was used to being in control of his world, moving with ease among architects, businessmen and government officials, designing and selling development projects worth hundreds of millions. Faced with one troubled teenage girl, he felt as helpless as a newborn kitten.
This was his daughter, his only child. She was the most precious thing in the world to him. And yet no one would guess it, considering how little time he’d spent with her. Diane going to Sydney to take care of her sick mother might have been a blessing in disguise, since it forced him to reconnect with the girl.
“What do you suggest?” he asked Tom. “Is there a school counselor she could talk to?”
“I’ve been seeing her for three months,” Summer said sulkily. “She’s an idiot.”
“Don’t be rude. Why wasn’t I informed?”
She shrugged. “Mom probably told you.”
“Where parents are divorced, school policy is to communicate with both mother and father,” Tom Dorian explained. “A letter would have been sent to your city address as well as your home in Hope Mountain.”
Adam chewed his bottom lip. Somehow he’d overlooked the communication. News of Summer’s downward slide had slipped through the cracks in his life. He and Diane had both failed Summer. But guilt and shame were unproductive emotions. He thrust them aside and focused on what he could do to make up for his neglect.
“So school counseling isn’t working.” He eyed Summer thoughtfully. “Maybe it would be best if we moved to my apartment in the city. I’d have more time to spend with you and we could find you a good private counselor.”
And they could get out of Hope Mountain. Living in a fire-prone wilderness was foolish in the extreme. Next time fire broke out they might not be so lucky.
“I don’t want to live in the city,” Summer said. “I don’t want to see another stupid counselor. You said I could get a new horse. I’ve been waiting and waiting. It’ll never happen if I’m living in Melbourne.”
Should he give in to her demand for a horse? Being lenient, giving her too much, hadn’t done her any good. He’d stalled all year on the subject, hoping to convince Diane to move out of the area. She’d pushed back, citing Summer’s love of Hope Mountain and her wish to let their daughter finish the school year with her friends. “Is that why you’ve been getting into trouble, because Bailey died?”
“No. Yes.” She dropped her head. “I don’t know.”
Tom Dorian cleared his throat. “There’s a program locally called Horses for Hope. A woman named Hayley Sorensen runs it. She and her late husband used to give trail rides, but the fires destroyed her stables and half her horses. Now she conducts therapy using horses.”
“That’s the Hayley we saw this morning,” Summer said.
“Her?” Now that his annoyance at being startled had passed, Adam recalled blue eyes, a full mouth and fresh, natural beauty.
“They call her the ‘horse whisperer.’” Tom’s voice was tinged with a hint of awe. “I can vouch for her expertise. My brother suffered from debilitating anxiety attacks after being trapped in his car by the fire. Hayley and her horse therapy healed him.”
“Do you have her number?” Adam asked.
“No, Dad,” Summer moaned. “She’ll just be another dopey do-gooder who tries to get me in touch with my feelings.”
Behind the sullen facade Adam caught glimpses of a desperately unhappy teen, and his heart broke. How had his little girl come to this? Where had he failed her? He was floundering, with no idea how to fix her. Therapy from a horse whisperer sounded flaky, but he had to help Summer, and right now he was feeling desperate. “You’d get to be around horses.”
“I want to ride, not...” She chewed on her thumbnail. “I don’t even know what’s involved.”
Tom had been searching his computer files for the contact details. Now he wrote down the information and passed it across the desk. “She’s not great at answering her phone but you’d probably catch her if you go out there.”
“Apparently she’s our neighbor. We won’t have time to stop in today but we’ll call on her tomorrow.” Adam pocketed the slip of paper, then placed a hand on Summer’s shoulder. “Now it’s time to face the music.”
“What do you mean?” She looked up at him, panicky.
“If you ever want to have another horse you have to show me you intend to clean up your act. First, we go to the gift shop so you can apologize to the owner. Then we visit the police station.”
“Please don’t make me go back to the shop,” Summer moaned.
“Come, sweetheart,” he said, tugging her to her feet. “We’ll do it together.”
* * *
“STEADY, ASHA,” HAYLEY MURMURED to the dapple-gray mare backed against the rough-hewn log rails of the corral. Slowly she advanced across the muddy ground, gently slapping long leather buggy reins against her legs. She lowered her shoulders, relaxed her mind and tried to radiate calm.
Shane, her black-and-white Australian shepherd, lay just outside the fence, his muzzle on his front paws, his eyes alert to every movement.
Asha snorted, eyes wild. She arched a neck marred with jagged scars and danced away from Hayley, tossing her silver mane and tail. Feeling her frustration rise, Hayley stopped. Nearly a year on, she’d made almost no progress with the registered purebred Arab.
Asha’s scars meant the show ring was out of the question, but she could still be bred and used in the Horses for Hope program—if she could be handled. Aside from the loss of income, which was certainly an issue, Hayley was hurt and baffled that she couldn’t connect with her own horse—especially given that her nickname was the “horse whisperer.”
Tipping back her battered Akubra hat, she pushed strands of dark blond hair off her forehead. At least no one was around to witness her humiliation except for Rolf and Molly. Her father-in-law was busy installing a hot water heater outside the garage where she’d been living since the fires destroyed her home. Earlier he’d put in a water tank to collect rain off the roof. Rolf wasn’t paying attention, but no doubt her mother-in-law was watching through the single small window at the back of the garage. Molly would be sympathetic, not critical, but still...
Molly emerged from the garage carrying a steaming mug. Her rounded figure was clad in a loose floral top and stretch pants, and she stepped gingerly over the muddy ground in her town shoes. “Coffee?”
Hayley hung the coiled reins over a fence post. “Thanks,” she said, accepting the hot drink. “I can use a break.”
“Maybe you’re pushing her too hard. That horse has been through so much. You should be easier on her.”
That was Molly-speak for You should be easier on yourself. But Hayley had to keep trying; it was what she did. “Left alone, Asha will never get better. I’m not hurting her. I’m trying to help her.”
“How is the rebuilding coming along?” Molly asked, changing the subject.
“Slowly.”
