t pull herself up.

  “I’m too fat,” she muttered.

  “You are not fat,” she heard him pronounce.

  “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one trying to pull it all up.”

  “You are not fat,” he said again.

  She turned to look at him, drawing back instantly. He was right behind her. “You’re the perfect weight,” he stated.

  Amber wondered if he was attracted to her, too.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll help lift you up,” he said.

  “If that involves putting your hands on my rump, forget it.”

  He had an amazing smile when he chose to use it. “Just try and swing yourself up. I’ll do the rest.”

  She thrust her foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle…

  He did the rest.

  He clasped his hands around her waist as if she were a figure skater and he was her partner. She didn’t need to use the stirrup so much as clutch at the saddle. The end result was less than graceful, but before she knew it she found herself sitting on the worn leather.

  Amber sighed loudly, out of breath. She could still feel where his hands had been. “And they make it look so easy on TV.”

  “It’ll get easier,” he said.

  She kept clutching the saddle horn, even though she knew she should be looking around for the leather strap thingy. What did they call them? The reins. She should be holding on to the reins in case the animal beneath her—a very big animal—decided to bolt, or to charge, or to buck and twist to throw her off.

  “Maybe it’s nothing to you,” she said. “But it’s a big deal to me. I feel like I’ve conquered the world.” She smiled.

  “You’re right. No big deal.” He turned on his booted heel and began to leave.

  “Hey!” she cried.

  But he didn’t turn back.

  “Hey!” she called again, louder.

  He walked away.

  Chapter Five

  It had happened again, Colt thought, practically running ahead of Amber.

  Something about her reminded him of his mom. Or maybe his sister. One of them. So? That didn’t mean anything.

  “Hey,” Colt heard her call again.

  He told himself to walk straight past the arena gate. Hell, he should head to the parking area and get in his truck. Amber Brooks was the worst sort of woman to be attracted to. The only reason he’d met her was because he’d been sent to find out where her nephew was. She’d stolen a man’s son away. Okay, so maybe not stolen. She had legal custody of the child, but the fact remained that she refused to bring Rudy by to visit his father. Refused to let Logan see his son. Refused to let Logan even talk to him on the phone.

  “Okay, fine,” she said. “Leave me here. But I want you to know that you’re the worst damn riding instructor I’ve ever met.”

  And he was angry, he admitted. That’s why he wanted to walk out.

  “And that’s saying a lot, since you’re the only riding instructor I know.”

  “Crap,” he muttered under his breath.

  He couldn’t leave her there.

  He slowly swung around to face her. She had the same joy of spirit that his sister had. That’s why she reminded him of Maggie.

  Crap.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  She sat on the horse like an abandoned child. “I would love to ‘follow you,’” she said, “if you would only tell me how, exactly, to do that.”

  Get it together, Colt.

  “Okay.” He took a deep breath. He could quit at any moment.

  And go back to day-leasing pathetic horses next year.

  “First thing you need to do is pick up the reins.”

  She glanced down. “Reins,” she said, scooping them up as if she was scooping out ice cream. “Check.”

  Damn it. He would have to touch her again. “Not like that,” he said. “Both of them in one hand.”

  She looked at them, clearly confused, then switched the reins to one hand, but they were all wadded up wrong.

  “No,” he said. “Leave the ends hanging out.” Against his better judgment, he went over to her. “Like this.”

  She had petite hands. And nice nails. They weren’t painted, but were well-shaped. He couldn’t stand bright colors on a woman’s nails. Made them look cheap.

  He almost forgot to let go of her hand holding the reins until she said, “Oh, I see.”

  Colt stepped back, grateful for a little distance. He forced himself to remember she wasn’t as sweet as she looked. Even panthers were beautiful.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  Mean. Arrogant. Self-righteous. Those were the words Logan had used to describe her.

  “Go ahead and squeeze Flash’s sides with your legs,” he said.

  But she didn’t seem evil.

  “Like this?” she asked.

  Not at all.

  “Harder,” he said.

  Her face was turning red. Colt realized she was squeezing the horse as if trying to make juice out of him.

  “It’s not working,” she huffed.

  “Try a kick.”

  She tapped her heels.

  “Harder.”

  That seemed to do the trick. Flash took a step. Colt almost laughed when he caught the look on Amber’s face. She couldn’t have appeared more stunned, if she’d been shot off in a rocket.

  “That’s working better,” she said, kicking harder.

  The gelding flung his head up in response. “Not too hard,” Colt said. “We don’t want to get him upset, especially when he’s moving along just fine now.”

  She looked pleased. And excited. And…happy.

  “Lay your reins on his neck to guide him to the arena.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll be right next t
o you in case you need me, but you won’t.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “That’s a good horse you’ve got there,” Colt said. He’d met Buck only once, but had been impressed with the old cowboy’s horse sense.

  “How do I apply the brakes?”

  “Pull and lean back at the same time.”

  She started to do as instructed. “Not now,” Colt said quickly. “Wait until you get into the arena before learning to use the control stick.”

  “Leave it to a man to call the reins a control stick,” he heard her mutter.

  Eucalyptus trees towered overhead, their shade and pungent smell pleasant. He kicked at the fallen leaves. Beyond them lay the arena, and beyond that, an open field that seemed out of place given all the trees around them. Then he remembered what it was. He’d read about it online. That was the cavalry field, where officers had practiced maneuvers on horseback. The arena had been added later, and the wood fence that surrounded the perimeter painted a brilliant white.

  “Here.” He moved ahead of her to open the gate. “Pull him to a stop when I get inside.”

  “Okeydokey.”

  It was a nice arena, Colt thought. Someone had spent major bucks on the place. He would give his right eye for an arena like this to use for practice. As things stood, he was forced to mooch off his friends. Drove him nuts. But the only way he could afford something like this was if he got his hands on Logan’s horse, which meant getting his head out of his ass.

  Colt took a deep breath.

  “You have any family?” he asked, coming to a stop next to her.

  If she was startled by his question, she didn’t show it. “Some.”

  “Were you ever married?” he asked, even though he knew she wasn’t. But he was trying to draw her out, get her to talk.

  “No.”

  Too late he realized his question might be misinterpreted as interest on his part. He scanned her face, searching for evidence that she might have taken it the wrong way. She wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  “Any brothers or sisters?”

  He’d have to have been blind not to notice the way she winced. Her sister had died in a car crash, he knew. That was how Amber had gotten custody of her nephew…when Logan had gone to jail.

  “No,” she said again. “Nobody.”

  He couldn’t very well call her a liar. Although, technically, she wasn’t really lying.

  Kinda like you.

  One step at a time. He moved back and crossed his arms. “Try a circle.”

  “And how does one turn?” she asked pointedly.

  “Move your arm in the direction you want to go.”

  And that was that. Flash must have been very well trained because he listened to the halfhearted directions she gave him.

  “Can I go faster?” she asked.

  “Wow! First day on a horse and already she wants to go faster.”

  They both turned to see Gil approaching with a young couple and a child. The balding camp director looked especially out of place in such a countrylike setting, in his polyester black pants and a button-down white shirt, Colt decided. The woman with him held the hand of a little boy, who looked to be six or seven years old.

  “Good to see you’re having so much fun,” Gil said.

  “Fun?” Amber smiled widely. “This isn’t fun, this is work. My arms are sore from brushing and my legs are weak from squeezing.”

  Gil smiled back at her. “Hear that, Eric? This isn’t going to be all fun and games.”

  But the little boy didn’t move. He didn’t do much of anything besides look at the ground. Colt noticed that he had a prosthetic leg, and his arm was curled up against his belly.

  Colt felt as if he’d been punched.

  Car crash. What else would have caused these kinds of injuries?

  “Amber and Colt, this is Mr. and Mrs. Peery. Despite your experience, Amber, the Peerys are hoping their son, Eric, might have fun learning to ride.”

  Colt turned just in time to catch Amber jumping down from her horse like a member of the Pony Express. He marveled for a moment, wondering where she’d learned that move. Her curls tumbled around her shoulders, as bright as her smile. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she dashed forward, only to draw up abruptly when Flash didn’t immediately follow.

  “Come on,” she told the gelding.

  But the big bay was moving at his own pace. Colt interceded. “Here, I’ll lead him forward.”

  His gaze slid to the parents. Both of them had their eyes on their child, and if Colt wasn’t mistaken, the mother looked disappointed by her son’s lack of interest. He watched as she lifted her free hand to touch her blond hair, then dropped it again. Her husband seemed just as on edge.

  “Hi, Eric,” Amber said as they drew close to Camp Cowboy’s newest student. She squatted low. “My name is Amber.”

  He wouldn’t look at her, but that didn’t faze her. “Would you like to meet Flash?” she asked.

  Eric edged nearer to his mom, his expression pained.

  “Don’t worry, he’s not going to hurt you,” his mother said softly. Then she glanced at Colt, telling him without words he could bring the horse closer.

  “It’s okay to be afraid,” Amber said. “I was scared of horses at first, too. But I’ve learned they’re really nice.”

  Colt led the gelding as far as he could without actually bumping into the child. Flash seemed curious, pricking his ears up and dropping his head. Colt watched as the gelding’s nostrils flared, a sure sign he was trying to catch Eric’s scent.

  “See?” Amber said gently, reaching up to pat Flash’s neck.

  “Go ahead, son,” the father said. “You can pet him, too.”

  Tentatively, the kid reached out with his good arm. Colt saw the scars there—multiple angry red lines that could only result from deep gashes.

  He had to force himself not to turn away.

  “Hey, horsey.” Eric glanced up at his parents, wonder in his face.

  “Would you like to ride him?” Amber asked.

  Eric looked from his dad to his mom.

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” Mrs. Peery said. “If you think it’s safe.”

  “It’s an excellent idea,” Gil said. “Colt here can help him up.”

  “I’ll get him a child-size helmet,” Amber said, dashing off eagerly.

  Colt stared at those scars.

  “Drunk driver,” Eric’s mom said in a low voice, next to him. Her son was busy stroking the horse, her husband squatting down behind him. “We were on our way to a baseball game.”

  She shook her head, her eyes red.

  “Three in the afternoon and the man’s triple the legal limit.”

  “I’m sorry,” Colt said, but he was frozen inside. He wanted to leave.

  “Here we go,” Amber said breathlessly, handing over the helmet.

  Mr. Peery took it from her and helped his son put it on.

  “You ready?” Amber asked in a bright voice.

  Eric nodded.

  “Okay, here we go.” She took the reins from Colt, who guided the child to the horse’s side. He weighed next to nothing when Colt swung him into the saddle.

  Drunk driver.

  Had the driver lived? If so, did he suffer from the crushing burden of his guilt?

  “You okay up there?” the little boy’s mother asked him.

  The child wore a grin on his face that stretched across his entire face.

  Colt busied himself adjusting the stirrups.

  “Mom, Dad,” Amber said, “can you take up a position on either side?”

  Then Colt stepped away, and Amber began to lead the horse forward. Eric’s grin went supernova. He clutched the saddle horn with his good hand, his giggle causing everyone around him to smile.

  Except Colt.

  “You okay?” Gil asked.

  Colt hadn’t realized he’d stopped moving and that the director had come up next to him. “I’m fine,” he forced h
imself to say. “Just watching.”

  But he was far from fine.

  Chapter Six

  Something was wrong with Colt, Amber thought as she led Flash around.

  It took every ounce of her resolve not to turn and ask him what was up, but her focus had to be on Eric and helping him to stay on the horse. And it was funny, too, because she didn’t feel half as uncomfortable around Flash today as she had yesterday.

  “You’re doing great, Eric,” his father said.

  “I can’t believe it,” Mrs. Peery added. “You’re riding. I didn’t think you’d do that for at least a week.”

  “Normally he wouldn’t,” Amber said, glancing at Colt again. “Usually, we spend a week or more just getting kids used to being around horses, but I’ve never heard of a pony ride hurting someone. Not,” she added quickly, “that I’m an expert. Yet.”

  “What the heck are you doing?”

  The three of them froze.

  “That child shouldn’t be riding yet,” Jarrod called.

  Gil and Colt both stepped forward, preventing the distraught therapist from getting any closer to Eric. Good. Amber was worried he’d startle the horse.

  “Excuse me?” Colt was saying.

  “Gil, I’m sorry,” Jarrod practically snapped. “But—”

  “Is everything okay?” Mrs. Peery asked Amber in a worried voice.

  “It’s fine,” she answered as calmly as she could.

  “He shouldn’t be up there without some basics first,” Jarrod was arguing. “That’s especially important for children with—” he lowered his voice “—disabilities.”

  “That child is having fun,” Colt said.

  “It won’t be fun if he falls off,” the other man retorted.

  “He’s not going to fall off.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Jarrod countered. “And how would you know that, cowboy? You ever work with disabled kids before?”

  “No,” he said. “But I’ve grown up on horses. No one’s going to fall off a plug like Flash.”

  Jarrod leaned in, saying very quietly but intensely, “He has no lower leg.”

  Amber quickly glanced at the Peerys to see if they’d also heard. They had.

  Colt’s response was equally low and ferocious. “He doesn’t need one to ride.” The Peerys looked over the horse at each other, clearly confused.