Читать книгу Rancher and Protector - Pamela Britton - Страница 8

Ride, Amber thought with a gulp.

She realized in that instant that it was one thing to decide to become a hippotherapist, quite another to actually do it … especially when horses were involved.

“Go on,” Colt said, motioning her ahead of him.

He didn’t look happy. She wondered if men like him found it tedious to teach newbies like her. His expression was as dour as a thundercloud.

“Where should I take her?” She glanced up at Flash.

“It’s a him,” the cowboy said. “There’s a rack out in front of the stable. Tie him out there.”

It was as if a really scary monster was following on her heels; that’s what leading a horse felt like.

Get used to it, Amber. A horse might be just what Dee needs. And if that proved true, well, she’d buy him ten horses.

Colt appeared unfazed by his surroundings. How nice to have been born on a ranch. Maybe if she’d been born on one, too, she wouldn’t feel so dang scared.

“How long have you been in the horse business?”

“Long time,” he said.

They stepped out of the shelter of the barn, and after being inside for so long, Amber had to blink in the glaring sunlight. It was bright outside, but so beautiful. Tall trees framed a parklike setting. She was pretty sure the trees were redwoods, they were so huge. In the distance she could see the empty army barracks. It seemed sad that up until last year the place had been abandoned. Well, now the Golden State Therapeutic Center, aka Camp Cowboy, made good use of it.

“No,” Colt said. “Not like that.”

Amber glanced down at the cord she’d wrapped around a pole.

She’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t given a second thought to how she tied it. “Not like what?”

“You need to use a quick-release knot.”

“Uh … how do I do that?” Jarrod hadn’t taught her that yesterday. The good-looking blond staffer had simply taken the lead from her and done it himself.

“Like this.” Colt stepped toward her. Surely some football team in the South was lamenting the loss of such an athletic looking guy. “See?”

No, Amber hadn’t seen. They stood in front of a hitching post that looked a lot like the ones in Western movies. Apparently, there hadn’t been a lot of technological advances in horse hitching recently. But what he did with that rope might as well have been cat’s cradle. “Can you do that again?”

“Wrap it around once,” he said. “Then cross over, then make a loop, then pull the end through the loop. See?”

“I think I do,” she said. But it quickly became apparent that she didn’t see at all.

“Here,” he said, taking her hands in his. He had a really huge one. Ginormous. She felt like Fay Wray in King Kong’s palm.

“Wrap it around once, cross the two strands, slip the loop through the V here.” He demonstrated, then slid the loose end through the resulting loop.

“Oh!” At last she got it. Though why they needed a special way to tie horses was anybody’s guess.

“It’s so you can release the rope quickly if he pulls back.”

Had she really been that easy to read?

“Got it,” she said. “Although I’m not sure I want to know what ‘pulling back’ means in horseydom.”

“I don’t expect that to happen with any of the animals here. As I understand it, they’ve all been therapy horses for at least a year.”

“That’s a relief. I was thinking I might need to update my life insurance policy.”

There he went, staring at her again. “You’ll be fine,” he stated simply.

“Good to know,” she murmured. “Now what?”

“Well, I assume there are some grooming brushes around here?”

“Oh, yeah. Jarrod showed me where they were. They’re in the tack room.”

Colt nodded, his hat tipping low over his eyes. He reminded her of a cardsharp from an old Western, the kind that sidled up to a bar and growled, “Whiskey. Straight up.” A lot of men wouldn’t be able to carry off such a look. He could.

A moment or two later, he came out with a bucket of brushes and a saddle slung over his shoulder. She felt her jaw drop, because honestly, it was as if he were trying to look like some kind of commercial cowboy. The kind that sold aftershave. All he needed was a pair of chaps.

“Here.” He handed her the dark green tote.

“Thanks,” she said. “I think.” Because once he set that saddle down, something else struck her. This was real. She was about to get on a horse.

Shit.

“Should I wait for Jarrod or something?”

“Why?” Colt asked.

“Well, he’s the … the—” She’d been about to say horse expert, but realized how ludicrous that might sound, given Colt’s background. “He told me he would teach me everything I needed to know.” And he’d said it with such a gleam in his eyes that he seemed to promise other things, too. Things she had no interest in.

“Well, Jarrod isn’t here right now.”

“Yes, I am.”

Amber felt her heart thump. “Jeez,” she said, turning away from the hitching post. “I didn’t even hear you come up.”

“Gil wants to see you,” he said, eyeing Colt curiously.

“Have you two met?” she asked.

Colt shook his head. Jarrod stared at the cowboy for a long moment. The two were like sunshine and darkness. Jarrod, with his light blond hair and loose T-shirt, looked more like an engineer than a horse-handler beside Colt’s tall frame and dark-tanned body.

“Jarrod James,” he said, shaking Colt’s hand.

“Colt Sheridan.”

But Amber could tell Jarrod took an instant dislike to Colt. There was something about the way Jarrod’s shoulders were set. Something about the way his arms hung at his sides. And he didn’t smile.

“Colt’s a rancher.”

She didn’t know why she said it, except maybe she was trying to make conversation.

“Actually, I’m a rodeo cowboy,” Colt said. “I only work on ranches part-time.”

He was a rodeo man? Amber thought. That explained the aloof attitude. Her brother-in-law had ridden in rodeos. Back before he’d been arrested for drunk driving and vehicular manslaughter. She knew the type. Cocky. Arrogant. Womanizers … Too bad.

“Oh, yeah? You ever make it to the NFR?” Jarrod asked.

Frankly, Amber was amazed Jarrod even knew what the National Finals Rodeo was. She did because Logan had almost made it one year. In hindsight things had started to fall apart when he’d failed to make the mark.

“Not yet,” Colt said. “Next year.”

Jarrod huffed, conveying all too clearly, Yeah, that’s what they all say.

“Well, I better head up to Gil’s office,” Amber said.

“I’ll walk with you,” Jarrod announced.

“You coming back?” Colt asked before she could turn away.

“Depends on what Gil wants.”

Colt’s eyes narrowed. Amber knew exactly what he was thinking.

Chicken.

“YOU NEEDED TO SEE ME?” Amber said, entering Gil’s office tentatively. The way he was bent over his massive oak desk, she could see the horseshoe of hair around his shiny pate.

“Amber,” he said, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose. “Come on in.”

They were in a centuries-old lodge, one that had been erected to house cavalry offices well over a hundred years ago. Frankly, it amazed Amber that the place was still standing, but it had been crafted in an era when things were made to last. Vaulted ceilings. Crown molding. Wood-paneled walls. The four-story building had been meticulously maintained by the County of San Francisco, and that was a good thing. It would have been a shame to let such a treasure go to waste. That had been Camp Cowboy’s selling point to the county when they’d wanted to lease the building. Apparently. As a newbie, she was still piecing together this business and how it could exist on the Presidio grounds.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Have a seat,” he said.

Gil’s office was on the bottom floor, to the left of the entrance, in a room Amber suspected had been occupied by the base commander years and years ago—or whatever the cavalry equivalent of that was. Wood-framed windows offered a stunning view of the park outside. Off in the distance was a grove of trees, and just above that, barely noticeably unless you knew what you were looking for, the tall spires of the Golden Gate Bridge.

“I received a call today,” Gil said, leaning back and making a steeple out of his fingers.

There was a chair in front of his desk. Amber sank into it. “Oh, yeah?” But she knew.

“It was from Pelican Bay.”

Her shoulders slumped. “He phoned here?”

“Care to tell me what’s going on?”

She hadn’t told Gil about Dee’s father. Hadn’t wanted to tell him. It was her own personal skeleton. All the camp director knew was that she had sole custody of her nephew. That Dee’s father was out of the picture.

“Who is he?” Gil asked.

“My nephew’s father,” Amber admitted.

The edges of Gil’s eyes crinkled as he gave that some thought. “So this is what you meant by out of the picture?”

She nodded. “He was incarcerated for involuntary manslaughter.”

Of her sister. Sharron.

And it made her physically ill to think about it. To be pulled back to that night. The call from the police. The drive to the hospital. The doctor gently breaking the news.

Frankly, jail had been too kind a punishment for her ex-brother-in-law.

“When will he get out?” Gil asked.

“He was given a five year sentence. He has two years left to serve.” But he had a parole hearing in another month. They might actually let the bastard out. And then he would fight her for custody of Dee. He’d already told her that. But she would never let that happen. She would not allow the man who killed her sister to kill her sister’s child, too.

“Okay,” Gil said. “So I should expect calls from him?”

“I told him not to phone me,” she said. “But he’s been demanding to know where Dee is.”

“You mean he doesn’t know?”

She shook her head. “Early on, he would call Dee. When Dee wouldn’t talk to him, he would get belligerent, start yelling.” And her poor nephew didn’t do well with that. Not at all. “It would upset Dee,” she explained. “I told the facility not to take his calls anymore, but when Dee’s father started making threats against the workers there …” Gosh, she hated airing her dirty laundry. “It was just easier to move Dee to a new home, especially once we figured out he was nonverbal. He’s been at Little Voices ever since, and he’s doing well. His father doesn’t need to know anything more than that.”

But one day he would be out of jail.

She closed her eyes, refusing to think of that.

“This is hard on you, isn’t it?” Gil asked.

She shrugged, trying to make light of the situation, but it was a sham. “It kills me some days,” she admitted. “But I have to have Dee’s best interest at heart.”

Gil seemed satisfied with the answer. “Well, I’ll tell the switchboard to put all calls through to you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “And if you could please make sure nobody knows Dee is my nephew …”

“Confidentiality is the policy of this facility,” Gil said sternly.

“Yes, of course.” She was counting on that.

“But I do wonder if telling his father that Dee is here with you might be a good thing. Surely he would settle down if you told him the lengths you’ve gone though to help his son.”

“No,” she said. “I tried that route before. Dee’s father doesn’t trust me. He thinks I hate him.”

And she did … didn’t she?

No. She didn’t hate anybody. She just didn’t trust him. He might make claims that he’d changed, but she knew that wasn’t true. A leopard didn’t change its spots.

“Well then,” Gil said, “I’ll respect your need for privacy.”

“Thank you.”

“But if this doesn’t work out, if your nephew doesn’t respond to therapy like you hope, what will you do then?”

She’d thought about that at least a half dozen times since taking a leave of absence from work to train at Camp Cowboy. What if this was a mistake? What if Dee didn’t respond to horse therapy as she hoped?

“Either way, learning a little about hippotherapy is a good thing,” she said. “Who knows where it might take me?” She glanced down at her lap for a moment. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to help my nephew. If this doesn’t work out …” she shrugged again. “Well, I’ll just try something else.”

Gil nodded, smiling. “Good. I’m glad you’re not looking at this like it might be an answer to your prayers. One never knows how an autistic child will respond.”

“I know.”

“Then I wish you luck,” he said, standing.

Luck. Yeah, she would need that.