“That going to be a problem for you?”
Denny’s words echoed between Trevor’s ears, stay away from the ladies for a while too. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Only if I have to be rescuing her all the time.”
Chapter Three
Any trainer worth their salt would have reprimanded Ketra for not re-mounting the rebellious horse and running the exercise again. But her shock was too debilitating to allow movement of any kind. She could scarcely breathe.
She stood next to the gelding rigid, gasping for air and reeling from, not only the corporeal effects of her hard landing in the dirt, but the new foreman, who bore an uncanny resemblance to her former college crush—the man who’d ruined her life.
When Rocky told her that he’d found the perfect guy to fill in for Dominic—currently convalescing after a nasty throw from her favorite horse—she’d assumed it was one of his old poker buddies not a tall, dark, and handsome—.
Don’t go there, Ketra.
She struggled to regain focus. And a new perspective. Even though the man standing next to Rocky wasn’t Kyle, she still felt as if she’d been plunged under freezing water. Her brain screamed at her to get to the surface, to kick, to breathe. But her limbs and lungs remained immobile. Sounds distorted, dissonantly ghostlike around her.
The sorrel nudged her shoulder with his cool wet muzzle. Apparently anxious to be rid of the saddle and other tack restricting his freedom, he nudged her again. With stilted steps, as if rigor mortis had set in, Ketra concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
Focus, Ketra. Go inside, away from the new guy.
The gelding ambled beside Ketra toward the barn. They clomped inside. She breathed a sigh of relief that she’d cleared the stranger’s line of vision without further embarrassment. By rote, she slipped the bridle over the horse’s ears and replaced it with a halter then secured the lead rope to a hitching post near the center of the barn. She leaned her forehead against the animal’s sweaty neck and closed her eyes. Unsolicited memories assaulted her.
Kyle. Her first true infatuation. Dark hair and light blue eyes that comprised the center of every college girl’s erotic fantasies. Star football player. Everybody’s best friend. Kyle captured her heart the moment she’d set eyes on him the first day of her senior year in advanced chemistry class. She’d hoped to create some chemistry of her own with the university’s golden boy.
She gasped and jerked her head away from the horse. Two years now she’d worked to repress these memories. How was it possible that in the blink of an eye they all came back? Fresh and raw. Palpable. She squeezed her arms and legs together as phantom pains engulfed her.
She swiped her hands across her cheeks, smearing unwelcome tears across a grimy film of dust. After sucking in several huge gulps of air, she sniffed a few times, wiped her face with her sleeve and took a couple of shaky steps toward her cabin. Though the cabin stood less than fifty yards from the barn, if she didn’t move faster than glacier speed, the moon would zenith before she reached its comforting safety.
As if blasted from a bullhorn, Rocky’s voice sliced into her zombie-like trance. “Let me show you around.”
Because they headed her direction, she hastened onward. Her pulse quickened. Breathing became a challenge once again. She wasn’t ready to see the new foreman again, but the soles of her boots felt like cast iron bricks impeding her progress away from him.
“You’ve made some other improvements I see,” the newcomer said.
With a burst of energy fraught with apprehension, she all but ran the rest of the way to her little house. She bounded up the steps, flew through the front door and slammed it behind her. For extra good measure, she turned the lock. With her back pressed against the solid door, she sank to the floor. Hugging her legs to her chest, she rested her forehead on her knees. Her hat plopped onto the hardwood floor in front of her.
Why is this happening again?
“You’ll be safe here,” her parents had assured before driving away and leaving her bawling like a baby in this solitary cabin two years ago.
For the past twenty-four months she’d worked to be strong and self-sufficient. And emotionally dead. Now here she was, curled up crying in the exact spot she’d been two years ago, weak, dependent, an emotional wreck. When will this nightmare end?
Stop it, Ketra! Get up! Do something!
She peeled herself off the floor and halfway opened the curtains drawn across the front window.
The main barn was a “T” shape, divided into four quadrants by breezeways, the widest of which divided the barn widthwise; the other, longer and narrower, divided it lengthwise. Double doors allowed easy access on all four ends. Rocky and the temporary foreman stood in the doorway facing her cabin and its twin next to it. For several generations, Dillingers had inhabited the ranch, living in separate houses, but working together. As children married, more cabins were built for their new families to occupy. But, the last two generations had gravitated away from ranching, taking up residence elsewhere and leaving the ranch responsibilities to Rocky, who now lived alone in the big house.
Renewed panic overpowered her efforts to stay calm. He would be living in the cabin right next to hers. The very cabin she helped ready yesterday for his arrival today.
“Oh, my, God.” Ketra raised shaking hands to her face. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!”
She clenched handfuls of thick curly hair at the crown of her head. “This can’t be happening.”
With chin tucked to chest she squeezed her elbows in front of her, still holding fast to her hair. She whispered into her sternum, “What am I going to do?”
Stay calm, Ketra. He’s not Kyle.
He may not be Kyle, but he is still a man. The enemy. Like all the others. Not to be trusted.
Why couldn’t he have been an ugly old geezer?
Ketra backed away from the window and eased into the corner of her comfortably worn sofa. Her eyes didn’t stray from the two men conversing in the barn doorway until they disappeared from her line of vision. It wasn’t until her eyes had clicked open and closed a few times that she spotted her cell phone lying on the small table at the end of the sofa. She pressed the button that would connect her with her mother.
“Hi, Honey,” her mother greeted after the first ring.
Ketra cleared her throat, but before she could formulate any words, her mother asked, “What’s wrong?”
Ketra forced a laugh. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“I could tell by the tone of your voice.”
“I hadn’t even said anything.”
“That’s how I could tell.”
Her mother’s voice, a soothing balm, eased some of the tension from her throat. “The new guy’s here. The guy filling in for Dominic.”
“Did something happen?”
Ketra hesitated. Her mother’s question had been deliberate. And cautious. Something had happened, but how could she explain it?
“Kettie, are you okay? Is Rocky with you?”
“I’m fine, Mom. It’s just that . . . he . . . I thought he was . . . .”
“Kyle’s still in prison, Ketra. He has another year at least. You have to stop being afraid of every guy you meet.”
Ketra rose from the sofa and walked across the room. She glanced out the side window toward the far end of the barn, seeing only a few wranglers in the pasture.
“He looks exactly like Kyle,” she wailed.
“Oh, Honey, are you sure it’s not just your imagination playing tricks on you?”
The tiny earpiece at the top of her phone picked up her mother’s sigh. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked after a momentary pause.
Through wracking sobs, words poured out of Ketra’s mouth too fast to line up in proper sentences. “Parole people…out early…I thought…found me…so afraid…fe
ll…horse…couldn’t move…stupid….”
“Ketra—”
Her mother tried to interrupt the flow of gibberish, but Ketra couldn’t stop until every last miserable word had been uttered.
“Ket, I know you’re nervous because it’s almost time for Kyle’s parole hearing, but your father and I wouldn’t have left you there if you weren’t going to be safe.”
“I know.” Ketra thought she might hyperventilate. It felt good to release some of the fear to someone who understood her plight.
“And we’ve stayed away—”
The hitch in her mother’s voice brought a fresh wave of tears flowing down Ketra’s cheeks.
“…even though I thought I might cry myself to death because I couldn’t see you and hold you and know that my baby girl’s going to be okay.”
Ketra heard the tears in her mother’s voice.
“I know,” she whispered. “I was just so shocked. He looks so much like him. I really thought it was him, that he’d somehow found me.”
Her mother sniffed. “The parole officer assigned to Kyle’s case assured me that he’d let me know if Kyle gets released early.”
Ketra fought to rein in her run-away emotions. “I feel like everything is happening all over again and there’s no place else to hide.”
“Baby, you don’t need go anyplace else. You’re safe there. And…” Her mother’s voice was stronger now, confident. “The girls I raised know better than to make the same mistake twice. It’s not happening again. You hear me. It’s over.”
Ketra’s voice was frail with despondency. “I feel like my little corner of the world is getting smaller and smaller.”
“Ketra, do you want me to come out there? I’ll book a flight right now and—”
“No,” Ketra practically shrieked. “No, I’m fine. It’s just that, no one understands me here. They all think I’m a freak.”
She leaned her cheek against the cool glass and closed her eyes. If only she could visit her parents, even for a very little while…maybe she wouldn’t be so glum. As Kyle’s parole hearing loomed closer, her mood darkened.
“And then, on top of everything,” Ketra pouted, “I fell off one of the horses—right in front of him. He smirked. Smirked.”
She moved away from the window and paced around her sofa a couple of times before stopping in the kitchen. She wanted to kick something. Instead, she leaned her butt against the butcher block countertop and blew out a breath.
Humiliation burned hot on her face. “Not one single time in my entire life has anyone—ever—laughed at me while I was on a horse. People have been jealous, or impressed, but never…has anyone…laughed.”
Her mother chuckled. “Sounds like maybe your anxiety is more from wounded pride than the shock of seeing Kyle’s look-alike?”
With nervous adrenaline pumping through her veins, Ketra pushed away from the counter. She fiddled with cupboard doors, letting her eyes roam over the contents of each before moving on to the next. When she’d opened and closed every door, her free hand dropped to her side. She hung her head. “I was afraid, Mom. I was really afraid.”
Her mother sighed before asking, “Are you hurt?”
“What?”
“From the fall? Did you get hurt when you fell from the horse?”
“Oh. No.”
Her conversation had been erratic. No wonder her mother thought she’d hit her head too hard. Ketra made another circle of the room before flopping down in the center of the sofa. Her mother seemed to sense her mood because she remained silent, waiting for Ketra to reveal any further worry troubling her from her encounter with the new foreman.
“Well,” her mother said in an attempt to lighten the mood, “if he looks like Kyle, he must be good-looking.”
“He’s a bastard.”
Her mother laughed. “Yes, Kyle is a bastard. But he’s a good-looking bastard. I understand why you were so attracted to him.”
“Well I hope all the prison gang-bangers think he’s good-looking too. With any luck, he’ll get a taste of his own medicine.”
“There’s the feisty girl I love.”
Ketra’s lips turned up for a brief moment. Only her mother appreciated her fiery side.
“What’s his name?”
“Who?”
“The guy taking over for Dom?”
“Oh. I don’t know.”
“Is he nice?”
“I don’t know, Mom.” Her voice was laced with irritation. “I didn’t actually ‘meet’ him. I saw him from the ground. After that damned horse threw me sideways into the dirt. He asked me if I was okay and all I could do was crawl away from him like an idiot.”
Her mother snickered. Ketra rolled her eyes. “Thanks for laughing at me, Mom.”
“I’m sorry.” Her mother sobered before making her next statement. “He asked if you were okay, so he must be a decent sort of fellow.”
Ketra propped herself up on one elbow. “Whatever. I have to go. I left a saddled horse tied to a hitching post.”
“Did you leave the horse saddled because you were too upset to rub it down, or are you just trying to piss it off?”
Ketra sighed, “A little of both.”
“Got a problem child, huh?”
Ketra scooted around on the couch, laid down and let her feet dangle over the arm. She knew that of all the people in the world, her mother, a former horse-trainer and equine veterinarian student, would understand her frustration with the sorrel.
“I’ve got a gelding who’s been miserable all morning. He’s got a bad disposition and no inclination to run the pattern.”
“How long have you been working with him?”
“A little over three months.”
“And how old is he?”
Ketra twirled a lock of hair around her index finger. “Three.”
“Well, give him another week. If there isn’t any improvement, tell his owner that he’s not right for barrels.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“That’s my girl. Now, about the other issue…you feeling better?”
Ketra scrunched her face up. Tiny jolts of apprehension still pinged around in her mid-section but overall, she was much calmer and clear-headed. “Yeah.” She hoped she sounded convincing.
“Good. Call me back if you need to talk some more.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I love you, Baby. I miss you more than words can say.”
Ketra squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. “I love you, too, Mama.”
Ketra twisted herself off the sofa, placed the phone on the table and reclaimed her hat. She eased the front door open enough to peek outside. The front yard and barn entrance were human free so she ventured toward the gelding stamping with impatience at the hitching post.
She re-adjusted the cinch and replaced the halter with the bridle then swung up into the saddle. As she guided the stubborn horse up the alleyway toward the arena, she heard Rocky’s voice behind her.
“As you can see, everything on the left side of the barn is pretty much the way it used to be. Ket uses the right side for her horses and equipment.”
“How long have you been training barrel horses?” the new guy asked.
“I don’t. Ket does.”
Ketra refused to look over her shoulder, even though she knew the newcomer’s eyes were fixed on her back. Ignore him. He’s nobody. A man. Not to be trusted.
She coaxed the horse around the first barrel at an easy trot then urged him to change leads on his way to the second barrel. He bolted, tossing her into the soft arena dirt. She grunted as she hit the ground and once again found herself staring at the tips of a pair of extra-large cowboy boots.
“That’s the most interesting training technique I’ve ever seen.” Trevor’s lips twitched beneath
sparkling gray eyes.
Her humiliation complete, she clamped her molars together and swallowed the impulse to scream. After expelling a violent breath through her nose, she dipped her chin into her chest.
Can this day get any worse?
Chapter Four
Rocky looped an arm around Trevor’s shoulders and steered him away from the little woman sprawled on the ground. A smaller corral and barn stood to his left, between the main barn and the bunkhouses. Several men in the corral tried to rope a bawling calf and, although some of the hoops came close, no one looped the noose over the head of the darting calf. Rocky raised a hand to his hat brim, a silent greeting to the incompetent ropers. They returned the acknowledgment then reeled in their ropes to try again. Trevor rolled his eyes and blew out a breath.
“We’re using that as a practice ring.” Rocky resumed their trek to the second barn. “Some of these greenhorns are right out of high school or college. They want to be cowboys. At least they’re trying hard. I’m going to need lots of help this year with the round-up since my herd is nearly double and my crew is less than half. And most of them are inexperienced.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the young men. “I hope they figure it out pretty soon.”
Trevor chewed on his bottom lip as the hapless ropers tried in vain to rope the poor calf. “Is this the best you could come up with?” He fought the urge to jump back in his truck and head on down the road. Why didn’t Rocky warn me that the situation here is so desperate?
Rocky stopped mid-stride and faced him. “Everyone’s baling hay or getting ready for round-up. Not many cowboys to spare this time of year.” He shook his head in disgust.
Trevor scratched his chin, wondering what other surprises were in store. With mounting frustration, he considered his situation. His wife had left him for “the love of her life,” his partner lay in a hospital bed in the intensive care unit, the media was hounding him about his involvement in a deadly cop-shooting, and his commanding officer had ordered that he “disappear” for a while. He’d been so anxious to flee the frenzied quagmire in Phoenix that he hadn’t even considered the situation here might be worse.
On Common Ground Page 2