Rescuing the Cowboy

“Doesn’t that make you mad?”

“Yes, it did. Really mad. I had a lot of trouble controlling my rage the first six months in prison. Counseling helped. Now that I’m out, I try not to dwell on the past. It doesn’t do any good.”

“What happened? How were you exonerated?” Summer leaned in.

Quinn did, too, finding her proximity impossible to resist. “DNA evidence. None of mine was at the scene, which didn’t make a difference to the jurors. But there was blood not belonging to me or the guy on his clothing. He must have gotten in a swing at some point. Problem was no match was found in the federal DNA database. Six months ago, I caught a break when the real assailant was arrested for another unrelated assault. This time, the victim was his wife.”

Summer gasped.

“She told the police her husband had a history of violence and was involved in several bar fights. The police were able to match his DNA to the sample from the guy’s shirt. It took a while, but I was cleared and the right man put in prison.”

“I’m really glad, Quinn.”

“Yeah.” He blew out a long breath. Did she have to look at him so earnestly and with such compassion? “There’s more.” He hesitated. “I have a daughter.”

“You do?” She brightened. “Where does she live? How old is she? Is she going to visit?”

He smiled. Next to kids, she more than anyone could coax one out of him. “I don’t have the answer to any of those questions. I’ve never seen her. I only just found out about her. A friend of Jenny’s told me after I got released. She thought I should know.”

“Jenny hid your daughter from you?”

“I don’t blame her. I’m a convict.”

“Was. The girl is your daughter. You have rights.”

“I’ve been trying to find them. I even hired a private investigator.”

“Any luck?”

“Not yet. I need this job. PIs aren’t cheap.”

Summer looked stricken. “Now I’m even sorrier about earlier.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

She surprised him by saying, “I might be able to help you.”

“You can?” He didn’t see how.

“I work part-time for an attorney in Scottsdale. He specializes in family law. We occasionally have to track down errant spouses, some of whom have taken their children.”

“I can’t afford an attorney, either.” Quinn had already gone that route.

“He might talk to you pro bono. Offer some free advice. Let me ask,” she said when he hesitated. “What harm can it do? You may be able to receive compensation from the state.”

“Sue them?”

“You were falsely imprisoned. They may offer a settlement. In fact, I’m surprised they didn’t already. It’s worth checking into.”

Pride and hope waged a battle inside Quinn. He didn’t like taking handouts. Then again, he’d be a fool to refuse help and possibly money when he desperately needed both. “Okay.”

By some miracle, Nathan and Kimberly continued to play without fighting. Teddy stayed put by the fountain, absorbed in his own world.

Feeling Summer’s warm hand on his arm, Quinn turned.

“I’m glad you told me about everything,” she said. “It couldn’t have been easy.”

She looked directly at him with those enormous hazel eyes, and Quinn felt a small crack form in the shield protecting his damaged heart. He stood before the crack had a chance to widen.

“We should probably get back to the party.” He went over and collected his niece and nephew, ignoring the confusion clouding Summer’s features.

She was exactly the kind of woman he could fall for. Unfortunately, he was exactly the kind of man she should avoid at all costs. If she didn’t realize it, he certainly did and would avoid any involvement for both their sakes.

* * *

THERE WERE CURRENTLY six therapy-program horses being housed in the row of covered stalls behind the horse stables, all of them rehabilitated mustangs from the sanctuary Cara ran. In addition to the stalls, the program had also built the small riding arena where Quinn met Lizzie.

The nearby corral was sometimes reserved for private lessons when a more confined area was needed. On most days, Cole used it to train horses. With two hundred wild mustangs to rehabilitate and adopt out, training had quickly become his specialty and main job at the ranch. Quinn was lucky to find the corral empty.

Deciding to familiarize himself with his new charges, he led all six horses from their stalls to the corral. Normally, controlling this many horses at one time was difficult. But the well-trained and quiet-natured group obediently followed behind the mare Quinn held by a lead rope. At the corral, the horses stood and waited until he opened the gate.

Unhooking the rope, he clucked to the mare and patted her chunky hind end. The other five horses followed through the gate, needing very little encouragement from Quinn. Once inside, they came to a stop and either nosed the ground or stood at the corral railing, snorting and swishing their tails.

Two days working for the therapy program and Quinn had already learned a lot about the ins and outs. This time of year, because of the warm temperatures, students scheduled their lessons either early in the morning, finishing by nine, or in the evenings, starting at six thirty when it was less hot.

Just last week, a floodlight had been installed to aid the evening lessons. While the remainder of Dos Estrellas Ranch rested after a long day, the therapy program operated in full force. None of the Dempseys were there, with the occasional exception of Josh, who showed up because of Cara. Mostly, he stayed home to watch the kids.

He’d been there last night when Quinn arrived to observe the class, joining Cara while she advised Quinn on how the program worked. There’d been five students, two instructors, three volunteer helpers, one administrator, and five sets of parents. Summer and Teddy weren’t among those gathered. Quinn admittedly looked for them despite his vow to keep his distance.

During the lesson, he’d made a point of observing the horses in action with the students and the program staff. Today he wanted to see how the horses acted without riders and a small crowd distracting them. He was specifically interested in any personality quirks that might interfere with performance or abilities being overlooked and underutilized.

He put the horses through their paces, getting them to trot and lope in a circle by swinging a lead rope in a circle over his head. The chunky brown mare named Mama was undeniably in charge. She might be a lamb when Lizzie or the other kids rode her but as far as preserving order among this small herd, Mama was a force to be reckoned with.

Within ten minutes, Quinn had made a number of important discoveries. Pancake and George Clooney didn’t like to be separated and stuck together unless forced apart. Stargazer refused to lead with her left—though that might not be a problem as the students never loped the horses. Chubbs became agitated when approached from behind. Gidget’s one flaw was a choppy gait. Then again, her rider last night had laughed when rocked from side to side.

Concerned most about Chubbs, Quinn examined him from nose to tail, expecting to find a sore hip or abscessed hoof. Something Chubbs felt the need to protect. What Quinn found gave him cause for concern. The old gelding wasn’t entirely blind, but he did have some vision loss. That alone wouldn’t drum him out of the therapy program, but the staff should be made aware and take necessary precautions.

None of the therapy horses were particularly good-looking. A couple were overweight, including Mama. On the positive side, they were a dependable, reliable and trustworthy lot. Perfect babysitters.

Quinn leaned his back against the corral railing. Sweat soaked his shirt, causing it to cling to his skin. Removing his cowboy hat, he knocked it against his leg to dislodge the dust.

What he’d give for a cold glass of water to quench his parched throat. This was hot, hard work. Still, he wouldn’t trade it for a million dollars. Quinn had considered returning to the rodeo circuit when he was first released. This was the better choice. Easing slowly into post-prison life made more sense than plowing full steam ahead without having any direction.

Turning, he caught sight of Cara, who, after yesterday, was officially his boss for the three to four hours a day he spent with the mustang sanctuary and therapy program. Closing the gate behind her, she wended her way toward him, petting a friendly nose here and there as the horses meandered over to greet her.

“A little warm to be out here,” she said.

“I’m about done.” He nodded at Chubbs. “Did you know he’s partially blind?”