A Cowboy's Pride

by Pamela Britton

  “Will he get over it?” Saedra asked.

  Alana forced her gaze away from the skimpily clad woman. “With some help.”

  But she was fascinated. Alana watched as all the men in Trent’s group eyed the woman up and down—all except Trent. His gaze connected with hers instead, and good golly, Miss Molly, he smiled at her this time. Alana had to look away because that grin did things that it really shouldn’t.

  “What can I do to help?” Saedra asked.

  Alana took a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate. “Encourage him to listen to me. Tell him not to think of me as the enemy, but an ally. Above all, he needs to do the exercises I prescribe. That should do it for starters.”

  “Got it.”

  She glanced at the woman in the skimpy outfit again. She completely ignored Trent. Man in Wheelchair clearly wasn’t her thing. Alana wondered what she would do if she found out who Trent was. Would it make a difference? Probably not. Some women couldn’t see past the chair.

  “Are you going to stay for the rodeo performance?” Saedra asked.

  “That’s up to Trent.”

  Saedra touched her arm. Alana quickly turned. There was kindness in the woman’s gaze, kindness and friendliness. Alana realized she could like this woman—a lot.

  “Thank you—” she squeezed her arm “—for everything you’re doing.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  They both turned back to the man they so badly wanted to help. A year ago, this would have been his world, Alana thought. He would have been the one fending off the advances of the little brunette. He would have been the one breaking away less than an hour later to prep for competition. Instead he had to watch as, one by one, his buddies walked away, only Buster hanging behind.

  “Almost time to get the show on the road,” Buster said, glancing at his watch. “Why don’t you ride with me, Trent? I gotta drive one of the sponsor trucks into the middle of the ring. You know the drill. Boring as hell. Could use some company.”

  “Nah. I’m sure Alana wants to get going.”

  “Go ahead.” She made a shooing motion. “Saedra and I can hang out here.”

  “Sure would like a copilot,” Buster added.

  “It’s okay—”

  “Trent, don’t be an ass,” Saedra called. “Buster hasn’t seen you in forever. Hang out with the man.”

  His need to please once again reared its head. “All right,” he said slowly. “As long as Alana doesn’t mind me ditching her for a bit.

  Alana’s heart leaped, although not because of the soft smile he’d just given her. No. She’d just been struck by an idea. A brilliant idea. A fabulous one. If Trent couldn’t be pressured into using his legs by her, maybe a thousand screaming fans...

  “Not at all.” She forced herself to remain calm. It was a long shot, but it might work. “In fact, I’ll walk with Buster back to his truck. It’ll be easier if he swings by and picks you up, and I forgot my cell phone.” She patted her pocket. “Need to head back to my truck to get it. You and Saedra stay here. Buster can give me a ride back.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Buster said.

  She waved to Saedra and Trent, but the moment they were out of earshot, Alana leaned close to the rodeo announcer. “Buster. I have a favor to ask.”

  The cowboy’s silver brows lifted, his mustache bobbing with a twitch of his mouth.

  “A really huge favor, and it involves Trent....”

  Chapter Thirteen

  He hadn’t been inside a rodeo arena since his accident, and to be honest, Trent wasn’t certain he wanted to be in one now.

  “Here we go,” Buster said as someone opened the gate to the big arena. “I was thinking I could introduce you to the crowd.”

  Trent shot upward. “No.” He shook his head. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “What do you mean I don’t need to do that? You’re a big star, Trent. People be glad to see you.”

  Trent released a breath. People didn’t want to see him. Not like this. A helpless paraplegic who would only ever enter a rodeo arena in the passenger seat of a truck.

  “I’d rather keep to myself.”

  “Nah,” Buster drawled. “Not going to happen.”

  Before Trent could say another word, Buster was out of the truck and waving to the audience. Trent resisted the urge to slink down in his seat. Ahead of him the massive grandstand looked packed. It was still bright outside, those in front of him in shadow, but those to the left, right and behind him in full sun.

  “Good afternoon, rodeo fans!”

  Buster’s voice rang out, the words clearly audible even inside the cab, though if he said anything else he was drowned out by the sudden roar of the crowd. Trent didn’t listen. Too busy trying not to panic. He would not get out of the truck. He didn’t care how good a friend Buster was, he would stay right here, to hell with the man.

  The crowd quieted. Trent caught a few words here and there, but with every step Buster took, steps that brought Buster closer to his side of the truck, the tempo of Trent’s heartbeat increased.

  “And here he is!” he heard Buster say with a grand wave in his direction. “Multiple-world-champion cowboy Trent Anderson.”

  Then Trent’s door was wrenched open, and if he’d thought the sound of the crowd was deafening before, it was nothing to when audience members spotted him inside.

  Dear God in heaven.

  “Trent Anderson, how does it feel to be back?”

  Buster held the mic toward him. Trent just stared. Buster scooted closer, slapped him on his knee, hard.

  And it hurt.

  Trent jerked his gaze up.

  “Think he’s tongue-tied, ladies and gentlemen. Been too long since he’s been in front of a crowd. Don’t be shy, Trent. Tell us what you’ve been up to since you were injured.”

  “Not much,” he managed to spit out through lips that’d gone quickly numb. That hadn’t been a real pain. It was a phantom pain. Again.

  “I hear you’ve made great progress with your therapy. In fact, I was told by your therapist that she thinks you’re ready to try standing on your own.”

  What?

  “How’d you like to see that, ladies and gentlemen? I think we need to see Trent Anderson stand on his own two feet again, don’t you?”

  Mild applause turned deafening again. Trent stared at his friend in horror. He must have shut off the mic because the next thing he knew, Buster leaned next to him.

  “Don’t look so panic-stricken. I’ll do most of the talking. Come on. Try and stand.”

  Trent shook his head. He had no idea if the audience could see him, but he didn’t care. There was no way he was getting out of the vehicle.

  “I think he needs some more encouragement. Come on. You can do better than that.”

  Buster reached for him as the audience erupted into cheers and calls.

  “No.”

  But his old friend ignored him, just reached inside and tried to tug him along like a cowboy doctoring a cow.

  “I said no.”

  “And I said yes.”

  Buster jerked him off his seat. Trent had no idea how he managed to stay on his feet, but he did, and despite his best efforts to stay behind, Trent found himself leaning against his old friend.

  The crowd went wild.

  Buster rocked back. Trent suddenly found his legs beneath him.

  “There,” Buster said softly.

  It was like he’d practiced in therapy, like he’d done with the rope, that useless exercise that he hadn’t thought meant a thing. But it had helped.

  “How about that, ladies and gentlemen?”

  Slowly, Buster eased back, shifting more and more of Trent’s weight. Trent found himself fishing for the sid
e of the truck with his hands. He found it, glanced at the audience. They clapped and cheered, a few of them close enough that he could spot the happiness on their faces. They were proud of him. Proud of his “try.”

  Buster stared down at him with pride in his eyes, too.

  Like a parent helping a toddler, he slowly eased away. Trent held his breath as he straightened. Legs beneath him. Balance. Don’t lean too far forward. Steady. Careful...

  He stood.

  It was only for a split second. Just a fraction of an instant, and Buster was right there when his legs gave out, but he’d done it. He’d stood.

  “Great job.” Buster guided him to the edge of the door. “What do you think, ladies and gentlemen? Trent Anderson back on his feet again. Isn’t that amazing?”

  The crowd kept clapping. Buster turned back to him, his smile as wide as the Mississippi. “Can you get back in the truck on your own?”

  “I think so.”

  Buster clapped him on the back, happiness still in his eyes as he turned back to the audience. “Wow. I can’t wait to see him back in action, how about you?” More cheers. “Tonight we have more amazing cowboys and cowgirls to watch. We’ve got the top bronc rider in the world...”

  The rest of what Buster said faded away. Using his arms, Trent hoisted himself farther into the truck and then onto the seat. At some point Buster shut the door, the sound of the audience fading, but Trent’s mind still reeled.

  Had Alana been right?

  Could it be all in his head? Was there a chance he could actually walk again? Did he have a shot at returning to his rodeo roots?

  Dear God, he sure hoped so.

  * * *

  HEART IN HER THROAT, Alana watched as Buster pulled to a stop in front of the trailer. Saedra had disappeared, or maybe she’d intentionally left them alone for a moment; Alana didn’t know.

  He’d stood on his own.

  “How was that?” Buster asked, clearly exuberant as he made his way to Trent’s door.

  “Incredible.”

  She couldn’t see Trent. The reflection on the truck’s glass created a glare. When Buster opened the door, Alana felt herself inhale for the first time in what seemed like forever.

  “And here’s our star.” Buster swung the door wide. “Before long you won’t need this.” He reached in the back for Trent’s wheelchair, but before Buster could move, Trent slid from the truck. Alana started to rush forward, but Trent used the side of the cab to stabilize himself and she realized he was doing it again, he was trying to stand, the look of concentration on his face giving it away.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Buster pushed the chair toward his friend. “Maybe you don’t need this after all.”

  “No.” Trent glanced up at her. “I need it.”

  As if demonstrating his point, Trent sank into the seat, but he didn’t allow himself to plop down. No. He guided himself down slowly.

  Hope bubbled through her heart.

  “I’ll catch you after the rodeo then.” Buster caught her eye, winked and smiled. Alana smiled back.

  When she hooked gazes with Trent again it was to note the expression on his face. Puzzled. Pleased. Perturbed.

  “You asked Buster to do that, didn’t you?”

  In the distance a bronc rider had been let out of the chute, the audience reacting with loud cheers, but for Alana, it wasn’t the crowd that filled her ears. She had a hard time hearing anything over the beat of her heart.

  “I did.”

  He shifted, pushing off quickly in her direction. “How did you know it would work?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t.”

  When he stopped in front of her, he didn’t say anything. And then he smiled, a grin unlike one she’d ever seen before, one full of optimism and hope and, yes, even gratitude.

  “You know—” he stroked his chin “—I’m thinking I might keep going with this therapy thing.”

  They left right after the rodeo, Alana so buoyed up by their evening that she didn’t think she’d be able to sit still for the two-hour drive back home.

  “I should have known where we were going when we were in the car for so long,” Trent said.

  It was dark outside, although not terribly late. The rodeo had ended at nine, but they’d left before the bull riding, the last event of the evening, after Saedra hugged them tearfully goodbye. Trent’s friend would fly home later that night, but she’d promised to call him when she got home.

  “I was worried you might figure out where we were going when you saw the road signs.”

  She glanced over at him, thinking that he seemed completely different from the man who’d first arrived at New Horizons Ranch. More relaxed. At ease. Happy. “But once I had you in the truck, I knew there’d be nothing you could do. We were going to the rodeo whether you wanted to or not.”

  She saw him shake his head ruefully. “Did you call Buster and ask for his help?”

  She took her eyes off the road long enough to smile. “No. I came up with that on the spot.”

  “And if I’d fallen on my face?”

  “Buster wouldn’t let that happen.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “You’re right. He wouldn’t have. Buster is a good friend.”

  They were out on the main highway. Alana forced herself to focus as they made their way out of town. She concentrated so hard perhaps that’s why she said, “And Saedra? Is she really just a friend?”

  Good Lord, where had that come from?

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Trent glance at her sharply. “Would it matter if she wasn’t?”

  How had it happened? How had things gone from simple to complex in a heart-pounding moment?

  “Of course it wouldn’t matter.” She swallowed. Hard. “I was just curious.”

  Liar!

  Because it did matter. She’d watched him this evening, observed him with his friends and also the rodeo fans who’d come up to him afterward. Always gracious. Always kind. He’d accepted the congratulations of perfect strangers with a smile and a handshake that’d made her oddly proud. In just a week she’d given him the confidence to try to stand on his own two feet, and now she could see the gratitude in his eyes and it made her feel...warm.

  “She’s a friend.”

  A sigh of relief rushed past her lips, though she told herself it didn’t matter if he was in a relationship or not. Trent would only be a part of her life for an instant, a brief moment, that was all. She had her life at the ranch, her career, Rana to take care of. It was madness, pure and utter madness, to consider something more, something that made her squirm just thinking about it, that had her heart speeding as fast as the truck she drove.

  She didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive, mostly because she was afraid he’d see right through the lie of her not being interested. At one point she figured he’d fallen asleep, his even breaths and closed eyes causing her to take her own eyes off the road more than once. He was so handsome with his face softened by sleep, his hair mussed, his five-o’clock shadow more like a ten-o’clock shadow. Alana shivered as she wondered what it would feel like to have his chin graze her breast....

  Stop.

  She’d never been so grateful to arrive back at New Horizons in her life, though a quick glance at Trent revealed he wasn’t moving. The day must have been exhausting for him, both physically and emotionally, not to mention all their hard work up until now. When she turned the truck off in front of his cabin, he never stirred.

  “Trent?”

  He didn’t move.

  “Trent, we’re here.”

  He mumbled something. She slipped out of the vehicle, gently opening the passenger-side door, although why she tried to keep it quiet she had no idea. He needed to wake up. He couldn’t spend the night out in her
car.

  “Trent, I need you to wake up.” She nudged him, her hand resting on his forearm longer than it needed to be. He had soft skin. She remembered that from her examination of his legs, remembered, too, how touching him had made her feel.

  Son of a—

  Okay. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought, opening the back and pulling out his chair. Once she had it set up, she nudged him even harder, pausing for a moment to enjoy the warmth of his arm and the way he smelled.

  Alana!

  “Come on, Trent.”

  A part of him must have understood, because he leaned toward her as if asking for her help to get out of the truck. When she glanced up, it was to note their heads were inches apart, and that his breath wafted over her face and that she liked, no, loved the smell of him. Okay, so maybe not loved. Maybe just deeply appreciated—

  His eyes snapped open.

  She froze.

  “Are we here?”

  Still half-asleep. Thank God. Maybe he hadn’t noticed her gawking at him.

  “Back home. Come on.” She urged him out of the truck. He complied, though they almost fell to the ground together, Alana gasping as the full-frontal feel of him singed itself on her mind.

  Oh, dear.

  He swung out of her arms and into his chair in less than a second. Alana sighed in relief. She just wanted to get him into his cabin so she could go to her own apartment and take a cold shower. The man did it for her, no doubt about it, he always had. Since the moment she’d first met him.

  “Here we go,” Alana said.

  His head tipped back.

  “Really?” she asked when she noticed his eyes were still closed. “How in the hell can you still be asleep?”

  No answer.

  She released a huff of frustration. Here she was, nearly combusting in her pants thanks to her own silly, physical attraction, and the man was out cold, completely oblivious to the effect he had on her.

  She pushed him toward his cabin, pausing only for a moment to retrieve the key, then heading for the front door. Maybe she should leave him in his chair out on the porch. No. In the family room. She couldn’t possibly lift him onto bed. And removing his clothes? Hah. That she wouldn’t do.