Soul Deep

by Pamela Clare

  Janet walked up to the first stall. “Hi, beautiful.”

  The mare tossed her head and walked over to greet Jack, who took a carrot out of his coat pocket and handed it to Janet. “That’s Baby Doe. Last time we bred her, she ended up pregnant with twins and had a partial uterine torsion. We had to ship her off to Colorado State University for round-the-clock care. We got lucky. She survived, and so did both of the foals—a rare thing with twins.”

  “I’m so glad she’s okay.” Janet held the carrot out on her palm, felt the mare’s lips brush softly over her hand as she took the carrot and began to crunch. “I thought I knew a lot about horses, but in the past five minutes, I’ve discovered that I really don’t. And thanks for the carrot.”

  Jack grinned. “I wanted you to make a good first impression.”

  She moved to the next stall, where a pale mare was craning her neck, trying to get at some stray hay. Using her cane to help her balance, Janet bent carefully down and picked up the hay, then held it out on her palm. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Molly Brown.”

  Janet saw a pattern. “You’ve named the mares after famous Colorado women.”

  Jack grinned. “Seemed like a good thing to do.”

  “I like it.”

  In short order, she’d fed carrots to Chipeta, Isabella Bird, Julia Greeley, and a sweet little yearling filly named Clara Brown.

  Then they came to an enormous gelding. “He’s huge!”

  “That’s Buckwheat, my granddaughter’s horse. He’s the first horse Emily rode, and she fell in love with him.”

  “I can see why.” Janet stroked the velvet of his muzzle.

  “He’s a big old softie, aren’t you, Buckwheat?”

  The gelding whickered, nuzzled Jack, who patted his shoulder. “I thought we’d tack him up, get you up on his back, and let you get a feel for riding again—if you’re up to it, that is.”

  Janet gaped at him, her heart ricocheting around inside her ribcage. “I don’t know. How will I mount him? What if I fall?”

  “We had a veteran who was a triple amputee ride Buckwheat last summer. I once watched a woman who was paralyzed from the waist down ride him. You’ll do fine.”

  Up until this moment, riding had been an abstract thought, a wish, not a real plan. Now that she was faced with getting up on a horse again, she couldn’t tell if her heart was pounding from excitement or fear. But if amputees and people who were paralyzed had the courage to try, then, damn it, so did she.

  “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  “You’ve got it.” Jack grinned, entered Buckwheat’s stall, clipped a lead rope to the gelding’s halter, and led him out of the stall and down the center walkway to a hallway, the walls of which were hung with tack. He tied off Buckwheat’s lead rope and began to saddle him. “You’re ready for some exercise, aren’t you, boy?”

  She watched while Jack saddled and bridled Buckwheat, some part of her unable to believe she was really going to do this.

  “We’ll have you mount him from the left side using our larger mounting block so that I can be there to support you,” Jack was saying.

  Janet only heard part of that, her mouth dry. “Okay.”

  He checked the girth, then took hold of Buckwheat’s reins. “Come on, buddy.”

  Janet followed them around a corner and down a short hallway to a sliding door that opened to reveal the attached riding barn—an enormous structure with a floor of groomed sand. It was chilly compared to the barn, but she barely noticed the cold, the idea that she was about to mount a horse driving all other thoughts away.

  Jack led Buckwheat a few feet inside the riding barn, then waited for her to catch up. “Mind holding the reins? I need to get the mounting block.”

  Janet took the reins, stroked Buckwheat’s powerful neck, spoke in soothing tones to the gelding, though it was her own nerves she was trying to quell. “We’re going to get along just fine, aren’t we?”

  Jack returned in less than a minute, carrying a large mounting block. It had three steps and space on top that was big enough to accommodate two people. He set it down on Buckwheat’s left side, then checked the tightness of the girth once again. He reached for the reins. “Ms. Killeen, your steed awaits.”

  Janet took a deep breath, started up the steps, Jack’s strong hand on her waist as he followed her. She reached the top, turned to face the horse, instinctively reaching for the saddle horn, her cane still in her right hand. “How do I do this?”

  “Take hold of the saddle, lean into me, and lift your left foot into the stirrup.”

  She tried to do what he’d suggested, but she had trouble controlling her left foot to get it into the stirrup. She just couldn’t make it flex. But before she could give up, he knelt down, caught her foot, and guided it into position.

  “Lean on me, and swing your right leg over.”

  Janet was about to lift her right leg, when Buckwheat shifted. She lost her balance, her pulse rocketing. “Shit!”

  Strong arms held her fast. “I’ve got you.”

  She looked into Jack’s eyes, tears pricking her eyes. “I’m afraid.”

  “I know you are, but you can do this. I know you can. Try again, and don’t let his movements spook you. He’s not going anywhere, and neither am I.”

  “Will you ride with me? Maybe if you’re on the horse, too… “

  He nodded. “Sure. But you’re mounting first. You need to do this so that you know you can.”

  “Okay.” Janet dropped her cane behind her, letting it fall into the sand. She took hold of the saddle horn with her left hand, and put her weight on her left foot, leaning into Jack for support as she lifted her right leg over the gelding’s back.

  And then she was sitting in the saddle.

  “I did it!” She buried her fingers in the gelding’s thick, blond mane.

  “Yes, you did.” Jack swung up into the saddle behind her, wrapped one arm around her waist, his thighs pressed against hers, his chest hard against her back. “Are you in any pain?”

  He was so close that she could feel his breath against her hair, his voice deep, his scent surrounding her.

  She shook her head, not wanting to tell him exactly what she was feeling at this particular moment. “I’m fine.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear.” Holding the reins in his left hand, he urged Buckwheat forward. “Come on, boy. The lady wants to ride.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jack walked Buckwheat around the barn, giving the gelding time to get used to their weight and Janet time to adjust to sitting in the saddle. “How does it feel?”

  “It feels great.”

  He glanced down, saw the dimple in her cheek, and knew she was smiling.

  There was something healing about horses. He had watched his son help Megan, who’d suffered terrible sexual abuse and misuse as a teen, learn to trust again by riding in this very barn. He’d watched friends of Nate’s, veterans who’d been burned and maimed, rediscover a sense of masculinity through riding. He’d watched dozens of children—autistic kids, kids from abusive homes, kids with terminal illnesses—find joy through the equine therapy program to which the Cimarron donated horses.

  He hoped Janet would find healing here, too, though not purely for unselfish reasons. If she enjoyed herself during her stay, maybe she’d come back, and maybe…

  You’re getting ahead of yourself, old man.

  “Ready to go faster?”

  “Yes!”

  Jack decided not to trot the horse, given that it would make Janet bounce in the saddle, something that could be uncomfortable and tiring even for riders without injuries. Instead, he brought Buckwheat to a lope.

  In front of him, Janet laughed, the sound like music. “This is wonderful!”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

  It stirred his blood being close to her like this, her bottom touching his thighs, her back pressed against his chest, her sweet scent filling his head. He was as aware of her as
he was the big animal that moved beneath them, and could feel that she was aware of him, too. He tightened his thighs around the horse and felt her tense. He adjusted his hold around her waist and heard her quick inhalation. He rested his cheek against the silk of her hair and felt her relax into him.

  If they’d had decent weather, he would have been able to take her on a ride around the ranch. He would have packed a lunch and a bottle of wine and taken her up on one of the trails that passed through groves of old-growth aspens. But the snow was too deep, and he wouldn’t want her out there now anyway, not until he knew who’d shot Chinook and why. And so they were confined to the barn.

  Janet didn’t seem to mind, and neither did Buckwheat, who tugged at the bit, wanting to let loose.

  “Think you can handle a gallop?”

  “Bring it on!”

  Jack let the gelding have his head, and off they went, galloping in circles and figure-eights, Janet’s laughter making him smile. She showed no fear, but sat a horse well, her body’s response to the animal’s motions instinctive and fluid. He’d have been able to tell she was an experienced rider even if she hadn’t told him.

  When he sensed that Buckwheat’s restless energy was spent, he brought him to a lope and then back to a walk.

  “How did that feel?”

  “Wonderful.” Her voice was tight, a single tear trickling down her cheek.

  It must be hell to have one’s life torn apart like she had. Yes, Jack had endured his share of loss, but he’d never been the one to suffer. He’d seen his fellow Rangers die in combat. He’d found his wife’s lifeless body. He’d had to watch while Nate dealt with the unimaginable pain and suffering of his burns, then had his own heart broken as his son came to grips with living life with a disfigured face. But Jack’s life had changed very little, revolving around the ranch and the changing seasons as it always had.

  Janet hadn’t been as badly wounded as Nate, but the life she’d known was gone just the same. It felt good to be able to give some part of that life back to her.

  Jack walked Buckwheat, let the gelding cool down, and then brought him to a halt back at the mounting block. Jack dismounted first, then helped Janet. He let her do most of the work, but kept one arm around her waist just in case. She felt slender and soft in his arms, every inch a woman.

  As her left foot came out of the stirrup, she lost her balance. “Oh!”

  “I’ve got you.” He caught her, held her fast.

  For a moment they stood face to face, his arms around her, their bodies pressed together, her palms flat against his chest.

  She smiled, a trail of moisture on each cheek from her tears. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs, his gaze dropping to her mouth. Her lips tempted him. Hell, yes, they did.

  But he’d made a promise, and he’d keep that promise until hell froze over and he’d walked five miles on the ice.

  Still holding fast to Buckwheat’s reins, he turned and helped her down the stairs. “I just want to point out that you got down without your cane.”

  She looked up at him, surprise in those green eyes. “I completely forgot about it. Well, I had your help.”

  Jack walked over and retrieved it from the sand. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.” She took it from him, smiled. “By the way, I’ve decided to stay the week—if that’s still okay.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

  It only bothered him a little to think she was most likely staying for the horses and not because of him.

  # # #

  Janet followed Jack back to the stables, her pulse still pounding from the thrill of their ride, her heart lighter than it had been in months. She’d actually sat in the saddle and ridden again—thanks to Jack. She wasn’t certain she’d have done it if he hadn’t been there to push and help her.

  He’d called himself an “old codger” yesterday, but that’s not what she saw when she looked at him. She saw a man who was gentle with both animals and people. She saw a man who loved the land, did strenuous work in the outdoors, and lived according to his own creed. The fact that he was incredibly good looking, physically fit, and kissed like a god only made him more amazing.

  Riding together, his arm around her waist, the hard wall of his chest behind her, had left her feeling more aware of herself as a woman than she’d felt in a very long time. When they’d stood together on the mounting block moments ago, she’d seen his gaze drop to her mouth and had found herself fighting the urge to kiss him. It would have been so easy, and she would have loved every moment of it. But she didn’t want to start something she couldn’t finish. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

  Jack was telling her about the stables—when they’d been built and rebuilt, something about a fire—but his words barely registered, her attention fixed on the way he walked, the innate grace of his stride, his skill with the horse and, yes, okay, his ass. She could hardly blame herself. He did look fantastic in a pair of well-worn jeans.

  She watched as Jack clipped cross ties to the bridle, removed first the saddle and then the saddle blanket, hanging them from hooks on the wall. She found a curry comb and began to rub the gelding down, starting at his neck. “Was Buckwheat born here, too?”

  “Yeah, he was. Chipeta is his dam. He was sired by a stallion from another ranch. He had some conformation flaws, particularly around his head, so we gelded him just after he was weaned. He’s a damned good cattle horse and has a great disposition.”

  Janet glanced up, her gaze drawn again to Jack, who had grabbed another comb and was working on Buckwheat’s other side. “What qualities do you look for when you decide which colts get to keep their balls?”

  Jack met her gaze over Buckwheat’s back, one dark eyebrow arching, a grin tugging at his lips. “A good mind and disposition—those are the most important. After that, I look for correct conformation—straight legs, good hips and shoulders, a nice head and neck. A colt that doesn’t meet all of those criteria gets gelded. There are other things that can tip the scale—gait, athletic ability. What I’m looking for is a perfect representation of the breed.”

  “How often do you find that?”

  “I’d say one out of fifteen to twenty foals makes the cut.”

  She winced at his choice of words. “Or escapes it.”

  Jack grinned. “We do use anesthesia, you know. It’s not like I chase them around the corral with a machete. Besides, geldings live much more contented lives than stallions.”

  “How do you figure? Chinook has more sex than most people, while poor Buckwheat here gets nothing.”

  “Stallions are slaves to their biology. Their lives carry a fair amount of stress. They’re biologically geared to do two things: fight and mate.”

  “That sounds like a lot of the guys I’ve helped put in the penitentiary.”

  He chuckled. “There are times I’ve wondered if we wouldn’t make the world a better place by treating human males more like we treat colts.”

  “So now we’re talking about mating people?” The words were out before she could stop them. Was she flirting with him?

  “Well, I was talking more about castrating some of the male variety, but if your mind is on mating, that’s okay. Let’s go there.”

  “What qualities would you look for in a woman?”

  She was flirting with him—and he was flirting back.

  He laughed. “If I had the mindset of a stallion, only one—willingness. For a male of any species, success at mating is all about spreading your seed.”

  “That’s lovely.” That also described a lot of the men she’d known.

  “Fortunately, I am not ruled by biology. It’s brains over balls.”

  “Meaning what?” She looked up, her gaze connecting with his.

  “Meaning I spent thirty-eight years making a study of just one woman, trying to be the man she deserved.”

  In his words, Janet heard the love he’d fel
t for his wife. He’d been devoted to her, and he’d been faithful to her. Then he’d lost her.

  She realized she was staring at him, her hand motionless on the gelding’s flank. “You must miss her very much.”

  “I do.” Jack smiled, his blue eyes looking into hers. “But lately I’ve been thinking life just might have a few surprises left for me.”

  And Janet found it hard to breathe.

  # # #

  Jack fixed cross ties to Chinook’s halter then held fast to the cheek piece to steady the animal, knowing full well that ropes wouldn’t hold the stallion if he were truly frightened or upset. “No sudden sounds or movements, and we’ll be fine. If your camera has a flash on it, turn it off.”

  Det. Sgt. Taylor, a young man perhaps in his thirties, made an adjustment to his camera, then moved closer to photograph the wound on the stallion’s forearm and the stippling on his skin, the camera’s electronic buzz making Chinook nervous.

  Jack hadn’t wanted to get outsiders involved in his problems, but Janet had made him realize that he really had no choice, not if he wanted to protect his horses and find the shooter.

  When Taylor was done, Sheriff Rove bent down to examine the wound. “Sure looks like a graze to me. You say you found the slug?”

  Jack reached into his coat pocket and drew out the plastic sandwich bag that held the slug. “Ms. Killeen found it embedded in the barn wall. I’ll take you outside and show you where she found it when you’re finished here.”

  The sheriff took the bag, looked at the slug. “It’s a forty-five for sure. You’re the one who found it, ma’am?”

  Janet stood at a respectful distance beside Chuck. “Yes.”

  Because she’d been here when the shooting had happened, Janet would probably be asked to make a statement. Jack hated seeing her get dragged into this. He didn’t want her having nightmares again.

  The sheriff was still examining the slug, a frown on his face. “I had some hunters report a forty-five stolen from one of their vehicles a couple of days before the storm hit—a Kimber 1911 with custom camo grips. They admitted to trespassing on your land and said they thought you had taken it to get back at them.”