Carolyne Aarsen - Second-Chance Cowboy

“You won’t be riding her for a while,” Ernest warned, shaking his head. “That horse needs a firm but gentle hand and a lot of training.”

“And you can’t do it?” Morgan asked. Ernest had trained a number of horses. Though he hadn’t for some time, Morgan thought it was worth asking.

Ernest pulled in a breath, then gave Morgan a look tinged with regret. “No. That’s a young man’s game and I don’t have it in me anymore. Have you asked Tabitha? I helped train her. She’s a natural, though she hasn’t done much of it since she moved back here.”

Again with Tabitha?

“Not an option” was all Morgan would say.

“Will I never be able to ride my mom’s horse?” Nathan said, his chin now trembling. He looked up at Morgan, who was disconcerted by the tears in the boy’s eyes.

“We’ll figure something out, Nathan,” Morgan said, kneeling down and catching his son by his narrow shoulders. “Don’t worry. You’ll be able to ride her. Just not right away.”

“So Miss Tabitha will train her?” Nathan asked, wiping his tears away with the back of one dusty hand.

“I said we’ll figure something out” was all he said. Though he didn’t like the way the conversation was going, at least Nathan was talking to him. That was a plus.

Nathan nodded, seemingly satisfied with this answer.

“I better clean out that trailer and get on my way,” Ernest said, pushing away from the fence. “Nathan, you want to help me?”

“Sure.” Nathan scooted past Morgan looking happier than he had in a while.

Morgan waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to his brother.

“So what do you think I should do?” he asked. “That horse isn’t rideable and Nathan seems to think it might happen.”

“A horse you can’t ride is taking up space and eating valuable hay,” Cord said, ever the practical rancher.

“But Nathan seems attached to the beast because it belonged to Gillian.” Morgan sighed, resting his arms on the rail, watching the horse going round and round the pen. “He’s the most enthusiastic when he talks about that horse. Nice change from the slightly depressed kid I usually see. But I can’t find anyone to train it except, it seems, for Tabitha.” He sighed again. “And I’m not sure I want to go down that road. Bad enough I have to work with her. At least at the clinic there are boundaries.”

“If she is training this horse, she’ll need to be working with Nathan.”

Morgan sighed. “I know, but truth is, I don’t think she has the time. She’s working two jobs and renovating her house.”

“Probably just as well.” Cord held his brother’s gaze as he released a hard breath. “She broke your heart once before. Word on the street is that she’s only in town long enough to fix up that place her dad left to her and sell it. She’ll take the money and move on, just like her dad. You’ve got a kid now. He’s what you have to think about. Keep Tabitha in the past, where she belongs.”

“I think I can handle myself with Tabitha,” Morgan returned, feeling a surge of frustration that his brother seemed to think one look into those blue-green eyes would turn him into a mindless lunatic.

Cord nodded, as if he didn’t believe his brother’s protests.

“I’ll get the rest of the fencing stuff” was all Cord said.

But as his brother walked away, Morgan pondered Cord’s words. Worst of it was, even in spite of his tough talk, he knew his brother was right.

Fool me once, he thought, heading over to where his son was chatting with Ernest.

He couldn’t afford to trust so blindly again.

Chapter Four

Sepp looked up from scraping the deep fryer, glowering at Tabitha as she dropped a couple of mugs by the dishwasher. “Kind of dead this afternoon.” His voice was accusatory. As if it was her fault.

“For a Wednesday afternoon it sure is,” Tabitha agreed, reminding herself to stay pleasant.

“You may as well go home.” Sepp looked back at what he was doing. “No sense paying you to hang around if there’s so few customers.”

“Things might pick up,” she said, trying not to sound too desperate. Any tip she might get, any dollar she made, brought her that much closer to getting her kitchen finished.

“If they haven’t by now, they won’t in half an hour,” he snapped. She wanted to argue but she knew better than to contradict Sepp and cross him when he was in an ornery mood.

Instead she pulled off her apron and set it in the laundry bin, then took her backpack off the hook at the back of the kitchen. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”

Sepp stood back from the fryer. “You don’t need to sound so testy.”

Tabitha pulled in a slow breath, seeing the banked anger in Sepp’s eyes. The past few days he’d been sniping and griping at her even more than usual.

“I’m sorry. I’m just tired.” She worked on the house until late last night again, putting in the last of the casings and baseboards to finish up the bedroom.

“Tired from hanging around with Morgan Walsh?”

She tried not to roll her eyes, but as she looked at him, she realized maybe that was his problem. He was jealous of Morgan.

“Morgan is the last person I want to be with on purpose.” That wasn’t entirely true. She had already spent a week working with Morgan, and each time she saw him it became harder to maintain her distance.

“So, you’re not seeing him?”

Tabitha blew out a sigh. “No. I’m not.”

He nodded. “So then, are you free Friday night?”

Tabitha could only stare, not sure which of his questions disturbed her more. The one about Morgan or the one asking her out.

“I’m busy. I’ll always be busy for you.” Too late she realized that she had overstepped a boundary she kept scrupulously in place. She had always been evasive with Sepp, cautiously refusing his advances. But she had never been this rude with him.

“Okay. Well, then maybe you don’t need to bother coming in for a while.”

Tabitha stared at him, suddenly tired of his machinations, his threats and his borderline obsession with her. As long as she kept turning him down it would never end. He would cut her hours back and back. And she was sick of it.

“Well, I won’t bother coming in at all, then. I quit.” She wished she hadn’t already taken her apron off. It would have given her the perfect dramatic exit. Pull off apron. Toss it aside. Turn and storm away without a backward glance.

Instead she shifted her backpack on her shoulder and strode away.

But as soon as the back door of the café slapped shut behind her, dread flooded through her. What had she just done? Quit the job that paid her the most money?

How was she supposed to pay for the rest of her house renovations now?

She leaned against the exterior of the café, the stucco digging into her skin through her shirt. Now what was she going to do?

* * *

“I’m sorry, but I’m wondering if it’s in Nathan’s best interests to be in school right now. It’s almost the end of the school year, so he won’t miss much.” The Grade Two teacher, Miss Abrams, gave Morgan a gentle smile, as if to soften her words. She glanced over at Nathan, who sat hunched on the cot in the school nurse’s office, his arms wrapped around his legs, staring out the window. “He’s had a lot to deal with the past few months. He’s a smart boy. In my opinion he might be better off to spend time with you at home.”

She sounded so reasonable and Morgan could hardly fault her for her advice. But how was he supposed to do that?

Morgan looked over at Nathan, who wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t crying now but had been an hour ago. Morgan had been out of cell range, working in a farmer’s back field on a sow that had farrowed, and she and her newborn piglets had been attacked by a coyote.