Читать книгу No Hero Like Him - Elaine Grant - Страница 13

“SETH, GET UP.”

Libby’s voice outside his bedroom door startled him awake.

He groaned and muttered, “What?”

“Get up and go tell Claire you’ll help her.”

Seth sat up in bed, the covers pooling around his bare stomach. His sister had harangued him all last night for turning Claire down. “Don’t start on that again, Libby.”

“I just talked to her. She’s at the stables for a few hours this morning. Get your butt dressed and get out there.”

Seth did a double take, staring at the closed door. Libby never used an off-color word, not even butt. “Come on. I told you I don’t want to—”

“This is the way it is, Seth! Either go work for Claire this summer or I’m going to tell Daddy you’re just wallowing in self-pity, and that he should come up here and get you.”

Seth breathed a few choice words that Libby couldn’t hear. Just what he needed—his father and two of his older brothers on his case all summer. Lane, the one closest to his age, might cut him some slack, but his oldest brother, Howdy, wouldn’t. Sometimes Howdy acted as if he thought he was Seth’s father anyway. “Okay. All right. I’m getting up.”

“Good. Get up and stay up.” She was in full schoolmarm mode now and not to be denied. “I’m teaching early Sunday school today. If you get things straight with Claire in time, it wouldn’t hurt you to come to church.”

“Don’t count on that,” Seth muttered.

“What?” Libby said though the door.

“I said I’ll try,” he called. “You can stop the lecturing now. I’m up.”

He heard Libby cross the hall to her bedroom and close her door.

It was 7:00 a.m. He hadn’t been up this early since he’d gotten out of the hospital. Before his accident, he’d never lain in bed past six. Maybe it was time for him to get back to normal. But he hated the thought of facing Claire Ford again after yesterday. She must really be desperate if she was willing to hire him in his current physical condition.

He shook his head. He wasn’t used to a woman studying him with that analytical, sympathetic expression, something akin to pity. Seth didn’t want anybody, especially a good-looking woman, feeling sorry for him.

His jaw clenched as he recalled how other women had reacted to him, screaming his name and cheering while he flung his hat across the arena in celebration of a great ride. Pressing around after the event as he loaded his gear into his truck. Sidling up to him in the bars the cowboys frequented. Offering to come to his hotel room, or inviting him to theirs. Depending on how pretty she was or how drunk he was, Seth had taken some of them up on their offers. They had never looked at him with pity.

His blood pumped hard with rising anger. He sure as hell didn’t want Claire pitying him. He wanted that old sense of power, that cocksure attitude that had carried him to victory in and out of the arena. Sweat popped out on his forehead when he stood, and the ache in his leg threatened to lay him flat again. The anger turned into a hot, fluid rush of terror. What if he never got back to where he had been before the accident? What if it just never happened?

Stop it! He forced his breathing back to normal. Chased the dread out of his mind. No way would he surrender to a broken leg. He’d faced injury before, and looked at death every time he settled on a bull’s back. This was just a bigger setback than most. Still, as he hobbled to the shower, uncertainty gripped his stomach, like a hunger he couldn’t sate.

A hot shower and a big dose of ibuprofen eased the pain. He rubbed a hand over his freshly shaved jaw and splashed on aftershave. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he went to the closet in search of clothes. As usual, Libby had arranged his shirts by color and lined up a row of perfectly pressed jeans next to them. Maybe that was another reason she wanted him gone. Her life had been a lot simpler before he barged in. In all fairness, he had tried to convince her he could do his own laundry. He couldn’t help it if she was such a mother hen.

He pulled out a pair of jeans, rummaged in his drawer for underwear and moved to the bed. One of these days, he’d be able to step into pants again like a normal human being. Since the surgery, he hadn’t been able to lift his left leg high enough to dress standing up. Instead, he had to sit and drag the pants on like an old man. It had absolutely infuriated him at first, but he’d grown resigned over the weeks. Either do it that way or go naked—not an option as long as he lived in somebody else’s house. At least he could put his boots on by himself now.

He went back to the closet for a shirt, which he put on and tucked in. His eye caught a glimpse of his best pair of chaps hung across a heavy-duty hanger at the far end of the closet. He fingered the long, silky silver fringe, which feathered across his hand like a woman’s hair.

On a whim, he pulled the chaps off the hanger and buckled them on, along with his other riding gear. Standing before the mirror, Seth allowed his gaze to run the length of his reflection, from the black hat cocked on his head to the crisp white shirt and black flak vest emblazoned with sponsor emblems, to the long shimmering fringe on black-and-red leather chaps, and to square-toed, spurred boots that had seen more than one rodeo.

He lifted his eyes to stare at the oversize trophy buckle on his belt, the one for the win that was announced while he was en route to the hospital—his “Rotten buckle,” as he called it. Seth’s heart plummeted. The man in the mirror was the man he used to be. The man he still wanted to be. The man he might never be again.

A bull rider—all he’d ever wanted to be.

Seth snatched off the vest and chaps and threw them on the closet floor, followed by the trophy buckle. He found another, unassuming belt and took the spurs off his boots. He wasn’t going around pretending to be something he wasn’t, and right now he didn’t know what he was.

He recalled Claire’s offer to help him rehab his leg. Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea. And Libby had him over a barrel. He’d do anything not to have to tangle with his dad right now. Maybe by the time summer was done, he would be healed enough to make a decision—one that might change him forever.

MICAH SAT ON THE rickety front steps of his hotter’n hell trailer. Inside, his mother lay sprawled across her bed in a stupor, the result of cheap liquor and ill-gotten prescription drugs.

Knee-high weeds surrounded the trailer and the rusting pickup truck parked alongside. It had sat there since Pop went to prison. When his mother had said he couldn’t drive it, Micah had taken it without permission. Until she’d thrown the keys somewhere out in the overgrown field, and he’d never been able to find them. What did it matter now? All the tires were flat and the truck probably wouldn’t start, anyway.

Micah propped his elbow on his knee and rested his chin in his palm. Stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to do…His buddies wouldn’t be by today. Most of them were grounded for a month of Sundays for getting drunk and blowing up mailboxes last week. It had been fun while it lasted. Especially driving back around and laughing at the angry owners.

Unfortunately, one of them had nailed the culprits. The boys would have to replace all the mailboxes with their own money and labor. The ones who had money would pay for the boxes, and the ones who didn’t, like Micah, would have to do the grunt work of digging out the old posts, pouring fast-acting concrete, setting the posts, waiting for the concrete to harden, then attaching the new mailboxes. A lot of payback for a quick thrill.

Micah wasn’t grounded. His mother didn’t care if he blew up mailboxes. She didn’t care what he did as long as she had a stash of booze and pills. He closed his eyes, feeling the hot sun burn his face.

At least he felt something, even if it was just physical. He’d long ago learned to zone out most of the emotional stuff. It had begun about the time his father lost his job with a big construction company, a good-paying job painting the walls of new buildings. When Micah was young, the family had enjoyed a decent life. They’d lived in a modest house in town, the truck had been new and shiny, and Micah was allowed to sit on his pop’s lap and “drive” down the dirt roads outside of town. His mother had been pretty and kept a tidy house and cooked good food. Life had been okay until three years ago, when his father got caught stealing some paint from work to make the house look better…and worse, the investigation revealed that he’d been sneaking other material out the gate for years. Ten in the pen.

That was then, this is now. Micah shoved himself up from the porch, went down the steps to tinker with the rusted-out truck. If he could just get it going again, he’d be free….

“GOOD MORNING.”

Claire jumped at the sound of the deep voice. Her hand flew to her heart as she swiveled around in her chair. She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t heard Seth come into the barn. He lounged against the door frame of her tiny office, arms crossed, watching her.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m not scared,” she said, her heart still double-timing. “Just startled. How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know you concentrate very well—and if I can sneak up on you, just about anybody could.”

Claire found herself mesmerized by the steady eyes that locked with hers and wouldn’t let go. “That’s not good,” she said.

“Depends on who’s sneaking, I guess.” Seth pushed away from the frame with his shoulder and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “Well, I’m here to take that job offer, if it’s still open. Libby’s going to throw me to the wolves if I don’t.”

Claire smiled. Any port in a storm, sometimes. Thanks, Libby. “I hate for you to be pushed into something you don’t want to do, but I am desperate.”

“Like I said, I don’t have much choice, either.” He cleared his throat and added, “I was wondering about that therapeutic riding, too. Do you think it might heal my leg quicker?”

“We could sure give it a try.”

“I guess that sort of thing’s pretty expensive, though, and my insurance has paid all it’s going to for physical therapy.”

“Therapy lessons aren’t cheap,” Claire agreed. “Most of my students are subsidized by donations.”

“That’s what I figured,” Seth said, shrugging. “It was a good thought, anyway.”

In truth, she didn’t recoup the cost of maintaining the stables and horses or upkeep of equipment, not to mention her modest salary, from what she charged her students. Most of her funding came from generous donations, most of her help from teenagers who volunteered their free time.

“How about this—you work at camp in exchange for therapy. However, I expect a firm commitment from you to stay the whole summer. I can’t afford to lose you halfway through and have to send the boys home.”

Seth didn’t look happy, but he nodded. “Fine. It’s not like I’ve got anything else waiting. I’m pretty much sidelined for the summer. So, what all does this camp involve?”

“Pull up a chair,” Claire said. When they were settled, she began, “The camp starts next Sunday and will last four weeks. An old bunkhouse on the Rider ranch has been converted to a dorm, thanks to donations from Jon Rider and Cimarron Cole. Do you know them?”

Seth shook his head. “I haven’t met many people since I’ve been here. Libby says I’ve been a hermit.”

“Jon’s wife, Kaycee, is the vet next door, and Cimarron and his wife, Sarah, own the café and bed-and-breakfast on the other side of the parking lot. Jon donated the bunkhouse on his ranch and Cimarron rebuilt it into a dorm.”

“Sounds like you’ve got some good connections.”

Claire laughed softly. “My dad, Clint, is Jon’s foreman, and I helped Cimarron with his little boy, Wyatt, before he married Sarah. He’s shown his gratitude by supporting both my camp and my therapeutic riding school.”

“So how much does a riding lesson cost?” Seth asked.

“If I charged what it costs me to run the school, at least a hundred fifty bucks an hour.”

Seth whistled softly. “That’s steep.”

“Yes, but who can afford that around here? Nobody. That’s why the donations are so important. I charge from sixty to ninety dollars an hour depending on what the family can afford.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I couldn’t afford that for long. You must be planning on paying me a lot.”

“No, sorry, not all that much. Barry was a volunteer, but I did plan to offer a small salary.”

“Which I can exchange for a few therapy sessions?”

“Yes, we can do that.”

“Deal,” Seth said. “You’ve got an assistant camp director. So what now?”

“Paperwork. Lots of paperwork.” Claire pulled a folder from a desk drawer and handed it to him along with a pen. “There’s an application and other forms inside. One concerns general medical information. I’ll need your doctor’s signature on a physical exam form—you’ll need a physical if you haven’t had one lately. I’ll also need a recent therapist’s evaluation before you start riding. I can fax the forms to speed things up.”

“Sure. My surgeon is in Dallas and my therapist is in Bozeman.” Seth gave her the names.

“Dallas? That’s pretty far away for checkups, isn’t it?”

“Doc Tandy’s the best. I use an imaging center in Bozeman to do X-rays and send them to him to evaluate. My therapist sends him reports, too, probably not much to his liking these days. I’ll have to go back in a few months, but for now long distance works.”

“I see,” Claire said. She wrote down the names, then pointed to the packet of papers in front of him. “Also, there’s a release to run a background check on you.”

“Background check? In case I’m some kind of pervert?”

Claire leaned back in her chair and studied his face. He had the softest eyes, and a smile that quirked up endearingly on one side.

“Something I have to do on anybody I hire, since I work with children and teens. One of the local deputies runs the checks, and he usually gets back to me right away. But if there are any surprises that might show up, I’d appreciate you bowing out now. Having Micah come to camp is very important to me, and I don’t have time to spare.”

“No surprises. I had a speeding ticket two years ago, but I paid it. No bad credit—not yet, anyway. No arrests or anything like that. Not on any child-predator list, either.”

“That’s good to know,” Claire said. She trusted that Libby would never have suggested her brother for the job if he had a questionable background, but she had to be sure, anyway, to safeguard her campers.

Seth opened the folder and flipped through the pages. “Whew, this could take awhile.”

“Part of the process. Lots of red tape. But if you have time to fill them out now, we could get some of the orientation out of the way today.”

“What kind of orientation?”

“First, how to handle the horses.”

He gave her an incredulous glare. “I know how to handle horses. I grew up on a ranch. I’ve been around livestock since I could walk.”

“I don’t doubt that, but my horses are trained for special-needs children and adults. They’re accustomed to being treated the same way each time.” Claire was used to this spiel. She had to give it to all new riders and their parents and caregivers. The youngsters were generally not a problem, but older students and adults tended to resist learning new techniques. She hoped Seth was flexible.

“You’d have to go through the orientation, anyway, if you want therapy. I have a license to maintain and insurance requirements to fulfill.” Claire braced for his reaction, then added, “And you’ll be required to wear a helmet when you ride.”

A look of surprise and sheer defiance crossed his face. “A helmet? You’re kidding.”

“’Fraid not. It’s a safety requirement for me to keep my insurance.”

He looked away, frustration obvious in his eyes. She figured he was cursing her silently, but she had to stick to her guns.

“Lady, you must have a hell of an insurance company.”

She waited for him to back out of the whole deal. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he stared down at the stack of papers.

“So are you still with me?” she asked.

He glowered. “I don’t go back on my word. But I might just forgo the therapy.”

“That’s up to you. I’ll catch up on some computer work while you complete the forms.” She turned to her monitor and finally he picked up the pen and began to fill in the blanks.

When he finished, about twenty minutes later, he closed the folder and pushed it toward her. “Can we go pet the horses now?”

Claire ignored the sarcasm. “Sure, come on. I’ll let you have your pick, if you’re good.”

“Oh, I’m good, lady. I’m real good.”

Claire shook her head and rolled her eyes. Seth gave her a crooked smile in return.

They walked slowly down the row of stalls. One after another, horses pressed friendly noses against the bars and were rewarded with a pat from Claire as she introduced them to Seth. A small bay quarter horse nickered as Claire stopped before her stall.

“This is Sweetie Pie. I’ve had her for about two years. She’s a darling with the little kids. And this is Captain Jack.”

In the next stall, a large Appaloosa with a black patch around his left eye stuck his nose through the bars as far as he could.

“As in Captain Jack Sparrow the pirate?” Seth said, rubbing his knuckles gently along the soft muzzle.

Claire laughed. “Actually, yes. His former owner loved that movie, but I can’t bear to call him that. He’s no pirate. In fact, he’s a nice horse, but I’d want to start you on one with a smoother gait.”

She sensed Seth’s body stiffen, and glanced at him. He was obviously biting back words. She pretended not to notice as she moved on to another stall, where an old buckskin stood munching hay from a wall rack. “Jiminy Cricket.”

“Beg pardon?” Seth said.

“The horse. Jiminy Cricket. He’s twenty-eight, and I pamper him by only putting very lightweight children on his back. He’s a dear and deserves an easy old age.”

Seth nodded. “I got no problem with that. We do that on the ranch, too.”

“You have a ranch?”

“In northern Wyoming. My parents’ ranch where I grew up.”

“I should have remembered that. Libby’s told me a couple of stories about her childhood. I hope you weren’t the brother who operated on all her favorite dolls to heal them.”

“Nope, that was Will. I was still a baby, so that’s one thing I couldn’t be blamed for. About the only thing, though. Besides, Libby got a whole bunch of new dolls out of it and Will had to work off the cost of them.”

Claire laughed, as Libby had done when she told the tale, while admitting she’d been horrified when she discovered her dolls bandaged all over. Even worse was when she’d removed the bandages and found her dolls tattooed with permanent red marker to mimic surgical incisions.

“Will’s a surgeon in New Orleans now,” Seth said. “Guess he was just practicing for his future. My brother Cord’s a lawyer in Denver and Howdy and Lane are still at the ranch helping Dad. I seem to be the only one…”

His voice trailed off. Claire waited for him to go on, but he didn’t, so she resumed the tour of the stables.

They stopped again before a stall with a sleek palomino pony inside. The small animal whinnied and ambled to the door, his outstretched nose barely reaching the bars in the top half.

“I wouldn’t recommend Sheffield, even though he is pretty. You’d end up carrying him, as tall as you are.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. I told you I’m not going to do that therapy.”

“Because of a helmet? Come on.”

Seth grew downright sulky, but again Claire ignored him. He definitely needed to lose the negativity, but instinct told her he was using it as a front to hide his real feelings.

“One more.” She rounded the corner and opened a stall door. Inside, a big, plump piebald mare lifted her head to stare at Seth with mild interest. Her huge hooves were feathered at the fetlocks, and her white mane and tail looked stiff as wire. Her conformation indicated draft-horse blood.

“She’d be good for a crusade,” Seth said, leaning against the stall post.

“Now, don’t make fun of her,” Claire said. “Her name’s Belle and she’s sweet as can be. If she’s ridden five minutes or all day, she’ll never complain. She’s the only one other than Jack that I use for adults.”

Claire brought Belle out on a halter, led her through the breezeway to the covered work area and hooked her in the cross ties. “I’m sure you know how to groom.”

“Nah, why don’t you show me?” When she held a currycomb out to him, he gave it a questioning frown. “Is this a test?”

“You might say so.”

He cocked an eyebrow, but took the tool from her and began to loosen the dust and debris on the horse’s coat with quick efficient strokes. His leg might be weak but muscles rippled under his shirt as he worked his way along the horse’s back. Claire could see him visibly relax, and gradually the frown left his face. She was glad to hear him talking softly to Belle as he worked, and Belle flicked her ears back and forth, listening. He finished with a dandy brush from the toolbox, leaving the black-and-white mare shining. Claire cleaned the horse’s hooves, then unsnapped the cross ties and handed Seth the rope.

“I’m going to teach you to lead now.”

“You walk off and the horse follows,” he said. While he didn’t actually say “duh,” his tone certainly implied it.

“Not around here,” Claire said. “You stand beside her head and ask her to move forward with you.”

“What?”

Claire took the lead rope and stood beside Belle, holding it several inches below the snap. She moved her hand forward without taking all the slack out of the rope. Belle stepped forward and they walked in a tight circle before Claire brought her back to Seth.

He heaved a sigh. “Lady, you’re crazy. What’s the difference?”

“Please stop calling me ‘lady.’ My name is Claire.” She handed him the lead. “And there is a difference.”

“Yeah, fine.” Seth tugged on the rope, not hard, but with an air of impatience. Belle didn’t budge.

“Don’t yank,” Claire said. “Just move your arm forward a bit. She’ll respond. Like this.”

His biceps tensed when Claire laid her hand on his long, scarred fingers. She felt the soft sprinkling of light hair on the top of his hand and the edges of calluses on the underside. Quickly, she moved his hand forward slightly until Belle took a step. Seth didn’t budge and the lead rope grew taut. Unable to go forward, Belle crossed in front of them, the change in direction tugging Seth’s arm around Claire’s waist. He spoke softly in her ear, his warm breath causing her to gasp in surprise. “I have to say, this is a novel way to move a horse, but I like it.”

He smelled good, of fresh soap and aftershave. Of a subtle maleness that quickened Claire’s breath. The heat of his muscled forearm burned through her thin T-shirt and her skin prickled with an odd anticipation. He made no effort to turn her loose, and his breath feathered the tiny hairs along her neck. Her initial urge was to lean against that rock-solid chest and enjoy the moment, see what he would do next. Then Belle snorted and Claire caught herself. She pushed Seth’s arm away.

“Let’s see you do it on your own.”

He narrowed his eyes, jutted out his jaw and said, “Aw, it’s a lot more fun when you help. I work much better hands on.”

His gaze slid to the camp logo on her shirt and lingered, a smile curling his lip and triggering that deep dimple on his cheek. With a start, she realized her body had betrayed her through the taut T-shirt. And now, her chest heaved with embarrassment and an unwanted physical attraction, to boot. She couldn’t afford to be taken in by this bull rider’s charm, especially since he was her employee. She drew away from him to a more comfortable distance.

“We don’t have all day.”

With a wicked grin, Seth stepped to Belle’s side and did as Claire asked. She gathered her wits and explained other specifics about the handling techniques the horses understood. He listened and learned.

When Claire noticed him favoring his leg more, she brought the session to an end. “That’s enough for now. I have lessons this afternoon and some errands to run. We’ll start again tomorrow morning at eight.”

She glanced over her shoulder as she led Belle back to the stable. Seth walked slowly toward the parking lot, shaking his head. She wondered if hiring him was the right thing to do, and thought he might be asking himself the same thing.

WHEN CLAIRE ARRIVED HOME that night, she found her father setting out plates on the kitchen table.

“You cooked?” she said, laying her messenger bag on the built-in desk in one corner of the kitchen.

Since enrolling at Montana State University as a freshman, she’d lived in the small foreman’s house her dad occupied on the Rider ranch. As cramped as life was in the tiny two-bedroom house, she’d been glad to have her father back in her life after many years of separation. He was growing older now, and the sorrows of his past were etched on his face, yet he rarely asked about her mother and never mentioned her brother, Cody, at all. A couple of times, when they sat on the porch in the quiet evenings, she’d thought about bringing the subjects up, but never found the right opening.

“Humph,” Clint said. “You know I don’t cook unless I have to. Rosie promised to bring over beef stew in a few minutes.”

Rosie, the Riders’ live-in housekeeper, cooked, cleaned and kept the house in order as well as looking after seven kids ranging from the four girls who volunteered for Claire to a set of nine-year-old twins named Zach and Tyler, and Bo, a rambunctious five-year-old.

“She seems to cook for us a lot lately,” Claire said, tweaking her dad’s cheek to annoy him.

He pulled away with a frown. “Keeps you from having to do it when you get home. Seems like you’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, I do,” Claire agreed. “But it is getting more frequent.”

“Wipe that matchmaking grin off your face, missy. Ain’t nothing going on between me and Rosie.”

Claire grinned wider. “Never said there was.”

Clint set the last of the silverware in place and leaned a hip against the kitchen cabinet. Long, lean and lanky, her father was the quintessential cowboy, from his old, well-worn boots and jeans to his weathered face and the squint lines around his blue eyes. That applied to his outlook on life, too. No frills, no nonsense, no compromise. He had never been as hard on her as he’d been on Cody, but then, Claire had rarely seen him after her mother divorced him and took her to California. There her mother struggled to make a good life for them, building a successful career as a horse gentler. From her Claire had learned independence and the value of hard work, as well as her skill with animals.

“You ain’t saying, but you’re giving me that look,” he drawled.

Before Claire could respond, Rosie yoo-hooed and came in through the back door, holding a cooking pot with insulated oven mitts. A large-boned woman with graying brown hair, she had a round, kind face that one would pick out of a catalog for the perfect grandmother, even though she was younger than Clint. The stew smelled delicious. The youngest Rider girl, Michele, followed with a shopping bag filled with containers of corn and green beans and a basket of hot bread.

“Rosie, you are too good to us,” Claire said, helping set out the dinner. “Won’t you stay and eat.”

“Love to, but I can’t. Kaycee and I are going to be up half the night sewing the girls’ Scout badges on their sashes. I promise I will another time.”

“We’re holding you to it, right, Dad?” Claire winked at Clint, who turned red as a chili pepper under his tan. He mumbled something, and Rosie and Claire exchanged a conspiratorial look.

Michele skipped toward the door. “Gotta go. See you later.”

“I’ve got to get back to the house, too,” Rosie said, tucking the oven mitts into her apron pocket.

Clint followed her out the door, and Claire could hear their low voices just outside. She wondered what they were discussing. Her father rarely talked about anything of importance, mostly mundane day-to-day news. Never anything personal. She took her place at the table and waited for him to join her. Within moments, he returned, filled his plate and sat down, digging into his food.

“I hired a camp assistant today,” Claire said.

Clint gave her a look from under bushy eyebrows. “Who?”

“He’s the brother of a teacher I know, Libby Morgan.”

“He’s a counselor, like you need?”

Claire gave a soft laugh. “Not even close. I called everybody I knew and nobody was available for the summer. Seth’s a bull rider. He broke his leg earlier this year.”

“Seth Morgan? I hated when I heard about that. I’ve seen him ride. He’s damn good.”

Oh, he’s damn good, all right. Claire’s body tightened at just the thought of his arm around her that morning and his warm breath on her face. She exhaled softly. She was going to have to break herself of that reaction, and quick. No way should she be responding to his male appeal at all, considering the circumstances.

“A bad break, according to his sister,” she told her dad. “She says he won’t be able to ride again.”

“I bet that’s not what he thinks.”

“You’re probably right. But from the way he limps, he may be in for a long haul back.”

Clint paused with a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. “I’m surprised you hired him, knowing how strong you feel about rodeo and all.”

“To be honest, Dad, I’d have taken anybody with a good recommendation at this point. I can’t let Micah down.”

“Yeah, I know, but what if Morgan up and quits on you when he finds out you don’t like how those poor little rodeo bulls are treated? How will that affect your camp?”

“Now you’re making fun of me. I can’t see where my opinion would matter to Seth. Besides, he committed to the whole summer and you know a cowboy’s word is everything.” She smiled at her father, who had drilled that into her head from the time she was a baby. “Anyway, why would it even come up?”

“You’ll be on the ranch. The first time you take one of the ranch hands—or Morgan—to task for the way they handle an animal, he’ll figure it out. And if he gets released to ride early, I guarantee you he’ll be gone before you can count eight seconds.”

“I’m not even going to think about that. Libby says the doctor’s not going to okay any bull riding. Seth wants to do some therapy riding, and I think the first time he straddles a horse he’s going to realize he doesn’t want to be on a bull—although he might back out of therapy before he gets started. I told him he’d have to wear a helmet.”

“Now that I’d like to see,” Clint said with a broad grin. “I surely would.”