Читать книгу Her Rodeo Hero - Pamela Britton - Страница 10
ОглавлениеThe one good thing, Natalie thought, the only blessing, was that she’d found some new clients recently. Granted, they were all at a backyard barn in a not-so-good part of Via Del Caballo, but she’d given it her all and had been rewarded with half a dozen 4-H kids and a few adults.
No more million-dollar horses. No more big-ticket clients. No more fancy riding facility.
She tried not to think about that as she groomed Playboy, the horse she’d bought a few months before the accident. It was only by the grace of God, and a lot of help from her friends—Wes and Jillian, Zach and Mariah—that Natalie had held on to the gelding. Despite what she’d been told about the future of her riding career, she’d refused to give him up. Everything else had been sold to help pay medical bills.
Stop thinking about it.
She heard tires crunching on gravel, turned away from where Playboy had been tied to a single rail hitching post, and spotted Colt’s fancy black truck with all his sponsor logos splashed across the front. It looked out of place when he parked next to her beat-up Ford F250, like a new shoe sitting next to an old one. There were days when she definitely missed her previous truck, Lola. She watched as he glanced over at her vehicle, no doubt wondering why she drove such a jalopy. He was parked in front of an old lean-to stall, one with tattered fencing that had once been painted white, but was now more brown than anything else.
“Is that the guy?”
Laney, one of her 4-H kids, a girl with more passion for horses than half a dozen of the spoiled brats Natalie used to train, paused in the middle of mucking out her horse’s paddock. This was a self-service facility. No more grooms to take care of everything.
“That’s him.”
“I looked him up on Google last night,” Laney said, her blond ponytail sliding over one shoulder. “Did you know his dad was some kind of rodeo cowboy, too? He used to be really famous. Performed in movies and everything. Colt took over the family business.”
Yeah, if rodeo clowns could be famous. Not that Colt was a clown. Not really. A specialty act, they called it, and he was good. That’s what she needed to remember if she were ever to perform on the back of an animal again. If she ever wanted to hear the roar of the crowd and feel the pride that came from being united with a four-legged creature, Colt was her only hope.
“Wish me luck,” she said to Laney.
“Can I watch?”
“Sure. Why not?” Maybe the two of them would learn something together.
Colt had spotted her. He’d pulled up not far from where she’d tied Playboy. He gave her what seemed like a half-hearted wave.
“Here we go,” she softly told the gelding, stepping back and eyeing the horse objectively. He’d changed a lot in the year and a half she’d had him. His once mousey brown coat now had dapples. His mane had gotten longer, too, and he’d grown. He was nearing sixteen hands. Big for a Western horse, but she was nearly five-eight and he fit her perfectly.
If she could learn how to ride him again.
“Nice place,” she heard Colt say as he slipped out of his truck.
It wasn’t a compliment and it immediately got her dander up. “It’s affordable.”
She glanced around, trying to stem the flow of embarrassment that threatened to overcome her. Two years ago she would never, ever have considered keeping a horse in such a ramshackle facility, now here she was. Two years ago she would have stuck her nose in the air at the lean-to fencing, dirt road and uncovered arena. Not anymore.
“I bet.” He tipped back his cowboy hat. “But is it safe?”
Was he purposely trying to make her feel bad? It’d taken forever to get him out to the ranch. He’d handed her one excuse after another, and she’d resorted to calling Wes and begging for his help in the end. That had done the trick, but she wondered if Colt resented her forcing his hand.
“I went over every square inch of Playboy’s pen.” She patted the dark bay gelding’s neck. “I spent days cleaning out all the old muck. And another day replacing old boards. It’s in as good a shape as possible.”
Colt must have realized he’d offended her because he softened his gaze. “I’m sure you did.”
Her nerves made her edgy. And irritable, too. She hated that she’d had to ask for help. Hated that she was in some backwater barn working with a cocky cowboy who clearly didn’t want to be there any more than she did. At times such as these she ached for her old life with a ferociousness that left her feeling sick.
“This is Playboy,” she said into the silence. Well, as silent as a horse stable could be. In the background a horse nickered. Chickens ran wild. Off in the distance you could hear the sound of cars from the nearby interstate.
“Nice-looking horse.”
It smelled at the Lazy A Ranch, too. Not like pine shavings and saddle soap like her old place. No. More like horse poop and wet dirt. The other owners weren’t as good at mucking stalls as she was. As she and Laney were. She glanced over at the young teen, sure she was listening to every word.
“I bought him at the Bull and Gelding Sale last year. The one up in Red Bluff.”
He moved close enough that he could place a hand on Playboy’s neck. She saw it then—kindness filled his eyes as he leaned toward the horse. It took her by surprise, that look. It reminded her of her friend, Jillian, when she “spoke” to animals.
“Is he cutting bred?”
Colt’s gaze lightened as sunlight angled beneath his cowboy hat and caught his eyes. Hazel. The kind that turned green, gold or brown depending on his mood. He had the square-shaped face of a comic-book hero and the muscular build of a navy SEAL. Something about him commanded attention and she couldn’t figure out if it was his height, his broad shoulders or his piercing eyes. He stepped back, scanning the horse up and down like a used car salesman would a vehicle.
“He is. A kid trained him before me. I figured he must have a pretty good mind if he’d let a little boy break him.”
“What have you done with him?”
She tried not to let her embarrassment show. “Not a whole bunch lately. I was flat on my back for a while, but when I climbed back onto him last month he seemed to remember everything I’d taught him.” She was the one who’d had problems...still had problems. Balance. Vision. Equilibrium.
“And you tried to ride him without a bridle?”
His look seemed to say it all. And, okay, maybe it hadn’t been one of her best ideas.
“Before my accident I was riding him every day,” she said in her own defense. “He was listening to vocal commands and everything, but when I took his bridle off, he seemed to forget everything.”
“Let me guess.” A small smile came to his face. “Runaway pony.”
“Something like that.”
She hoped he didn’t see the momentary flare of remembered panic that came to her eyes. She thought he hadn’t, but then, just as quickly as it’d arrived, his grin faded away.
“How’d you get him stopped?”
“I had a friend in the arena with me.”
He crossed his arms. He wore the same black outfit as before, right down to the hat, and she wondered if he’d come straight from a rodeo performance. It was the weekend and late enough in the afternoon that she supposed it was possible.
“You mind me asking why you picked reining? Surely Western pleasure would be better?”
She’d asked herself the same question at least a million times. “Have you ever seen freestyle reining?”
“I’ve seen a lot of things.”
“Then you know what it’s like. Breathtaking. I was hooked the moment I saw a video on YouTube over a year ago. It’s like pairs ice skating or synchronized swimming or a ballet performance. Your horse becomes your dance partner. You, the music and your animal. Dancing.”
She couldn’t see his eyes beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, couldn’t see if he understood. If she hadn’t known better she would swear he was hiding his gaze from her.
“It’s going to take a lot of work.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Then let’s get started.”
* * *
ONE LESSON.
He’d said the words over and over again on the way to the Lazy A Ranch. He absolutely didn’t need a project, especially a female project and her horse. He had his own baggage to deal with—the ranch, all the repairs, his full rodeo schedule.
“Should I saddle him up?” she asked.
“Nope. We’re going to do some groundwork first.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward the young girl behind her, the one who tried not to be obvious about listening as she diligently cleaned her horse’s stall. The same spot she’d been cleaning the entire time.
“Do you mind if Laney watches?”
“Nope.” Colt glanced around. “This place have an arena?”
“It does.” He thought he heard her mutter, “Sort of.”
He glanced down at Natalie, sunlight reflecting off her short hair. She waved her young friend over, completely oblivious to the way he studied her. It had occurred to him earlier that her hair might be short because of her accident, and his friend Wes had confirmed it. She’d been wearing a helmet when she’d had her wreck during that jumping competition, but it’d been cracked clean in half. Video of the accident showed she’d been stepped on after the horse had flipped over on her. There’d been talk that she’d never ride again. Clearly she’d proven her doctors wrong, but just the thought of it, of what she’d been through, made him shudder. Wes said she had a scar on her head. Colt had scars, too, although his were mostly on the inside.
Don’t be getting soft.
One lesson. He had a busy life and he preferred to live it on his own schedule.
“So what are we doing?” Natalie asked.
“I told you, ground work.”
“I’ve already done all that.”
“Not this kind.”
“You going to teach Playboy how to bow?”
“Nope.” His dad used to teach his horses how to do that. But as Colt thought back to the methods dear old Dad had used, the way he’d tie a rope to a horse’s front leg, forcing it forward while at the same time pulling down on the halter—not just any halter, but one with metal staples in it—he resolved yet again never to treat his horses that way. Ever.
“Do you need me to go get a lunge line? I still have a surcingle, too.”
She’d stopped outside what he presumed was the arena, one with sagging boards and dirt footing. The wooden gate didn’t look as though it would open, and if it did, that it wouldn’t stay on its hinges for very long. It was rimmed by ramshackle wooden shelters and sad looking horses—like their own equine audience. Crazy. He suspected it wasn’t really an arena. More like a dirt patch everyone used because there was no place else.
“He’s wearing all he needs.”
The hinges held, miraculously, and the kid Natalie had signaled to earlier leaned against the top rail of a fence stripped bare of paint. Surprisingly, it didn’t collapse beneath her weight. Someone really should spend some money to fix up the place, he thought. He would swear they’d used recycled garage doors to make the horse shelters.
“Okay, now you’ve got me curious,” Natalie said.
“Go on and walk him forward.” He watched her for a moment. “Now stop.”
She did as asked, and just as he expected, Playboy took three or four steps past her.
“Make sure to say ‘whoa,’” he called out. “Do it again.”
She repeated the process one more time, only this time she used her voice. Didn’t help. The horse still moved past her.
“He’s not listening to your verbal commands.”
“Yes, he is. I’m barely pulling on the lead rope.”
“He should be stopping the second you do. Not one second later, and especially not two. Right away. Bam.” He slapped his palm. “He has to be listening to not just your voice, but your body, too. Once you’re in tune with each other, he’ll be able to read the direction of your eyes. You’ll be able to tell him which way to step with just a slight tip of your head.”
“He’ll follow my eyes?”
“He will. I’ll give you some exercises to help him with that, but we’ll start on the ground. Trot him out for me.”
She stared at him oddly. “Trot?”
“Up the middle of the arena.”
“As in run alongside of him?”
Why did she stare at him so strangely? “Yeah, that’s generally what one does when one trots a horse.”
She shifted her weight to her other foot. “Okay.”
She ran like a three-legged moose. He couldn’t believe it. She seemed so lithe and svelte he would have sworn she’d move like a ballerina.
“I don’t jog too well.”
She was out of breath and clearly embarrassed. That was an understatement. “We’ll need to work on that.”
“I’m sorry.” She sounded so sincere, so genuinely contrite that it made Colt feel like a jerk. She might run like a drunk, but she was still beautiful. Still in need of his help. Still clearly desperate.
“Good thing you already know how to ride.”
Her chin ticked up a notch. “I can do better.”
“Okay then. Let’s try it again. Be sure to use your voice. Tell Playboy to stop.”
She did as he asked, and maybe she ran a little more gracefully this time, but it was hard to tell.
“I’ve never really been good at running,” she admitted after a few more attempts. “Maybe there’s another exercise we could try?”
There it was again—the apology. She really was trying. Even so, Playboy had a hard time reading her body language with her wobbling this way and that. Worse, after watching her a few times, Colt realized this wasn’t going to be one lesson or even two. She would need someone to teach her grace and fluidity, something he’d assumed she already had. That meant training. He might even need to ride her horse himself. That would mean interacting with her a lot more than he’d expected, and something about that made him uncomfortable.
Son of a—
This changed everything...and not for the better.
