Chapter Five
Owen swallowed hard, shifted his stance, and fought the guilt sprouting inside at the injured look flaring in Carly’s eyes.
It would be easy to wrap his arms around her, hold her tight, and tell her everything would be alright because he’d help her fix the mess with Ryder.
From there his mind wandered to kissing her soft lips until both the world and their problems faded.
Talk about a slippery slope. Not that he hadn’t already been sliding with thoughts of losing himself in her.
Since seeing her at his parents’ house his hands had itched to explore her feminine curves until he discovered the ways she’d changed.
His body hardened imaging how much better lovemaking would be now, compared to when they’d been awkward eighteen-year-olds.
His body humming, he clasped his hands in front of him to cover his growing excitement.
When was the last time he felt this ready to go without touching a woman, and why was it Carly who revved his motor?
It didn’t make sense. Sure, he’d thought of her over the years, but he hadn’t longed for her.
He’d never viewed her as the one who got away, and yet, standing here with her, that was how he felt.
Six months of deployment, a sporadic sex life with his girlfriend before that, and too much time on his hands maybe? He could choose one or all as the culprit for how he felt.
Once he dove full force into his rehab and channeled his energy there, being near Carly wouldn’t leave him half erect.
Owen tried to remember what they’d been talking about before his trip to fantasy island.
If he couldn’t retain simple information, how would he recall intricate details of meetings, briefing data, and instructions?
In addition, his job required a sharp intellect to assess a situation based on past experience and current information.
The past? No problem. Current info? Big one.
“With most folks I’d play along until I remembered what we were talking about, but I won’t waste energy doing that with you,” he said.
“You’re not the only one forgetting things today. Though you wouldn’t think it from my unprofessional actions dumping my personal problems with Ryder on you, I’m usually great at keeping my work and personal life separate. Somehow you make me forget I’m at work.”
Good. He wasn’t the only one thrown off stride. Nothing hit a man’s ego harder than a woman winding him up tighter than a stallion in spring saying she wasn’t interested.
“It seems I owe you another apology,” Carly said in what he’d already recognized as her no-nonsense director voice. “How many does that make so far?”
He shrugged. “I’m not counting.”
He’d have sworn the women he’d been with since Carly had wiped away details of her, but today they’d rushed back, heavy and intoxicating.
If he kissed her, would she still taste like caramel because she couldn’t face the morning without her fancy latte from Brew You?
Would her hair, when it brushed over his skin as she lay sprawled on top of him, feel as soft as his favorite flannel shirt?
“I promise from here on, I’ll be nothing but professional,” Carly said, dragging him away from his memories.
Before he could respond, gravel crunched under tires as a red pickup pulled into the driveway.
She glanced over her shoulder, stiffened, and smoothed a hand over her long brown hair.
The rosy Texas sun-kissed glow on her cheeks and the twinkle in her eyes disappeared, leaving her features blank.
“That’s either Holly, my assistant director, or Dennis Petrasik.
They both drive red pickups, and I can never remember who has the truck with a white stripe on the side.
” She bit her lip as if realizing she’d started rambling.
He resisted the urge to smile. Guess she hadn’t lost that nervous habit.
“If it’s Dennis, he’s here to act as the sidewalker during your session. He’ll be expecting us to meet him in the riding arena.”
“Sidewalker? What’s that?”
She glared at him, hands on her hips. “You’re kidding, right? Not only did you grow up in Service, but I volunteered as a sidewalker the entire time we dated, and I talked to you about what I did. How can you not know, and for that matter, why would you choose a therapy you know so little about?”
Because I came to Horses for Heroes to work with you.
Owen shoved his hands in his pockets as he considered how to crawl from the hole he’d dug. “I remember the important parts of what you said, like how much the program helped people.”
“I remember how your eyes sparkled and how you rejoiced in every veteran’s success as if it were your own. I remember you refused to give up on anyone, and never allowed a man to give up on himself either.”
He needed her strength and reassurance as his safety net. If Carly didn’t give up on him, he’d get through this and regain his life. He truly believed that. He had to.
*
His words swelled inside her heart, but she had to forget what he’d said. Not that she expected having more luck with that than anything else since Owen stalked into her office. He’d thrown Carly so far off her game she wasn’t even in the stadium parking lot.
As she led Owen through the barn to the tack room, she marveled at how he still possessed the unnerving ability to turn the conversation back to her, and more importantly, to get her to open up to him.
She had to regain her footing, keep things on a professional basis, and quit ricocheting between treating him like a long-lost confidant, her biggest irritation, and the headliner in her wildest erotic dreams.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The familiar smells of horse and fresh hay swirled around her, calming her edgy nerves. When she opened them again, she stared at the bike helmets, horse blankets, and bridles nestled in cubbies and lining shelves around the room.
Frowning, she realized she often went weeks without being around a horse. She loved riding and grooming horses. Both activities lightened whatever burdens weighed her down. How had she lost so many parts of life that gave her joy?
Vowing to quit depriving herself, she grabbed a plain black helmet she thought would fit Owen, and held it out to him. “Try this one for size.”
Staring at her as if she’d asked him to try on a pink tutu and pirouette down Main Street in the Fourth of July parade, he said, “What do I need that for? I’ve got a hat.”
Ah, the joys of clients with short-term memory issues—repeating the policies and procedures they’d discussed five minutes earlier.
“While a helmet and a cowboy hat both go on your head, they don’t serve the same function, and in this case, aren’t interchangeable.
The helmet protects you in case of a fall. Your hat won’t.”
“You think I’ll fall? Off a horse? I’ve been riding since before I could walk.
I don’t need that ridiculous thing because I won’t fall off.
” He punctuated the last words, his voice low, as irritation tumbled off him like rocks in a landslide.
Then to ensure she understood he tossed her a glare capable of making any rustler shake in his boots.
“Don’t act all insulted. I wasn’t commenting on your riding skill. As far as I know, we’ve never had a client fall, and I don’t expect you to be the first.”
She held out the helmet again, but he folded his strong arms over his broad chest in offended male defiance. “I’ll stick with what I’ve got.”
The man could give stubborn lessons to a goat. After counting to ten, both in English and Spanish, she took a calming breath and tried not to focus on his magnificent biceps. “Wearing a helmet is standard policy for legal reasons. No helmet, no therapy session.”
He seized the helmet, yanked off his cowboy hat, and threw it Frisbee style into an empty cubby.
Then he slapped the helmet on his head. Carly bit her lip to keep from smirking at the sight of the tall, lean cowboy, his feet braced, his body stiff.
If he didn’t calm down, he’d end up like a Loony Toons character who got so mad the top of his head blew clean off. “It’s really not that bad.”
“Easy for you to say since folks won’t see you wearing this—” His voice trailed off, and he thumped the helmet. “Damn. What’s the word? You said it a second ago. How come I can’t remember?”
His affronted alpha male attitude evaporated, and his vulnerability reached out to her, reminding him of what he’d endured. “It probably doesn’t help, but problems like recalling the word ‘helmet’ is common with brain injuries. We’ll work on coping strategies during speech therapy.”
“Screw dealing with it. What can I do to get my brain to work the way it used to?”
“Everything you’ll do here will help, but recovery takes time.” And there was no guarantee he’d return to who he’d been cognitively and speech-wise, but she kept that to herself. She knew better than to poke a riled-up bear.
“It’ll take time. Those words grate on my nerves,” Owen said. “It took an instant to make me like this. It’s not right it’ll take so damn long to fix.”
“It’s definitely not fair. I wish I could change it for you.”
A twinkle returned to his eyes, and a smile played on his lips.
“You can’t change that, but you could cut me a break on this.
” Once again, he thumped the helmet. “Being seen wearing this riding a horse is a nightmare for a self-respecting Texan. It’s just plain wrong, like putting high heels on a football player. ”
This time she couldn’t contain her amusement.
“Damn it, woman. Wearing a helmet is bad enough without you snickering. At this rate, I won’t have any pride left when I leave.”
“Oh, please. Quit making such a big deal of this. On our website, we have pictures of big burly veterans with manly tattoos riding our horses and wearing helmets.”
“Anyone who takes my picture like this better run.”