Читать книгу Luke’s Ride - Helen DePrima - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

A HORSE’S NEIGH and the slam of a car door woke Luke before dawn. The bedside clock read five thirty, the usual beginning of a workday on the ranch. Great—now his dad would be on his case for goofing off when he should be halfway to the barn or at least sitting down to breakfast.

He started to swing his legs out of bed before reality flooded back in a bitter wave. He flopped down and considered his options: hole up and feel sorry for himself or get dressed and try to make himself useful.

He pulled on jeans and socks before propping himself up on the edge of the bed, waiting to make sure of his balance before reaching for a shirt. He had just transferred to his wheelchair when he heard a soft knock at his door.

“You up, Luke?” Shelby asked. “Ready for some French toast?”

“Five minutes,” he said and dragged on his boots before heading into the bathroom.

He wheeled into place at the kitchen table and accepted the mug of strong New Orleans coffee Shelby poured for him.

“Man, I’ve missed this,” he said. “Makes other coffee taste kind of sad.”

“I told your dad to stop ordering that for me when the blizzard almost wiped us out,” she said, “but he bought it anyway.”

“You deserve it, lady—you kept us all going through that trouble.”

She waved his words aside. “You feel like working today?”

“You need me to peel potatoes?”

“Later, maybe. You know Cinnamon, that roan filly I started last fall? Something about her trot feels off to me. I’d like you to ride behind me and tell me what you see. You’ve got the best eye in the family.”

Luke snorted. “I doubt I can keep up in my wheelchair.”

“I don’t expect you to. You ready to meet your new legs?”

He plowed through his breakfast in record time and drained his coffee before donning his hat and denim jacket.

“Lead on,” he said. “Time for me to get back in the saddle.”

Out the back door he discovered a narrow blacktop walk now led to the barn. The dirt floor inside had been raked smooth and rolled flat; he could propel his chair almost as easily as on the paved surface. Later he might fret over the extra trouble everyone had taken for his benefit, but now his eagerness to be active overrode all other thoughts.

Getting on a horse would go a long way toward making him feel like more than half a man.

He followed Shelby to the side door opening to the horse pasture and halted beside her as she gave a piercing whistle. Several horses paused in their grazing, but one lifted its head and started toward the barn.

“Whoa! That’s my ride?” A flashy Appaloosa gelding, dark chestnut with dramatic white markings on his rump, halted in front of Shelby and dropping his muzzle into her hand.

“I knew you’d fix me up,” Luke said, “maybe with a nice old bombproof mare, but I didn’t expect anything like this.”

“I got him from a rescue in Utah,” Shelby said. “His owner died and left them a chunk of money if they’d take special care placing his horse. He’s been used for hunting, so he’s not likely to blow up with you.”

“This guy have a name?”

“Luke, meet Duke. Duke, here’s your new person.”

“Duke and Luke—that’s kind of much. How about Dude? He sure is one handsome dude.”

The gelding dipped his head into Luke’s lap, inviting a scratch under his mane.

“Give him this.” Shelby handed Luke a piece of hard candy. “He’s a sucker for butterscotch.”

“Whatever you say, stepmama. Just tell me what to do.” Luke fed Dude the candy and was rewarded with a gentle nudge.

“I’ll tack him up for you this time, but you’ll be able to do it yourself with a little practice.”

She walked into the barn with the horse following like a well-trained dog. He stood in the passageway without hitching while she curried dust and loose grass from his still winter-shaggy coat.

“Here’s how you’ll do it,” she said, and tapped Dude’s foreleg. The horse slowly collapsed, folding all four legs beneath him. She lifted a saddle from a tack chest beside the wall and set it in place, steadying it while Dude stood again to let her fasten the cinch. He ducked his head into the hackamore she held out.

“Dude’s trained to go bridleless,” she said, “but you’ll probably feel more secure with reins until you guys get to know each other.” She tapped the foreleg and the horse lay down again.

“Think you can get aboard?”

“I can sure as heck try,” Luke said, eagerness running through his veins for the first time since his wreck. He pivoted his chair parallel to Dude’s side and locked the wheels. The saddle was almost level with his seat, allowing him to slide on sidesaddle and drag his right leg across the horn.

Dude lay still as a statue except for turning his head to watch.

“Well, all right!” Luke knew he was grinning like a fool, excited as a teenager with his driver’s license. “Where’s his gas pedal?”

“A couple things first,” Shelby said. “I wasn’t sure how steady you’d be, so I’ve added seat belts for your legs.” She pulled straps with Velcro tabs from under the saddle skirts and snugged them across Luke’s thighs. “I doubt you’ll need these once your balance improves, but I don’t want you landing on your head in the meanwhile.”

She fitted his feet into the stirrups and secured them with wide elastic bands. “Now you can tell him, ‘Dude, up.’”

Luke grabbed the saddle horn with both hands to hide their shaking. “Dude, up.”

The horse snorted and scrambled to his feet.

Luke laughed in sheer pleasure: he was riding, actually riding, even if he did have to be tied to his saddle. For the first time since his injury, he felt close to normal.

“Take him out into the pasture while I saddle Cinnamon,” Shelby said, and turned away to lead a strawberry roan filly from a box stall.

Luke guided Dude out the side door, grateful for Shelby’s matter-of-fact lack of hovering. He reined the horse in easy circles, pleased to discover he felt steady in the saddle with no hint of vertigo. He could work—he could ride fence lines, he could check mineral tubs and help move cattle between pastures.

Shelby came out of the barn a few minutes later mounted on the roan filly and they rode side by side to a level track cutting across the pasture.

“I’ll jog ahead so you can watch her gait and see if you can spot any problem. Dude has gaits like glass—he should be an easy ride for you.”

“Shelby, I’d marry you if you weren’t already married to Dad.”

She laughed. “Just help me figure out Cinnamon’s problem.” She rode ahead of him at a slow trot.

Dude followed in a smooth gait no harder to sit than a walk. Luke reveled in the freedom of movement for a moment before concentrating on Shelby’s mount.

“She’s going a little short on the off hind leg,” he called to her.

Shelby reined in to let him catch up. “I knew it was a hind leg,” she said, “but I couldn’t tell right or left. Let me ride past you—maybe you can pinpoint exactly what’s happening.”

Luke halted Dude to the side of the track and watched while Shelby jogged by. “Got it,” he said. “She’s going stiff on the pastern. Just a little, but that’s what you’re feeling.”

Shelby rejoined him. “You just earned your keep for today. We’ll take it easy on the way back.”

Luke’s heart dropped at the prospect of returning to the bondage of his wheelchair. “What’s Dad doing? Maybe we could swing by where he’s working.”

“He rode over to the Bucks’ this morning to help Oscar enlarge his corral.”

“Say, I could ride over and say hi to Auntie Rose.” Not exactly his aunt, but the matriarch of the Ute branch of the Cameron clan. “I’ve sure missed her fry bread.”

“An hour’s ride each way. You think that’s a good idea first time out?”

He sighed. “I guess not. Maybe I could stop by to see Jo and the kids on the way home.” Pretty silly, but he longed to share his progress.

“Jo’s in Durango helping Lucy at the Queen today,” Shelby said. “How about we check the new calves here in the lower pasture before we head back? I don’t think Cinnamon will take any harm from a little exercise.”

Luke got the message. Shelby wasn’t going to lecture him, but she wasn’t going to let him do anything stupid, either. They continued at a leisurely pace through the cow-calf herd to the far edge of the lower pasture.

By the time they turned back toward the barn, he had to admit, at least to himself, maybe he’d overdone it just a little. The muscles in his back and shoulders ached from the simple act of staying in the saddle, something he had done reflexively longer than he could remember. What sensation he had in his lower back registered the presence of titanium rods in his spine; he was hard put not to brace both hands on the horn to ease the ache. The barn, partially hidden by the willows along the creek, looked to be at least a mile distant, and his wheelchair beckoned with its promise of comfort.

He was so focused on surviving his first outing he didn’t notice the yellow pickup parked by the barn until Shelby said, “Looks like we’ve got company.”

Great—earlier he had craved an audience, but now he just wanted to get off Dude with some shred of dignity. At least he wouldn’t have to perform in front of a stranger. The lanky blond cowboy sprawled on the tack trunk was an old friend, practically kin.

“Well, look at you. One day back and already working,” Mike Farley said. “What do you think of your horse?”

“I think Shelby’s done me proud. Have you seen his trick?”

“Just heard about it from Lucy,” Mike said.

“Line him up with your chair,” Shelby said, and handed Luke a light crop. “Just tap his left knee.”

At the signal, Dude folded his legs as he had done earlier and turned his head toward Luke.

“Let me guess—he wants his treat, right?” Luke took the butterscotch from Shelby and fed it to the horse, who snorted with pleasure.

“Think you can get to your chair without help?” she asked.

Luke swallowed. He’d made it into the saddle pretty easily, but now the distance between the horse and the wheelchair looked like the Grand Canyon. He squared his shoulders and grabbed his right jeans cuff to swing his leg over Dude’s withers.

The spasm struck without warning; he doubled up and fell forward. Only Mike’s quick leap kept him from pitching facedown in the dirt. He found himself seated in his chair with Mike steadying his shoulders while Shelby massaged his legs until the cramp eased.

He straightened and took a deep breath. “Thanks, guys,” he said, embarrassed that his voice shook.

Mike squatted on his heels beside the chair. “Man, you scared me—you all right now?”

Luke managed a crooked grin. “Better than a few minutes ago. You looking for Lucy? She’s in Durango.”

“Yeah, I’ve been washing dishes for her at the Queen.” He held up his hands. “Much more of that and I’ll have to build up new calluses. No, I came to see you. I need a favor.”

“Like what?” Luke couldn’t imagine what he could do for Mike. He’d be no use at the Farley ranch five miles up the road, and he knew nothing useful about Mike’s second career as an accountant and sports agent for a handful of bull riders.

“You guys go to the house,” Shelby said. “I’ll take care of Cinnamon and Dude.”

Luke made no objection when Mike pushed his wheelchair. The muscle spasm, which added to his exhaustion, had left him limp as an old rope. Mike wheeled him into the kitchen and set about making coffee, the universal remedy. Once Luke sucked down a full mug and eaten one of Shelby’s homemade beignets, he revived enough to ask what Mike had in mind.

Mike leaned forward with his hands wrapped around his mug. “It’s my busy time with tax prep, and I’m trying to carry my share with calving at our ranch, too.”

“And help Lucy at the Queen,” Luke said. “You treat her way better than she deserves. You want me to smack some sense into her?”

“No way! It’ll all even out someday—I gotta keep believing that. Here’s my problem. The gal who helps me with the preliminary prep is having a rough pregnancy. Her doc says she has to stay flat on her back till she delivers or she’ll lose the baby. One big job she does for me is sorting through expense receipts for allowable deductions. You think you could handle that?”

“I could screw things up royally,” Luke said. “I don’t know squat about tax deductions.”

“Sure you do. You’ve been sending me your receipts for five years—you know what’s legit and what’s not. Just a few clients, all bull riders—kids who’ve never earned more than gas money mowing lawns or bagging groceries. Now they’re getting big checks and have to keep track of all their deductible expenses.”

Luke shook his head. “I don’t know—I could try, I guess. If you really think I could help.”

“Just take a look, okay?” Mike stood. “I’ve got the files in my rig.” He left the kitchen without waiting for an answer and returned carrying a cardboard fruit box containing a dozen or so fat manila envelopes.

Luke pulled one from the box and spilled its contents on the table, a whole year’s worth of hotel statements, airline tickets, car rentals and receipts from gas stations, restaurants and convenience stores.

“Just do your best—help me save these guys some money. Tag anything that doesn’t look kosher and make notes if you think important stuff is missing. Riders’ expenses only, not wives and kids.”

Mike’s plea stirred Luke’s interest. He could probably figure this out—he could be of use to someone.

“I’ll give it my best shot,” he said.