Chapter Seven
Owen practically saw the gears turning in Carly’s head as she balanced the pleasure of tossing out a jab to put him in his place versus the cost to her director image with Dennis if she ignored his comment.
“Have Whiskey make a loop around the arena. After that, head for the rings on the west side,” she said, her voice stiff and tinged with annoyance.
He wished he’d put money on the ignore choice, as he flicked the reins and set off. The horse’s gentle rhythm settled his ragged nerves, bringing a familiar calm he hadn’t felt in a long while. He hadn’t gone more than thirty feet when Carly said to make a right turn.
The moment he transferred his attention to the reins and directeding the horse, his balance wobbled.
He shifted his weight left, but overcorrected, sending him wavering in the opposite direction.
Damn. After boasting he didn’t need help, he’d never live it down if he ended up on his ass five minutes after therapy started.
He pulled back on the reins to slow the horse.
Then he worked on righting his course, straightening his posture and staying in the saddle while Dennis grabbed his belt buckle offering extra support.
“I was joking about being unable to walk and chew gum at the same time, but now I’m not so sure,” Owen said. “Guess I owe you that beer, Dennis.”
Dennis chuckled and his hand returned to Owen’s ankle. “It’ll get easier. The first day’s always the toughest.”
“Try the turn again,” Carly said.
More prepared, Owen checked his posture before directing the horse and executed the turn. On the straight away, Carly asked, “Do you remember the horse’s name?”
“No.”
Damn. How could he remember in vivid detail every touch, every glance, every word Carly said?
He remembered how she looked in the tack room, with her hair tangled from his hands running through it and her lips rose red from his kisses, but not the blasted horse’s name?
Before the bomb dumped a wall on his head, he could’ve recited a damn near transcription version of their conversations since arriving at the ranch.
“Early on, your best coping mechanism is writing down information, but if you can’t immediately do that, try making an association to remember,” she said. “For example, this handsome boy’s name is Whiskey, so associating him with your favorite whiskey could trigger his name.”
Now he understood why he remembered what Carly said in the tack room. What occurred meant enough to get burned in his permanent memory.
The session continued with him working around the ring with Carly giving simple directions. When they returned, she asked, “Do you remember what I said to do after you took a turn around the ring?”
He tossed her his I-can’t-believe-you’re-asking-that-when-we-both-know-I-don’t glare. “I might if you’d given the association tip before we started. Seems like you set a man up for failure doing it the other way around. Don’t you think, Dennis?”
The older man shook his head and waved between the two of them. “Leave me outta this.”
“You’re right, Owen. Giving the tip first is the smarter idea. I told you I’m out of practice working with clients,” Carly conceded. “Considering that, working with another instructor is a standing offer.”
“I might be easy, but it takes more than that to get rid of me.”
Her cheeks flushed with Carly blush pink, his new favorite color. An I-plan-on-ignoring-your-inappropriate-comment look on her face, she said, “The second part of my instructions were to ride to the rings on the arena’s far side.”
He smiled and nudged Whiskey with his heels.
He’d found a new game—how wound up and flustered could he get Carly before she slapped him silly.
His grin widened, despite guilt pricking at his conscience.
His game wouldn’t break his word. He and Gunther had given each other crap.
This wasn’t any different than that. It was simply more fun with Carly.
He stared at the colored rings like the ones kids dove for in a pool hanging from a PVC pipe rigging. “What the heck am I gonna do with those?”
“I’ll tell you what color ring to target. You’ve got to control Whiskey and throw the beanbag through that circle.”
How could playing a child’s game be equestrian therapy amputees and paralyzed vets touted for returning their independence and regaining their mobility?
“You should host kids’ birthday parties.
They’d love this game.” When her lips pinched into a thin line, Owen chuckled.
“Maybe I’ve hit on a new fundraising idea if you add more activities.
Landon and I used to line tin cans on a fence and shoot at ’em with a BB gun while riding. You could add that.”
At the mention of Landon’s name, fresh pain stabbed Owen, killing his pleasant mood. His hands tightened on the reins and the horse shifted anxiously under him. His friend should be here playing this childhood game with him, not in a plot on the edge of town.
He couldn’t change the past. All he could do was get back in fighting shape, return to active duty, and help rid the world of the bastards who killed his best friend.
“I bet you won’t think this exercise is child’s play when you’re finished,” Carly said.
“Is that a challenge?”
“Take it however you want.”
Owen’s gaze swept over Carly’s shapely frame. “Will do.”
gaze widened, and her tongue wet her lips. He shifted in the saddle.
Dennis cleared his throat. “Enough dancin’ you two. We got work to do. Best get to it.”
The man’s reminder brought Owen renewed focus. What was the horse’s name? Booze. Carly had said that would help him remember. His favorite brand, Jack Daniel’s. Whiskey. That was the horse’s name. Maybe there was something to this association stuff.
Had part of their battles this morning been caused by his attitude? He admitted he’d come in out of sorts and determined to prove he wasn’t struggling as bad as initial assessments indicated, but had he cut off his nose to spite his face?
He considered Carly’s suggestions again. So what if he needed to write notes and make word association reminders? If he’d broken his leg, he’d wear a cast until the bone healed. How were these tools any different?
When they reached the rings, Carly grabbed a small plastic box off the ground and handed him a beanbag.
He transferred the rein from his right hand to his left and went into a windup.
His balance wobbled, and he straightened his spine.
Unfortunately, his hand also tightened on the reins as he released the beanbag.
Whiskey shifted, sending his throw far left, and he nearly toppled from the saddle.
Muffled snickering taunted him. Damn. He might have to eat his earlier words about equestrian therapy being child’s play.
*
As she stood on Addie’s parents’ front porch, her hand tightened around the bottle of cabernet clutched in her hand. At least tonight she could forget about Owen and Ryder, how the males in her life appeared determined to drive her crazy, and how they were succeeding.
Cows bawled in the distance, mixing with crickets’ chirps and the distant clacking of freight trains as she knocked on the front door.
This far from town the darkness enveloped the land, barely pushed back by the soft glow of the overhead porch light.
The isolation on the cattle ranch had to be both a blessing and a curse for her friend.
When she and Addie met for lunch, they agreed their goal was to socialize with friends who’d allow them to be themselves.
Their criterion was simple. They both had to agree to invite someone.
No it’s-all-about-me types who would monopolize the conversation.
Members shouldn’t be too serious or give anyone grief over not reading the book.
The last stipulation was the members needed to be single.
Carly insisted on that, saying the last thing she wanted was having to listen to someone gripe about her husband.
But really, she was more concerned about Addie, who’d give anything to have her husband alive and annoying her.
“I’m glad we decided to start small,” Addie said when she greeted Carly.
They’d invited Reese, Carly’s best friend, Samantha, a single mother relatively new to town, and Addie’s best friend, Lainey.
“Maybe later we can add more members, but for right now—” Addie’s voice trailed off as if she couldn’t put her feelings into words.
“I get it. Small is all you can handle.” Then she added, “The more public speaking I do for Horses for Heroes, the more I despise big groups. It’s getting so bad I’m starting to consider ten a big group. So what we decided on is perfect if you ask me.”
Addie smiled weakly and wiped away a tear. “Tell me about your week. How’s it going with Owen?”
Carly lifted the wine bottle. “Let’s just say, point me in the direction of a corkscrew and a glass. On second thought, forget the glass. Give me a straw. I’ll drink straight from the bottle.”
If she could just get him to quit questioning her every action and stop the sexual innuendos she’d be thrilled.
Or if the innuendos which he delighted in tossing her way ended, she’d be happy.
Those were tougher to handle. Despite knowing he wanted to fluster her, the wicked glint in his eyes told her that, she couldn’t control her body’s reactions.
Her palms grew sweaty. Her pulse leapt, and her body grew warm every time.
“What’s going on with Owen?”
As Carly followed Addie through the house, she said, “Nothing much. Just he’s a major pain in the ass, stubborn, and, at best, follows one of every four directions. He expects therapy to get him back where he was in thirty days or less. Why would working with him be a problem? He’s a dream client.”
“Is that all?”