Pamela Britton - Her Rodeo Hero

“You really think you’ll never jump again?”

The chin tipped even higher. “I told you. Never.”

He glanced at Teddy. Though he told himself not to go down that road, he found himself wondering what he would do if he were told he could never perform with his animals again. If he was forced to stop doing the thing he loved, the thing that was his sanity. His calm in the storm of life. His saving grace.

Damn it.

“I can maybe give you one or two nights this month, if —” he stressed the word with an index finger “—I’m in town.”

“Oh, thank you!” She took a step forward. He knew what she wanted to do, and he stepped back just in time. The move stopped her cold, and it also brought puzzlement into her beautiful face.

“I’ll call you when it looks like I’ll be back.” He untied Teddy and headed for the rear of the trailer.

“Do you want my number?”

“I’ll get it from Wes.”

She nodded, her smile bursting forth like the sun over the horizon. “You won’t regret this.”

Too late , he thought as he loaded up his horse. He already did.

Chapter Two

The one good thing, Natalie thought, the only blessing, was that she’d found some new clients recently. Granted, they were all at a backyard barn in a not-so-good part of Via Del Caballo, but she’d given it her all and had been rewarded with half a dozen 4-H kids and a few adults.

No more million-dollar horses. No more big-ticket clients. No more fancy riding facility.

She tried not to think about that as she groomed Playboy, the horse she’d bought a few months before the accident. It was only by the grace of God, and a lot of help from her friends—Wes and Jillian, Zach and Mariah—that Natalie had held on to the gelding. Despite what she’d been told about the future of her riding career, she’d refused to give him up. Everything else had been sold to help pay medical bills.

Stop thinking about it.

She heard tires crunching on gravel, turned away from where Playboy had been tied to a single rail hitching post, and spotted Colt’s fancy black truck with all his sponsor logos splashed across the front. It looked out of place when he parked next to her beat-up Ford F250, like a new shoe sitting next to an old one. There were days when she definitely missed her previous truck, Lola. She watched as he glanced over at her vehicle, no doubt wondering why she drove such a jalopy. He was parked in front of an old lean-to stall, one with tattered fencing that had once been painted white, but was now more brown than anything else.

“Is that the guy?”

Laney, one of her 4-H kids, a girl with more passion for horses than half a dozen of the spoiled brats Natalie used to train, paused in the middle of mucking out her horse’s paddock. This was a self-service facility. No more grooms to take care of everything.

“That’s him.”

“I looked him up on Google last night,” Laney said, her blond ponytail sliding over one shoulder. “Did you know his dad was some kind of rodeo cowboy, too? He used to be really famous. Performed in movies and everything. Colt took over the family business.”

Yeah, if rodeo clowns could be famous. Not that Colt was a clown. Not really. A specialty act, they called it, and he was good. That’s what she needed to remember if she were ever to perform on the back of an animal again. If she ever wanted to hear the roar of the crowd and feel the pride that came from being united with a four-legged creature, Colt was her only hope.

“Wish me luck,” she said to Laney.

“Can I watch?”

“Sure. Why not?” Maybe the two of them would learn something together.

Colt had spotted her. He’d pulled up not far from where she’d tied Playboy. He gave her what seemed like a half-hearted wave.

“Here we go,” she softly told the gelding, stepping back and eyeing the horse objectively. He’d changed a lot in the year and a half she’d had him. His once mousey brown coat now had dapples. His mane had gotten longer, too, and he’d grown. He was nearing sixteen hands. Big for a Western horse, but she was nearly five-eight and he fit her perfectly.

If she could learn how to ride him again.

“Nice place,” she heard Colt say as he slipped out of his truck.

It wasn’t a compliment and it immediately got her dander up. “It’s affordable.”

She glanced around, trying to stem the flow of embarrassment that threatened to overcome her. Two years ago she would never, ever have considered keeping a horse in such a ramshackle facility, now here she was. Two years ago she would have stuck her nose in the air at the lean-to fencing, dirt road and uncovered arena. Not anymore.

“I bet.” He tipped back his cowboy hat. “But is it safe?”

Was he purposely trying to make her feel bad? It’d taken forever to get him out to the ranch. He’d handed her one excuse after another, and she’d resorted to calling Wes and begging for his help in the end. That had done the trick, but she wondered if Colt resented her forcing his hand.

“I went over every square inch of Playboy’s pen.” She patted the dark bay gelding’s neck. “I spent days cleaning out all the old muck. And another day replacing old boards. It’s in as good a shape as possible.”

Colt must have realized he’d offended her because he softened his gaze. “I’m sure you did.”

Her nerves made her edgy. And irritable, too. She hated that she’d had to ask for help. Hated that she was in some backwater barn working with a cocky cowboy who clearly didn’t want to be there any more than she did. At times such as these she ached for her old life with a ferociousness that left her feeling sick.

“This is Playboy,” she said into the silence. Well, as silent as a horse stable could be. In the background a horse nickered. Chickens ran wild. Off in the distance you could hear the sound of cars from the nearby interstate.

“Nice-looking horse.”

It smelled at the Lazy A Ranch, too. Not like pine shavings and saddle soap like her old place. No. More like horse poop and wet dirt. The other owners weren’t as good at mucking stalls as she was. As she and Laney were. She glanced over at the young teen, sure she was listening to every word.

“I bought him at the Bull and Gelding Sale last year. The one up in Red Bluff.”

He moved close enough that he could place a hand on Playboy’s neck. She saw it then—kindness filled his eyes as he leaned toward the horse. It took her by surprise, that look. It reminded her of her friend, Jillian, when she “spoke” to animals.

“Is he cutting bred?”

Colt’s gaze lightened as sunlight angled beneath his cowboy hat and caught his eyes. Hazel. The kind that turned green, gold or brown depending on his mood. He had the square-shaped face of a comic-book hero and the muscular build of a navy SEAL. Something about him commanded attention and she couldn’t figure out if it was his height, his broad shoulders or his piercing eyes. He stepped back, scanning the horse up and down like a used car salesman would a vehicle.

“He is. A kid trained him before me. I figured he must have a pretty good mind if he’d let a little boy break him.”

“What have you done with him?”

She tried not to let her embarrassment show. “Not a whole bunch lately. I was flat on my back for a while, but when I climbed back onto him last month he seemed to remember everything I’d taught him.” She was the one who’d had problems...still had problems. Balance. Vision. Equilibrium.

“And you tried to ride him without a bridle?”

His look seemed to say it all. And, okay, maybe it hadn’t been one of her best ideas.

“Before my accident I was riding him every day,” she said in her own defense. “He was listening to vocal commands and everything, but when I took his bridle off, he seemed to forget everything.”