the demonstrative type she had a feeling he would have thrown his hat at her.
“But I hung on.” Somehow she had, although to this day she didn’t know how. She couldn’t recall Jillian running into the arena, or her friend stepping in front of Playboy and somehow managing to get him stopped. She half-suspected she’d had her eyes closed the whole time. All she knew was that one moment the horse had been running full-tilt and the next she was being helped down to the ground.
“I vomited afterward.”
If Colt had been a character in a sitcom he would have stormed off set. Instead he just stood there, mouth partly open, and though she sat above him by a good two feet, she somehow felt about three feet smaller.
“Why is it every time I talk to you I discover something new? Something I’m not happy to discover. Something that smacks of dishonesty?”
Because she had been dishonest. About one thing at least.
“Because if I told you the whole story, you’d never have agreed to help me, would you?”
She had him there. The brim of his cowboy hat lowered so that she couldn’t see his face. He appeared to be watching one of the Galloping Girlz, this one on a sorrel. Natalie watched, too, because the woman had hooked her foot into a loop near the skirt of the saddle. She anticipated what would happen next and sure enough, the pretty blonde stood up, hooking her other foot through a matching loop on the other side. She stood. No reins. No control. No fear. It took Natalie’s breath away because it was both awe-inspiring and death defying, the woman’s blond ponytail streaming out behind her.
“I won’t be doing that anytime soon.”
Colt’s gaze shot to her own. She saw a flicker of amusement, but only for a moment.
“Probably not.”
His shoulders lifted and then relaxed, as if he’d taken a deep breath, one filled with resignation. Her own breathing slowed.
“All right, look, we’re going to work on some simple balancing techniques today. I’m going to put you out on a lunge line, have you close your eyes, keep you focused on staying aboard, not what your head is telling you might happen.”
She used to do that to the kids she taught. The five-year-olds.
Now, now. You have to start somewhere.
“And tomorrow?”
“More balancing exercises.”
She nodded. “Whatever we have to do.”
“But I can’t work with you every day. Maybe Sam can, but I have performances most weekends.”
“I know.”
“But I’ll do what I can. And we can talk to Sam and see if she can help you when I’m not around.”
Natalie wanted to cry, except she couldn’t because if she did she’d seem like a sissy and she had a feeling Colt didn’t deal well with sissies.
“You’re going to feel like a kid learning to ride all over again, and when you’re not working with Sam or me, I think you should sign up for a rehabilitation program, one that specializes in hippotherapy.”
Hippotherapy. Translation: equine therapy. She’d resisted doing that, hadn’t thought it was necessary. Clearly, she’d been kidding herself. She trusted Colt, and if he said she needed outside help, well maybe it was time to put her pride aside.
“In the meantime bring Playboy over here and I’ll start working with him for you. It’ll be easier for me to prep him for reining competitions.”
Her eyes burned. She realized that she was fighting back sudden tears. She had to blink a few times. “Thanks, Colt.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He slapped Roger’s neck. “Let’s see how you do today before you start getting excited.”
He’d tortured her for an hour.
Natalie had been a saint through it all. Colt had known his ultimatum would leave her with little choice but to do as he asked, and truthfully, he’d half-hoped she’d say no so he’d be off the hook with very little guilt. She’d agreed, though, and then worked hard, despite having to stop from time to time to settle her stomach. Afterward, she’d spent a good hour working with Sam and Roger over a few pieces of wood. She called it ground work, but it wasn’t the kind he was used to. Natalie had said that using the wooden obstacles was the first step to teaching Roger how to jump.
“You look lost in thought.”
Colt glanced up at his sister, Claire. They were sitting in her kitchen, him about to embark on babysitting duties, her heading off to town to run errands. Claire lived on the property, in what had been called the cowboy bunkhouse back when their dad had run a few hundred head of cattle. She’d converted the place into a home, and the siblings now lived a good mile away from each other, Colt at one end of the two-hundred-acre parcel and Claire at the other. He’d always liked the spot where she lived—at the base of a small hill, surrounded by a grove of oak trees with a year-round creek within walking distance—better than the site where his grandfather had built the main homestead, out in the middle of nowhere so he could keep an eye on things, or so Colt had been told.
“I was thinking about that woman I’m helping,” he answered.
“Natalie, right?” Claire swept her long, black hair over one shoulder, the strands twisting in a way that somehow made it look thicker. “Wes and Jillian’s friend.”
He fingered the tab top of a soda can, twanging it as he recalled his first lesson with Natalie. “She popped in on me today.”
Wide, sweeping black brows lifted. “Oh, yeah?”
Adam, Colt’s five-year-old nephew, sat in the small living area near the front of the cozy but comfortable open-concept house. He was busy snapping together some kind of Lego war craft, probably from the latest superhero movie, Hawkman. The boy loved comic books. When Adam glanced up, Colt found himself smiling, once again surprised at how much he looked like Claire. That was a good thing. Not just because she was good-looking, but because he couldn’t imagine Claire having to stare at Marcus’s face day in and day out.
“We ended up tormenting her in the arena.”
Claire took a pull from her own soda, clearly not in any hurry to set off on her trip to town.
“We being you and your new harem,” she said, a teasing glint coming into her bright green eyes.
“Claire!”
Her smile could light up a room and right then, it did. “What? You know it’s true. Sam has had the hots for you since you came back from the Middle East.”
“Not interested.”
“Why not? She’s pretty, that’s for sure.”
“You
