Rescuing the Cowboy

Hearing a child’s voice, Quinn straightened. He’d been bent over the wooden arena post, repairing a loose railing, and hadn’t heard the girl and horse approach.

“Fixing this.” He pointed at the railing with his hammer.

“Why?” She spoke with a pronounced lisp.

“It was loose. Now it’s not.”

The girl, an adorable pixie, giggled impishly from where she sat atop a brown mare. Ten or twelve—he wasn’t good at judging ages—her distinctive almond-shaped eyes narrowed to small slits as her smile widened.

Quinn grinned in return, something he rarely did. The girl was responsible. Children were open and much more accepting than adults. He could relax around them.

What did his daughter look and act like? Was she cute and bubbly or shy and quiet? The questions plagued Quinn constantly and angered him on those nights when sleep eluded him. The private investigator he’d hired hadn’t located his daughter or her mother, claiming they’d gone into deep hiding. Quinn couldn’t disagree. His own efforts had failed to produce results.

Running out of money, he’d let the PI go after only a week. Until one of the feelers he’d put out netted results or he landed a job that paid more than room and board, his search had come to a grinding halt.

“Is that a scar on your face?” The young girl pushed at her pink riding helmet, which had slipped low on her brow. A harness secured her to the saddle, preventing her from falling off.

“Yep.”

“How did you get it?” she asked.

“An accident.”

A fellow inmate’s fist had “accidentally” struck Quinn’s face during a fight his first week in the California state prison when he’d refused to give up his place in the cafeteria line. He’d spent two days in the infirmary with a mild concussion, three cracked ribs, multiple contusions and a dozen stitches.

Quinn learned fast. The fight wasn’t his last one, but it was the last one he lost. Twenty-seven months in all had been added to his sentence. Fortunately, he hadn’t had to serve them.

“Lizzie.” The instructor rushed over to the girl. The brown mare, well trained, did no more than bob her head. “I told you not to ride off.”

A group of six students had been practicing at the other end of the arena.

“Sorry.” Lizzie smiled at Quinn before turning a contrite face to her instructor. “I didn’t hear you.”

“You know the rules.” The instructor took hold of the horse’s bridle. “No riding off and no talking to strangers.”

“He’s not a stranger. He works here. He’s fixing the loose railing.”

“Come on.” The instructor was having none of it. She led the pair away, her scowl telegraphing her thoughts loud and clear. She didn’t want the students having anything to do with Quinn. He supposed she’d heard about him. News traveled fast, titillating news that much faster.

Lizzie ignored her instructor and, glancing backward, waved at Quinn. He raised his hand in return, then let it drop.

Moments like this one never lasted. Maybe someday, if he was lucky, his life would return to normal and his daughter would be a large part of it. He wasn’t holding his breath.

“Somehow I knew I’d find you here.”

He spun to discover his cousin Josh standing there, Cara with him. Both of them were staring.

“Where else would I be? You said the arena railing had come loose.” Quinn didn’t wait around to be told what to do next. Rather, he took it upon himself to handle the task.

“You might be getting ready for the party,” Josh said. “It starts in an hour.”

Only then did Quinn notice the two of them were dressed up. “Plenty of time.”

Cara hitched her chin toward the end of the arena where Lizzie and the students were completing their session. “Admit it. You like watching the kids.”

“Just familiarizing myself with the therapy program.”

She didn’t call him out on his partial fib. “Lizzie’s pretty cute.”

“A little Down syndrome doesn’t hold her back.”

“We saw you with her earlier. You were great. You’re going to do well here.” Cara nudged Josh.

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you are.”

“We’ll see.” If Quinn had learned one thing in the last three years, it was to not presume anything.

“Cara and I were thinking.” Josh spoke somberly while his fiancée struggled to contain her excitement. “If you’re agreeable—”

She cut him off. “Between the wedding and a baby on the way, I need help with the mustang sanctuary and therapy program. I—we—want you to be the one.” When Quinn didn’t immediately respond, she said, “We’re offering you a job.”

He dropped the hammer in the toolbox at his feet, buying himself a few seconds while the shock wore off.

“I thought you hired me as a ranch hand.”

“Divide your days,” Josh said. “Mornings, the therapy program and sanctuary. Afternoons, cattle ranching.”

“I’m not qualified to work with kids.”

Cara dismissed him with a laugh. “I don’t need help with the kids. I need someone to oversee the horses. You’re a ten-time national rodeo champion. I think that qualifies you.”

“How do you know you can trust me? You just met me the other day.”

“I’m a good judge of character.” She surprised him again by reaching for his hand and clasping it between hers. “Please say yes. The job comes with a small salary, and I emphasize small. The therapy program is still in the beginning stages. Eventually, there might be an increase.”

She didn’t say it, but she clearly understood that Quinn needed money to rehire the private investigator.

Josh, too, apparently, for he added, “Eventually, Cole, Gabe and I hope to pay you. As soon as the ranch is turning a decent profit again. And we’re close.”

“I’m grateful for what you’ve done.”

“We need you,” Cara said. “I need you.”

Quinn studied her, searching for any sign of insincerity. He saw none. “For the record, I realize I’m not the kind of person who inspires faith.”

“You’re wrong, Quinn,” she said.

“Can I think about it for a day?”