Читать книгу No Hero Like Him - Elaine Grant - Страница 12

“WONDERFUL! You’re doing great. Cluck to her to keep her moving.”

Claire watched as fifteen-year-old Rachel Rider, one of her young volunteers, led a Shetland pony around the dirt paddock behind the Little Lobo Veterinary Clinic. Rachel’s twelve-year-old sister, Wendy, worked as a side-walker, her hand resting on the leg of a tiny helmeted girl sitting in a saddle that was too big for her, even though it was the smallest available. On the other side of the horse, another Rider girl, thirteen-year-old Sam, served as the second side-walker.

Another sister, eleven-year-old Michele, also volunteered for Claire’s therapeutic riding program. Claire certainly appreciated Jon and Kaycee Rider’s dependable girls. Without them, she feared she would be begging for enough volunteers to keep her program going in the tiny community. The family’s generosity was overwhelming. Kaycee let Claire use the stables and paddocks behind her veterinary clinic and Jon had donated a bunkhouse on his ranch for her summer camp.

With her petite frame, nine-year-old Natalie Hughes could have passed for a five-year-old. Thick glasses made her blue eyes look huge. A combination of neurological and physical problems had stunted her growth and robbed her of the freedom of movement normal in children her age. Yet in the months since she had become one of Claire’s pupils, the child had improved dramatically and now could sit unaided in the saddle. Soon Claire planned to give her the reins to learn to guide the pony, although one of the volunteers would have a halter rope to maintain control, and side-walkers would be in place on either side of her at all times. Still, given Natalie’s limited abilities, it would be a major step forward.

“Now, lift your hands over your head,” Claire told her. “That’s good. The girls won’t let you fall.”

Natalie’s body moved loosely with the pony’s easy sway. She was game, and never hesitated to attempt whatever exercise Claire asked of her. She held her hands overhead for a minute, then let them drop.

“Great job,” Claire said. “Now, say ‘Whoa, Sheffield.’”

“Whoa, Sheffield,” Natalie repeated.

The pony obediently stopped near the gate, waiting for Rachel to lead him through. Once in the covered cross-tie area outside the stables, Claire lifted the child down, hugging her for a long moment before settling her into the electric wheelchair on the concrete pad where her mother waited. Claire tried not to question God why kids like Natalie and the others she saw daily in her therapeutic riding program had been afflicted with such dreadful conditions, but their indomitable spirits always amazed her.

“Bye, Claire,” Natalie said, turning her wheelchair on a dime and heading for the family van, where a lift would place her inside, wheelchair and all.

Her mother smiled at Claire. “Thanks…for everything. She’s so much more confident now and happier all around. It’s wonderful.”

“I think she’ll continue to improve as she gets stronger,” Claire said. “She’s almost ready to hold the reins. Maybe in a couple more lessons.”

“Oh, she’ll love that. See you next time.”

Minutes later, the van pulled out of the parking lot, and Claire left the pony in the care of Rachel and Sam, so she could catch up on her administrative work. Claire’s office and the tack room were located down a breezeway connecting the paddock area to the back row of stalls. Three stalls on the inside ell of the stable looked out onto the covered work area, and she had use of five more stalls along the outside perimeter. A nice wash rack was located behind the stables and the covered area was big enough to cross-tie two horses and still leave room for her challenged riders to maneuver.

Before her next lesson Claire had time to update her charts and continue her search for somebody to replace Barry, so she settled behind her desk to get busy.

A few minutes later she heard another vehicle pull into the parking lot, but she didn’t bother looking up. As well as people coming and going at the vet clinic, there was a constant influx of customers for the Little Lobo Eatery and Daily Grind next door, not to mention the bed-and-breakfast behind the café.

The sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention, especially the uneven gait. She put aside her paperwork and went to the door. The man crossing the stable yard walked with a decided limp, favoring his left leg. When he looked up and found her watching him, his face registered surprise and embarrassment.

“Hello. Is there something I can do for you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for Claire Ford.” The deep, confident voice belied his obvious discomfiture. A black Resistol hat sat low on his forehead, and a crisp, starched shirt and creased jeans complemented a lean, strong frame.

“You’ve found her,” she said with a smile. “Are you here to set up therapy?”

He glanced down self-consciously, then lifted his eyes to hers. “Well, ma’am, I probably need a little, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh, sorry,” Claire said. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

He offered a slight smile that brought a dimple to his left cheek. “I’m Seth Morgan, Libby’s brother. Libby wanted me to stop by about some camp.” He crossed his arms. “Doubt I’m what you’re looking for, but I told her I’d come as a favor, and here I am.”

“Seth, nice to meet you.” Claire reached out a hand and they shook briefly. So this was Seth Morgan. That explained the limp. Libby had told Claire about her brother’s injury. What she’d failed to mention was the attitude. Bull rider. Rodeo cowboy. What else should Claire expect? But this cowboy wouldn’t be riding bulls anytime soon. “Thanks for coming by. Libby told me you might be interested in working for me this summer.”

“It’s more like Libby wants me to find something to do. I owe her big-time, but asking me to play wrangler to a bunch of kids is a bit much.”

Too bad he hadn’t knocked that chip off his shoulder when he fell. Claire noticed him favoring his hurt leg. “Come into my office and let’s talk.”

Since yesterday, she’d made a dozen phone calls, with no luck. At this late date, anybody who might have the summer free had already found employment. Unfortunately, Claire hadn’t interviewed anyone for the job beforehand, since Barry had been the perfect candidate—or so it had seemed. Lesson learned. Always have a plan B.

Seth followed her inside and eased down into a chair, his relief obvious as he removed his hat and laid it in his lap. He was a good-looking guy in his midtwenties, around Claire’s age. Light brown hair showed traces of fading sun streaks, and that athletic physique hadn’t come from a gym.

“Like I said, I doubt I’m what you’re looking for.” His brow furrowed. “I’ve never done anything like counseling before.”

Claire toyed with a pen on her desk. “Right now I might gladly take any male over twenty-five.” She realized how that must sound to a stranger, and when he chuckled, the heat of a blush crept up her neck.

“Well, I fit that bill. Looks like we’re both in a bind.”

Boy, did he ever fit the bill—in spades. Golden eyes the color of a cougar’s held her gaze and turned up the thermostat under her skin until she forced herself to break contact and try to concentrate on what the job entailed.

“Look,” she said. “I’m desperate to find an authority figure for one of the boys.”

“Micah? Libby told me a little about him.”

“Yes, Micah Abbott. The guidance counselor won’t allow him or the other boy to attend if I don’t have a man as a full-time assistant camp director.”

“Assistant camp director? You’re getting way out of my league now.”

“Won’t be too difficult. I need a male authority figure to help keep Micah in line, that’s all.”

“And you think just having me around will do that, when the entire school system can’t? Won’t take a smart kid long to test a banged-up cowboy.” Seth’s gruff voice carried a hint of frustration, maybe even anger.

“Even if you were whole, I would expect you to avoid physical force.”

“Number one, I am whole, lady, just broke my leg,” Seth snapped, pushing himself up from the chair and setting his hat back on his head with a thump. “And number two, I think you need to find somebody else to wrangle this kid.”

If his attitude was a reflection of how he would handle students, she might just be creating more problems by hiring him. Besides, the sex appeal oozing from his pores might be too much of a distraction. Still, she had to have an assistant.

“I’m sorry, I should have said ‘even if you were completely healed.’” Claire rose also. “There are other ways of asserting authority besides being physical, you know.”

“No, I wouldn’t know much about that. I’m pretty used to physical.”

“Libby told me you were a bull rider.”

“Am. I am a bull rider,” Seth said, his words clipped with irritation.

“I understood from your sister that you wouldn’t be able to ride again after this injury.”

The color drained from his face and his breathing quickened perceptibly. “Libby’s got no business saying that. That’s my decision to make.”

“I must have misunderstood,” Claire said quickly. “I thought she mentioned that was the doctor’s prognosis.”

“The surgeon is probably the best there is, but he’s not God. I hope you find somebody for your camp.” Seth spun toward the door, and in the process lost his balance. He caught hold of the door frame to steady himself.

Claire’s first instinct was to rush to help him, but she refrained. He froze in the doorway as if paralyzed, and she realized he was in pain physically as well as emotionally. His pent-up frustration and fear were palpable.

Claire’s nurturing instinct kicked in. “Seth,” she called quietly. “I could really use you this summer. Libby almost promised you’d help me out.”

He wouldn’t turn back to her. “She’s got no business saying that, either.”

“I do need help.” Claire eased around her desk. “If I can’t give the guidance counselor a name by early next week, my camp may not be able to open.”

Seth’s grip on the door frame tightened until his knuckles went white. “You need somebody else,” he said between gritted teeth. “Like you said, somebody whole.”

“I wouldn’t offer you the position if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t leave, either.

“And, Seth,” she said, “I could work with you to strengthen your injured leg and improve your balance. That’s what I do for a living, you know. Therapeutic riding. Think about it overnight, okay?”

He shook his head in a brusque, dismissive movement and started for his truck.

“I’ll be here at eight tomorrow morning, if you change your mind,” Claire called after him.