“I went over every square inch of Playboy’s pen.” She patted the dark bay gelding’s neck. “I spent days cleaning out all the old muck. And another day replacing old boards. It’s in as good a shape as possible.”
Colt must have realized he’d offended her because he softened his gaze. “I’m sure you did.”
Her nerves made her edgy. And irritable, too. She hated that she’d had to ask for help. Hated that she was in some backwater barn working with a cocky cowboy who clearly didn’t want to be there any more than she did. At times such as these she ached for her old life with a ferociousness that left her feeling sick.
“This is Playboy,” she said into the silence. Well, as silent as a horse stable could be. In the background a horse nickered. Chickens ran wild. Off in the distance you could hear the sound of cars from the nearby interstate.
“Nice-looking horse.”
It smelled at the Lazy A Ranch, too. Not like pine shavings and saddle soap like her old place. No. More like horse poop and wet dirt. The other owners weren’t as good at mucking stalls as she was. As she and Laney were. She glanced over at the young teen, sure she was listening to every word.
“I bought him at the Bull and Gelding Sale last year. The one up in Red Bluff.”
He moved close enough that he could place a hand on Playboy’s neck. She saw it then—kindness filled his eyes as he leaned toward the horse. It took her by surprise, that look. It reminded her of her friend, Jillian, when she “spoke” to animals.
“Is he cutting bred?”
Colt’s gaze lightened as sunlight angled beneath his cowboy hat and caught his eyes. Hazel. The kind that turned green, gold or brown depending on his mood. He had the square-shaped face of a comic-book hero and the muscular build of a navy SEAL. Something about him commanded attention and she couldn’t figure out if it was his height, his broad shoulders or his piercing eyes. He stepped back, scanning the horse up and down like a used car salesman would a vehicle.
“He is. A kid trained him before me. I figured he must have a pretty good mind if he’d let a little boy break him.”
“What have you done with him?”
She tried not to let her embarrassment show. “Not a whole bunch lately. I was flat on my back for a while, but when I climbed back onto him last month he seemed to remember everything I’d taught him.” She was the one who’d had problems...still had problems. Balance. Vision. Equilibrium.
“And you tried to ride him without a bridle?”
His look seemed to say it all. And, okay, maybe it hadn’t been one of her best ideas.
“Before my accident I was riding him every day,” she said in her own defense. “He was listening to vocal commands and everything, but when I took his bridle off, he seemed to forget everything.”
“Let me guess.” A small smile came to his face. “Runaway pony.”
“Something like that.”
She hoped he didn’t see the momentary flare of remembered panic that came to her eyes. She thought he hadn’t, but then, just as quickly as it’d arrived, his grin faded away.
“How’d you get him stopped?”
“I had a friend in the arena with me.”
He crossed his arms. He wore the same black outfit as before, right down to the hat, and she wondered if he’d come straight from a rodeo performance. It was the weekend and late enough in the afternoon that she supposed it was possible.
“You mind me asking why you picked reining? Surely Western pleasure would be better?”
She’d asked herself the same question at least a million times. “Have you ever seen freestyle reining?”
“I’ve seen a lot of things.”
“Then you know what it’s like. Breathtaking. I was hooked the moment I saw a video on YouTube over a year ago. It’s like pairs ice skating or synchronized swimming or a ballet performance. Your horse becomes your dance partner. You, the music and your animal. Dancing.”
She couldn’t see his eyes beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, couldn’t see if he understood. If she hadn’t known better she would swear he was hiding his gaze from her.
“It’s going to take a lot of work.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Then let’s get started.”
* * *
ONE LESSON.
He’d said the words over and over again on the way to the Lazy A Ranch. He absolutely didn’t need a project, especially a female project and her horse. He had his own baggage to deal with—the ranch, all the repairs, his full rodeo schedule.
“Should I saddle him up?” she asked.
“Nope. We’re going to do some groundwork first.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward the young girl behind her, the one who tried not to be obvious about listening as she diligently cleaned her horse’s stall. The same spot she’d been cleaning the entire time.
“Do you mind if Laney watches?”
“Nope.” Colt glanced around. “This place have an arena?”
“It does.” He thought he heard her mutter, “Sort of.”
He glanced down at Natalie, sunlight reflecting off her short hair. She waved her young friend over, completely oblivious to the way he studied her. It had occurred to him earlier that her hair might be short because of her accident, and his friend Wes had confirmed it. She’d been wearing a helmet when she’d had her wreck during that jumping competition, but it’d been cracked clean in half. Video of the accident showed she’d been stepped on after the horse had flipped over on her. There’d been talk that she’d never ride again. Clearly she’d proven her doctors wrong, but just the thought of it, of what she’d been through, made him shudder. Wes said she had a scar on her head. Colt had scars, too, although his were mostly on the inside.
Don’t be getting soft.
One lesson. He had a busy life and he preferred to live it on his own schedule.
“So what are we doing?” Natalie asked.
“I told you, ground work.”
“I’ve already done all that.”
“Not this kind.”
“You going to teach Playboy how to bow?”
“Nope.” His dad used to teach his horses how to do that. But as Colt thought back to the methods dear old Dad had used, the way he’d tie a rope to a horse’s front leg, forcing it forward while at the same time pulling down on the halter—not just any halter, but one with metal staples in it—he resolved yet
