Home on the Ranch: Colorado Cowboy

by Patricia Potter

Huh!

  She knew it was her Ross Taylor by the photo. It was not posed. He was obviously caught by surprise while exiting the home of a popular action film star.

  The article mentioned that he wouldn’t talk to reporters but that he apparently had worked with several action stars and stuntmen who’d been injured in films and needed a quick return. The actor’s agent later identified him. The obviously frustrated reporter added in the story that he couldn’t be reached for comment.

  She read the article again and did some more searching. Nothing. No website, no other social media. He apparently avoided attention like the plague. There was no question in her mind that those stars paid a lot of money to a physical therapist who didn’t talk to reporters.

  One thing was for sure, he wouldn’t be staying long. No wonder he carried so few belongings with him. He could buy new ones wherever he went. It was interesting, she also noted, that Josh hadn’t given her more details. But then Josh had always been a man of few words. He probably figured it was none of anyone’s business.

  And, she told herself, it certainly wasn’t hers.

  But it definitely added another side to Ross Taylor and made it even more apparent that she should avoid him like the plague. His lifestyle was definitely not hers. His patients were wealthy actors rather than those who needed help for everyday living. In Las Vegas, she’d been exposed to stars and glamour and the excess that often went with it. Never again.

  Yes, she really did need to avoid him. The problem was Covenant Falls. It was too small not to bump into the same people every day. Not only that, he was staying in her inn and working in a place that meant so much to her.

  Horse feathers! The old cowboy expression was all she could come up with to express her frustration. She refilled Vagabond’s water and food dishes and hurried out.

  * * *

  After finishing their meeting, which took all morning, Jubal made them both some sandwiches before walking over to the stable area. The smell of smoking meat came from behind the long building Ross now knew was the bunkhouse. Several men were riding horses in the ring as an older woman gave instructions. “That’s Luke’s wife,” Ross explained. “She’s a great instructor. This is first time in the saddle for this group of riders.”

  To the left, another group of vets stood next to saddled horses.

  Jubal steered him over to them. “This is the group going out now. They all have some previous riding experience,” Jubal said. “Luke and I are taking them on a trail ride to determine how much.”

  He introduced Ross to Luke, a tall lean man with thick white hair and a slow smile. Luke shook his hand. “Good to meet you,” he said. “You were the missing piece.”

  Jubal turned to the others and introduced them to Ross. “Sorry I’m late,” Jubal said to the group of veterans. “This is Ross Taylor, physical therapist, friend of Josh’s and ex-Ranger medic. He’ll be joining us for the next two weeks and you’ll all have sessions with him. He’ll work you hard, but he’s a good man to have around.”

  As Jubal introduced them, Ross shook the hand of each of the budding riders, including the woman. Kate was thin. Her eyes looked hollow. But she summoned up a half smile.

  “I’m taking Ross to the stables,” Jubal told the riders. “You go on. We’ll catch up with you.

  Having no logical excuse to delay, Ross walked with Jubal into the stables. It was the moment Ross dreaded. The scent of hay stirred memories he’d tried to suppress: the body swinging from a rope attached to a support beam in the barn, the anxious whinnying of horses that sensed something was wrong. It was the night his childhood ended. That night—and the aftermath—haunted him for years and became even more real when he entered a barn or stable.

  He’d had flashbacks from his army days as well, particularly when there was a sudden bright light or the sound of loud thunder that could have been rocket fire, but they didn’t bring back the horror of that barn.

  He clenched his fists and followed Jubal into the barn, willing himself to ignore the images that swept through him as he walked past a line of stalls. He’d feared it would happen when he accepted Jubal’s offer, but he hadn’t been able to refuse. He knew the hell of PTSD, the inability to fit back into a civilian community that didn’t, couldn’t, begin to understand PTSD or the loss of a close band of comrades who shared years of life and death experiences.

  But damn, maybe it was time to face some of those demons as Josh and the others were asking these veterans to do.

  “Anything wrong?” Jubal’s voice broke through the flashback.

  Had he been that transparent? “No,” he lied.

  Ross was grateful Jubal didn’t ask more questions. Instead, Jubal led the way into the tack room. Twenty or so saddles sat on racks along the walls. Bridles hung above them.

  Hobo barked from where he sat beside a young man who was polishing a saddle, then limped over to Ross while making little crying noises.

  “You must be Mr. Taylor,” the young man said as he stood. “I’m Danny. I took over this little guy for you.”

  Ross nodded. “Make it Ross,” he said. “How has Hobo been doing?”

  “I think he’s been looking for you,” Danny said. “Every time someone comes in, he stands and looks, then his head droops and he sits again, never taking his eyes from the door.”

  Probably thought he had been abandoned again. Ross knew that feeling.

  He picked Hobo up and rubbed his ears. The darn dog was getting to him. He hadn’t had a dog since that last night in the family barn. He’d learned in succeeding years not to get attached to people or animals.

  Jubal apparently didn’t notice his distraction or, if he did, chose not to mention it. “Hi, Danny,” he said, then turned back to Ross. “I told you about him. He’s on staff. He’s worked here since the beginning. If you need anything, ask him. He knows all the horses, all the volunteers and where everything is. He even helped build the bunkhouse.”

  “Thanks for taking care of this guy,” Ross said while rubbing Hobo’s ears.

  “He’s a good dog,” Danny said.

  “Can you keep him a bit longer?” Jubal asked Danny. “I want to show Ross the stable.”

  “Sure,” the young man said. “Hobo and I are friends.”

  Ross handed Hobo back to the young man. He followed Jubal through the door to the stall area and down the aisle past several horses until they reached the next to last one. A handsome buckskin stuck his head out and nuzzled Jubal.

  “This is Jacko,” Jubal said. “I wanted you to meet him. He’s responsible for all this. When I stopped in Covenant Falls to see a friend, I was in a bad way. While running one day, I saw some horses grazing and stopped at the fence to watch. Jacko came over to the fence and we were instant buddies. Luke appeared and we started talking. He asked if I wanted to ride Jacko. When I got onto the saddle, I felt at peace with myself for the first time in years. I started to feel I might have a future.”

  He ran a callused hand down Jacko’s neck. “Luke’s neighbor wanted to retire to be near their kids. I’d accumulated a lot of pay during the years I was held captive, and I bought his ranch. I had a lot of learning to do, but Luke helped. So did the entire Covenant Falls community. Now I have a wife and two great stepkids along with Jacko. I’ll always be grateful to him.” He paused. “That’s why this program is so important to me. I don’t know if I would have discovered a future without him.

  “I don’t expect that to happen to everyone else,” he continued, “or even a few. We can only hope it opens new possibilities and gives them ways to cope with some of the problems.” He gave Ross a half smile. “Now let me introduce you to Cajun.”

  Jacko picked that moment to nuzzled Jubal until he received a carrot.

  Jubal’s cell phone rang and he answered it. “We’re at the stables,” he told the caller. “Can you come over here and help show Ross arou
nd? Maybe get him on a horse and meet us at the pond.”

  Some of the tension in Ross’s body drained away as Jubal hung up and turned to him. “That was Susan on the phone. She just arrived. Are you ready to join us on the ride?” He didn’t wait for an answer and added, “I should catch up with the group, but Danny can get you started with Cajun and then Susan will take over.”

  Ross hesitated.

  Jubal seemed not to notice. “Susan’s a good rider and teacher.”

  Before Ross could reply, Jubal disappeared down the aisle with his horse, leaving Ross thinking black thoughts about the former SEAL. Dammit, he’d been had. Maybe Jubal had sensed his reluctance. Ross hadn’t wanted to explain it wasn’t the horse he feared. It was the memories.

  But wasn’t that what this program was all about?

  A minute later, Danny appeared with a saddle pad tucked under his arm and a brush in his hand. “Jubal asked me to help you saddle Cajun. He sure is a good horse. He’s my favorite. Real easygoing. Nothing ruffles him.”

  “Where’s Hobo?” Ross asked.

  “He’s in the tack room. Not to worry. The door is closed. I’ll get him when Susan gets here.”

  “You’re in this, too,” Ross accused him. He was beginning to feel smothered by expectations he’d never anticipated. The plan had been simple. Stay for two weeks or less and make physical therapy recommendations. It certainly hadn’t included riding a horse.

  “In what, sir?” Danny asked with real puzzlement in his voice.

  It had been years since someone had called him “sir.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Ross said wryly.

  Danny put the saddle pad on the stall door. “I’ll look after Hobo while you’re gone,” he said. He added with awe, “He sure is attached to you. He hardly moved until he saw you.”

  Great! That was all he needed to hear.

  “Anything wrong?” the young man asked.

  Everything. He had a dog he didn’t want, a horse he didn’t want to ride and an attraction to a woman he had no business being attracted to. But he couldn’t very well admit any of that. He shrugged. “No, just haven’t ridden since I was knee-high to a grasshopper,” he said. The words popped out. One of his father’s favorite expressions. How? Why? He hadn’t thought of it in years.

  But then waves of memories were washing through him. The night. The next day. The next year. The succeeding years. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then opened them. This barn wasn’t anything like the old one that haunted him. This was new and military clean, at least as clean as a barn could be. His family’s barn had been old and full of years of smells.

  The young veteran slipped a halter on the horse, who neighed and tossed his head as Danny led him out of the stall. He was a chestnut and taller than the other horses he’d seen.

  “He’s pleased,” Danny said.

  “How can you tell?”

  “You just get to know after a while. He’s a social horse. He likes to go out with the others. Danny handed him a brush. “Brush his back before you put the pad on. You don’t want anything there that will irritate him while riding. Then you can pick out a saddle in the tack room.”

  “Sounds good.” Ross tried to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. Anything to get the images from his mind. “Jubal tells me you’re irreplaceable,” He said as he started brushing the horse and tried to ignore the sounds of horses munching or moving in their stalls.

  The young man blinked, then broke out in a grin. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Not me who said it,” Ross said, “and there you go with the ‘sir’ thing. We’re not in the army now, and tell that to the others. It’s Ross for everyone. And it’s Jubal who thinks so highly of you. I don’t think he says things like that lightly.”

  “You knew him when he was in the SEALs?” Danny asked.

  “Nope. I was a medic in the Rangers with Josh Manning. I left years before he did.”

  Ross turned back to brushing Cajun’s back, hoping the action would tamp down memories. He’d saddled horses before. He’d stood on a stool and tossed a saddle over his horse, but the horse and saddle were much smaller then...

  He finished brushing Cajun and placed the saddle pad in place. Danny, he noted, had left. Cajun nudged him, wanting something in return for his cooperation. Ross ran his hand down Cajun’s neck, and the horse nickered back in appreciation.

  Ross smiled and leaned against the horse. He’d forgotten how good it felt. Just being with the horse dissipated the lingering shadows inside him. He was beginning to understand the power of the Horses for Heroes programs.

  “I sense the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  He turned around. Susan stood there, looking thoughtful.

  “You two were communing,” she said. “Hate to interrupt but we’re supposed to catch up with Luke and Jubal. Jubal certainly picked the right horse for you. I’m glad it’s Cajun.”

  “Why?” he asked suspiciously. Darn, but she was pretty in a tan shirt and snug jeans. Her brown hair was pulled back in a neat braid.

  “I think it hurt his feelings that no one wanted him,” she said. “It’s his size. It’s intimidating for most new riders but just right for you. He’s a big softie.”

  He considered that. Did she mean he was a softie, too? None of his patients thought so.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’ll pick out a saddle for you.”

  They took Cajun with them toward the tack room and hitched him just outside. Ross looked at the row of saddles on the racks lining the room. Susan went right to a large one and turned. They bumped into each other and his arms went around her to steady her. He caught the gentle whiff of a light flowery scent and their gazes met and held. Damn but her eyes were a fine shade of blue.

  For a whisper of time she leaned against him and he had the oddest feeling that she belonged there. But then she pulled away and turned back to the saddle, and he knew he was wrong. She wasn’t like the other women he dated. Her commitment to the town and this program was obvious as was the community’s obvious affection for her. A fling would never be enough.

  “I think this will do,” she said in a voice that sounded a bit shaky.

  Well, he felt a little shaky, too. “Here,” he said. “I’ll take it.” He needed to get out of the room and into fresh air.

  He carried the saddle to where Cajun waited patiently. Ross placed it over the saddle pad, then tightened and buckled the cinch as Susan watched.

  “How did I do, Teach?” he asked, making his tone light.

  “You didn’t need help, after all,” she said suspiciously. “How long did you say it’s been since you rode?”

  “Too many years to count,” he replied and then added with a deadpan expression, “But I watch a lot of Westerns, and I know you mount from the left. Or is it the right?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What about the bridle?”

  “Oops,” he said with his most charming grin. “You mean I can’t steer with a halter?”

  She gave him a dour look.

  “Okay, bridle it is,” he assured her.

  Under her watchful eyes, he removed the halter and placed the bridle she handed him over Cajun’s ears. The horse tried to avoid the bit and closed his mouth tight as Ross’s hand neared his mouth—just as Bandit had. Memories again. These damn memories.

  “Ross?”

  Susan’s voice snapped him back. His fingers were on the bit but they weren’t moving. He breathed slowly again, then saw her concerned face. He took a deep breath and tried again to ease the bit into Cajun’s mouth. This time the horse cooperated.

  She simply nodded. “Looks good.”

  Thank God she didn’t ask questions, just walked ahead.

  He looked down at his hands. There was still a tremor in them. But he’d succeeded. At one time, he’d thought he could never go
near a barn or stables again. Well, he’d made it this far.

  “You can wait outside and make friends with Cajun while I saddle Brandy,” she said. “She’s Lisa’s horse, but she shares her with me.”

  “Can’t I help?”

  “Nope. I’ve been doing it since, well, for a long time, and she knows me. Take a carrot or two, and Cajun will be your friend for life.”

  He did as ordered. He respected competence and she certainly had that. A lot more in horse care than he did. He led Cajun outside, grabbing a carrot from the bucket as he did. He looked ahead as Cajun happily chomped on the treat and nudged him for more. Cajun nudged him again.

  “Sorry, kiddo,” he said. “You have to wait until we get back. Right now we’re waiting for Susan and your friend. Brandy is your friend, isn’t she? Noncommittal, huh? Good position. Never reveal your cards.” He ran his hand over the horse’s shoulder. He’d been taught that by his father.

  Cajun gave him a horse grin and nudged his chest.

  “Okay.” Susan’s voice came from behind him. He turned and watched her approach. “Stop mooning with each other,” she said. “We’re running late.”

  Cajun nodded his head as if agreeing. Or maybe it was just a greeting.

  “Can he understand English?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Sometimes I wonder, but I think it’s because he’s eager to go.”

  “Are we too late to catch up?” he asked.

  “We don’t have to,” she replied. “They’ll either be at the pond or on their way back, and we’ll meet them.”

  He turned and looked at her. No businesswoman now. Riding gloves peeked out of her jeans’ pocket, and her riding boots were old and scuffed. She looked all cowgirl.

  “I’m playing hooky from the inn,” she said. “The last few weeks were really busy, and now I intend to relax and enjoy being part of this. I love seeing these guys start to unwind. Wait until tonight. They’ll probably be a little sore, but they’ve survived the first two days and there’s usually music and fun.”

  She swung up into the saddle, and he followed, wondering whether he would make a damn fool out of himself. Then he settled himself into the saddle and hoped Jubal was right about people never forgetting how to ride.