Mickey Peterson was in his group of five on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Jesse tried each of the horses and picked out Socks for Mickey. J.B. McIntosh would ride Banner, and Glen Stoney would have Snowball. Ty would ride Blondie.
Socks was a jet-black mare with four white socks and a white patch above her nose. Sara Peterson would be thrilled to know that Socks had been evaluated on numerous occasions and all reports indicated that she was gentle and good with kids.
Yes, Sara would be happy, and she’d be happier to learn that Mickey would walk Socks around the corral numerous times by a lead rope with a volunteer before Mickey would ever ride by himself. Jesse felt strongly that new riders should be comfortable with their horse before they ever put a shoe inside the stirrup.
He jumped in the shower. He liked these early times when none of his young charges were stirring, but it soon would be loud chaos, even though four out of the eight kids didn’t speak.
Not yet anyway.
As the hot water rained down on him, he vowed to help each and every wrangler in his care. He didn’t mind if he had to sit with the professional staff every free moment that he had in addition to the regular scheduled meetings; he was going to do everything possible.
Those whose mobility was impaired—Steve, Brendon, Jackson and David—he wanted to make stronger. They’d ride on Tuesdays and Thursdays with extra staff to assist them. Riding would strengthen their core and they might use different muscles. Their horses would be their legs.
Jesse began to hear his wranglers talking and moving around, so he hurriedly toweled himself off and slipped into his underwear, a pair of well-worn jeans and a long-sleeved chambray shirt. After reaching for his socks, he pulled them on, followed by his work boots.
Then Jesse opened the door to the bunkhouse.
“Good morning, wranglers! As you all know, today is the day you are going to begin to learn to ride. So hit the showers and get dressed in your cowboy duds. Get a move on. You’re burning daylight.”
There were shouts of glee and pure turmoil as the boys scrambled for their clothes, crutches and wheelchairs, and hurried to the showers.
Jesse always found it entertaining.
“Don’t forget to make up your bunks after your showers and before we line up for the flag raising and breakfast!” he yelled over the commotion. “Help your partner if you can. If not, give a yell for me.”
When they had all departed for the shower shed, Jesse made his own bed and tidied up his area in the front of the bunkhouse. He might as well set a good example for the young cowboys.
Jesse thought about seeing Sara at breakfast. She knew that today was riding day, so she probably hadn’t slept much last night. He considered their conversation last night and how she might feel about his assertion that she was smothering Mickey.
She’d probably accept it better if advice came from one of the psychiatric staff rather than a bull rider, but he called it like he saw it. Besides, he had some firsthand knowledge of Mickey, and he was a neutral party.
No, he wasn’t neutral. He cared about Mickey. He cared about all his young wranglers.
His wranglers were dribbling in from the shower, making their beds and putting on their socks and boots. Then they lined up in front of the door, joining wranglers on foot, in wheelchairs, on crutches and motorized scooters.
When they were all lined up, and the bunkhouse was tidy, Jesse led them all to the flag circle. They were the third bunkhouse to arrive.
Jesse looked around to see if Sara was attending the ceremony, but she wasn’t there. No doubt, she was busy getting breakfast ready for the wranglers and other staff, who would descend on the chuck wagon after the Pledge of Allegiance and a short nondenominational prayer.
After the flag raising, it was time for Lori to call the bunkhouse numbers for breakfast. Cabins were inspected and were ranked from cleanest to “needing help.” Bunkhouse 13 was third.
As he was going through the breakfast line, he saw Sara dishing out pancakes and sausage links. Just as he thought, she looked like she hadn’t slept. Her eyes were droopy and her smile was thin.
“Good morning, Sara! Great day at Camp Care, right?” Jesse asked.
“Great day,” she replied, barely looking up at him. “Today’s horseback riding.”
“Sure is, and Mickey is one excited wrangler. I can’t wait to see his face when he’s sitting on his first horse.”
“That’s nice,” she said, putting three pancakes on his plate.
“You’re worried.”
“Of course. That’s my middle name,” Sara said. She put three links of sausage next to the pancakes.
“Don’t be. I’ve got this one.”
“Please take care of him, Jesse.”
“Of course. Just like I’ll watch over all the kids in my care.”
“He hasn’t been exposed to horses,” she said. “Not at all.”
“Isn’t therapeutic horseback riding one of the reasons why you brought Mickey all the way from New York State to Camp Care?”
“Yes,” she replied, clearly reluctant to admit it.
“Well, then, it’s time to ride. Cowboy up!”
“You don’t understand, Jesse. Mickey is all I have.”
He paused, letting that sink in. “I sure do understand. That explains a lot.”
“A lot of what?” she asked.
“You’re afraid you’re going to lose him.”
“Of course! Isn’t every parent afraid of losing a child?”
“You could lose him in a lot of different ways.” He shrugged. “By not letting him grow and experience things on his own you might lose him anyway. How are you helping him adjust in the real world if you overprotect him? What’ll happen when he goes to college? He might flip out. Of course, that depends on whether or not you’ll let him go away to school.”
Sara didn’t have time to answer due to the whistles and shouts for Jesse to move on down the line. There were a lot of hungry campers waiting to eat.
“Gotta get going,” Jesse said. “I just wish you’d trust me to take care of Mickey.”
“I don’t trust anyone to take care of my son but me.” She put pancakes and sausage on the next person’s plate a little too absentmindedly and one of the sausages rolled onto the floor. Disappointment was visible on the boy’s face, so she heaped more sausages and another pancake on his plate before he followed Jesse down the food line.
“Trust. Work on it, Sara.”
Sheesh! She opened her mouth, seemingly to say something, probably because she didn’t want him to have the last word, but Jesse left the line and took a seat with the rest of his wranglers, who began to ask him all kinds of questions about their riding lessons. Where he sat, he had a perfect view of Sara, who was smiling and talking to everyone who came through.
Everyone but him.
“Good morning!” Sara said cheerfully to everyone who slid their trays in front of her. The only time she seemed worried and anxious was when he passed through.
Jesse shook his head. They couldn’t even talk without some sort of fight. He seemed to agitate her, and that wasn’t his intent.
He intended to get to know her better as a woman, as a date, as a friend, maybe even more. He’d like nothing better than to loosen that tight bun at the nape of her neck and fluff up her blond hair. He’d cup her head in his hands, lean down, and capture her lips in his.
Then he’d brace himself for the slap that was sure to follow.
Maybe not.
Maybe it would be better if Mickey was transferred to another cabin.
No. Mickey was making good friends here in Bunkhouse 13, and it wouldn’t be fair to the boy.
He’d just have to keep talking to Sara, and get her to calm down where Mickey was concerned.
Jesse had to convince her to let Mickey grow and advan
ce. If nothing else, the boy’s riding lessons should prove to Sara that Jesse was good for Mickey and the other wranglers.
And maybe, just maybe, she’d find out that there was more to him than just being a bull rider.
* * *
Sara had a little over an hour before she had to get back to the chuck wagon to help prepare lunch. It should be an easy meal. Cookie was planning on chicken soup and chicken patties on a hamburger roll with chef salad served family-style at the tables.
In the meantime, what harm would there be if she went to the corral and watched Mickey’s riding lesson?
Maybe she’d just stay in the shadows and observe, instead of being front and center spying on her son.
And even if Mickey didn’t think she was spying on him, Jesse Beaumont would know she was.
She kept telling herself that she wasn’t worried that Mickey was going to get hurt and that she just wanted to see the happiness on his face that Jesse was sure he’d feel when he got up on a horse for the first time.
Sara hurried for the copse of trees that looked like they might be pines and some kind of bushes bunched on the left side of the corral’s mammoth doors. If she positioned herself correctly in the vegetation, she’d be able to see the action.
She looked around to see if anyone noticed her. So far, so good. Slanting herself to move through the bushes, she dodged the sharp needles of the trees, wishing she had a long-sleeved blouse on instead of her neon-yellow Camp Care T-shirt.
She moved the branches away to get closer to see. That was a mistake, as sap clung to her hands, then a branch got stuck in her hair. Slowly, she pulled her hair from the sticky pine needles and worked on removing a pine cone from behind her ear.
There wasn’t much action in the corral, just a couple of cowboy types chewing on blades of hay and talking. The kids apparently were still being taught some basics in the barn instead of on horseback, thank goodness.
Hoping that Mickey’s lesson might get rained out, she looked up at the sky. Unfortunately, it was a bright blue without clouds. The sun and a slight breeze made it a perfect day for a horseback ride.
What kind of a mother was she to hope that it would rain on Mickey’s riding day?
Selfish. She was just absolutely selfish.
Was it being selfish to hope that her son didn’t get hurt? To want him to stay away from activities that might hurt him?
Jesse had a point. Equine therapy was one of the reasons why she’d chosen Camp Care for Mickey, why it had come highly recommended by her therapist, by Mickey’s counselors and his psychologist, all of whom had firsthand knowledge of Camp Care success stories.
Her heart began thumping in her chest when she recognized J.B., one of Mickey’s bunkhouse friends, on a chestnut horse, being led by one of the ramrods.
She could see Glen grinning from ear to ear under the helmet that he wore, sitting on top of the world.
He didn’t say a word, but a big, sudden laugh came from deep inside him. Even Glen looked stunned at the raspy sound he emitted.
The ramrod laughed, too. “Yeehaw! Ride ’em, cowboy!”
Sara would love to hear a laugh from Mickey. It had been a long time.
Looking equally thrilled, another rider and ramrod came out of the barn and followed J.B. in walking around the corral.
The two horses passed in front of her, and she could hear the breathing of both horse and rider and the squeaking of the leather saddle.
Sara held her breath. Mickey had to be next! She moved another branch to get a better view.
His head was bent, and she couldn’t tell whether or not Mickey was smiling underneath his helmet.
“Mickey, keep your head up so you can see where you’re going,” she heard Jesse say.
Mickey definitely was smiling. Sara let out her breath, watching him closely for any sign of duress on her son’s face, and making sure that Jesse was calm and cool.
“You’re doing great, Mickey. Keep your legs straight. This is really cool, isn’t it, cowboy? By the end of the week, you’ll be riding alone around the corral, riding without being led.”
Riding without being led!
Another thing for Sara to worry about down the line.
But as Mickey and Jesse passed by her, Mickey’s smile couldn’t be any wider. She even thought she’d heard him make a sound of excitement.
Mickey hadn’t shown enthusiasm since before the accident.
Jesse looked her way and tweaked his hat. “I’ll bet your mother wishes she was here to see you ride. She’d see how much fun you were having and how you look like you’re the King of the Cowboys. Wouldn’t she be surprised to see how safe you are, too?”
He knows I’m here!
It must be her bright yellow shirt that had given her away.
Her face heated. Her first thought was to flee, but she still wanted to watch Mickey, so she stayed in the brush, hiding like an international spy, dodging pine cones and sap.
And a spider!
Not a spider. Anything but a spider!
The thing was small, but it hovered on a thin strand of web right in front of her nose.
Sara stifled a scream. She didn’t know anything about Oklahoma spiders; she was used to the ones in New York. New York spiders were hideous, but she didn’t know of any whose bite would kill her.
But this little black thing...well, it might as well be a tarantula.
The scream was still in her throat, choking her, ready to erupt.
Do something!
Mickey rode by, sitting straighter in the saddle, and looking more confident.
Cross-eyed, she kept one eye on Mickey, and the other on the spider dangling in front of her face on a thin strand.
She didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to hold out. She had to do something—anything!—before Mickey’s next circle around the corral.
Slowly, Sara moved her hand to an area above the strand and was able to bring the spider down to the ground.
At least that’s what she thought she was doing. She moved her hand to wipe the hair out of her face, and the spider came along with her hand.
It was now on her face. She could feel it crawling.
Okay. She was going to let out the granddaddy of all screams. She had every right to, but she neither wanted to spook the horses in the corral nor did she want to call attention to herself, so she shook her head and wiped her face, ran her hands down her clothes and hopped in place. Maybe Mr. Spider was finally gone now.
Jesse and Mickey walked by her. Jesse tweaked his hat again at her. “This is our last trip, Mickey, and we’re going to go back into the barn where I’ll teach you how to clean the tack. So, if anyone is watching, it’d be a good time for him or her to go about their day.”
Jesse stopped in front of her hideout. “Mickey, did you enjoy your ride?”
The boy nodded as if his head was loose from his neck. Then he slapped Jesse’s hand in a high five.
Sara’s heart was about to burst. A high five! It might not be much, but it was like climbing Mount Everest for Mickey.
Yes. Mickey had a wonderful time, he was safe and she had Jesse to thank.
She’d see them both for lunch soon, and she’d give anything if Mickey would talk and tell her about his riding.
Until then, she’d better get cleaned up and see what she could find to get the pine sap off.
Then she’d hurry to the chuck wagon.
Before she took the final step out of the bushes, she looked around to make sure no one would be around to witness her exit.
All clear.
As she hurried to her bunkhouse, she thought about how Jesse was going to tease her for lurking so she could spy on Mickey’s lesson.
“Smothering” was going to be in his first sentence, or at least his second.
Chapter 6<
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As Jesse helped the wranglers clean the tack and put it away under the watchful eyes of the equine therapist, he chuckled to himself.
Sara had been hiding in the bushes. He saw the yellow shirt, could smell her special scent as he passed by leading Mickey’s horse. Lilacs, he guessed, although he didn’t know one flower from another.
At one point, he thought she was going to bust out of the bushes during the lesson. Something was wrong. He wasn’t worried; the horses were trained so thoroughly they wouldn’t react if they were startled, but he’d have to ask her what had happened.
He wanted to tell her that now she could relax, but it wouldn’t do any good. The program would keep progressing until some of the wranglers were able to ride without being led. The ramrods and equine therapists would still be with the wranglers at all times, but there needed to be more of a challenge for the kids.
They all wanted to be “cowboys.”
He sent his charges off to lunch, and Jesse washed his hands, tossed some water on his face, then combed his hair. After drying his face and hands with his bandanna, he then stuffed it back into his back pocket and proceeded up the path to the chuck wagon.
He was looking forward to seeing Sara and wondered if she’d mention her foray into the foliage.
Foray into the foliage?
Since when had he gotten so poetic?
Maybe it was because Sara intrigued him. He’d never met anyone like her. She aggravated him and frustrated him, but when he saw her doing yoga, she was calm and still—that is, up until the time they opened their mouths and they fought.
Opening the door to the chuck wagon, he went inside. The noise was deafening. The first thing he did was to look toward the metal tables, steaming from hot water underneath the big pans to keep the food hot, where Sara worked.
She met his gaze, but quickly looked away.
Was she watching for him?
Hmm...that made him walk a little taller as he headed for the chow line.
“Hi, Sara. How’s your day going? Did you do anything special?”
She shrugged. “Nothing special. It was just a usual day. How about you?”
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