by Karen Rock
What’s the point? whispered the devil. Not like you can ride him again. Care for him.
But she and Harley had a bond that went deep. Besides handling him morning and evening, she’d talked to him a lot. While grooming him, or letting him eat “better” grass on the stable’s front yard, she’d filled him in on rodeo winners, cried over barrel racing icon Scamper’s passing, sympathized with his “picked last in gym” herd status, and generally kept up a running conversation. She believed she could rattle on about the rising price of corn feed and Harley would think all was right with the world.
And after her father’s cancer diagnosis, Harley had been there. She’d cried lots of tears into that silver mane of his. Had hung on to him when it’d felt as though her whole world was falling apart. He kept her from crumbling, too. She never could have gotten through that terrible time without him...or Jared...
Abandoning Harley was inexcusable.
A spoon clanged against ceramic. Her unflustered, steely-souled mother stirring the tea.
Daddy’s last words came back to her. “I know you’re going to be okay. You are strong.”
And she’d believed it, until now.
“When do you need Harley gone by?”
“Joan’s in quite a state, as you can imagine. She’s got students booked for her program, and now she’s laid up. Plus, we won’t be able to get anyone to care for Harley. So—”
“I’ll come down,” she cut him off.
A hand appeared in her line of vision, and the mug her mother set down banged against the table. Puffs of pungent steam swept off the surface and curled beneath her nose.
“Not sure if that’d make a difference.”
“If I keep up his stall, can he stay? Least until I figure out next steps?”
She could see general shapes when she was close-up and in small spaces, like a stall. Heck, she’d cleaned the stable’s stalls so many times, she could do it blind. It’d hurt to be nothing better than a stall mucker, but she’d do anything to help the horse that’d done so much for her.
Benny made a noise like a shrug. “Well. That’d solve some of the issues.”
“Some?”
“He’s not socializing well with the other horses in pasture. Acting out.”
“Needs exercise,” her mother murmured beside her.
“That Charlotte?” Benny hollered.
“Howdy, Ben!” her mother called. “Just thinking there isn’t anything wrong with Harley some regular riding wouldn’t sort out.”
“That a fact.”
Amberley’s body tightened, her muscles clenched. She’d been resisting her mother’s plea to sell Harley. Now it seemed she faced a rock-and-a-hard-place decision. Sell Harley, or find a way to interact with him that wouldn’t leave her feeling worse than ever.
She’d avoided anything that reminded her of the old days. Had asked her mother to remove all her trophies. Stopped listening to rodeo on the radio. Cut Harley and Jared right out of her life. Now she understood how much her decisions affected others. Jared called her selfish, and he had the right of it when it came to Harley.
A steel band tightened around her chest at the thought of letting Harley go. Yet Harley’s needs mattered most. First step, visit Jordan Stables, settle him down, get him comfortable and put out feelers for buyers.
Champion barrel racers like Harley sold quickly. He might even make the ERA Premier touring team she’d dreamed about, and he deserved that spotlight. The glory. He’d trained hard for it, right alongside her.
She recalled something she’d read on a poster once: “If you love something, let it go, even when you know it’s never coming back.”
Or something like that.
It applied to her and Jared, too.
“Just give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be down.”
“Mighty appreciated,” Benny said, then hung up.
A little while later, her mother pulled to a stop in front of Jordan Stables. The familiar scents of manure, hay and horse assailed Amberley as she eased out of the car and stood with a hand on the warm car hood. Memories, sharp and sweet, rushed through her, stinging her eyes and heart. Once this had been her sanctuary. Now she felt like a stranger. Worse. Like she didn’t belong.
“Howdy, ladies.” Benny’s unmistakable twang rang out.
She turned in the direction of his voice and recognized the barrel shape of him, the rolling gate of his bowed legs. He wore the same ten-gallon hat. That much she could make out. As for the rest, her memory about the grizzled man filled in the blanks.
“How’s Joan?” Amberley jumped, then swatted at a biting horsefly. In the distance, a group of riders lined up atop horses in one of the corrals.
“Resting for now, otherwise I’d take you to her.”
“Please give her this and our apologies.” Charlotte handed over a couple of banana walnut loaves she’d baked this morning. The sweet, nutty smell passed beneath Amberley’s nose as the foil-wrapped rectangles exchanged hands.
Now that Amberley thought about it, her mother cooked a lot lately and she’d taken time off from work to care for her. Was her career suffering? Did she resent being tied to the house alongside Amberley? Regret flashed inside. She didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. She’d been taught better than that.
Amberley’s life might be done, but that didn’t mean the same was true for her mama. Or Jared. Or Harley.
She had to find a way to cut ties with all of them. Otherwise she would bring them all down.
“That’s mighty kind. Thank ya,” wheezed Benny.
“Wish we could do more,” her mother demurred.
Speaking of which...
“Mind if I go and check on Harley?”
“Still got him in the third stall.” A sweep of movement, Benny’s arm, she guessed, pointed her in the right direction.
“Thank you.” She took a tentative step toward the long, ramshackle building that housed most of the stable’s horses. Overhead, birds twittered among the rustling branches of the mighty oaks that covered much of the property. A horse’s neigh spurred on two more, and a shifting movement from the mounts in the corral caught her eye. Her foot encountered something sticking up from the ground, a root maybe, and she stumbled forward, only to feel her mother’s hand at her elbow, steadying her.
“Got you, honey.”
Amberley swallowed down the loss of all that she couldn’t see and focused on Harley. Several paces farther and her fingers brushed the rough edge of the half door to his stall. Inside, a large black shape lifted its head and twisted its neck to eyeball her.
“Hey, Harley,” she cooed, and he lowered his head and blew. His stamping hooves shifted through the straw bed. “Sorry I haven’t been around.”
Lifting the hard metal latch, she eased open the door and made to slide inside.
“Honey. That may not be safe,” her mother cautioned.
“It’s Harley.”
In an instant, she threw her arms around his warm neck and buried her face in his tangled silver mane. When had he last been brushed? The rise of dust from his pelt itched her nose, and she sneezed.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she crooned, and Harley dropped his head to her shoulder at last, nickering, shaking slightly in his withers. “Should never ever have abandoned you.”
Another rumble emerged from the back of his throat. His soft lips brushed against her jawbone and his warm breath rushed by her ear.
“I was scared. Still am. But I’m going to do right by you now,” she vowed, feeling around for a brush. Harley needed her and she needed him. That was plain.
An hour later, she and her mother led Harley by a corral on their way to the pasture. The rise and fall of excited children’s voices indicated a lesson in progress.
“You need to wear your helmet,” she heard an adult exclaim.
/> “Watch her back brace,” someone else warned.
“No! I don’t want to!” she heard a girl scream. “Please don’t make me. Please!”
Harley slowed and his ears twitched. She clucked to keep him moving, but he seemed more interested in the commotion. Was this the therapy program her doctor had mentioned? If so, good thing she hadn’t joined it. Why force people with disabilities to confront everything they couldn’t do? It was demoralizing.
“Is that Amberley James?” she heard someone squeal. She froze.
“Yes, it is!”
“Amberley!”
A rush of movement, color and shapes, closed in on the fence. Harley sidestepped but otherwise stayed calm.
She’d gotten recognized plenty in her old life. But now, she just wanted to be forgotten. Since she had stayed away from the news, she hadn’t yet heard how the rodeo community responded to her vision loss. Her mother and her agent resolved her former contract obligations. That much she knew, but little else.
Still, she couldn’t deny that a bead of warmth expanded inside at the children’s excitement to see her.
“Howdy,” she called in their general direction.
“Ride? Ride? Ride?” demanded a little boy. A blur of motion at his sides suggested he flapped his hands.
“Can you teach me to be a barrel racer?” asked a child who didn’t appear to have any hair given the bare flesh tone surrounding her head.
Cancer?
Her heart squeezed.
“Oh. No. I—uh—I don’t ride much anymore.”
“See!” cried the child she’d heard earlier. “Amberley’s blind like me and she won’t ride, so I don’t have to either. I want to go home!”
“Well. Ah...” She stalled, unable to agree with that sentiment. Riding helped her during the years her thick glasses made her feel different from other kids. Working with horses gave her a taste of success and achievement. She didn’t want this little one to leave defeated because of her.
“It sure would mean a lot to the kids if you’d join us today,” said a voice she recognized. Joan’s daughter, Belle, home from college. “Not to mention we’re a bit understaffed at the moment.”
Amberley winced, thinking of injured Joan and Harley’s role in it. She owed it to the Jordans to help. At least for today.
“I might take Harley around once,” Amberley said slowly, hardly believing the words as she spoke them. “If you will, too. What’s your name?”
The little girl bowed a head of what looked like blond curls. “Fran.”
“Alright, Fran. If I walk Harley around, do you think you might try for me?”
“Okay.”
A moment later, she guided Harley into the corral, surprised at his lack of hesitation. He stepped forward, sure-footed and eager. In fact, she’d never sensed him this excited, not even before a barrel race.
Was he showing off for the kids?
“Here you go.” With an oomph, Benny hefted Harley’s saddle over her horse’s back. She didn’t need her eyesight for this, she mused, while her fingers flew nimbly, fastening and cinching out of habit. A budding light of confidence flickered inside.
With a boost from Benny, she swung her leg around Harley, and her lips twitched up in an unstoppable smile. Settling back in the saddle felt good. Like coming home.
“Fran? Kids? You ready?”
“Yes!” they chorused.
“I’ll lead you around,” her mother called from below, but Amberley shook her head. She could manage this small-sized corral, and she’d discern the fence in time to avoid it.
Most important, at least for today, she wanted to imagine that she could ride Harley on her own. She owed it to her horse, to injured, shorthanded Joan, and to her mother, who needed to stop fussing and get her life back.
Maybe, in this insular little world, Amberley could pretend she had a purpose after all.
Chapter Four
SWEAT TRICKLED DOWN Jared’s jaw as he rode his eleven-year-old quarter horse, Chance, behind a herd of ambling longhorns. Petey, a stray who’d become one of the ranch’s top work dogs, loped along. Overhead, a vast blue sky arched above craggy mountaintops. The musky smells of livestock and leather mingled with the sweet pine of the tree breaks in the clear, dry air.
Nothing invigorated him like riding in high open spaces, he thought, chest expanding in a deep breath. Well, nothing except winning under the big lights and watching Amberley’s eyes light up in a smile.
He tamped down thoughts of his best friend. Amberley wanted nothing to do with him. Last week, she swore she didn’t need his help, and her rejection stung, leaving a rawness inside that hurt anytime his mind turned her way.
How was she?
Had her vision worsened?
Picturing her holed up in her house, giving up, bothered him to no end. It killed him to think of his gutsy, fearless pal that way. She’d never been a quitter and had succeeded in everything she’d done. Not a day passed without him staring down at his phone, willing himself not to call.
To leave her be.
He was a man of his word.
With a slight tug of the reins, he guided his sleek gray stallion around a depression in the field and clamped his teeth. But it made no lick of sense for her to walk away from their friendship. She meant a heck of a lot to him, and he’d thought that went for her, too.
Guess he’d been wrong.
Or she was just being stubborn.
His money was on his second guess, but how to know for certain?
Don’t interfere with something that ain’t botherin’ you none, his pa always said.
But it did. Maybe too much.
Enough.
He swayed slightly in the saddle and forced his mind on the day’s tasks. His gaze traveled over the brown-and-white-spotted cattle, checking for stragglers. Black-and-white herding dogs prowled on the edge of the lowing, bleating group, working seamlessly with him and his siblings as they drove the cows and their offspring toward the day’s pasture on the western edge of Laurel Canyon.
As a grass-fed, organic beef operation that guaranteed humane treatment of its animals, Cade Ranch avoided artificial fertilizers and pesticides. Instead, they moved their cows daily on a two-week rotation system that allowed the land time to recover between grazing periods. The labor-intensive work entailed traveling on horseback instead of ATVs to keep the cattle relaxed and used to their presence. The natural, chemical-free environment, begun by his father shortly before his passing eleven years ago, was good for the herd and for the business. They commanded top dollar on the beef market.
He sure wished his personal life was that successful.
Life had gone his way before his ACL injury and now this roadblock with Amberley. He’d made grudging peace with giving up professional football, his lifelong dream. But how long before he’d let his longtime friend go?
His nonstop thoughts of her suggested no time soon.
When a couple of longhorns halted and dipped their heads to a grassy spot, he squeezed Chance’s side, trotting closer. He pursed his lips, but Petey rushed forward before he whistled, anticipating human directives in his uncanny way. Jared yanked off his hat and waved it in front of his flushed face as Petey’s lunges got the cows hoofing again. The heated air barely stirred the hair plastered to his forehead.
He had a date tonight with a new gal. A pretty little thing. Sweet and friendly and easygoing. Uncomplicated—just the way he preferred. And she liked daisies, he recalled. She’d told him so when he’d complimented her flower hair clip at last night’s county fair. As for her name, he struggled to recall it since they’d spoken only briefly at her busy 4-H fair booth.
Laureen.
He shook his head, shooed away a nagging fly and settled his hat back on, pulling the brim low against the sun.
Lorann
e.
No. Still not right.
Laurie-Anne.
Aw. Shoot. He’d have to ask his little sister, Jewel, who loved giving him grief about his pathetic (her words) dating life. But seeing as the only male in Jewel’s life was her black stallion, Bear, Jared didn’t put much stock in her opinion. He’d never had any trouble with women except keeping their names straight from time to time, and now Amberley freezing him out.
But Amberley wasn’t just a woman. Well. Not the dating kind. Sure, when he’d first spotted her at a local junior rodeo, he’d wanted to ask her out. He’d never seen a prettier girl. Astride a mount that looked too big for her dainty frame, thick, honey-blond hair swinging beneath a black cowboy hat, eyes so blue a boy could drown in them, he’d frozen in his boots, sure he’d glimpsed an angel. Her white teeth flashed when her rosy lips parted in a smile at the fawning crowd of young men. Then her gaze tangled with his and she’d rolled her eyes, ever so slightly, a comical gesture, a private communication, that began a connection that’d strengthened through the years.
Until now.
His personal life wasn’t much without her in it. As for his professional life—he stifled a yawn—it wasn’t exactly fulfilling these days either. Chance’s head bobbed up and down as he wove in between the cattle with Petey sticking close, checking individual cows for signs of fatigue or distress.
Once he’d imagined his destiny the way his father described it: cheers, trophies and records, a hero’s life, not this sedate ranch work punctuated by local wins at rodeo or pool competitions. He needed more, something to divert his attention longer than another evening with the latest gal to catch his eye. What that was, though...well...he couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d gone so long seeing his life, his future, through his father’s eyes, he couldn’t envision it on his own.
If you’re not makin’ dust you’re eatin’ it.
Ever since returning to sleepy Carbondale for good, he’d battled a constant choking sensation. Seemed his old life wasn’t as easy to swallow anymore.
The returning shadows cast by a cluster of ponderosa pines suggested they’d passed lunch without a break, a fact confirmed by his rumbling stomach. They’d been laboring since dawn, ahead of the heat that now made his plaid shirt cling to his sore muscles and his thighs chafe beneath leather-chaps-covered jeans. Even his toes, crammed inside dirt-splattered boots, slid against each other.