Broken Cowboy…

Trent Anderson’s rodeo days are over. Thanks to the car accident that killed his best friend, he will never get on a horse again. But physical therapist Alana McClintock isn’t listening to his protestations. She just won’t let up—getting under his skin, waking parts of him he thought would sleep forever. He can sense she feels something for him, too.

Alana knows Trent’s injuries aren’t as extensive as he thinks, and with some hard work she’s convinced he will ride again. But the problem is convincing Trent. As Alana works with the wounded cowboy, she is drawn to him in a way that is anything but professional. She’s determined to help him, though—even if it means he’ll walk away from her.

“What could you possibly want from me?” Trent asked.

The unspoken words: someone who’s crippled and useless.

“I want you to give Rana lessons.”

He frowned, clearly perplexed. “Lessons?”

“She’s a breakaway roper. One of the best in the county. I’d like you to help her improve.”

He immediately shook his head. “Impossible. I would need to ride alongside her.” He leaned forward, as if he feared she might miss his next words. “Run alongside her. I could barely hang on at a trot.”

“Bull. You can coach her from the sidelines.”

“That’s a half-ass way of doing it.” Sunlight hit his face head-on, illuminating his square chin and dazzling gray eyes. He sat his horse just like any other cowboy, and Alana was reminded of the cover photo she’d seen of him once upon a time in some rodeo magazine, when he’d been photographed just as he was now. Square in the saddle, one hand resting on the horn, the other holding the reins.

Handsome.

Dear Reader,

I am frequently asked where I get my ideas for books. Honestly, they come from all over the place. It’s not unusual for me to be in the middle of a conversation, only to interrupt and say, “Wait! That’s a great idea for a book!”

A Cowboy’s Pride is an example of that happening. I was sitting at the coffee shop where I write when a friend of mine mentioned a ranch where her mother worked, a ranch that specialized in people with disabilities, a ranch in the far reaches of Northern California….

And an idea was born.

My fictional ranch is nothing like the real ranch in question, but I’d like to think the characters could be real. They certainly feel that way to me. I love a wounded hero, especially one who thinks he’s unworthy of love. And I adore a heroine who’s not afraid to stand up to a man, and whose heart is as big as her capacity to love.

I hope you enjoy A Cowboy’s Pride, and that you pick up the sequel in November, if you get a chance.

Pamela

P.S. You might find it interesting to note that every horse in A Cowboy’s Pride is an actual animal owned by either me or a friend. To see photos of the real horses, visit my Facebook page, www.facebook.com/pamelabritton.

A Cowboy’s Pride

Pamela Britton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

With over a million books in print, Pamela Britton likes to call herself the best-known author nobody’s ever heard of. Of course, that changed thanks to a certain licensing agreement with that little racing organization known as NASCAR.

But before the glitz and glamour of NASCAR, Pamela wrote books that were frequently voted the best of the best by the Detroit Free Press, Barnes & Noble (two years in a row) and RT Book Reviews. She’s won numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award and a nomination for the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart.

When not writing books, Pamela is a reporter for a local newspaper. She’s also a columnist for the American Quarter Horse Journal.

MILLS & BOON

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Larri Jo Starkey, this one’s for you. I love that you read everything I write, including my adult horse stories. I love that you get my style of writing. Most of all, I feel blessed to have you as my editor at the American Quarter Horse Journal. Over the years you have gone from mentor to true friend. I am blessed.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Excerpt

Chapter One

“He’s here.”

Alana McClintock kept her gaze firmly on the frying pan in front of her, though she glanced up quickly at the teenager who burst into the spacious state-of-the-art kitchen like a colt from a pasture. The black cowboy hat the girl wore just about fell from her head.

“It’s got to be him, Alana,” the fourteen-year-old all but shouted, brown ponytail flying. “They said they’d be here around five and it’s a little after that right now.”

The butter-and-brown-sugar mixture began to lose its viscosity, a sure sign the homemade syrup was about to boil. “Be there in a sec.”

“But you’re going to miss it,” the girl wailed.

There. Tiny bubbles began to form on the bottom. Alana grabbed her whisk. Timing was everything here. If she let it get too hot, it would crystallize. If she didn’t get things hot enough, it would turn into a gooey mess, and Cabe and Rana wouldn’t have anything to pour over their flapjacks. She’d never hear the end of it, either.

“Here comes the bus right now.”

She stirred the mixture with more and more speed, then quickly counted down. Five. Four. Three. Two...

“Done.” She grabbed a pot holder and clutched the cast-iron skillet, taking it off the stove. “Who needs a double boiler?”

“Hurry!”

“All right, all right.”

With the pan safely off to the side and the gas off, Alana turned toward Rana. The teenager had the appearance of a kid on Christmas morning. No surprise since her hero, a man Rana had looked up to since she was old enough to watch TV and, more important, the National Finals Rodeo, was about to arrive at New Horizons Ranch.

Albeit in a wheelchair.

“Hurry,” Rana cried, spinning on her heel and running from the kitchen, her cowboy boots leaving clumps of dirt on the floor.

“Rana,” Alana scolded. “You know how much that drives me nuts. No boots in the house.”

The teenager had disappeared.

Alana followed at a more leisurely pace. Never before had Rana shown so much enthusiasm for a guest, and there’d been a lot of guests come and go over the years. They were primarily a dude ranch, one of the best in the nation, according to a review they’d recently received, yet they did more than escort people on trail rides. They specialized in guests with disabilities. Guests who couldn’t walk, guests missing limbs, guests with severe deformities. Alana provided therapy if they needed it. Sometimes it was the parents who were disabled, sometimes the children. New Horizons made sure everyone enjoyed the same types of activities: horseback riding, swimming and, most of all, the Feather River.

But this was the first time they’d have a single guest, and he was their first official celebrity, if people in the rodeo world could be called celebrities. Rana lived and breathed rodeo. This was her first year riding for her high school team. Her best event, breakaway roping, was similar to the kind of roping seen on TV. So when she’d heard Trent Anderson would be a guest, well, there’d been no living with the child. The world-famous All-Around Cowboy was one of Rana’s all-time heroes, right behind her father, who also happened to be Alana’s boss...sort of.

“Finally decided to join us,” teased that boss when she stepped onto the porch a moment later. Cabe smiled, a grin so much like his brother’s, Alana had to look away. Braden would have been glad to welcome Trent Anderson, too.

“You know Alana wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Rana clutched her dad’s left hand, her gaze firmly on the bus visible through the pine trees in the front pasture. The two of them were like carbon copies of each other with their brown hair, blue eyes and small noses. They each wore blue-checkered shirts, though in different shades. Rana’s was more brilliant than Cabe’s, a shade of blue that matched their eyes. They both wore the same type of cowboy hat—flat—not like a John Wayne hat with a curled brim. More like Wyatt Earp’s. Vaquero-style, it was called, the flat hats popular in the high desert. Rana had complemented her outfit with a butterfly-blue “wild rag,” a silk bandanna that cowboys used to shield their faces from the cold. Rana had wrapped it around her neck, the ends dangling down in front of her.

“I just hope this wasn’t a mistake,” she heard Cabe say as she walked up next to him.

“Why would this be a mistake?” Rana tipped her head to the side to stare up at her dad.

“Usually, we’ve never met our guests prior to their visit.”

There was something in Cabe’s eyes that put Alana on alert. He was frowning as the bus approached.

“It’ll be fine.” Alana gently nudged his arm.

“I hope so.” He gave her a smile in return.

Alana took a deep breath, filling her lungs with air that seemed scented with oregano, but was actually wild sage. They were a million miles from nowhere, in God’s country, in northern California where pine trees turned the meadows army-green and snow turned the tip of an ancient volcano a glorious white. They were in a valley, one surrounded by low-lying mountains, the volcano to her northwest, though it was so far away it was difficult to gauge just how big it really was over the tops of the whispering pine trees. Just glancing at the snow made Alana pull her black thigh-length sweater tight around her. It was late afternoon, the sun hiding behind the Douglas firs so that their trunks threw long shadows onto the ground. When the light disappeared, it’d be cold.

“Why is Tom driving sooooo slow?” grumbled Rana.

She followed Rana’s gaze. A yellow bus, the kind traditionally associated with schools, had turned down their driveway, the tires kicking up dust. It was almost summer, but the valley was known for its late springs, and yellow wildflowers dotted the pasture, the blooms having cropped up so quickly it was as if they celebrated the change in temperatures. Though it was California, it wasn’t uncommon for frost to wreak havoc. So the wildflowers weren’t the only living things to be glad the bitterly cold weather was over—Alana was grateful, too.

“Do you think he’ll remember you, Dad?” Rana stood in front of her father now, her dad’s arms resting upon her shoulders. She looked up and back and shot him a wide smile. He was the center of her universe. The filling in her Hostess cupcake. The espresso in her caramel macchiato. It’d been that way ever since Rana’s mother died, and once again Alana had to look away as she thought back to those difficult days. So much tragedy. So much loss. And now, look. Rana had learned to walk again, and the ranch had a new name...and a new mission, and she...well, Alana had taken on the role of surrogate mother even though there was nothing romantic between her and Cabe.

“Oh, he remembers me.”

Something about the way Cabe said those words had Alana glancing at him sharply. Had there been bad blood between them when Cabe had quit the rodeo circuit to nurse his little girl? Alana couldn’t remember hearing anything. Of course, Cabe and Braden had competed at a different level than Trent. The brothers had just begun to take their rodeo careers seriously—flying to bigger, out-of-state rodeos, an eye on the National Finals Rodeo.

And then the car accident.

Both she and Cabe had lost loved ones. He a brother and a wife, she a future husband, and the two of them had clung to each other in their grief. There’d never been anything between them, never would be, but she’d stuck around for Rana’s sake. She’d talked about moving out. Cabe and Rana wouldn’t hear of it. They still needed each other, Rana said. She couldn’t be without her aunt Alana. She was family, they had both insisted, the tragedy having bonded them together in a way none of them could have imagined. In fact, the similarities between what had happened to them and what had happened to their new guest, Trent, gave Alana chills.

Could they fix him like they’d fixed Rana?

Something hissed. Alana jerked back only to realize the bus had pulled to a stop in front of the old farmhouse that had been in Trent’s family for decades—a massive three-story straight-up-and-down affair with old-fashioned sash windows and a jagged roofline meant to ward off snow. They’d built her a small single-story apartment opposite the massive lawn that stretched across the backyard. It was cozy, but comfy, and exclusively hers.

“Here we go,” Cabe said as the door folded open.

She leaned forward. He was the only guest arriving today. With the whir and whine of an electric motor, a ramp unfolded, and Alana caught her first glimpse of the rodeo hero inside, although she couldn’t see much. He sat slumped in his wheelchair, face in profile, the only thing that stood out clearly his off-white cowboy hat.

“Welcome to the New Horizons Ranch,” Rana pronounced, tipping up on her toes in excitement.

No response.

By now, Alana’s eyes had adjusted. What she saw was a chiseled profile instantly recognizable as the one from TV. A chin so square it would do Dudley Do-Right proud, although not in a bad way. He was handsome. She had once heard someone refer to him as “hot,” thanks to his tanned skin, silver-buckle-colored eyes and dark blond hair. He had wide shoulders—not that you could see that now, not with him slumped over as he was. It looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a few days, his jaw and chin covered by at least a week’s worth of stubble. The button-down white shirt he wore under his jacket even looked rumpled.

“Good to see you, Trent,” Cabe called out.

No response.

Tom hopped inside, pressed the button that Alana knew would release the chair. With the ease of someone who’d done the same thing a million times, the driver spun the seat around toward them, the longtime rodeo hero suddenly face-to-face with the small crowd that had gathered to greet him.

“Welcome to New Horizons Ranch,” Rana repeated happily.

Still no response.

“Long time no see,” Cabe added softly.

The cowboy didn’t look at them. Didn’t so much as lift his head. Not a muscle twitched.

Tom pushed the wheelchair onto the lift. Sunlight illuminated Trent Anderson’s form. Still the same broad shoulders. The same narrow midsection. He wore a denim jacket over the white shirt and matching denim jeans, looking for all the world like the Trent from TV. It was the legs that looked different. They hung limply in front of him. And, of course, there was no horse.

“Don’t expect much of a conversation from him,” said Tom. “He hasn’t said two words since I fetched him from the airport. Starting to think he lost his voice along with the use of his legs.”

That got a reaction.

“I can still walk,” Trent muttered.

Barely, from what she’d heard. Rana had filled her in based on internet accounts. Partial paralysis of both legs from midthigh down. He’d hurt his back. There’d been talk he’d never walk again. Or ride. The fact that he had some feeling in his upper legs was a miracle, she’d been told.

“I’ll show you to your cabin, Mr. Anderson,” Rana said, coming forward to take over for the driver.

“Don’t touch me.”

Both Tom and Rana leaned back.

“I can do it myself.” His hands grabbed the wheels, spinning the aluminum frame expertly around.

Alana took one look at Rana’s crushed face and jumped in front of the man.

“You have no idea where you’re going.” She placed her hands on her hips and dared him to try to run her down.

“I’ll find my way.”

He swerved around her. She jumped ahead again.

“You’ll stay right here while we fetch your bags.”

For the first time, steel-gray eyes met her own. “There’s only one. Put it in my lap.”

Put it in my lap.

As if she was some kind of lackey or something.

She met Cabe’s gaze, then looked over at the bus driver. They both stared at her with a mix of surprise and dismay. Tom held a small black duffel bag. She motioned for him to toss it in her direction, and when he did, immediately rebounded it into the cowboy’s lap.

“First cabin on the left.” She stepped to the side. “Don’t let the front door hit you in the ass.”

Three stunned faces gazed back at her, though she didn’t bother looking at Trent again. Yeah, she might have sounded harsh, but something about the man instantly drove her nuts.

Jerk.

Too bad she would have to put up with him for three weeks.

She heard him set off, the wheels of his chair crunching on the gravel. Using the main road, it was a long, long way to the cabins, through the parklike area that surrounded the old ranch house, down past the trees where they thickened up, then down a small hill to the left where the road opened up and the cabins sat—eight of them—the lodge-pine dwellings to the left and the Feather River to the right. That was why Rana had offered to show him the way. Using the road, one part was pretty steep. Sure, she’d probably hoped to talk to him about roping, too. Guess that wasn’t going to happen. With any luck maybe he’d make a wrong turn and end up on somebody else’s property.

Now, now, Alana. You need to be nice. Obviously, the guy has issues.

Yeah, and those issues were now their problem. Great.

“Thanks for bringing him out here,” she said to Tom, her mock smile indicating she felt anything but gratitude.

She turned back to Trent. “Hey,” she called out to the cowboy who, surprisingly enough, stopped, though he didn’t look back. “Welcome to New Horizons Ranch.”

She saw his fists clench and would bet her favorite bay gelding that he did so to keep from flipping her off.

She smiled.

He turned back just in time to catch it.

“Thanks” was all he said before setting off again.

“He’s never going to make it all the way down there without some help,” she heard Rana mutter.

“I know,” Alana said.

“He probably thinks the guest quarters are nearby,” the girl added.

“He’ll learn otherwise soon enough,” Alana muttered.

“Should I tell him about the footpath behind the barn?” Rana asked. “That’s a much safer route for someone in a wheelchair.”

Alana glanced at Cabe, and when she saw the small smile alight upon his face, said, “I think we’ll let him figure things out on his own.”

So it was that all three of them watched as the stubborn man moved farther and farther down the road, completely oblivious to the fact that there was a special trail for people with disabilities. But Alana figured if she mentioned the trail she’d probably upset him even more. She could tell he was the type of man who didn’t like the “disabled” label at all.

“You think he’ll stay the whole three weeks?” Rana asked, and Alana noticed she had tears in her eyes. Poor girl’s feelings were hurt.

Alana heard Cabe huff. “I think we’ll be lucky if he lasts three days.”

Alana gave him twenty-four hours.

Chapter Two

Welcome to New Horizons Ranch.

Trent jerked the chair forward with a thrust of his hand, knowing he hadn’t been exactly friendly to Cabe’s girlfriend, but little caring.

He didn’t want to be here.

Cabe had to know that. The man had been part of the scheme to get him to New Horizons Ranch, along with Trent’s mom and his best friend, Saedra.

It’s time to get your life back on track. Time to rejoin the land of the living. New Horizons Ranch will help you do that.

His mom was dead wrong.

Being a “guest” at a ranch owned by some guy he barely knew wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Scratch that. It would accomplish one thing. He’d end up humiliating himself in front of Cabe and that pretty little friend of his, never mind his daughter. The girl would get over the hero worship once she realized his glory days were over.

His stomach twisted.

He thrust down on his wheels harder, enjoying the exercise, not caring that the sweat beaded up on his brow. Pine trees dotted the roadside, the long trunks thin in some spots, thick in others. He’d glimpsed a riding arena and a barn back there, to the left of the road.

Where the hell were those cabins?

He paused for a moment, huffing as he looked around.

Had he missed a turnoff? He was far enough away from the old ranch house now that he couldn’t see it. A grove of thick trees blocked his view.

Should he go back?

“Need some help?”

Son of a—

“I’m fine,” he said, pushing off again.

“You don’t know where you’re going,” she called out after him.

“Obviously I can’t be too far away if you’re here.” He glanced back at her, observing that black tail of hair so thick it reminded him of a draft horse’s, which might not be very flattering, but the damn stuff was a thick mass. “What’d you do? Cut through the trees?”

And those eyes. Such a light blue he found himself wanting to look back just to get another peek at them. Instead he pushed on. Obviously, he hadn’t missed a road.

“Shortcut,” she called out after him. “Makes it easier to get to our guests.”

Damn it. He hated gravel roads. And dirt roads. The wheels of the chair would hook on a rock and pitch to the right or left. He constantly had to correct himself.

“Though I’m curious what you’re going to do when you reach the hill.”

He hands paused, but only for a second. “I’ll be fine.”

“We usually escort our guests to their cabins,” she added. “You know...for safety reasons.”

His hands would work as brakes.

“Or we have Tom drop them off.”

Whatever.

“We’ve only had one person attempt that hill in a wheelchair all by themselves. You should have seen it. Reminded me of sled racing in the Olympics—”

“Okay, fine.” He spun his chair to face her, nearly pitching his bag off his lap in the process. “You can help me down there, though I don’t know why Cabe sent his girlfriend along to do his dirty work.”

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

She wasn’t?

“And he sent me because he’s busy dealing with his daughter, who’s a tad upset right now because a man she’s worshipped for years just snapped at her.”

He looked into her eyes then, spotted the disappointment and disgust and, yes, the loathing that she felt for him.

“So I offered to come and help you out, although I was tempted to let you navigate that hill all on your own. With any luck you’d have kept right on going and landed in the river, maybe even been carried downstream where you’d become someone else’s problem.”

She really didn’t like him. If he were honest with himself, he didn’t blame her. He didn’t like himself much these days, either.

“I don’t want to be here,” he heard himself admit. Funny, he’d promised himself he’d stick it out—if only for his mom’s sake—and yet here he was confessing the truth to a woman he’d just met.

She had the dignity to soften her gaze. “A lot of people are afraid to come here, at least at first. They worry they won’t be able to enjoy themselves. Or that the therapy portion of their days will hurt. Or that their families will enjoy themselves and they won’t. But you know what? At least those people aren’t afraid to confront a challenge head-on.”

Ouch.

She meant the words as an insult, and it worked. That stung him right in his belly.

“Some people come here for their families, for a chance to do something with the people they love for the first time in years. But I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so instantly hostile as you are, so if you’re going to continue to be an ass, I might as well push you back to the main house. It’s not too late to call Tom and have him take you back to the airport.”

Was that a challenge she’d just issued?

“What’s it going to be, cowboy?” She stared him down like a wild horse in a rodeo, daring a cowboy to stay on.

He tipped his chin up. “I’ve never backed away from anything in my life.”

He saw her eyes narrow, saw that gaze flicker over him as if doubtful he would amount to anything, the expression in her eyes setting his temper to flare in a way he hadn’t felt in, well, in a long, long while.

“We’ll see.”

Alana insisted on following him, even though he made it clear he didn’t want her to. He didn’t want her to help him, either, but when he saw the size of the hill leading into the river valley, he changed his mind. Alana almost laughed at the way he grudgingly allowed her to guide his chair.

“We’re pretty secluded out here.” She motioned to the log cabin where he’d be residing, the sun’s rays catching the color of the wood and turning it gold. They were making their way toward a low-lying valley, one with a wide swath of lawn to the left with pine trees sprouting up at odd intervals. They’d had cabins built among the trees, the resulting vista something Alana was proud of having had a hand in. Across from the cabins was the Feather River, and though winter was gone, the water still rushed past with a gentle roar thanks to the snowpack in the hills.

“There are landline phones in every room if you ever need any help.” She leaned back, trying to counterbalance the weight of him in his chair with her own. Too bad they hadn’t had Tom take him down. That would have made things easier. Then again, if they’d done that, she wouldn’t be able to give him such a hard time. And if ever a man needed a hard time, this man did.

“I won’t need help.”

Hah.

But the words confirmed her suspicion that it really got under his skin when she reminded him of the disabled word.

So she resolved to use it as much as possible.

She patted him on the shoulder patronizingly. “We’re here for you, Trent. We specialize in helping disabled guests.”

They were halfway down the hill, and she would bet if he didn’t fear a runaway wheelchair, he would have used his hands to jerk away from her.

“Once I get to my cabin, I want to be left alone.”

He sounded like a petulant child, and in a way he was. He was having to learn how to walk again, was completely dependent on other people to teach him to do exactly that. Things he’d taken for granted were no longer easy—like making his way to a cabin in the woods. And as she thought about all that he’d had to overcome, including the death of his best friends in the tragic car wreck that had almost cost him his life, well, suffice it to say she started to wonder if she wasn’t being a little too hard on him.

That was until they reached the bottom of the hill and he did exactly what she knew he’d been dying to do. He wrenched away.

“Damn.” She stopped and rested her hands on her hips, her fingers stinging from the force of the handles being ripped from her grasp. “You’re good at that.”

He ignored her, just made a beeline for his cabin. He must have seen that it was handicapped equipped because he zipped toward the place as if he rode in a two-wheeled sports car. A ramp had been built to run straight up to the front door. His wheels hit the slats with a clackity-click-click. His bag nearly slipped from his lap he stopped so hard as he spun his chair so he could push on the handle.

“It’s locked,” she called out in a singsong voice, knowing it wasn’t very nice of her to take such naughty pleasure in his impatience.

He glanced at the door, then her, clearly frustrated.

She contemplated for an instant how it would feel to walk away and leave him there. She wished she had the gumption to do exactly that, but in the end, she really did understand what he was going through. She’d watched Rana go through the same type of emotional turmoil. Grief was tricky. It brought out either the best or the worst in people. If he was anything like her, he felt the loss of his friend like a kick to the stomach.

She headed for the front door.

Sunlight turned the surface of the wood-framed window into a mirror. She spotted her reflection as she walked toward the cabin. Reflected, too, was the image of blue sky, the mercury-like surface of the river and the meadow that lined the water’s edge, and the low-lying mountains.

“Here.” She turned the key with a flourish. The smell of pine and beeswax greeted her as she opened the door. “Light switch to the right. Bathroom straight ahead, just before the bedroom. It’s handicapped equipped, by the way.”

He rolled past her. She caught the scent of him then, an interesting combination of citrus and cinnamon, which she might have taken a moment to admire if he wasn’t a guest and a soon-to-be patient. He really was good with that chair, judging by the way he wheeled around the small table and chairs to their right. He paused in the sitting room area that lined the front of the cabin. To her surprise he suddenly faced her, cowboy hat momentarily shielding his gaze until he lifted his chin.

“Tell the girl I’m sorry.”

It took a moment to realize who he was talking about.

The hat dipped down again. She saw his jaw work, the little muscle along the side of it ticking as if he were grinding his teeth.

“Long flight.”

He leaned forward, suddenly slipping out of the jacket he wore and exposing a toned upper body covered by a white button-down shirt.

My, my, my.

As patients went, he was pretty dang easy on the eyes.

“Three-hour flight from Colorado to the West Coast, another wait to catch the small plane that brought me here, then a long drive to what felt like the middle of nowhere, all to get to a place I don’t want to be.”

Maybe he wasn’t such an ass after all.

She studied him anew. He really was a handsome cuss with his dented chin and his piercing gray eyes. She could see why girls the world over had followed his rodeo career.

“You really should give the place a try.” She clutched her sweater around her tighter. Good-looking or not, this man came with a lot of baggage. “It’s worked wonders for some people.”

His chin moved up a notch. “You some kind of therapist or something?”

She almost laughed. “Didn’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“That’s what I do here. Physical therapy. And cook on occasion for Cabe and Rana, although Cabe’s the better cook. I do make a mean pot of chili, though.”

He stared at her anew, looked at her hard. She could see the wheels turning behind those pretty eyes of his.

“You were Braden Jensen’s fiancée, weren’t you?”

The nerves of her face suddenly turned cold.

“I remember seeing you at the Pendleton show. He told me you were in college. That you were studying sports medicine. That you wanted to help athletes with injuries.”

Breathe, Alana. Breathe.

“We weren’t officially engaged,” she heard herself say. “He hadn’t asked me yet, but we’d talked about it. After...it happened, I learned he’d bought me a ring. He was going to ask me at Christmas.”

And that had been a lifetime ago.

His gaze flicked over her, as if assessing her for damage, too. When their eyes locked again, there was an expression in his, one that made her face come back to life, her skin blazing with color.

Get the hell out of here, Alana.

“Dial zero if you need to reach the main house.” She crossed her arms in front of herself, for some reason uncomfortable with this new and more friendly version of Trent Anderson. “Breakfast will be brought to you around eight, unless you think you’re capable of making your own.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Good. Your refrigerator is fully stocked. We have a cleaning service that comes in once a day. Just hang out the sign on the door if you’d rather we leave things alone.”

“Is that why you stick around? Is this your therapy?”

Go to hell.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Anderson.”

Because, no, this wasn’t her therapy. She was here for Rana, a girl who needed her mother, but who’d lost her instead. She might be a poor substitute, but she loved Rana like a daughter. The therapy? That was just a job, a good job, one she enjoyed. Helping people was her calling in life, always had been. Of course, she’d assumed she’d use her degree working for the Professional Bull Rider’s Association or something. How ironic that she might find herself treating the very type of athlete she’d originally trained to help.

“I guess I’m not the only one with old wounds,” she heard him call out.

“Good night, Mr. Anderson.”

Ignore him.

She was over Braden. She had been for years.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

Chapter Three

She dreaded the coming day.

The moment her eyes popped open, Alana groaned.

Trent Anderson.

The good-looking son of a gun was going to be a royal pain in her behind. She could tell. Normally, that wouldn’t pose much of a problem. She’d dealt with her share of unpleasant clients over the years. They were rare. As she’d told Trent, most people came to New Horizons Ranch of their own free will, but every once in a while someone would come along who would try her patience.

Yeah, but they weren’t good-looking...like Trent.

She shoved her pillow over her head and groaned. And, okay, she could admit to herself that over the years when she’d spotted Trent on TV once or twice, maybe she might have noted to herself that he was a good-looking man. With his cocky cowboy attitude, he was the kind of guy most women drooled over—herself included—although never in an ooh-I-wish-I-could-date-him kind of way. Nope. Never.

She whipped the covers off, determined to begin her day even though a part of her wanted to stay in bed with the covers firmly over her head.

A half hour later she stepped onto the tiny porch built off her home. The little house was blue with picture windows and trim that matched the main homestead. Cabe and Rana had wanted her to stay with them, but tongues had started to wag in town over their sleeping arrangements, especially after a year had passed, so Cabe had built her the cabin. It was perfect.

“Brrr.”

Chilly. Go figure. The black poufy jacket did little to keep her warm this time of morning. That was the problem with living at a higher elevation, she thought, stepping onto the gravel path that led to the barn. Nights and mornings were always cold, thanks to a snow-cooled breeze that blew in from the mountains. One learned to dress in layers, because by noon it’d be warm again. But nothing could beat the view, she admitted, passing beneath a thick stand of pine trees that surrounded Cabe’s backyard. Gray mountains in the distance. Meadows nearby. And a sky so blue it looked almost purple. Paradise.

Her breath misted as she stepped beneath the trees’ canopy. Soon enough, she spotted the arena. To her left was the barn, a state-of-the-art facility with room for twelve horses, an office above that featured windows across the front and side, and a board-and-batten exterior painted white. It looked as though the barn was made out of wood, but it was really made out of an artificial compound resistant to fire, not that you’d ever guess.

It looked so pretty sitting there this early in the morning, diffused sunlight painting the outside a pale orange, steam rising off the dark green roof above. The weather vane pointed west, she noticed. That was why it was so cold. Wind coming in from the hills, just as she’d suspected.

A horse spotted her. Its neigh echoed across the stable yard between the barn and the arena.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Behind the barn was the main pasture, the ranch horses that they used for guests grazing in the distance, and behind them a faint line of trees that signaled the Bureau of Land Management’s property line. Cabe had the grazing rights.

A horse nickered impatiently, its knee bumping the stall door. “All right,” Alana said, less patiently. She turned toward an open area to her left filled to the brim with grass hay. “Sheesh, you guys.”

It wasn’t her job to feed the horses, not really. Cabe usually took care of it, but when she was up early enough and she had no guests to attend, she didn’t mind lending a hand. She enjoyed feeding the horses, loved the smell of a freshly opened bale of hay. Alana inhaled deeply as she grabbed a flake, then turned around. She couldn’t help but smile at the horses’ looks of anticipation.

“Hey,” Cabe said from her right. Alana paused, a flake of oat hay in hand, the rich, loamy scent filling her nose. The horse she’d been about to feed stamped its foot in impatience, sending up a flurry of dust that caught the early morning light, particles swirling through the air.

“What are you doing up so early?”

Gray eyes and dark blond hair flashed into her mind.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. Trent’s handsome face had haunted her all dang night.

“Oh?” Cabe teased as he walked toward her. “Guess he really got under your skin, too, huh?”

It bugged the you-know-what out of her that Cabe could read her so easily. She thought about denying it, but she knew better than to try to con her best and oldest friend, so she frowned, shaking her head a bit.

“I have a feeling he’s going to be a real pain in the rear.” She tossed the flake of hay through the feed door, much to the bay gelding’s delight.

“He’ll settle in.”

He’d stopped in front of her—Cabe Jensen, one hundred percent cowboy in his dusty brown Carhartt overalls, with a dark green button-down shirt beneath.

“You make him sound like a new horse.”

Cabe pressed his lips together, considering her words, then moved to the edge of the stall so he could peer through the metal bars that kept the horses’ heads away from guests, his gaze sweeping over the animal she’d just fed. Jacob. His best rope horse.

“He might be as fractious as a new horse.” He met her gaze, obviously satisfied with what he saw. Cabe wore the same cowboy hat he’d worn for years, one that was black but looked faded these days, its flat brim warped and somewhat frayed.

“Just remember—” he tucked his hands in his pockets—probably because they were cold “—it wasn’t long ago that we were dealing with similar emotions from Rana.”

It was true, and something she’d reminded herself of at least a hundred times last night. Somehow, though, it was different coming from Cabe. Trent wasn’t family, and his good looks made her uncomfortable. There. She could admit that.

“I just hope he’ll at least try some of the therapies I suggest. I’m not even certain he’ll let me assess the damage done to his legs.”

“Maybe you can do that without actually examining him.”

“How?”

Cabe smirked. “I was giving it some thought last night and I agree. He doesn’t want to be here, but to be honest, I was already warned about that. So I was thinking we need to outsmart him.”

“You were warned?”

A crafty look entered Cabe’s eyes. “I called his mom last night. She told me it took all her persuasive powers to get Trent on the plane. Apparently, he called her last night, too, and he made it perfectly clear he wasn’t happy.”

“Oh, great.” She could understand reluctance, but out-and-out hostility would make things difficult.

“That’s what I’m saying. We need to outsmart him.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“Put him up on a horse today.”

She lost her power of speech for a moment. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. A million things bubbled through her mind, but she couldn’t voice them...except for her next words. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Why not? He has partial use of his upper legs. He should be able to hold on just fine.”

“Yeah, if he had some training.”

“That’s what the special saddle we use is for. He won’t fall off.”

“You’re right, he won’t because he’s not going to agree to it.”

Amusement filled his face, wrinkles crinkling the corners of his mouth all the way to the line of his jaw. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

Her boss had lost his mind.

The words repeated themselves as she went about her morning chores. Truth was, she was a lot more than a therapist. She wore a lot of hats: cook, chauffer, ranch hand. No two days were ever alike, so as they headed into breakfast it didn’t take her by surprise when Cabe said, “You going to check on him this morning, or shall I?”

The words you do it almost escaped her lips. One thing stopped her—the twinkle in Cabe’s eyes. It was as if he dared her to beard the lion in his den, and to be honest, Alana wasn’t as averse to the idea as he might think. It wouldn’t hurt to show the man that she wasn’t intimidated.

“I’ll do it.”

An hour later she brought the John Deere Mule—an ATV-like vehicle with a miniature truck cabin and bed—to a coasting stop in front of Trent’s temporary home, the tires crunching on the drive. There was no reason to have butterflies in her stomach, she told herself. He might be a rodeo legend, but his injuries were all the proof she should need that he was also just a man.

“Knock, knock,” she said, rapping lightly on the door.

Of course, there was always the chance he wasn’t up yet. She’d no sooner had the thought than she caught a whiff of maple-cured bacon, the sweet smell making her stomach growl. They’d had oatmeal for breakfast. Boring.

“Hello?”

Would he ignore her? She had to admit, it was totally possible. He might choose to stay in his cabin the whole—

The door opened.

Good Lord, he wasn’t dressed.

Her mouth dropped open next.

“Yes?”

Keep your eyes up.

But it was hard when he had an upper body that would rival an action figure—six rippling, symmetrical bulges that decreased in size the lower her gaze drifted, and it drifted lower. His skin was a soft gold in color—and damn it, her eyes kept traveling lower and lower despite her best efforts, her cheeks turning molten when she spotted the tiny wisps of brown hair that seemed to point toward—

“I, um...”

Pull it together, Alana.

His gray eyes. Focus on those. “I was, um, asked to check on you.”

Not check him out, Alana!

“I’m fine.”

Yes, you certainly are.

She coughed, sputtered, tried gasping in a breath. What was with her? She was acting like a sex-starved adolescent.

Yes, and when, exactly, was the last time you had sex?

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she wheezed, her mind mentally scooting away from the question. “Did you need anything?”

Coffee? Tea? Me?

She almost—almost—laughed.

“I’ve been able to take care of myself for months.”

“I see.”

He stared up at her. She stared down at him. He smirked.

She snapped, “Cabe wants us all to go on a ride today.”

His turn to be caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Cabe. He said—”

“I heard you, but I won’t be going.” He jerked his hands on his wheels, rolling back like a race car driver. His hand found the door.

“Whoa, there, ace.” She shoved her foot in so fast, she bit back a gasp of pain when it slammed into her. “That wasn’t a request.”

If a look could incinerate a person, she should have been a puff of smoke. Or maybe a black smudge on the ground.

“I’m in no condition to ride.”

She smiled brightly. “Someone will be down to pick you up at ten in the morning.” She gave him her sweetest I-don’t-care-what-you-think smile. “I’ll see you then.”

* * *

TWO HOURS LATER they were all standing outside the barn. Alana had just finished saddling up her horse, and she played with the dark bay’s forelock. Cabe was to her left, saddling up one of two horses—a bay and a gray—that he had tied to the hitching post to the right of the barn. Opposite the hitching post stood what looked like parallel bars, a deck built next to them and a handicap ramp that led to the top. They’d have to use that if Trent actually agreed to Cabe’s crazy idea. Not that he would agree. Too bad, too, because it really might be good for him.

She soothed her horse’s forelock down.

You’re fussing.

No, she wasn’t.

Nerves.

It wasn’t that, she firmly told herself. Trent Anderson didn’t make her nervous.

Yeah, right.

“Go on down and get him,” Cabe said as he tightened the cinch on a big bay-colored horse wearing a saddle that looked like a cross between a barber’s chair and a car seat. A specialty saddle, it was called. This one had a seat back that was shoulder high and a wide leather strap where a man’s waist would be. “I’ll be done here in a sec.”

The animal pinned its ears and wrinkled its nose in protest when Cabe tugged on the leather strap. “Uh-uh,” he warned. “Enough of that. Only one cranky male allowed on the ranch.”

And that would be Trent.

“You want me to go get him?” The last thing she wanted was to deal with Trent Anderson. “Rana should do it.” She glanced past the rump of her horse.

Rana, who was busy feeding a carrot to Ellie, turned sharply when she heard the words. She’d been the first one to finish saddling up her sorrel mare. “I don’t think so.”

She’d been kidding...sort of. After yesterday’s disastrous first meeting, she wasn’t about to send the teenager to deal with the surly cowboy.

“I don’t blame you,” Alana grumbled.

“I’m sending you because you’re a good-looking woman he won’t say no to.” Cabe gave her a wicked grin, one meant to tease the irritation off her face. It didn’t work.

“I think we should all ride the horses down together. You know, shame the jerk into doing it. We can lead Baylor down there with us.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Alana groaned. She knew who stood in the barn aisle to her right, didn’t need to glance behind her to verify it. So she didn’t. The damn man must have found the hiking path they’d constructed for people in wheelchairs, the same path he could have taken yesterday—if he’d been civil.

She pushed away from the hitching post, checked her horse’s girth, pasted a huge smile on her face, then turned and said, “Glad to see you found the trail.” Not that it would have been hard to spot. There were signs pointing to it all over the ranch.

He ignored her comment. “I came up here to tell you I’m not going.”

Big surprise.

“You are going,” she said, “even if I have to be the one to hoist you up on your horse.”

She moved around the rear of Radical, her own dark bay mount, meeting the man’s gaze for the first time.

He was livid.

And just as handsome as he had been this morning, darn it all to hell, but at least he’d put his dang shirt on. Still, the white button-down did little to conceal his muscular frame. She’d been hoping the butterflies in her stomach had been a reaction to seeing a half-naked man...since she hadn’t seen a half-naked male in, well, a long time. But, no. That wasn’t it at all because, as she stared into those silver-gray eyes beneath the off-white cowboy hat, she became acutely aware of how gangly she’d always felt, and of how dowdy she must look with her hair all loose, her light blue shirt tucked into the waist of her jeans and stall dust all over her face. She fidgeted with her horse’s forelock again.

Stop it.

“The only way you’ll get me up on that horse is if you knock me senseless.”

“That can be arranged,” she muttered.

Cabe stepped in between them. “Trent, your mom told me to tell you to do as you’re told.”

Trent tipped his head back, glaring from beneath the brim of his hat. “I’m not ten years old.”

“No, but I was told to tell you Anderson men don’t shy away from anything. And that if your dad were alive, he’d be ashamed of your lack of ‘try.’”

Alana turned in time to watch the words change the landscape of Trent’s face. His eyes narrowed. His mouth pinched together. His cheeks filled with color. Brows that matched his dark blond hair came together in a frown. He hooked her with his gaze, the depth of his emotions bringing back memories of her own horrible loss, and Cabe’s and Rana’s, too.

“Fine.”

No, a little voice told her. It would never be fine. Not for him. Nothing would ever be the same again—and she knew exactly how that felt. A surge of sympathy rolled through her.

But it was more than that.

It would never be fine between the two of them, either, because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the attraction that tickled her insides.

And that worried her most of all.

Chapter Four

He wanted to kill his mother.

Anderson men don’t shy away from anything.

Yeah, well, none of the Anderson men had ever been paralyzed from the waist down. Okay, okay...not entirely paralyzed. He still had partial feeling in his thighs. And some feeling in his lower extremities, too, but it was spotty at best, and it had spelled the end of his rodeo career.

Still, though he tried to banish the words, he found himself wondering how many times he’d heard them over the years. First when he was little and in the mutton-busting events, then later when he’d decided to try bull riding. He closed his eyes, his hands aching he held them so tightly clenched. Back then, he’d been scared. Hell, if you weren’t scared of riding a bull, you had no business riding them. His father used to tell him that, too.

When he opened his eyes, his mouth tightened into a mirthless smile.

And the bitch of it, the thing that should make him laugh right now, was that he hadn’t been maimed by a bull. No. He’d been ruined by a worthless piece of shit with four DUIs. A man who’d been so drunk, he’d walked away from the wreck without a scratch on him while he’d barely escaped with his life, and Dustin...

He closed his eyes again. Dear God, he didn’t want to think about Dustin.

“We have a mounting block for people with disabilities over there.”

His eyes sprang open. Alana stared down at him...and was it his imagination? Or had that pretty blue gaze softened? She caught a glimpse of his hands again, and Trent unclenched them instantly. The only limbs that still functioned without a problem: his hands and arms.

“I can help you mount,” she added. And, yes, her eyes had definitely lost their edge.

“I can do it myself.” He gritted his teeth.

“Okay.” She stepped back.

He jammed his cowboy hat down on his head in determination. But as he turned toward the ramp, he almost balked when he caught sight of the saddle again. It was ridiculous. Like a bar stool built into the back of a horse. It was even padded with red leather like a stupid stool.

He pushed his chair forward. What would they do? Strap him in as if he was some kind of felon?

Every inch he traveled, every second that passed, his wheels turned slower and slower until, at long last, he stopped at the base of the ramp, staring at the horse with mutiny in his heart.

“Are you sure you don’t want some help?” he heard the teenager ask. He bit back an immediate retort, words that he knew would be colored by irritation.

“No.”

The ramp didn’t concern him. It was getting on the horse. He’d be damned if he asked for any help, not with that woman watching his every move. Cabe had led the bay gelding between some parallel bars with a platform built up next to them, the bars holding the animal in place.

For special-needs people...like him.

The sickness returned, the same woozy feeling he’d gotten when he’d woken up in the hospital and tried to slip from the bed...only to find he couldn’t move his legs.

Anderson men don’t shy away from anything.

His chest expanded as he took increasingly deeper and deeper breaths. The ramp was grooved to allow for tire traction, and at such a gentle incline he doubted anyone would have issues. Still, he felt the muscles tighten in his arms, felt his breath begin to labor as he shoved his wheels forward. His heart pounded. His mouth had gone dry, too, but damned if he let that woman see how he struggled.

He made it to the top in seconds, expertly spinning his chair to face the horse and the ridiculous saddle. The deck was at the perfect level, the saddle sitting waist high. It should be a simple matter to pull up alongside the animal then lift himself on the horse’s back, just like he did getting into a chair.

Then why did it seem as if he were about to lift weights, his breath whistling past his lips, every muscle in his shoulders strung as tight as a guide wire?

Just lift and swing.

Onto a horse!

A terrified yell, that’s what the words sounded like in his skull, a litany of other words pounding between his ears.

You haven’t been on a horse since the accident. No horse is completely trustworthy. What if it moves? What if you fall?

This is a bad idea.

But he would not, under any circumstances, back away from the challenge his mother’s words had evoked. And so he rolled his chair as close to the saddle as he could, glancing at the bay gelding. The horse didn’t look one iota interested. In fact, it had its head down, its lower lip hanging...as if it were asleep.

See that, Trent, they put you on the old nag. A horse you wouldn’t be caught dead riding a year ago.

He trembled, yes, trembled in anger at the whole situation, at his life, at the fact he felt goaded into doing this, that he was even here, at this ranch, when all he wanted to do was be back home in Colorado. Still, he reached for the saddle, slowly testing his weight on the padded seat as he prepared to slip from his chair to the horse’s back.

The horse didn’t move.

Quickly, before he could think better of it, he shifted from his wheelchair to the saddle, sitting sideways for a moment before using his hands to lift his right leg and somehow managing to get it swung over the saddle’s horn, the limb, like his left leg, dropping like an anchor.

“Good job,” the girl cried.

He was on a horse, could actually feel the saddle beneath his butt. He tried clenching his thighs, but he only had marginal feeling in them. Still, it might be enough to hold on...if he clenched hard enough.

“Well done,” Cabe echoed.

On a horse for the first time in almost a year. On a horse that hadn’t moved an inch and that seemed to realize he was a damn useless human being. His breath hitched as he inhaled, his eyes suddenly burning hot.

Don’t you dare blubber.

He closed his eyes, waited a few breaths, then opened them again.

He wasn’t useless. He would find something to do. Anything had to be better than staring at four walls.

Feeling sorry for yourself.

When he opened his eyes again, Cabe was staring up at him, but another person was by his side. Alana stood there, too, and she was smiling, her own eyes rimmed with tears.

“Congratulations,” she said softly. “You’re back on.”

If she’d been hoping to lift his spirits, her words had the opposite effect. “I might be back on, but I still can’t ride.”

His words came out like a death ray, melting her pretty little smile.

“Not yet.” She glanced at Cabe. “Not yet.” She appeared to take a deep breath. “We usually walk on either side of our guests when they ride for the first time. Did you need us to do that?”

Like he was some kind of toddler on a pony ride? “No.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Alana mounted her own horse less than ten minutes later, but you’d have thought they had just secured Trent Anderson to a medieval torture device, so loudly did he protest. The man still grumbled under his breath.

“Okay, let’s go,” Cabe said, swinging up onto his own horse.

“This is ridiculous,” she heard Trent say. “I can hold on. You didn’t need to strap me into this thing.”

She risked glancing in his direction, although she sensed if he caught her staring, he wouldn’t be pleased. The man seemed to have taken an instant dislike to her. Well, the feeling was mutual, never mind how good-looking he was.

“It’s for your own safety,” Rana said. “Even though you might feel capable of balancing in the saddle, we can’t risk you falling off, especially since you don’t want us to spot you while you’re riding.” She grinned at him. “Try and use your leg to kick Baylor forward.”

“I’m a paraplegic,” Trent shouted right back. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

To give Rana credit, she didn’t let his words faze her. “You’re a partial paraplegic.”

Alana almost smiled. The girl sounded forty, not fourteen.

“Your horse responds to hip movement,” Rana added. “A portion of your thighs still work, so use them. Pretend you’re kicking. It’ll move your hips, which will cue Baylor forward.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Yes, it will. I know. I was once a paraplegic, too, a full paraplegic, so don’t tell me what you can and cannot do.”

Way to go, Rana, Alana thought. Don’t let him push you around. She shifted her gaze to Trent. The look on his face was priceless.

“You had a spinal injury?” he asked.

Cabe kicked his horse forward then. “Didn’t you know? That’s how we got into this gig.”

No, he hadn’t been told. Alana could see that. So what was the guy doing here? From what Cabe had told her, this was supposedly some kind of last resort, but he clearly didn’t want anything to do with therapy.

It was her turn to nudge her horse forward. “It’s time you rejoined the land of the living, Trent.” She met his gaze head on. “So either kick that horse forward, or get left behind.”

She gave Cabe and Rana a look, one that clearly said to follow her lead. They did.

“Hey,” she heard Trent call out.

Rana went so far as to kick her horse into a lope, Cabe following suit. Alana didn’t glance back.

“Hey!”

Keep riding, Alana.

“Don’t you dare leave me here.”

Reluctantly, she pulled on the reins, but only because she’d caught the edge of panic to his voice. But when she turned back, the man wasn’t even looking at her. Rage had him contorting atop that horse like a Jedi Knight trying to use the force. Alana almost laughed, although there was nothing funny about the situation.

“Use your hips,” she called out.

He could move them. Patients with an L2-S5 injury had movement through the pelvis. Some even had moderate to mild use of their limbs below the waist—like Trent. But the man acted as if he were a quadriplegic.

“Try pretending you’re scooting a chair forward.”

Miracle of miracles, the man finally listened, his hips thrusting so forcefully, it was a good thing they’d strapped him in. He’d have toppled forward otherwise.

The horse moved.

“There you go.”

He did it again. Baylor took another step. Alana turned her horse toward the pasture.

But when she caught up with everyone at the pasture gate, Alana turned back in time to watch Trent thrust his hips forward like he had a hula hoop around his legs and not a horse between them. Baylor ambled along, the animal’s head low to the ground, legs slowly moving in tune with Trent’s hips.

“Good thing we didn’t just rob a bank,” Alana quipped.

Cabe smiled at her. “You know, you were pretty hard on the man.”

She slouched in the saddle.

“That’s not like you.”

No. It wasn’t.

“Doesn’t have anything to do with how good-looking he is, does it?”

Alana glanced around quickly for Rana. She was out of hearing range, on the other side of the fence, holding open the gate for them all. “I’m not even going to answer that question.” She clucked her horse forward.

“I’ve heard the buckle bunnies talking,” Cabe said as he rode alongside her.

She had, too.

And that was exactly why she wanted no part of the man. He might be done with rodeo, but she had a feeling rodeo wouldn’t be done with him. Men in his position usually went to work for the Professional Rodeo Association in some capacity. He’d be on the road 24/7, not exactly boyfriend material. Besides, she would never leave Rana. Never. The girl had already lost enough people in her young life.

Boyfriend?

“I’m not interested in Trent Anderson,” she told Cabe. “So you can get that idea right out of your head.”

Cabe just shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I say so,” she firmly told him.

She just wished she believed her own words.

Chapter Five

Frustrated.

The word summed up how Trent felt two days later. The damn woman wouldn’t leave him alone. She kept strapping him onto a dang horse, insisting that he could use his hips better, clamp down with his thighs harder, use his lower leg to kick Baylor forward faster. He had rub marks on his calves and bruises on the insides of his thighs.

Today she agreed to take it easier on him, but only after he’d almost fallen out of his wheelchair after yesterday’s particularly grueling session. They would work on leg-strengthening today, she’d told him, and resume riding the next day.

He couldn’t wait.

A knock on the door sent his mood plummeting even more. “Enter.”

She swung the door wide, pretty blue eyes scanning the interior of his cabin as if worried he might be hiding from her. He wasn’t. He sat in his chair, which he’d positioned near the doorway of bedroom.

She smiled when she saw him. “Ready?”

Such a beautiful smile. Too bad she was a slave driver.

“Depends on what you have planned for me.”

The smile grew wider. “Actually, we’re going on a picnic.”

If she’d told him they were flying to Mars, she couldn’t have surprised him more. “A picnic is your idea of therapy?”

“Yup.” She motioned him forward. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

She turned and left him standing there, a habit of hers, he’d noticed. The woman waited for no one, least of all him.

“Just a sec.” He grabbed his cowboy hat off the peg by the door. He turned back to the front door in time to spot her scooping up a basket, a breeze throwing back the smell of fried chicken and...pie? Was that what he smelled?

His stomach grumbled.

“What is that?”

“Lunch.”

He hadn’t eaten all morning. Frankly, he’d been too exhausted to do much more than sleep.

“Can we eat here?”

She glanced back at him. “Nope. Where we’re going isn’t far.”

“Smells good,” he grumbled.

His chair picked up speed as he rolled toward her. She wore a red shirt this morning, one that emphasized a natural bloom on her cheeks. Her black hair had been left loose, and Trent had observed her enough times to know that she preferred it that way. She liked to flick it out of her face when she was determined to make him do something, which was pretty often, he admitted, his eye catching sight of her rear end, or more specifically, the crystal beads on her pockets. They caught the light and beamed out rainbow-colored prisms. Pretty jeans for a pretty woman.

Now, now. Just because she’s taking it easy on you today is no reason to have thoughts like that.

A blind man would notice how gorgeous she was. The woman might be a termagant, but she was a good-looking termagant. And even though he might despise her militant attitude, she knew exactly what to say to motivate him into action. He respected that.

“How many guests can you accommodate here?”

The words caused her to slow down, Trent finally able to stare at her profile. That was good. The view from the rear was entirely too distracting for his peace of mind.

“Eight families.” She glanced down at him and Trent found himself wondering if maybe he should have kept quiet. When she wasn’t giving him orders, he had a hard time focusing on her words because suddenly he was noticing how her eyes matched the color of the sky, and how the red shirt tucked into her jeans made her waist seem smaller.

“Most of the cabins sleep four people,” she added when he kept quiet. “Although two of them, the ones on the end—” she pointed to the last two cabins “—they’re bigger and can comfortably sleep six.”

He couldn’t care less, but if he were honest with himself, he could admit to feeling more relaxed. Between the light breeze on his face, the quiet gurgle of the river to his right and the pleasant tone of her voice, Trent found himself relaxing for the first time in ages.

“How long has this place been a guest ranch?”

“Since a year after Kimberly died.”

The girl’s mother, he thought. Alana’s fiancé had died in the same wreck. Wait. She’d corrected him on that. She hadn’t been engaged to Braden, but they’d been close, despite her words to the contrary. He thought about the emotions on her face when he questioned her the first day. The pain he’d spotted. The lingering sadness. The emptiness. He’d felt like a heel the moment he’d closed the door behind her.

“Is that how all this started? With Rana’s injuries from the wreck?”

He saw her swallow and nod. “We almost lost her.”

One of his wheels hooked on a rock. He straightened himself out before asking, “How long was she in the hospital?”

“Months.” She shook her head, as if trying to shake off the memories. “She lost her mom and her uncle all in one fell swoop, and then had to fight for her life. It was almost too much for her to bear.”

Was she speaking of Rana? Or herself?

“When we brought her home, Cabe and I put our heads together. I’d always planned on being a therapist, had the majority of my schooling done. He was desperate to get Rana back. The extent of her injuries harmed her mind as well as her body and so we came up with a plan to distract her. Horses. Lots and lots of horses. We made sure she was out of doors every chance we could get. I finished my degree and went to work on her. I guess you could say she was my guinea pig.”

She’d slowed down, stopping by a massive tree, one with roots jutting out all the way down to the riverbank. A frog croaked nearby. The breeze had kicked up, and it tossed her hair back. She seemed lost in her thoughts. He almost didn’t want to breathe for fear of distracting her. Then she blinked, met his gaze.

“Everything happens for a reason.”

She meant the ranch, of course, not what he’d gone through.

“You didn’t stop with Rana, though,” he said.

“No. When word got out that Rana was walking again, the phone started ringing. Cabe talked to me about opening a guest ranch specializing in people with disabilities. I thought it was a great idea. We started looking into grants. Before we knew it, we had the financing and a waiting list. We couldn’t build the cabins fast enough.”

He could tell she loved what she did. Just talking about it set her whole face aglow, causing Trent to marvel at how pretty she was all over again. The sadness was gone and in its wake was the joy of her success.

“It seems quiet here now.”

She smiled ruefully. “The calm before the storm. School’s still in session. Come July we’ll be packed solid. Cabe will bring in some help, usually interns from nearby colleges. It’s crazy, but it’s so amazing to watch people with a disability get on a horse for the first time. When they feel a horse beneath them, when they realize they can walk again, well, not them, but the horse, their faces light up. And then when they learn to control the horse and suddenly they’re mobile in a way they never imagined...”

He could watch the play of emotions on her face all day. The happiness. The excitement. The satisfaction. He couldn’t look away.

“I can’t imagine ever leaving this place...or Rana. She’s like a daughter to me now.”

Suddenly, he was unaccountably jealous of Rana, and that was just plain ridiculous. Why?

Because she could walk again.

“How long did it take?”

She seemed to snap back to earth. “For what?”

“To teach Rana to walk again?”

She smiled. “Months, but Rana makes it sound like it took a decade. I’ve never seen anyone attack therapy like Rana did. She told me at one point that God might have taken her mother, but He wasn’t going to take her legs away, too. She was angry.” Alana stared at him pointedly. “We had to deal with that, too. I’ve learned it’s pretty common for people to latch on to their anger when they’ve been dealt a debilitating blow.”

The way he had. He couldn’t miss her point.

“By the way, this is where we’re having our picnic.” She pointed to a spot beneath a tree, one so big its branches hung out over the nearby river. “That rope there will be your therapy today.”

She’d done that on purpose, he realized—changed the subject.

“We’ll work on leg strengthening, but not until after you eat.”

When she opened the basket he once again caught a whiff of something fried and mouthwatering.

“Don’t people think it strange, you living all the way out here with only Cabe and Rana for company?”

Her hands froze in the middle of unpacking plates. “No. Everyone knows we’re just friends. But even if people did talk, I wouldn’t care. I stick around as much for Rana as for myself. People can say what they want to say.”

She wasn’t messing around with Cabe—had never messed around with the man. He could see that in her eyes.

“Eat up.” She handed him a plate full of food before sitting down next to the basket.

It was good. Delicious, actually. “You’re a good cook.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, taking a bite of her own food. She didn’t eat all daintylike, either. She ate like a woman who worked hard for a living and consumed calories to keep her energy.

Sexy.

He jerked his gaze away. What the hell was wrong with him? Okay, granted, she was hot. A year ago he would have crammed down his hat and gone after her. A year ago he’d have been able to pursue her. A year ago he’d had the use of his legs.

The thought put him in a sour mood all over again, the two of them eating in silence. He thought about making small talk, but what was the use? He didn’t want to be her friend. Hell, he didn’t want to be here at all. So if she insisted on dragging him out of his cabin, she could deal with the silence.

As it turned out, she didn’t seem to care. As the silence stretched on, Trent found himself starting to relax again. That was, until she stuffed her plate back into the basket and asked, “Ready to get to work?”

He lost his appetite.

“Not really.”

She smiled. He hated when she did that. It increased the wattage of her beauty, and he didn’t like being in enemy territory.

“Too bad.”

He glanced down at his own plate, surprised to note he’d eaten it all.

“Come on.” She held out her hand for his plate. He reluctantly gave it to her. “Wheel yourself as close to the rope as you can get.”

He didn’t want to. He really didn’t. He could feel things from about midthigh upward, and those thighs told him he was done—sore as a castrated bull dragged to the fire.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Simple, really. Just wheel yourself close to the rope and pull yourself up.”

He eyed the rope in question. The thing dangled down from the branch above him, one with a canopy of leaves so thick you couldn’t even see through it. Why did he have a feeling this wouldn’t be as simple as she made it sound?

“You sure it will hold my weight?”

She smirked. “Positive.”

Okay, so he was stalling, but he was really sore. All he wanted to do was sit in the damn chair.

He reached for the thick hemp, the fibers biting into his palms. It was as wide as a candlestick and easy to handle. He didn’t have any problem lifting himself up, either, but the minute he’d pulled himself out of his chair, she jerked the thing out from under him.

“Hey!”

“Won’t do you any good if you sit back down.”

He dangled there like a stupid monkey and all she did was smile. “What am I supposed to do? Hang here?”

“No. I want you to straighten up. Use your legs to stand, then try walking.”

“I can’t walk. I’ll fall on my ass.”

“No, you won’t. Just use the rope for balance.”

He took a deep breath, let go with one hand and slapped a palm farther up the rope. His legs dangled uselessly beneath him.

“Stupid.” He didn’t mean to say the word out loud, but it slipped from between his lips before he could stop it.

“There’s nothing stupid about this. I’ve seen your file. I looked at your scans. There’s no reason why you can’t regain the use of your legs. You just need to learn to trust them.”

His arms had begun to shake. He pulled himself up another notch.

“There,” she said. “Now get your legs beneath you.”

“Can’t.”

“Do it.”

He tried moving them, but as always, all he could do was swing them a little. He had no control. Just useless lumps of meat.

She leaned closer to him. “Move them.”

His heart pounded. His arms had started to hurt.

“No.”

He fell. She caught him, somehow supporting his weight, though how she did it he had no idea.

She smelled good.

“Do it again.”

“No.”

She started to let him go. He flailed his arms for the rope. Once again he found himself dangling there.

“Now move.”

“I can’t, damn it.”

His arms started to hurt all over again.

“Just try.”

“I am.”

How long he hung there, he didn’t know, but he’d be damned if he let go again. Alas, his body had other ideas. His grip began to loosen. He froze.

And fell once again into her arms.

“That’s it.” He huffed. “I’m done. Get my chair.”

Lord, she smelled good.

“I can’t reach it and still hold on to you.” She strained beneath his weight, he could tell. “Grab the rope.”

“I don’t have the strength to lift myself up.”

“Yes, you do.”

He tried moving his limbs. Surprisingly, they worked, so much so that when they kicked into action, his legs shot them both backward. Somehow, she managed to swing his body around, his butt landing heavily in his wheelchair.

“See. I told you. I can’t do it!”

“You can,” she said, stepping back and sounding as out of breath as he felt. “All you need is practice. Come on. Let’s do it again.”

“No.”

She cocked her head sideways. “No?”

He tried to keep his voice level. “It’s no use. I tried the same sort of exercises before coming here, not this one exactly, but close. Nothing’s helped. You’re wasting your time.”

She stared down at him. He wondered if she’d push the issue. She didn’t.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” She bent and picked up the picnic basket. “But I won’t work with someone if they refuse to help themselves.” She slung the thing over her arm. “You have a choice to make, Mr. Anderson. Either you do the exercises I prescribe, or you go home.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t like wasting my time with half-ass efforts.”

“Half-ass?”

“So if you decide to stay, you will do exactly as I tell you to do. If you don’t, have a nice life.”

She turned away.

“Wait. That’s it? You’re just going to leave me here?”

“You know the way back to your cabin.”

She spun around and walked backward. “If you decide to stay, be at the barn tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock.”

“And if I don’t?”

She smirked again. “Like I said. Have a nice life.”

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