A Cowboy's Pride

by Pamela Britton

  “Brrr.”

  Chilly. Go figure. The black poufy jacket did little to keep her warm this time of morning. That was the problem with living at a higher elevation, she thought, stepping onto the gravel path that led to the barn. Nights and mornings were always cold, thanks to a snow-cooled breeze that blew in from the mountains. One learned to dress in layers, because by noon it’d be warm again. But nothing could beat the view, she admitted, passing beneath a thick stand of pine trees that surrounded Cabe’s backyard. Gray mountains in the distance. Meadows nearby. And a sky so blue it looked almost purple. Paradise.

  Her breath misted as she stepped beneath the trees’ canopy. Soon enough, she spotted the arena. To her left was the barn, a state-of-the-art facility with room for twelve horses, an office above that featured windows across the front and side, and a board-and-batten exterior painted white. It looked as though the barn was made out of wood, but it was really made out of an artificial compound resistant to fire, not that you’d ever guess.

  It looked so pretty sitting there this early in the morning, diffused sunlight painting the outside a pale orange, steam rising off the dark green roof above. The weather vane pointed west, she noticed. That was why it was so cold. Wind coming in from the hills, just as she’d suspected.

  A horse spotted her. Its neigh echoed across the stable yard between the barn and the arena.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

  Behind the barn was the main pasture, the ranch horses that they used for guests grazing in the distance, and behind them a faint line of trees that signaled the Bureau of Land Management’s property line. Cabe had the grazing rights.

  A horse nickered impatiently, its knee bumping the stall door. “All right,” Alana said, less patiently. She turned toward an open area to her left filled to the brim with grass hay. “Sheesh, you guys.”

  It wasn’t her job to feed the horses, not really. Cabe usually took care of it, but when she was up early enough and she had no guests to attend, she didn’t mind lending a hand. She enjoyed feeding the horses, loved the smell of a freshly opened bale of hay. Alana inhaled deeply as she grabbed a flake, then turned around. She couldn’t help but smile at the horses’ looks of anticipation.

  “Hey,” Cabe said from her right. Alana paused, a flake of oat hay in hand, the rich, loamy scent filling her nose. The horse she’d been about to feed stamped its foot in impatience, sending up a flurry of dust that caught the early morning light, particles swirling through the air.

  “What are you doing up so early?”

  Gray eyes and dark blond hair flashed into her mind.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” she said. Trent’s handsome face had haunted her all dang night.

  “Oh?” Cabe teased as he walked toward her. “Guess he really got under your skin, too, huh?”

  It bugged the you-know-what out of her that Cabe could read her so easily. She thought about denying it, but she knew better than to try to con her best and oldest friend, so she frowned, shaking her head a bit.

  “I have a feeling he’s going to be a real pain in the rear.” She tossed the flake of hay through the feed door, much to the bay gelding’s delight.

  “He’ll settle in.”

  He’d stopped in front of her—Cabe Jensen, one hundred percent cowboy in his dusty brown Carhartt overalls, with a dark green button-down shirt beneath.

  “You make him sound like a new horse.”

  Cabe pressed his lips together, considering her words, then moved to the edge of the stall so he could peer through the metal bars that kept the horses’ heads away from guests, his gaze sweeping over the animal she’d just fed. Jacob. His best rope horse.

  “He might be as fractious as a new horse.” He met her gaze, obviously satisfied with what he saw. Cabe wore the same cowboy hat he’d worn for years, one that was black but looked faded these days, its flat brim warped and somewhat frayed.

  “Just remember—” he tucked his hands in his pockets—probably because they were cold “—it wasn’t long ago that we were dealing with similar emotions from Rana.”

  It was true, and something she’d reminded herself of at least a hundred times last night. Somehow, though, it was different coming from Cabe. Trent wasn’t family, and his good looks made her uncomfortable. There. She could admit that.

  “I just hope he’ll at least try some of the therapies I suggest. I’m not even certain he’ll let me assess the damage done to his legs.”

  “Maybe you can do that without actually examining him.”

  “How?”

  Cabe smirked. “I was giving it some thought last night and I agree. He doesn’t want to be here, but to be honest, I was already warned about that. So I was thinking we need to outsmart him.”

  “You were warned?”

  A crafty look entered Cabe’s eyes. “I called his mom last night. She told me it took all her persuasive powers to get Trent on the plane. Apparently, he called her last night, too, and he made it perfectly clear he wasn’t happy.”

  “Oh, great.” She could understand reluctance, but out-and-out hostility would make things difficult.

  “That’s what I’m saying. We need to outsmart him.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?”

  “Put him up on a horse today.”

  She lost her power of speech for a moment. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. A million things bubbled through her mind, but she couldn’t voice them...except for her next words. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Why not? He has partial use of his upper legs. He should be able to hold on just fine.”

  “Yeah, if he had some training.”

  “That’s what the special saddle we use is for. He won’t fall off.”

  “You’re right, he won’t because he’s not going to agree to it.”

  Amusement filled his face, wrinkles crinkling the corners of his mouth all the way to the line of his jaw. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

  Her boss had lost his mind.

  The words repeated themselves as she went about her morning chores. Truth was, she was a lot more than a therapist. She wore a lot of hats: cook, chauffer, ranch hand. No two days were ever alike, so as they headed into breakfast it didn’t take her by surprise when Cabe said, “You going to check on him this morning, or shall I?”

  The words you do it almost escaped her lips. One thing stopped her—the twinkle in Cabe’s eyes. It was as if he dared her to beard the lion in his den, and to be honest, Alana wasn’t as averse to the idea as he might think. It wouldn’t hurt to show the man that she wasn’t intimidated.

  “I’ll do it.”

  An hour later she brought the John Deere Mule—an ATV-like vehicle with a miniature truck cabin and bed—to a coasting stop in front of Trent’s temporary home, the tires crunching on the drive. There was no reason to have butterflies in her stomach, she told herself. He might be a rodeo legend, but his injuries were all the proof she should need that he was also just a man.

  “Knock, knock,” she said, rapping lightly on the door.

  Of course, there was always the chance he wasn’t up yet. She’d no sooner had the thought than she caught a whiff of maple-cured bacon, the sweet smell making her stomach growl. They’d had oatmeal for breakfast. Boring.

  “Hello?”

  Would he ignore her? She had to admit, it was totally possible. He might choose to stay in his cabin the whole—

  The door opened.

  Good Lord, he wasn’t dressed.

  Her mouth dropped open next.

  “Yes?”

  Keep your eyes up.

  But it was hard when he had an upper body that would rival an action figure—six rippling, symmetrical bulges that decreased in size the lower her gaze drifted, and it drifted lower. His skin was a soft gold in color—and dam
n it, her eyes kept traveling lower and lower despite her best efforts, her cheeks turning molten when she spotted the tiny wisps of brown hair that seemed to point toward—

  “I, um...”

  Pull it together, Alana.

  His gray eyes. Focus on those. “I was, um, asked to check on you.”

  Not check him out, Alana!

  “I’m fine.”

  Yes, you certainly are.

  She coughed, sputtered, tried gasping in a breath. What was with her? She was acting like a sex-starved adolescent.

  Yes, and when, exactly, was the last time you had sex?

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” she wheezed, her mind mentally scooting away from the question. “Did you need anything?”

  Coffee? Tea? Me?

  She almost—almost—laughed.

  “I’ve been able to take care of myself for months.”

  “I see.”

  He stared up at her. She stared down at him. He smirked.

  She snapped, “Cabe wants us all to go on a ride today.”

  His turn to be caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

  “Cabe. He said—”

  “I heard you, but I won’t be going.” He jerked his hands on his wheels, rolling back like a race car driver. His hand found the door.

  “Whoa, there, ace.” She shoved her foot in so fast, she bit back a gasp of pain when it slammed into her. “That wasn’t a request.”

  If a look could incinerate a person, she should have been a puff of smoke. Or maybe a black smudge on the ground.

  “I’m in no condition to ride.”

  She smiled brightly. “Someone will be down to pick you up at ten in the morning.” She gave him her sweetest I-don’t-care-what-you-think smile. “I’ll see you then.”

  * * *

  TWO HOURS LATER they were all standing outside the barn. Alana had just finished saddling up her horse, and she played with the dark bay’s forelock. Cabe was to her left, saddling up one of two horses—a bay and a gray—that he had tied to the hitching post to the right of the barn. Opposite the hitching post stood what looked like parallel bars, a deck built next to them and a handicap ramp that led to the top. They’d have to use that if Trent actually agreed to Cabe’s crazy idea. Not that he would agree. Too bad, too, because it really might be good for him.

  She soothed her horse’s forelock down.

  You’re fussing.

  No, she wasn’t.

  Nerves.

  It wasn’t that, she firmly told herself. Trent Anderson didn’t make her nervous.

  Yeah, right.

  “Go on down and get him,” Cabe said as he tightened the cinch on a big bay-colored horse wearing a saddle that looked like a cross between a barber’s chair and a car seat. A specialty saddle, it was called. This one had a seat back that was shoulder high and a wide leather strap where a man’s waist would be. “I’ll be done here in a sec.”

  The animal pinned its ears and wrinkled its nose in protest when Cabe tugged on the leather strap. “Uh-uh,” he warned. “Enough of that. Only one cranky male allowed on the ranch.”

  And that would be Trent.

  “You want me to go get him?” The last thing she wanted was to deal with Trent Anderson. “Rana should do it.” She glanced past the rump of her horse.

  Rana, who was busy feeding a carrot to Ellie, turned sharply when she heard the words. She’d been the first one to finish saddling up her sorrel mare. “I don’t think so.”

  She’d been kidding...sort of. After yesterday’s disastrous first meeting, she wasn’t about to send the teenager to deal with the surly cowboy.

  “I don’t blame you,” Alana grumbled.

  “I’m sending you because you’re a good-looking woman he won’t say no to.” Cabe gave her a wicked grin, one meant to tease the irritation off her face. It didn’t work.

  “I think we should all ride the horses down together. You know, shame the jerk into doing it. We can lead Baylor down there with us.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  Alana groaned. She knew who stood in the barn aisle to her right, didn’t need to glance behind her to verify it. So she didn’t. The damn man must have found the hiking path they’d constructed for people in wheelchairs, the same path he could have taken yesterday—if he’d been civil.

  She pushed away from the hitching post, checked her horse’s girth, pasted a huge smile on her face, then turned and said, “Glad to see you found the trail.” Not that it would have been hard to spot. There were signs pointing to it all over the ranch.

  He ignored her comment. “I came up here to tell you I’m not going.”

  Big surprise.

  “You are going,” she said, “even if I have to be the one to hoist you up on your horse.”

  She moved around the rear of Radical, her own dark bay mount, meeting the man’s gaze for the first time.

  He was livid.

  And just as handsome as he had been this morning, darn it all to hell, but at least he’d put his dang shirt on. Still, the white button-down did little to conceal his muscular frame. She’d been hoping the butterflies in her stomach had been a reaction to seeing a half-naked man...since she hadn’t seen a half-naked male in, well, a long time. But, no. That wasn’t it at all because, as she stared into those silver-gray eyes beneath the off-white cowboy hat, she became acutely aware of how gangly she’d always felt, and of how dowdy she must look with her hair all loose, her light blue shirt tucked into the waist of her jeans and stall dust all over her face. She fidgeted with her horse’s forelock again.

  Stop it.

  “The only way you’ll get me up on that horse is if you knock me senseless.”

  “That can be arranged,” she muttered.

  Cabe stepped in between them. “Trent, your mom told me to tell you to do as you’re told.”

  Trent tipped his head back, glaring from beneath the brim of his hat. “I’m not ten years old.”

  “No, but I was told to tell you Anderson men don’t shy away from anything. And that if your dad were alive, he’d be ashamed of your lack of ‘try.’”

  Alana turned in time to watch the words change the landscape of Trent’s face. His eyes narrowed. His mouth pinched together. His cheeks filled with color. Brows that matched his dark blond hair came together in a frown. He hooked her with his gaze, the depth of his emotions bringing back memories of her own horrible loss, and Cabe’s and Rana’s, too.

  “Fine.”

  No, a little voice told her. It would never be fine. Not for him. Nothing would ever be the same again—and she knew exactly how that felt. A surge of sympathy rolled through her.

  But it was more than that.

  It would never be fine between the two of them, either, because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the attraction that tickled her insides.

  And that worried her most of all.

  Chapter Four

  He wanted to kill his mother.

  Anderson men don’t shy away from anything.

  Yeah, well, none of the Anderson men had ever been paralyzed from the waist down. Okay, okay...not entirely paralyzed. He still had partial feeling in his thighs. And some feeling in his lower extremities, too, but it was spotty at best, and it had spelled the end of his rodeo career.

  Still, though he tried to banish the words, he found himself wondering how many times he’d heard them over the years. First when he was little and in the mutton-busting events, then later when he’d decided to try bull riding. He closed his eyes, his hands aching he held them so tightly clenched. Back then, he’d been scared. Hell, if you weren’t scared of riding a bull, you had no business riding them. His father used to tell him that, too.

  When he opened
his eyes, his mouth tightened into a mirthless smile.

  And the bitch of it, the thing that should make him laugh right now, was that he hadn’t been maimed by a bull. No. He’d been ruined by a worthless piece of shit with four DUIs. A man who’d been so drunk, he’d walked away from the wreck without a scratch on him while he’d barely escaped with his life, and Dustin...

  He closed his eyes again. Dear God, he didn’t want to think about Dustin.

  “We have a mounting block for people with disabilities over there.”

  His eyes sprang open. Alana stared down at him...and was it his imagination? Or had that pretty blue gaze softened? She caught a glimpse of his hands again, and Trent unclenched them instantly. The only limbs that still functioned without a problem: his hands and arms.

  “I can help you mount,” she added. And, yes, her eyes had definitely lost their edge.

  “I can do it myself.” He gritted his teeth.

  “Okay.” She stepped back.

  He jammed his cowboy hat down on his head in determination. But as he turned toward the ramp, he almost balked when he caught sight of the saddle again. It was ridiculous. Like a bar stool built into the back of a horse. It was even padded with red leather like a stupid stool.

  He pushed his chair forward. What would they do? Strap him in as if he was some kind of felon?

  Every inch he traveled, every second that passed, his wheels turned slower and slower until, at long last, he stopped at the base of the ramp, staring at the horse with mutiny in his heart.

  “Are you sure you don’t want some help?” he heard the teenager ask. He bit back an immediate retort, words that he knew would be colored by irritation.

  “No.”

  The ramp didn’t concern him. It was getting on the horse. He’d be damned if he asked for any help, not with that woman watching his every move. Cabe had led the bay gelding between some parallel bars with a platform built up next to them, the bars holding the animal in place.