followed Remington room to room. The tiny horse nuzzled children, sniffing their hands, closing his eyes and resting his head on their laps when they stroked his face and neck. John was a prize horse when it came to cheering up children. Remington had used him as a part of ministry for the past two years.
The little horse would also serve as their victim when it came time to show the kids some trick roping. John Wayne knew a few tricks. He’d even learned to “play like a calf” when roped. He would drop to the ground and let the guys tie his hooves. He also prayed when asked. He would extend his front legs and drop his head to the ground. Kids loved a praying horse. So did most adults.
Focusing on the horse and the kids helped Remington to ignore the obvious distraction of Sammy Martin. After all this time she still had the ability to undo his common sense. Her blond hair was a little shorter than it had been, but her blue eyes were just as blue and that pretty mouth... He smiled. How could a guy not remember strawberry lip gloss?
Her dad had died about the time he’d gone to work at the Martin ranch. It hadn’t been a good time for the Martins. It hadn’t been the best chunk of his own life, either.
He led John Wayne out of the room of a little girl who didn’t speak. She reached one tiny hand to touch John. At least she’d reacted. Dr. Jackson told him that was probably a small miracle in itself. He liked the doctor who had made this unit a possibility. The hospital, typical for small communities, had few patients. This children’s unit met a need and kept the hospital solvent. Most important, it gave hope.
The rest of his cowboy crew waited in the activity area for him to make his rounds. The kids were being moved to that area as he led John down the hallway. He looked up, meeting the brief accusing gaze of Samantha Martin. Those blue eyes could sure shoot sparks at a man. He wondered if she ever thought that he might have a little bit of a reason to be upset, too.
No, she probably didn’t. She was a Martin. Her brothers, all three of them, had egos the size of the Rockies. Her older sister had been decent. A couple of years back Elizabeth and her husband had been killed in a small plane crash, leaving behind twin daughters. He knew from local gossip that Jake Martin was raising those little girls.
Jake, Duke, Brody, the three of them had caught him in the barn with Sam. He let go of the memory and met her gaze again. She looked away but not before he saw that her eyes were rimmed with red and her nose had turned pink. A sure sign she’d been crying.
Over him? Or was that just his ego talking? Working at the hospital as she did, he could see dozens of reasons she might cry from time to time.
He knew there were going to be problems with moving back to Martin’s Crossing. Sam was one of them. Fortunately he didn’t have time to focus on her or what she felt about him. He had his granddad to worry about. Gus wasn’t doing too great. And now he had to think about Parker, too.
Sam moved past him, helping a little girl who made slow progress on crutches. She spoke softly, giving the child advice and encouragement. He couldn’t help but notice her. The softness of her voice. The pink of her nails as she steadied the little girl. The scent of her, soft and floral.
Man, she smelled good.
A guy couldn’t not notice when a woman smelled that good. Or when her blond hair shimmered beneath the lights. A man couldn’t help notice blue eyes flecked with violet. Noticing was what had gotten him in trouble ten years ago.
He shook it off as John Wayne nipped at his jeans. “Hey, mule, stop that.”
The little girl with Sam laughed. “He’s not a mule. He’s a pony.”
He squatted in front of John and the little girl stopped, forcing Sam to stop. “He’s actually a miniature horse.”
“Why?” the child asked. Her big brown eyes moved from his face to the horse at his side. John lipped the hand she extended. He saved his teeth for Remington.
“That’s a good question,” he responded. “Ponies are breeds that stay under a certain size. Miniature horses are horses that just stay tiny.”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. He looked up at Sam. She was giving him the same look.
“Not a good answer?” he asked. They both shook their heads and he laughed. “Yeah, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, either. I just know that John Wayne here is a real good horse. And if we go in with the others, he’ll show you some pretty amazing tricks.”
He straightened, still holding the lead to John Wayne. The horse pulled him on in to the activity room, following behind temptation in nurse’s scrubs. Pink scrubs with teddy bears.
For the next hour he entertained the children. He showed a little boy named Danny, an amputee, how to lasso John Wayne. They had a contest to see who could draw the best horse picture. Afterward, John did a few tricks. He played calf, prayed and climbed up on a pedestal, where he shook hands with various kids.
At the end of the program, Remington prayed. When he asked the children if they had any prayer requests, hands went up all over the room. He took out a pen and paper to write them all down. Nothing hurt a kid more than forgetting their request. It might be a prayer for a goldfish that died, but it still mattered. He wrote them all down and ignored the way Samantha Martin tried to avoid looking at him the entire time.
He had hoped that they could live in the same area and not bump into each other. It was a foolish hope. Since they were obviously going to see each other from time to time, he guessed they were going to have to talk.
But first he’d talk to God. He had a whole list of prayer requests from the kids, running the gamut from wanting a pony to being able to walk again. Kids always broke his heart. He never left one of these events without shedding a few tears.
It was something his granddad had taught him. Real men could cry.
After he’d prayed, he and the other guys went around the room, shaking hands and signing autographs. He’d brought some champions with him today. A Bull Riding World Champion, an All-Around Cowboy World Champion, a Steer Wrestling Champion and an award-winning stock contractor. They all had stories to share, roping tricks to display and pictures to hand out.
One of Remington’s personal favorites was Bryan Cooper, from Dawson, Oklahoma. He’d met the younger man at a church event in Austin. Bryan had lived in South America and told a compelling story of forgiveness. For the children in these units, he talked about his faith as a young man.
As the cowboys circulated, Remington let his gaze slide to the far wall. Samantha Martin stood to one side, watching him but pretending not to. He caught and held her gaze, because he enjoyed watching that flush of pink in her cheeks. She looked away first.
He squatted in front of a little girl in a wheelchair.
“Can I pet him?” she asked, pointing to John Wayne. Her voice was raspy and she closed her eyes as if talking hurt.
“You sure can.” He pulled John a little closer. The girl reached out, tentative, stroking the soft muzzle of the horse.
“I used to have a pony,” she said, not looking at him but her big brown eyes gobbling up his horse.
“Did you?”
She nodded. “Yeah, before. Before the fire.”
Yeah, he was going to cry today. He
