Читать книгу Her Rodeo Hero - Pamela Britton - Страница 13

Chapter Five

He’d tortured her for an hour.

Natalie had been a saint through it all. Colt had known his ultimatum would leave her with little choice but to do as he asked, and truthfully, he’d half-hoped she’d say no so he’d be off the hook with very little guilt. She’d agreed, though, and then worked hard, despite having to stop from time to time to settle her stomach. Afterward, she’d spent a good hour working with Sam and Roger over a few pieces of wood. She called it ground work, but it wasn’t the kind he was used to. Natalie had said that using the wooden obstacles was the first step to teaching Roger how to jump.

“You look lost in thought.”

Colt glanced up at his sister, Claire. They were sitting in her kitchen, him about to embark on babysitting duties, her heading off to town to run errands. Claire lived on the property, in what had been called the cowboy bunkhouse back when their dad had run a few hundred head of cattle. She’d converted the place into a home, and the siblings now lived a good mile away from each other, Colt at one end of the two-hundred-acre parcel and Claire at the other. He’d always liked the spot where she lived—at the base of a small hill, surrounded by a grove of oak trees with a year-round creek within walking distance—better than the site where his grandfather had built the main homestead, out in the middle of nowhere so he could keep an eye on things, or so Colt had been told.

“I was thinking about that woman I’m helping,” he answered.

“Natalie, right?” Claire swept her long, black hair over one shoulder, the strands twisting in a way that somehow made it look thicker. “Wes and Jillian’s friend.”

He fingered the tab top of a soda can, twanging it as he recalled his first lesson with Natalie. “She popped in on me today.”

Wide, sweeping black brows lifted. “Oh, yeah?”

Adam, Colt’s five-year-old nephew, sat in the small living area near the front of the cozy but comfortable open-concept house. He was busy snapping together some kind of Lego war craft, probably from the latest superhero movie, Hawkman. The boy loved comic books. When Adam glanced up, Colt found himself smiling, once again surprised at how much he looked like Claire. That was a good thing. Not just because she was good-looking, but because he couldn’t imagine Claire having to stare at Marcus’s face day in and day out.

“We ended up tormenting her in the arena.”

Claire took a pull from her own soda, clearly not in any hurry to set off on her trip to town.

“We being you and your new harem,” she said, a teasing glint coming into her bright green eyes.

“Claire!”

Her smile could light up a room and right then, it did. “What? You know it’s true. Sam has had the hots for you since you came back from the Middle East.”

“Not interested.”

“Why not? She’s pretty, that’s for sure.”

“You know why.” He peered at Claire in a way she couldn’t fail to recognize.

Her smile faded. “You’re still convinced you’re damaged goods.”

“It’s proven to be a little more than a theory by now.” But he didn’t like to think about his failed romances, nor the scars that fire fight near Benghazi had left behind. “Anyway, we worked Natalie pretty hard.”

He could tell Claire wanted to continue the conversation about his love life, but she wisely changed her mind. “What do you mean? I thought you were helping her with her horse?”

He really wished his soda was a beer. He could have used a long swig of something stronger right then. “Turns out she needs as much work as her horse.”

“I thought she was some kind of famous English rider.”

“She was. She had an accident.” He tapped his head. “It’s messed up her balance pretty good.”

As he thought back to earlier in the day, and how hard Natalie had fought not only to stay atop Roger, but to keep herself from getting sick, something damn near like admiration made one side of his mouth curl.

“You like her.”

His head jerked upward. “Excuse me?”

“This woman. You like her. I saw the way you just smiled.”

“I didn’t smile.” He leaned back in his chair and peered out the window by the kitchen table where they sat. “It was a smirk.”

“I can tell the difference between a smirk and a smile.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be confusing admiration with interest.”

“Why not? They’re two sides of the same coin.”

“It’s not like that.” Colt shot his sister a glare.

“Is she pretty?”

Instantly, Natalie’s jewel-like eyes came to mind. They were blue-tinted stained glass windows to her soul. Not just pretty. Stunning.

“She is, isn’t she?” Claire wriggled in her chair. “And you—” she made quotes with her fingers “—admire her. This ought to be interesting.”

Colt ignored her. “Do me a favor. Go on and get out of here. I’d like to spend some quality time with my nephew, if you don’t mind.”

It was her turn to smirk, but Claire was smart. She knew when to push an issue and when to pull back. So she stood and reached behind her, pulling the cowhide straps of her brown purse over her shoulder.

“Fine.” She leaned down and kissed the top of his head, the gesture so reminiscent of when they had been kids, it brought a lump to Colt’s throat. “I won’t be gone long. I just need to pick up some dog food from the feed store and run by Adam’s doctor’s office to sign some insurance papers. I shouldn’t be gone more than an hour.”

He lifted a hand in acknowledgment. His nephew hadn’t been feeling well lately. Some kind of persistent flu, but Claire had told him Adam had been bouncing off the walls earlier so he planned to take the boy back to his own place, put him up on one of the horses, and help him burn off some energy.

“But for the record.” Claire paused with her hand on the old-fashioned knob. “I don’t think you’re as damaged as you think. I think you’re one of the most amazing men I know. Well, aside from Chance.” Her smile turned sad for a moment because she missed their little brother, a man who’d dedicated his life to the military in a way Colt might have, too, if he hadn’t been pressured to come home when their dad had gotten sick. “But that goes without saying. Anyway, my point is that someday some woman is going to challenge you to be the man I’ve always known you could be. I just hope I’ll still be living here so I can be around to see it.”

* * *

COLT HAD TOLD HER to bring Playboy over the next day and Natalie wasted no time in taking him up on the offer. These days she had to borrow a trailer—yet another thing she’d had to sell—from a friend. Playboy didn’t seem to mind.

Colt had given her the gate code so she drove right in unannounced. She worried Colt would be out, but it turned out she’d feared needlessly. His pretty truck with all its fancy logos sat right where it’d been parked yesterday, but today there was another truck next to it. She wondered if he had company. A girlfriend perhaps? And why did that give her pause? Whether he dated someone such as Sam or this month’s cover girl, it didn’t matter. At least there weren’t a million different vehicles out front. Ergo, she wouldn’t be goaded into riding today. She couldn’t imagine getting on a horse again so soon. Yesterday had been bad enough. All they’d done was walk, but even that had been difficult. It was her peripheral vision that messed her up—they’d figured out that if she closed her eyes, she didn’t get as dizzy. It’d been something of a breakthrough and she had Colt to thank for figuring it out.

She pulled up in front of the barn. A horse inside neighed, and Playboy answered the call. It’d dawned overcast and cold in the morning, but the clouds had burned off leaving behind a glorious day. In the distance behind Colt’s house, the grazing cows lifted their heads, eyes clearly peering in her direction. She turned her attention back to Playboy.

“You ready to learn how to be a trick horse?” She paused near the side of the trailer. The horizontal slats afforded her a perfect view of her animal in his rope halter. He didn’t pay much attention to her; too busy looking around, ears pricking forward, then back, then forward again.

“Don’t be nervous.” She climbed up on the side of the wheel well, reached through the slats and rested a palm on Playboy’s dark neck. “Colt’s about as nice as they come.”

To animals.

He’d been a harsh taskmaster yesterday. When she’d gotten one of her dizzy spells, he hadn’t let her stop. He’d insisted she keep going. Told her to close her eyes and hang on, and if she started to fall he’d catch her. She hadn’t fallen. Truth be told, it wasn’t just the fear of hitting the ground that had kept her on board. It was pride. She’d be damned if she’d fall off in front of Colt and the Galloping Girlz.

She glanced toward the house, fully expecting to see Colt coming toward her. Surely he’d heard her pull up. The cobblestone path leading up to his front door stood empty. Guess he didn’t hear me arrive, she thought, setting off in the direction of his home.

She heard the woman’s voice before she saw her through the picture-frame window set beneath the home’s front porch overhang. A dark-haired woman. Sam? Had she spent the night? Something curdled in Natalie’s stomach. Had they talked about her after she’d left? Did they think her pathetic?

Stop it.

She took a deep breath. She might be broken, but she wasn’t beaten, and she wasn’t ashamed of her disability.

She found herself in front of a door the color of leather with four squares of beveled glass set into its center. All she could see through the panes were light and dark shadows. She lifted the horseshoe-shaped brass knocker and let it swing.

“Just a minute,” Colt called from inside.

Goodness, she hoped they weren’t half undressed. That would be embarrassing. No sooner had she had the thought than she spotted a dark shape approaching through the glass. The door swung wide and a harried looking Colt appeared before her.

“Sorry.” He ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Bad time.” He peered toward the stable area. “If you just want to put Playboy in the first stall on the left, I’ve already cleared a space for him.”

“Actually—” A woman as beautiful as a Bond girl appeared behind Colt. She had clearly been crying. “I think I’ll be heading home.” She held the hand of a little boy, one with dark hair and dark green eyes like his mother. The woman shot Natalie a small, moisture-filled smile, before turning to Colt. “I had things to do today, and I just thought...”

The woman’s words trailed off as tears reappeared on her lashes. She looked steadily at Colt, multiple emotions floating through her eyes, emotions that Natalie couldn’t put a name to. No. That wasn’t precisely true. She recognized pain. Sadness. Fear.

What was going on?

“Claire, no. You should stay here. Let’s talk some more.”

“Mommy, I’m tired.”

They both looked at the little boy. Natalie’s whole body tensed when she spotted the same sort of emotions in Colt’s eyes.

“Of course you are, baby,” the woman said, and she shot Colt such a look of helplessness that Natalie found herself stepping back.

“I’ll go put Playboy away.”

Colt stared at Natalie and it was the first time she had seen him looking so vulnerable. She gave him a small smile, the reaction instinctive, the urge to say something comforting nearly overwhelming. She had a feeling she’d interrupted something important. Something life-changing. Whatever it was, she knew she should leave and give them some space.

It was almost a relief when they closed themselves back inside. She paused at the top of the steps, hearing the quiet murmur of voices resuming, and glanced up at the sky. She remembered when she’d woken up in the hospital, unable to move, helpless, and how she’d looked out her hospital window and thought how odd it seemed that the sun still rose in the east and set in the west. People still went to work every morning. Life went on, but her life, her small slice of the world, had been changed irrevocably in the blink of an eye. At the very least there should have been a clap of thunder.

She would leave, she thought, unloading Playboy. Come back later when whatever calamity had beset Colt’s life had had time to sink in. But as she unclipped the lead, tapping Playboy on the withers to send him inside his new stall, she knew that might be a while. When she turned to leave, she had a moment of dizziness, her hands instinctively reaching for the stall door she’d been about to swing closed.

“Careful.”

And suddenly he was there, supporting her, making sure she didn’t topple over, and she was looking into his eyes and thinking it wasn’t fair that there was so much sadness in the world.

“I’m okay.” She’d clutched Colt’s forearms, and the material of his denim shirt felt coarse beneath her fingers, his muscles hard. When she met his gaze, she heard herself ask, “Are you?”

She hadn’t meant to pry. Truly she hadn’t. The words felt as if they’d been pulled from her by something bigger than she was, something that recognized the look in his eyes as one she knew. Grief.

“I’m fine.”

He pushed away, ostensibly to peer at Playboy, his face in profile. The only light in the barn came from the massive front entrance. She saw Colt’s jaw tick, the muscle flexing in a way that told her he was clenching his teeth as firmly as he was his hands.

“Colt, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. His hand relaxed. He threw his shoulders back as if facing off with an inner demon only he could see.

“It’s nothing.”

There was one thing she’d learned from her accident and that was to live in the moment. Perhaps that was why she reached for his hand, why she slipped her fingers into his. She didn’t know him all that well, but she recognized a human in pain.

Outside, a truck started. He jerked his hand from hers and turned toward the entryway. A second later the woman drove by. The little boy in the front seat waved.

“Adam,” she heard Colt mutter. “Son of a bitch.”

She took a step back, so much pain, so much fear, so much sadness in his words it was like a physical slap.

“Goddamn son of a bitch.”

He waved at the disappearing truck until he couldn’t see it anymore. Then he turned back toward the barn. Natalie had no idea what he was about to do until he did it, picking up a bucket and pitching it at the hay pile hard enough that it clattered and fell to the ground, startling the horses in the barn.

“Colt.”

It sounded as if the bucket had broken. He didn’t seem to care, just moved to the pile, turned his back to her and stood there. She heard a horse snort, then nothing. Silence descended.

That was when she heard it, his voice so low she would have missed it if it hadn’t been so quiet outside.

“My nephew has cancer.”