Myra brushed her hand over the saddle, rubbing away a thin film of dust that had settled on the well-oiled, soft leather. She tried—unsuccessfully—not to picture Ainslee’s crotch and thighs in contact with the saddle. She shifted the stirrups forward and wiped off the long flaps, and her hand tingled with the imagined caress of Ainslee’s thighs.
She decided against her original plan of carrying the saddle into the barn for Ainslee. She didn’t need a groom toting things around for her—better to let her do the work herself. Besides, Myra needed some time to yank her mind out of its delusional fantasies about Ainslee’s body and get her focus back onto the business at hand today. Maybe flinging a few more bags of grain around the feed room would help her exorcise the pressure building in her own body. She draped the saddle over Ainslee’s forearm, careful to keep touch to a minimum.
“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” she said, holding the tack room door open as Ainslee limped through it. “Chris is in the barn if you need help with anything.”
Ainslee only nodded, not making eye contact. Myra stood still for a moment and watched Ainslee walk away from her. She moved slowly, awkwardly, but something seemed to tremble through the air around her. A need to run? To find some sort of release from the restrictions of her new physique?
Myra wasn’t sure how to help, and she needed to allay her own physical tension before the lesson. She jogged to the truck and grabbed one of the few remaining feed sacks. Kate had put a big dent in the load of grain, and Myra hurried to make up for the time she’d missed.
She finished the last trip and slammed the tailgate shut just as Blake’s car pulled into the parking lot. She waited for him near the barn entrance.
“Hey, Myra,” he said, offering a more genuine smile than she’d seen from him so far.
“Hi, Blake. How are you feeling after last week’s lesson?”
He grimaced and then laughed, pushing blond bangs out of his eyes as they walked together down the barn aisle. “I didn’t believe you when you said we might be sore after only a few minutes on a horse. I guess I hadn’t realized how inactive I’ve been since…lately.”
Myra grinned. Trying new things, challenging their bodies and minds. The program was already beginning to fulfill its purpose. “Just wait until I start teaching you the posting trot. You’ll discover muscles you never knew you had.”
“I can’t wait.” Blake gave an exaggerated sigh. He stopped and faced her. “Seriously, though, I want to thank you for asking me to join this program. You know I’ve been separated from my family while I work some things out?”
Myra nodded. The details from her students’ applications and the letters from their therapists and doctors were so familiar to her they seemed part of her now.
“Well, visits have been strained, to say the least. All I wanted to do was apologize, and all Tracy seemed able to do was cry. We’d ask about each other’s lives, the same awkward conversations over and over.”
He paused and looked over her shoulder for a long moment. Myra sensed some of the frustration he must have felt during those meetings, while everyone walked on eggshells.
He looked at her again. “For the past two weeks, though, we’ve had something different to talk about. Heidi, my daughter, can’t get enough horse talk, and somehow we all seemed more at ease when she became her normal chatty self again. She’ll call tonight, wanting to hear every detail of my lesson. It feels good.”
Myra stayed in place, but she was jumping up and down like an excited child inside her head. She was familiar with small achievements like these after working with Kate’s program for so long, but they never failed to thrill her. The program wasn’t changing the world, but for Blake the simple joy of sharing a riding story with his daughter was a small miracle. She felt privileged to be part of it.
“The barn is closed to regular lessons and riders on Mondays. If you want, you can bring your family out here next week and your kids can meet Frosty. Around four thirty?”
“Yeah,” he said. “We’ll be here.”
He went over to the gray mare and started his grooming routine. Drew and Ainslee were already working on their horses, with Chris and Vanessa—two of Myra’s volunteers—helping them. Myra tugged on her tank top, loosening it where it had stuck against her chest while she had hauled grain bags at a punishing speed. She felt good. Exhausted enough from work so her mind stopped fretting about her attraction to Ainslee and her worries about the military program. Buoyed back to life by Blake’s progress here and with his family. For the first time in weeks, she felt she was capable of handling the lessons and the memories of Jeffrey without—
The thud of a metal hoof pick hitting the wall jarred her out of her smug reverie.
“Stop pushing me! I told you I was as close as I was going to get,” Ainslee shouted. She was facing Vanessa with a defiant and scowling expression on her face and her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Teenaged Vanessa stepped between Ainslee and Deacon, her hands held out either to placate Ainslee or to protect the horse in case she threw something at him. Probably both, Myra decided. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. One small victory had made her forget how far the students still had to go in the healing process, and how many challenges she’d yet to face while she helped them.
Although she wanted to rush into the scene and fix everything, she made herself walk slowly over to Deacon. Ainslee didn’t seem inclined to continue throwing things, and neither Vanessa nor Deacon appeared to be in danger. The horse was so accustomed to people and noises that he had done little more than prick his ears toward the sound of the hoof pick against the side of the barn.
Myra shook her head at Chris, who had come over to help, and he nodded in silent acknowledgment of her gesture. He went instead to where Drew and Blake were watching Ainslee and got them back to work on their own horses. Myra appreciated the easy communication with him, at least. The lanky, bearded young man had been working with her and Kate for years, and she could count on him to distract the other students and keep them safe so the disruption in the lesson didn’t escalate.
“What’s going on?” she asked, directing her question at Ainslee. Let her take responsibility for her actions instead of being discussed like a child by Myra and Vanessa.
“She kept harping at me to stand closer, but I can’t. She should have backed off when I told her to.” Ainslee’s cheeks had turned from pale olive to a blotchy red, and she was frowning so deeply that her full lower lip made her appear as petulant as a child. There was something heartbreakingly unguarded in her expression. Her pain was showing to the world, and she seemed incapable of controlling its expression and protecting herself. “Why does it matter anyway? Cleaning stupid horse hooves won’t change anything.”
“I’d never ask her to do something unsafe,” Vanessa said. “I only wanted her to move toward him a little to make it easier for her to hold his hoof, but I should have—”
Myra held up her hand before Vanessa could apologize. The girl was experienced, and Myra trusted she knew what she was doing with her students. “I understand, Vanessa. Please take Deacon back to his stall for me.”
Myra stepped closer to Ainslee as Vanessa led Deacon away from them. She suddenly remembered standing over the heater vents in her grandmother’s house when she was young. Ainslee’s anger blew at her with nearly as tangible a force. Myra wanted to reach beyond it, to see the wounds Ainslee was fiercely protecting. She wanted to join Ainslee’s battle against the unfairness of her injury. She wanted and wanted, but she wasn’t capable of fighting or cajoling her way through to Ainslee. And as much as she longed to forget everything else around her and focus on the beautiful, touchy, and hurting person in front of her, she had to do her job. That meant providing a safe place for her horses, her volunteers, and the class as a whole.
“Rule number four. Don’t bring your anger into the barn or around the horses.”
“I didn’t throw the hoof pick at Deacon. I’d never…I was just…” Ainslee’s
words sputtered to a halt.
“I know. If you had, I’d tell you to leave and never come back. Instead I’m telling you to take a break from riding today. Find another way to vent your anger, and we’ll be happy to have you join us again next week.”
Ainslee raised her hands in a gesture of disbelief. “You’re actually kicking me out of the lesson? The horse didn’t even flinch!”
“Deacon is very calm, but another horse might have been frightened by what you did. And Vanessa gives her time as a volunteer. She doesn’t deserve to be yelled at when she’s only trying to help.”
Ainslee stared at Myra before shaking her head in disbelief and walking away without another word. Her halting gait kept her from storming out of the barn like she probably wanted to do. Instead, the irregular clack of her leg against the concrete of the barn aisle seemed to echo for ages.
Drew, Blake, and Chris had been watching the interchange in silence, but now they broke into an overly cheerful-sounding conversation about bridles. Myra needed to get her attention back to them and continue the lesson, but instead she watched Ainslee limp down the aisle, pause briefly by Deacon’s stall to exchange a few words with Vanessa, and then disappear out the barn door. Myra was about to go after her—common sense and duty be damned—but Kate appeared through the side door of the barn and put a firm hand on Myra’s arm.
“You handled that well. Don’t doubt yourself. Let her go.”
“And if she doesn’t come back?” Myra asked. She knew the answer. It would be her fault. Her silent words mimicked the ones she had stopped Vanessa from saying. I should have…
“If she chooses not to come back, it’s up to her. You did the right thing.” Kate’s low voice was soothing, although not entirely convincing. “I have a feeling she’ll make the right decision and continue with lessons. Give her time to calm down, and time to heal.”
“You’re right. Thanks.” Myra gave Kate’s hand a pat and moved away from her and toward the other students. She wanted to help every rider who came through the barn, and she was sad each time one of them gave up and left. But she had never before felt as if part of herself was walking out the door.
Chapter Four
As quickly as Ainslee’s temper flared, it disappeared again, leaving her weak and confused. She kept to the shadows and leaned against the outer door to the barn with her eyes tightly closed while she tried to figure out what had just happened and where she should go now. She wanted to jump in her car and fly down the driveway with a spray of gravel, but she wasn’t even able to drive herself anywhere yet. Her neighbor Sasha would be back to pick her up after the lesson was over. Until then, since Myra had rudely kicked her out of the lesson, Ainslee would have to lie low and deal with her unpredictable range of emotions on her own, without any physical release from the frustration she felt.
She had tried to leave the barn with some dignity intact, but she had been hampered by her stiff gait and her need to stop and apologize to Vanessa. Even in Ainslee’s haze of temper, she had realized how uncharacteristically nasty she had been, and she had needed to make things right with Vanessa before she dealt with her own issues. Now, her fists were clenched so tightly she felt her short fingernails digging into the softened skin of her palms. She used to have calluses there, from her M16 and from regular visits to the obstacle course. She’d always had ways to burn off excess energy or emotion—run, jump, fight. What could she do now? Duck behind the barn. Hide behind a tree.
“Hello.”
Ainslee’s eyes flew open in surprise. A young girl with a strawberry blond ponytail was sitting close beside her in a wheelchair. Ainslee hadn’t even heard her approach. If she’d let her guard down so much on the battlefield, she’d be dead now. She calmed her breathing with a huge effort. She wasn’t there anymore. She was home.
“Hi,” she said shortly. She didn’t trust herself to carry on a civil conversation while she was still fighting to get control.
“I’m Anna. I know you’re Ainslee because I saw your name on the lesson board. Shouldn’t you be in the barn getting ready to ride?”
Ainslee looked away. She felt like she was living in a stranger’s body. She had always been strong and disciplined. She’d been aware of her feelings, not controlled by them. Now she couldn’t even identify her emotions anymore. She was weak. Jealousy, anger, despair. They seemed to rise out of nowhere, triggered by unidentifiable factors. Before she could figure out why she was throwing a hoof pick or yelling at someone, her mind was flung to another extreme. She couldn’t name her emotions or fight against them, but instead she was helplessly molded by them into someone she didn’t recognize. How could she explain any of this to Anna when she didn’t understand it herself?
“I…um, Myra decided I shouldn’t ride today.”
Anna’s laughter made Ainslee smile in spite of her foul mood. The sound was musical and carefree—exactly like a child’s laughter should be. Finally, something that made sense and seemed right to Ainslee. She couldn’t share Anna’s youthful joy, but she liked witnessing it for a brief moment.
“Aunt Myra doesn’t let you get away with anything,” Anna said.
Aunt Myra? Was she really a relative, or was this Kate’s daughter? Ainslee thought of Kate and Myra and the way they laughed and joked together. She felt her face flush and her fists screw tight again. What the hell was wrong with her?
“You look like you want to be alone,” Anna said. She pointed at a large open-sided building on the far edge of the parking lot. “The hay barn is the best place to hide out. Your new leg looks cool. Can you climb with it?”
“Well, thank you.” Ainslee heard her voice stutter a bit. People usually asked awkward questions about her leg, or—most often—they desperately tried to keep their gazes from wandering lower than her neck, as if ignoring her injury made it go away. She’d never had anyone compliment her limb, aside from the prosthetist who’d designed it for her. “I guess I could climb. That’s more upper body strength than legs, I suppose.”
“Then go to the top of the stack. I’m not allowed up there unless someone helps me, but it’s great. The hay smells good, and you can see the whole property. It’s a good place to think.”
Anna gave her a quick wave, and then she moved away. Ainslee stood still for a moment, feeling the residual sense of peace Anna had left with her. Anna had seemed to understand Ainslee’s turmoil and her need to find a private space where she could regain control. Ainslee didn’t know how Anna had come to need a wheelchair, but she had a feeling she had also dealt with some difficult emotions in her past. Somehow, the brief connection helped Ainslee feel a little less distressed and alone.
She glanced down the aisle and saw the other riders in her class starting to walk her way, so she skirted the parking lot in a series of quick hops on her sound leg and made it to the hay barn before the riders emerged. Ainslee peered around a wooden post, feeling like a guilty delinquent who was skipping class. Myra followed behind the riders and volunteers, glancing to her left and right every once in a while. Was she looking for Ainslee?
Ainslee turned away. Myra stirred up too many feelings inside her. She was having enough trouble with the chaos of her emotions after the accident and amputation of her leg. Myra seemed to be destroying what little equilibrium Ainslee had left.
She leaned against the post and stared at the imposing stack of hay bales. She’d sounded confident when she’d told Anna she was sure she could climb, but actually facing the obstacle, she felt anxious. There were a few bales scattered on the ground. Maybe she could just sit on one of those for an hour.
Ainslee sighed and walked over to the wall of hay. She reached high and slid her hands between two bales before lifting her right leg and wedging the edge of the prosthesis into a small gap. She pulled herself up and groped blindly for a place to fit her left foot. Her breath came in short gasps, more from panic than exertion, and she had to look down and remind herself she was only a couple feet off the ground. Still, when she fi
nally found purchase with her left leg, she clung to the hay for several minutes, afraid to move higher. Gritting her teeth, she reached overhead and started the process over again.
Ainslee’s fear escalated with each step higher, and her anger rose to match it. She hated being afraid. Afraid of Deacon—who was so gentle, but so big. Afraid of living without a leg. Afraid of facing this alien with extreme mood swings who seemed to have taken up residence in her mind and heart after the accident. Afraid of saying good-bye to the person she used to be.
Damn Myra. Hay dust clung to Ainslee’s face as her tears and the sweat of exertion wet her cheeks. Myra should have been more understanding. She should have felt sorry for Ainslee and calmed her down—like most people did these days—instead of booting her out of the lesson. Then Ainslee would be in the arena, walking calmly on Deacon while volunteers helped keep her steady in the saddle, instead of scaling this mountain of hay. Her biceps quivered as she strained to haul herself up another inch. She couldn’t stop now, even though she wanted to call for help, for someone to come rescue her, since she couldn’t seem to take care of herself anymore.
She moved her right leg to the next foothold, and then her left followed. Suddenly, instead of the consuming fear that had been controlling her, she felt the rhythm of the climb. Right hand, left hand, right leg, left leg. The physical strain was still difficult, but Ainslee kept pushing through it. With each contraction and effort, she felt some of her wild emotions getting squeezed out of her pores. Inch by inch, she moved up the mountain.
Finally, her right hand grasped the top bale. She grunted as she used all her remaining strength to pull herself up. She draped her upper body over the hay, with her legs still dangling off the side, and lay still while she tried to catch her breath. She felt the sharp pricks of hay blades against her breasts and stomach as her lungs fought for air. She hadn’t pushed herself this hard since she’d lost her leg. Sometimes PT was tough, but she never put her whole effort into it. Today she had. Every muscle in her arms burned, and it felt damned good.
Sweet Hearts Page 24