“My mother always loved the horses. It was the one place she always smiled.” I could see the happiness break free of him, but memories of his father smothered it out. “Charles kept them from her when she left. It was some sort of sick punishment. He sold most of them, but I convinced him to keep a few.”
Questions piled up in my mind like a checklist that begged to be crossed off, but I held my peace. “Where do we start?”
“Come here, touch him, and get used to being around him.”
I wasn’t scared of the animal, but at the same time I was cautiously apprehensive. Being larger than I was, I thought he deserved my respect. Ryder noticed my hesitation and said, “He’s safe. Come here.”
With slow footsteps, I walked to the horse. Ryder took a step back to give me room. My fingers reached to touch the velvet coat, but the horse jerked away. In fear, I fell back against Ryder’s chest. A familiar warmth lit up my arm as he urged me forward.
“He can sense your fear. Your body language is telling him there’s something to be afraid of.” Ryder took my hand and set it on the horse’s neck. “Relax and he will too.”
It was easier said than done with Ryder’s arms wrapped around me. He had someone new, but I didn’t. I couldn’t separate my memories from the true reality. In my mind, I knew that if I turned one hundred and eighty degrees I could lose myself in his kiss once more.
“Relax, Lindy,” Ryder said again.
For my own sanity, my only choice was honesty.
“It’s not the horse that has me tense,” I told him.
It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, Ryder moved away.
“Sorry,” he said as he ran his palm over his face. “Old habits.”
I ignored him and focused on the gorgeous animal under my hand. His long elegant neck stretched as I stroked it. I ran my nails under his throat and his head tilted up as if it fulfilled some need he’d ached for. “What’s his name?”
“Ferguson,” Ryder told me.
We spent the next hour working with Ferguson, mostly working on something called a halter. It was the apparatus that fastened around the horse’s face. Ryder had me put it on and take it off, until no matter the jumbled pile I pulled it from, I could do it naturally.
We moved on to grooming and saddling, or as he said, tacking. The phrase made no sense to me, but I memorized it as part of my undercover vernacular. Ryder demonstrated skills one after the other, enough to make my head spin. Maybe he noticed my anxious eyes and full sheet of notes because he smiled and said, “Don’t worry too much, this is what’s really important.”
He extended a saddle toward me as if I should take it. My fingers wrapped around the smooth leather as I took the weight. Immediately, it slipped from my hands as the actual weight took me by surprise.
“It’s really heavy,” I said as if I might shift some of the blame to him.
Frustration tensed the muscles of his jaw as he rubbed his palm over his face. My success depended on my ability to learn and I wasn’t impressing anyone.
“The ones at the ranch are heavier,” Ryder informed me.
Hefting it from the dust, Ryder placed it in my arms again, but this time I was prepared. He demonstrated with his own empty arms how to get the saddle onto Ferguson’s back. I copied his movements exactly, but somehow the saddle pad dropped to the ground on the other side and the saddle barely cleared the horse’s back.
After an hour of placing and replacing the saddle, I deemed Ferguson the most patient horse that had ever lived. My arms ached from the overhead press motion of saddling and the bullet wound throbbed, but Ryder wasn’t about to stop. My head swam with new vocabulary and questions. I began to doubt whether I could retain it all.
Ryder extended a helmet to me. “You won’t wear one there, but I suggest you wear it here, at least to protect that brain of yours.”
He left before I could object to his idea that I was getting on the horse. Surely there was more to learn before then.
“This is a bridle,” Ryder said as he returned again. “You have to get fast at this, but it’s not easy.” He slipped the halter from the horse’s face and left it looped around his neck. With a swift movement, he held Ferguson’s face in place with one hand, urged a metal bar between his lips and looped the leather pieces over his ears.
“Don’t bump his teeth. It hurts.”
“I can’t do this,” I whispered. It was the truth. Even if Ryder taught me every day for a month, I’d never be convincing as an equestrian.
The hard lines on Ryder’s face softened. “Huckleberry, if anyone can do this, it’s you.”
His confidence was enough to get me on the horse. He braced my calf with his strong grip as I swung up and slipped into the saddle. Ryder took the reins, and led me out on my first ride.
♦ ♦ ♦
He kept me in the saddle for three hours. After the first hour it all became a blur of commands. “Pull to your pocket,” “Heels down,” “Let go of the horn,” “Watch your posture,” and my favorite, “We’re not done until you get it right.” By the time I swung down, my legs were soft and weak. My shuffle and drag became more pronounced than ever. I held it together long enough to get the saddle off and put away. The door to Ferguson’s door shut and my knees buckled. The ground rushed for me as my equilibrium flipped and I collapsed.
Wood ground into my fingers as I clutched the barn door, struggling to stand again. Ryder’s steps echoed in the tack room as he stepped out.
“Lindy!” he exclaimed and rushed to my side.
I waved him off. “I’m fine. I have to get up on my own.”
My independence frustrated him, I could see it in his clenched and waiting hands, but I found my feet by gripping the barn door and pulling. I leaned on the wall, pressing my palms against it as I shuffled over the packed dirt to a bench against the wall. None too graceful, I dropped onto the wrought iron and let my body twitch.
As I breathed through the soft spasms, Ryder crouched near me. “Did I do this to you?”
“No,” I assured him. “I’m not as strong as I used to be.”
He thought about brushing the hair from my face, but resisted. “I had no idea that—”
I cut him off before he could finish. “I kickbox. I have for years. Most days I have to crawl into my house because I push myself to the limit. It’s just that these days my limit isn’t very far.”
Against his better judgment he set his hand over my knee. “If you can’t do this, if you think it’ll be too much, tell me now and I’ll drop it. I can find someone else.”
If I could’ve found the strength I would’ve rolled forward into his embrace, but I didn’t, so I melted into the slats of the bench like warm butter.
“I’ll be okay. Rest is all I need.”
“Do you want me to carry you back to the house?”
If he held me that close, I might never recover. “No. I’ll walk back after I rest.”
He sensed my need to be alone, squeezed my leg and left me there. For years I’d lived in denial. I thought that if I never dealt with the reality of my disease, perhaps it would all fade away. I’d lived my life as if nothing had changed. As I lay on the wrought iron bench, it was impossible to believe that any longer.
Everything had changed.
Chapter 6
It took a half hour of rest, but I did walk to the house on my own accord. Ryder sat on the front stairs, face buried in his hands. As my shuffle broke the silence, his head popped up and he rose to meet me. I let him help me up the stairs, my arm looped around his neck for stability.
“Louise put lunch in your room,” he told me as we scaled the stairs at a glacial pace. “I thought you might like some quiet.”
My heavy lids refused to listen to commands any longer. Fatigue had won once more. Ryder helped me through the doorway to the edge of the bed and dropped to remove my boots. His willingness to help created a tight ball of hurt inside of me.
For years, I’d
assumed a partner would only resent me and my disease, so I’d stayed away from relationships and dating. Yet, as he carefully removed my boots and stacked them by the foot of the bed, I had to wonder if I’d come to a faulty conclusion. The realization made me nauseous.
With delicate fingers he touched my face and said, “Get some rest, Huckleberry.”
And he was gone again.
♦ ♦ ♦
I slept for three hours without a single dream. Heavy limbs anchored me when I woke, but strength returned as I ate the sandwich that Louise had left. Hunger abated, I pulled my boots back on and made my way downstairs.
Ryder’s voice carried over the empty corridors with ease. “Yeah, I can’t wait to see you either. I miss you.”
I hung back at the base of the stairs, torn between not wanting to interrupt, and not wanting to hear any of it either.
“Seattle for one night? Maybe I’ll swing by.” His laugh was genuine. “Maybe I can’t wait until then, I want to see you.” Each laugh cut into my stomach like a blade. “Yeah, I need my sugar fix.”
I couldn’t handle another second. Without thinking, I spun away. My leg collided with a side table. Marbles rattled from the decorative bowl as it flew from the table and clattered across the slate. My shoulders slumped in defeat as I dropped to pick up the evidence of my eavesdropping and clumsy nature.
“Yeah, Vanessa, I’ll have to call you back,” I heard Ryder say.
Every metallic clang echoed in the entry way as I scooped handfuls back into the bowl. No place to hide when my every movement was like a homing beacon. Before I knew it Ryder stood over me as if trying to make sense of the scene he’d found.
“I lost my balance,” I lied.
He set the phone on the table and dropped to a knee to help me. “Are you sure you weren’t listening in?”
My foot twitched under his glare. “I didn’t mean to. Sound carries around here.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. I could hear my parents every time they fought, no matter where I was.”
Louise came around the corner with another woman in uniform. “Oh Mr. Harrison, you shouldn’t do that. Let us clean that up.”
Ryder considered correcting her use of the wrong name, but instead helped me to my feet. The tense strain in his jaw told me he was rattled.
“I’m going to take Miss Johnson back out to the barn again. Please instruct Arthur to carry the boxes that have arrived up to her room.”
With a tight grip on my arm, Ryder moved me through the open front door. I wondered what had annoyed him more, my intrusion, or Louise’s constant reminder of his father. Once free of the house, he dropped my arm.
“Sorry,” he said as he put space between us.
I had no desire to dwell on it.
“What boxes?” I asked to change the subject.
“Cassidy’s clothes came today. I thought you’d like to pack up what you’re going to wear,” he said as he strode with determined steps for the barn.
I couldn't focus on words and steps at the same time, so I let my right leg drag a little so I could speak. “Why can’t I wear my clothes?”
“Because you have to look the part and Cass has a certain way about her.”
I recalled the broody flirt from the picture. We had some physical traits in common, but other than that I was sure we couldn’t be more different. I considered expressing my concerns, but Ryder wasn’t in the mood and it could wait.
His rotten disposition had only deepened, so with great caution I said, “I’m not sure I’m up for riding yet.”
Judgment in his dark eyes sized me up from head to toe. “Fine, but you need to practice with the bridle.”
I trailed about six paces behind him. It soon spread to twelve, then twenty. By the time I actually arrived at the barn he’d pulled a creamy horse from her stall. I was grateful he didn’t mock my slow pace because of his cantankerous mood.
Ryder ran through the instructions on bridling again, only this time I was the one holding the leather contraption. On my first attempt, the horse backed into a wall. The next try, it merely shook me loose and trotted away. The third time, Ryder slipped his arms around me and took my hands through the motions. It was all second nature to him, the horse, the bridle, and me. I concentrated on holding the bit in place, instead of breathing in the cologne he wore.
“How do I get her to open up?” I asked as I held the bit ready.
I could feel his smile against my cheek as he spoke. “Stick your thumb in the corner of her mouth. She’ll open it.”
Grimacing, I edged my thumb into the warm, sticky crack in the horse’s lips and her mouth smacked open. I urged the bit in, but bumped the mare’s teeth along the way.
“Careful,” Ryder said with edge to his voice, “that hurts.”
I looped the bridle earpiece over the mare’s ear and pulled free of Ryder’s grasp. The warmth of his arms felt unbearable when he belonged to someone else.
“What?” he demanded as frustration pulled at his voice.
“Nothing,” I said, even though it wasn’t true.
Slipping the bridle from the horse, he shoved the leather contraption at me and walked the mare back to her stall. While he was gone, I hung the bridle and waited for my prickly partner to return. I heard the wheelbarrow before I heard his footsteps. From the smell alone, I knew my next chore.
“The one chore you will do the most at Rockin’ B is cleaning up the manure. Everyone takes their turn. Lucky for you I gave the entire stable staff the week off. There’s plenty to clean.”
I wanted to glare at him, wipe the grin from his face and remind him that he was the one who’d moved on, not me. But I knew it was pointless. All the blame fell squarely on my shoulders.
Scooping manure was one activity I didn’t need a lesson on. I grabbed the pronged manure fork and went to work.
♦ ♦ ♦
I stayed well after sunset in the barn, determined to familiarize myself with the sights and sounds. I’d worked undercover before, and the key was immersion. No one would believe that I had grown up a Billings child if I watched the horses with uncertainty and twitched every time they came near me. I filled wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow until my injured shoulder ached and I could do no more. After a couple stalls, I tried talking with my barn mates. Horses made good listeners. They weren’t as judgmental as the friends I’d known in my past.
That night, after I practically crawled up the stairs to my bedroom, I found a plate of pasta waiting on my dresser and four wardrobe boxes. I picked through the pasta, snacking where I could and pulled a few items loose from the racks. Cassidy was my size, for that I was grateful, but she was all country. Skin tight jeans, tank tops, and collared button ups seemed to be her style. It wasn’t far off my jeans and t-shirts, but hers tended to sparkle in the sunlight, whereas mine were stained with blood or mustard from close scrapes and fast food.
After a shower, I changed into a pair of Cassidy’s pajamas, determined to continue my immersion, and pulled medication from my bag. I removed the syringe from its casing and glanced over the clothes again. Ryder needed to tell me more about Cassidy. The horse knowledge was important, but her personality was essential.
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. Suspecting Louise, I called, “Come in.”
The door cracked open and Ryder slipped inside. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
The mattress bowed beneath my weight as I sat and said, “Of course not. What do you need?”
His teeth ran over his bottom lip, his eyes glued to the floor as his head tilted away from me. “I wanted to apologize,” he finally said. “I know I haven’t been pleasant today.”
“No need. Things happen,” I tried to assure him.
Fingers pressed in at his temples and then slipped back through his hair to interlock at the back of his head. “I thought it would be easy to have you here, but it’s not. It’s torture.”
It was my turn to look at the ground. “I can go back to my p
lace.”
“No.” The answer was quick and decisive. “My mother needs you.”
“So what do we do?” I asked.
He was fresh out of suggestions. Instead, he sank next to me on the bed, bouncing my body as he did so.
“I thought you were gone,” he said. “I never thought you’d come back.”
I laughed pathetically. “I’m a bad penny, hard to shake.”
His chuckle matched mine. “Yeah, here when I don’t want you, gone when I do.” Ryder sobered as he caught my eyes again. “It is hard being in this house. I get temperamental every time I come back, too many bad years here.” Ryder paused as if he felt unsure of whether I was worthy of his confession. “My childhood memories are beyond my grasp, like staring through fog. All I have is the impression that they’re awful memories, maybe even terrifying. The longer I stay here, the more they knock on me, demanding I listen. I don’t know if I can’t remember them, or if I’m choosing not to.”
I wondered if those memories had anything to do with the revolver Isabelle kept under her sofa cushion.
“I promise to be patient. You know me, I’m hard to offend.” He didn’t laugh at my lame attempt at humor like I expected him to, so I asked, “If you hate it here, why do you come? It’s obvious you’re here more than the lighthouse.”
His foot twitched, a gentle rhythmic vibration. “It’s close to Vanessa. She lives nearby. It’s easier to see her if I’m here.”
Her name jumbled up in my throat with emotions of the not-so-friendly sort. When the words came out of my mouth, they were tangled with the true emotions I tried to hide.
“What’s she like?”
He heard the jagged edge, but ignored it. “She’s gorgeous, and smart. She’s funny and reliable.” That last quality was meant as a jab. “She works as a waitress at night on the weekends, but she’s in marketing the rest of the week. She’s on a business tour this week, so she’s not around.” With a little hope in his voice he added, “I think you would like her if you met her.”
I doubted it. Was there an emotion stronger than doubt? If there was, that was how I felt.
Saddles & Sabotage Page 5