Karen Templeton - Back In The Saddle

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“Hi, Mom!”

Seeing her son’s ginormous grin swallowing up the entire, if admittedly tiny, phone screen, Mallory Keyes felt her heart swell in her chest. If her precious boy was happy, then she was happy. Nothing else mattered.

Even though it killed her, not being able to touch him, smell him, every day. But Landon deserved a normal life. Well, as normal as the son of a shattered Hollywood power couple—God, she hated that term—could expect. And never let it be said that Mallory couldn’t roll with the punches. Or set her own druthers aside in order to do what was best for her son.

And at least they had smartphones.

“Hey, baby,” she said, steeling herself for that inevitable moment when the kid would groan and go, “Mom? Really? Baby?” He was eleven, after all. But that moment apparently was not today. Thank God. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” He shoved his hand through shaggy, blah-brown hair that softened what promised to be some pretty fine bone structure, heaven help them all. “Got an A on this project we had to do in science. Without Dad’s help, you’ll be happy to know.”

“I am. What was the project on?”

“How mold grows. I had to keep samples in the fridge, it was so cool. Except Cristina kept trying to throw them out.”

Their housekeeper. Sixty if she was a day, built like a warship, heart of gold. “Sounds about right. She making you keep your room clean?”

“You better believe it,” Mallory heard in the background, and Landon rolled his eyes. Gray, like hers.

“This is not a bad thing, Poky.”

“So I guess I can’t pull the ‘I’m just a kid’ thing, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Too bad.” Then he grinned again, and her heart went kaplooey. “So when can I come see your new house?”

“We already discussed this. Over fall break.” Landon’s new school was on some weird year-round schedule, so he got two full weeks off in October. “Did you get the pictures?”

“Yeah, it looks really cool.” He frowned slightly. “Hey. You okay?”

Mallory’s chest pinched again. Five years ago, Landon had been too young to fully understand the implications of the accident that changed all their lives. But more recently he’d apparently become more sensitive to her ongoing challenges, even though she rarely gave voice to them. Partly because the less she did, the less power they had over her, partly because she’d always detested complaining. Mostly, though, because she never wanted Landon to feel sorry for her. Or more importantly, that his mother’s being in a wheelchair would have any negative impact on his life.

Sometimes, though, when the pain snuck up on her, she couldn’t hide it from him as well as she’d like. And considering everything leading up to his new living situation, trying to pretend her life didn’t affect his was probably naive. If not downright stupid.

“I’m doing okay, honey.”

“Really?”

She smiled. “Yes, really. Okay, the move wore me out some, but it was worth it. It is so gorgeous out here. Sometimes you can drive for miles without seeing another car.”

His brows crashed. “That must be weird.”

Mallory laughed. “It is, a little. But you’d be surprised, how fast you get used to it—”

“Gotta go, Cristina’s calling me to dinner. Talk tomorrow?”

“You bet, sugar.”

The calls were never long enough. And every single time, when they ended, Mallory felt as if somebody’d hollowed out her chest. Which in turn made her question, yet again, whether she’d made the right choice, leaving behind her only child.

Except the only other option would have been selfish. If not downright cruel. Granted, the kid was a toughie, but she could tell he needed a break. Not from her, but from the attention she invariably attracted every time she set foot—or wheelchair—outside—

The landline’s shrill ring made her jump. Mallory glared at the thing for a good second or so before wheeling over the tiled floor to answer it. A little testily, maybe. Why Mama’d insisted on installing the blasted thing, she’d never know, since they both had cell phones, for pity’s sake.

“Hello?”

“Oh... I’m sorry,” said a nice male voice on the other end. Real nice. Granted, in all likelihood it probably belonged to someone who did not match the voice, because that’s the way these things usually worked, but a girl could dream. “I was trying to reach Dorelle Keyes?”

“She’s not in right now,” Mallory said in a somewhat less pissy tone. “May I take a message?”

A pause preceded, “Is this her daughter, by any chance?”

Mallory tensed. It was highly unlikely the paparazzi would’ve sniffed her out way up here, let alone unearthed an unlisted number. But these days she wasn’t taking any chances.

“If you leave your name and number,” she said, grimacing at her reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room, “I’ll be sure to have Mrs. Keyes get back to you.”

“It’s Dr. Talbot. Edgar’s vet? She’d asked me to check with my brother about a horse for her grandson?”

The relieved breath Mallory had been about to release snagged at the base of her throat. To hear Mama tell it, this Dr. Talbot would put Michelangelo’s David to shame. And say what you will about her mother, the woman definitely knew hot when she saw it.

So much for not matching the voice.

“Um...you still there?”

Mallory wrenched her gaze away from her wretched reflection. Way too many nights of lousy sleep had definitely taken its toll. “Sorry. She was supposed to run that by me first.”

“I take it you’re Mallory, then?”

Call her crazy, but she was guessing this guy had no idea who she was. Meaning either he hadn’t put two and two together, or Mama had—for once—kept her trap shut. Or maybe he was just playing it cool?

“That’s me. Only nothing’s been decided about the horse. Since we’re still getting settled in—” a half-truth, since once the renovation had been completed all they’d had to do was dump stuff in closets and drawers and they were basically done “—I hadn’t really given it much thought yet.”

“Completely understandable. But if you are interested, my brother says he has a palomino that could be perfect for your son, especially if he’s inexperienced. Not a youngster, but a lot of good years left. No health issues. Even-tempered as they come. And nobody knows horses like Josh—he wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

And neither would this man, she bet. Although how she’d deduce that from a five-minute conversation—and especially given her background—she had no idea. Something about his no-nonsense approach, maybe. But after so many years of never feeling as if she could truly trust anybody, of having to constantly watch her back—it felt...good. Even if it was only an illusion.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” she said, rearranging her long sweater over her thighs, even though her legs didn’t really register the chill in the air. “But there are...logistics to take into account. I’m still not entirely convinced this is a good idea.”

“Your mother said you grew up on a ranch, so I assume you know what goes into caring for a horse?”

His unwitting understatement made her smile. And ache, a little. An indulgence she rarely allowed herself. “I did. And I do. That’s not the issue. But I honestly don’t know how much time we’re going to spend here.” Her gaze drifted across the spacious family room opening to the flagstone patio and the pond beyond, its surface rippling gold from the reflection of the stand of yellow-leafed aspens on the other side of the property. Truthfully, the property had wrapped around her heart from the moment she’d opened the images in the Realtor’s email. “And taking on a horse is a huge commitment.”