memory goes the closer you get to thirty. In a couple of years I probably won’t even be able to remember who you are.” She opened the car door. “Stay here while I get the cows moving. You’ve been through enough today.”
“I’ll help.”
No way would she risk him getting hurt. They’d pressed their luck enough for one day. “I’ve got it. There aren’t many of them.”
“Just because my legs don’t work like they used to doesn’t mean I can’t do something.”
So often since the accident she’d felt she lacked the skills to deal with Ryan. At times she had to be mother, cheerleader and therapist. Being a substitute parent to a teenager had been tough enough before his accident.
“I don’t know—”
“It doesn’t matter what you say. I’m coming.”
She thought about pulling rank. With a teenager? They’d only end up having a huge fight and he’d do what he wanted to anyway. “You can help me holler at them, but stay close to the car.”
Then she climbed out of the sedan, retrieved his walker from the backseat and handed it to him when he opened the passenger door.
Lost and now chasing cows off the road. Great start to the day. Could things get any worse?
Stacy moved toward the animals. Waiving her arms, she yelled, “Go! Get out of here!”
Joining in the effort, Ryan waved his left arm and shouted along with her.
Of the cows on the road, only one lifted her head and turned in Stacy’s direction. Then the animal returned to munching on grass, without moving an inch. She searched her memory for how the cowboy at the dude ranch kept the cows moving. He’d sauntered up to them full of confidence and authority, slapped a lasso against his thigh and hollered at them. Trying her best to imitate the cowboy’s swagger, she moved forward, yelling, “Ya,” and slapped her thigh.
“Watch out, Stacy.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward her brother and her right foot landed in something mushy. “Ugh!” Her foot slid. Her balance waivered and she felt herself falling. Her backside landed hard against the paved road, but that wasn’t the worst part. The unmistakable sour smell of manure wafted around her.
“Are you okay?” Ryan asked.
Really? He had to ask? She was sitting in the middle of cow pie. Of course she wasn’t okay. “I’ll live.”
Though her shoes were goners and probably her jeans, too. She glanced at her favorite pair of shoes, leopard print Louis V stilettos ruined with cow poop, and the dam holding her emotions in check sprang a gigantic leak. Tears stung her eyes. She was so damned tired of being strong, of taking care of everything and everyone around her. Of smiling for the world when all she wanted to say was to hell with it.
The whine of a motor sounded around her. Not a car, but some smaller recreational vehicle. She closed her eyes. A moment later when the noise stopped she opened her eyes to find a hand in front of her face.
“Looks like you could use some help.”
Stacy’s gaze traveled from the hand—not a well manicured hand like the actors she worked with, but one of a man who worked hard for his living, rough and tanned—to find a tall golden-haired man dressed in faded jeans and a Western plaid shirt standing beside a three-wheeler with a small cart. She grimaced. The only thing worse than falling in a cow pie was having a cowboy with an incredible body sculpted by hard work and piercing blue eyes witness her embarrassment.
“No, I’m good. Just thought I’d sit here and reconnect with nature.”
“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
Her heart fluttered at the twinkle in his sky-blue gaze. Oh, my. He wasn’t even close to her type, but this cowboy definitely had something, and every cell in her body knew it.
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