Amanda Renee - A Bull Rider's Pride

Brady gripped the handles on either side of the saddle. He instinctively searched for stirrups but there were none. He attempted to squeeze his thighs tighter around the horse’s body as if he were riding bareback, only to realize he didn’t have the strength. A hippotherapy team member closely flanked either side of him, while two people followed and two led the horse. He’d never felt more secure and more terrified at the same time.

The horse walked slowly around the outdoor arena. He’d never noticed the similarity between a horse’s gait and a human’s before. He’d read about it, but he hadn’t fully understood it until now. As the horse’s hips rose on one side, so did his own, forcing him to contract his core muscles.

Brady knew he had a goofy smile plastered across his face, but he didn’t care. Today was the beginning of the rest of his life.

Chapter Three

It was the Fourth of July and Sheila had to work, just as she had every year of her residency. The only difference—she’d spend her afternoon at Dance of Hope and she’d see Brady Sawyer. The man hadn’t been far from her mind since she’d discharged him four days earlier. She had tried to convince herself it was strictly out of concern for her patient, but even she didn’t believe that story. He’d gotten under her skin in the most impossible way. She couldn’t act on her attraction to him and she couldn’t shake it either.

Sometimes an attraction to a patient was inevitable. But the feeling always disappeared as quickly as it came. Brady Sawyer had been out of sight for days, yet she found herself more excited than she should be to see him today. Marissa hadn’t uttered another word about him. Then again, Sheila hadn’t given her much of a chance. The busier she stayed, the sooner she’d forget about Brady.

By the time she pulled into Dance of Hope’s parking lot, it was early afternoon. A small crowd had gathered near the Ride ’em High! Rodeo School outdoor arena. The summer students were competing in an informal exhibition and there was Brady Sawyer, standing at the fence watching the action.

Sheila had never understood why they’d built the rodeo school adjacent to the hippotherapy center. It just seemed to scream “look at me” to the hippotherapy patients. And then she looked at Brady hugging the fence rail—the poster child for “this could happen to you.”

She redirected her attention to the patient files on the passenger seat. Flipping through them, she scanned the notes from last week’s visit, then gathered her things and exited the car. Her focus immediately landed on Brady. Today he exuded pure masculinity, clad in faded denim jeans that managed to hug him in all the right places and a formfitting white T-shirt. Good heavens. She shouldn’t care what the man wore. The fact that he’d been standing since she’d parked five minutes earlier should be her primary focus. His strength and stamina had clearly increased in a matter of days.

Sheila approached him. “You’re not getting any ideas, are you?” Sheila asked. He turned toward her, almost toppling over. She knew better than to sneak up on him, but she had warned him she’d be watching.

“Dr. Lindstrom. This is a surprise.”

“Didn’t anyone tell you the rules?” Sheila detected the scent of Proraso aftershave. She knew the eucalyptus and menthol fragrance well. One of her fellow residents wore the same brand. She’d never cared much for it, but Brady’s unique body chemistry transformed the fragrance from mildly annoying to downright tempting. “Everybody’s on a first-name basis here. Please call me Sheila.”

She noticed Brady’s legs beginning to shake, but held her tongue. His chair was directly behind him and he’d use it when he was ready.

“You look nice.” His admission caught her off guard, but it didn’t seem to faze him. He eased into his chair and looked up at her, exposing more of his chiseled features to the sun. “I like you out of uniform with your hair down.”

“Thank you.” Sheila had almost forgotten that she’d changed before heading to the ranch. Scrubs were never worn outside the hospital. She’d chosen her best fitting jeans, lacy white top and red cowboy boots this morning after convincing herself it was patriotic and conveyed a professional yet casual appearance for her rounds at Dance of Hope. In reality, she chose the outfit because she knew she looked damn good in it and she wanted Brady to notice her. She had succeeded...now what?

“Are you checking up on me?” A slow smile spread across his face, forming a dimple in his right cheek.

“I’m checking up on all my patients. This is part of my residency program.”

“Residency? You’re not a doctor?”

Sheila winced at the question. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked it, but it stung just the same. “I became a doctor the day I graduated from medical school. An orthopedic surgeon’s residency is five years. This is my final year after which I’ll become board certified. Then I’ll begin my two-year fellowship in orthopedic trauma, providing Grace General accepts me in their program.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” Brady shifted in his chair. “I had no idea how the whole medical school and residency thing worked.”

“No offense taken.” Sheila wanted to ask about his education and what he’d do if competing was no longer an option, but feared she’d already crossed the forbidden doctor-patient line. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve never felt sorer and more invigorated in my entire life.” He leaned toward her. “I feel better already. Don’t worry, Doc. I know I still have a long way to go.”

“I noticed a difference when I pulled in. Studies have shown recovery occurs faster outside the hospital.”

“Is that so?” There was that dimple again. He released the brake on his chair and motioned for her to follow him. “Do you have a few minutes to walk with me?”

Sheila checked her watch. “A few. What’s on your mind?”

Brady turned onto the paved path alongside the hippotherapy center leading them away from the crowd. “I know you think my recovery is all about me, but I need you to know that I’m not doing this for selfish reasons.”

Sheila stopped at a bench and sat down. “What I do or don’t think shouldn’t affect your recovery one way or the other.”

“Alice told me the other day that I was selfish and using our son as an excuse to compete again and—”

“I’m sorry, who?” Sheila’s heart stopped beating for a fraction of a second. It shouldn’t matter. But it did. “You have a son? And a wife?” The last question left an awful taste in her mouth.

Brady shook his head. “I have a four-year-old son named Gunner, and Alice is his mother but we’re not married. Never have been, never will be. I’m surprised you didn’t know. They visited me at the hospital.”

She probably would have noticed if she hadn’t gone out of her way to avoid him during his stay. “I wasn’t your physician then. I don’t understand why you’re telling me all of this.”

“You may not have been my doctor, but I noticed you. It was impossible not to. A part of me secretly hoped you had noticed me too. I get it. There are many more patients than there are doctors and we become a number.”

“You certainly weren’t a number.” Sheila took his hand and immediately regretted it when his other hand covered hers. Unwilling to let go, she braved a look into his eyes. “I’m probably one of the few people in your life who can honestly say they’ve seen inside of you.” Sheila attempted a small bit of humor to derail the somersault of emotion cycling through her. “No patient is ever a number, at least not to me. I’m not trying to diminish who you are or your case in any way.” She rose, pulling away from him. “What am I doing?”