A Cowboy's Pride

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going to trot.”

“No, we are not.” He tried to pull the reins back. “I’ll fall.”

“Not in that saddle.” She smiled at him, but kept a firm grip on the single rein. “All you have to do is hang on.”

“No.”

But Baylor knew what to do. The moment she clucked her horse into a trot, the animal followed.

“Stop.”

It was the worst part of her job—pushing people when they didn’t want to be pushed. She consoled herself, as she always did, by telling herself this was good for him. He didn’t believe he could ride, but he could in their specially made saddle. He could even gallop if he’d put in a little effort learning Baylor’s cues. He was just being stubborn.

So as she trotted off, she ignored his cries of protest. She didn’t look in his direction, either, certain all she’d see was anger in his eyes. The soft footfalls of Baylor’s hooves matched her own horse’s steps. After a few yards, she risked a glance backward, wanting to see if he was bouncing out of the saddle or sitting quietly.

Sitting quietly.

She turned away before he could see the smile breaking across her face. Ah. The man might be holding on to the saddle’s horn like a drowning victim, but he wasn’t moving, a sure sign that his legs still functioned.

They caught up to Rana and Cabe in a matter of seconds, Alana pulling her horse and Trent’s to a stop.

“Whew, I’m getting hungry,” she told the group at large, letting go of Baylor’s reins. “I’m thinking BLTs for lunch.”

Rana chirped a resounding “Yes.” Cabe just smiled. Trent glared.

She should have expected it, she really should have, but it was a bit of a disappointment to realize he was so deep into his self-pity he hadn’t even noticed how well he’d clung to his horse.

And then he leaned toward her. Alana pulled up her horse, slowing it down so Rana and Cabe wouldn’t hear what Trent said. It was a good thing, too.

“If you ever do that again, I swear, I will somehow find a blowgun and shoot your horse in the ass with a dart.”

To which she just smiled. “Well, Mr. Anderson, I’d start combing eBay, then, because I plan to do a lot of stuff like that over the next two weeks.” She’d already wasted one week taking it easy on him. Not anymore.

Before he could say another word, she clucked to her horse and cantered away.

* * *

AN HOUR LATER Trent still fumed. He could have fallen and been killed today.

And wouldn’t that have been poetic?

Killed by a horse and not that stupid drunk driver.

He couldn’t leave fast enough. Trent ignored the scenic view once he shot out of the barn. The pine trees weren’t as thick as they were at the edge of the Jensen property, but they still afforded some shade from the sun as he traveled along the gravel path. Some days he wished he were a vampire, a being that would simply poof out of existence in the sun’s rays.

The path wound through a small meadow with loamy red earth smelling musty and dank, and birds chirping in the trees. One thing about the world, no matter how much crap you were wading in, the damn thing still turned. So did the wheels of his chair, faster and faster, although this part of the property wasn’t as steep a grade as the main road, it just took longer to navigate. Trent slowed down once he was out of view.

He wished he’d had the courage to leave yesterday. He couldn’t. He’d promised his mom he’d try and stick it out for three weeks. His traitorous mother, who’d clearly handed over his medical records to the slave driver Alana. He couldn’t believe she’d sold him out.

When he made it back to his cabin, his hands still shook, making it difficult to dial Saedra’s number.

“I was wondering when you’d get around to calling me.”

He smiled when he heard her voice, the first time he’d grinned in this godforsaken place since arriving. He wheeled his chair toward the giant picture window at the front of his cabin. Sunlight glinted off the nearby river. They appeared to be in a low-lying valley, one surrounded on all sides by small mountains, and in the distance to the northwest was what looked like a volcano covered in snow. Tall pine trees dotted the hills and turned them green. Pretty country, but nothing could beat the beauty of Colorado.

“Believe me. I was tempted to keep you in the dark,” Trent said.

He hadn’t exactly left Colorado on good terms with Saedra...or his mom. If he hadn’t been certain his mother would completely disown him if he called it quits, he would have left on the first plane out of here.

“So, have they put you on a torture rack yet?”

He heard amusement in her voice. “They have me riding in a rocking chair.”

Despite his anger at being all but bullied by his new therapist, Trent’s spirits lifted. He didn’t like being on bad terms with Saedra. They’d been through too much. After the car wreck that’d taken his rodeo partner’s life, Saedra had been a rock, always by his side, urging him on. She’d taken time away from her own thriving business to help nurse him back to health. There was no way he could repay her for that, and if he were honest with himself, it was part of the reason why he’d come to California despite his reservations. Saedra had put the guilt screws into him but good, telling him that after everything she’d done for him, after all the time she’d spent trying to get him well, he owed it to her to at least try one last thing. So here he was.

“What?” He could hear Saedra’s laughter. “What do you mean a rocking chair?”

“It’s the damn saddle they have me riding in. It’s like a rocking chair. It even has a back.”

“You rode today?”

Her words brought him back to the moment, back to the point in time when he’d first climbed on his horse and nearly broken into tears.

“I’ve actually ridden a few times.”

“Oh, Trent.”

Okay, fine. He would admit that it always felt good to get back in the saddle. The only thing he didn’t like was the harridan in charge of rehabilitating him.

“Don’t sound so thrilled. It’s not like I’m running barrels.”

She was silent for a moment. He wondered where she was. Probably still packing up the last of her things from the business she’d sold. His accident had changed more than him. Saedra had watched her best friend struggle to survive, the whole ordeal making her realize life was too short to put a dream on hold—or so she’d told him. So she’d sold Buckaroo Barbecues, her successful catering business in Denver, bought a trailer to live in, and plotted her strategy on the best way to get to the National Finals Rodeo herself.