I have operations back-to-back, and then clinic and—”
“You don’t have to tell me. I know.”
He could see she was both upset and disappointed. “Before I go, I want to check that knee.”
“I’m fine.”
“Who’s the doctor here?” It was a familiar argument and one that could almost make him smile. They had teased each other often like that early in their marriage, until those teasing comments had become angry barbs. He stepped toward her, and she didn’t back up. He could smell Jessie’s seductive scent, a mix of hay, desert mesquite and Ivory soap. He’d discovered on their third or fourth date that just a brief whiff aroused him. If he’d thought the kiss had gotten him hot, it was nothing compared to her fragrance. He looked at her and saw a flush on her face that wasn’t from the sun.
He made himself step back. They were divorced. “You should use ice followed by heat. Take a double dose of ibuprofen today and tomorrow morning and that should keep the swelling down and help with the pain.”
“Thanks, Doc,” she said. “I’ll call the office.”
“You do that. I’ve got to go.”
She put her hand on his arm to stop him from turning. “He really is a great kid, Payson. He’s been doing so well. At first he was weak and scared, but now he’s walking more often and his balance is thirty percent improved. The therapy works.”
“I said I’d come back,” he answered, not wanting to argue with her, rail at her that he’d also seen Alex almost get trampled to death. He’d learned a few things in their years apart, including how to keep his temper in check. What he hadn’t learned was how to erase the memory of her curled against him when they were alone and in their big old-fashioned sleigh bed—the bed he still slept in. There were nights when the dreams were so real he’d wake up and reach for her. When he felt the coolness of the empty sheets, he wanted to cry or punch the wall.
He needed to sell that bed.
Jessie glared at Payson, who was sitting across from her three weeks after his disastrous visit in his version of cowboy casual—a pressed and starched shirt tucked into equally stiff, dark denims. It was wrong to iron jeans, as she had told him more than once, and it was wrong for her to think he looked sexy.
They were in her small office that was crammed into the corner of one of the barns. Usually the scents of hay and horse kept her calm and focused. Not today. Three years divorced, and he could still make her mad enough to see red. What did she tell the kids to do when they were angry? Walk away. Well, she didn’t have a choice about that this time. Payson had just announced that if she wanted the hospital to endorse her program, then he was sticking around.
“Your neck is red and not from the sun,” he said softly, his mouth curling a little as his coffee-colored eyes gleamed with a wry humor. “Are you upset?”
She waited for him to laugh. One snort. One chortle and she was taking him down. She regularly wrestled with a half ton of horse. “I am surprised. A barn is the last place I expected you to want to hang out,” she said.
“Times change.”
“You mean it’s snowing in hell.”
“I would think you’d watch your language with all of these children around.”
She didn’t want to fight with him, but he definitely knew which buttons to push. “Do you have any ideas on how you would like to carry out your observations?”
“You mean besides stand and watch?” he asked and grinned.
She worked not to smile back at that smart-ass answer. Those sorts of comments had gotten him into trouble on a regular basis when they were younger. Of course, there were times when the verbal battle that followed such remarks would lead directly to a horizontal two-step, but she was not going there today...or any other day, she told her racing heart. She calmly said, “We’re using the indoor ring. That would probably be the best place to start.”
Payson had told her that he would observe again today. After that, he and the team from the hospital would be at the ranch nearly full-time to see how the program aligned with medical standards. Jessie had never expected that the hospital would take such a hands-on approach, but if she wanted to keep Hope’s Ride operating, she had to accept the invasion. She’d try to cooperate. She really would. It was just tough with Payson as the one coordinating the study by the hospital.
He stood and waited. She got up and limped off through the barn. It had been weeks since her tussle with Alex and the horse, but her knee refused to stop aching. Being short-handed at the ranch hadn’t helped her condition. She’d been doing more than usual, and going to the doctor was out of the question. Until Hope’s Ride made money, Jessie had only the most basic insurance.
Payson followed her, making her even more self-conscious about her gait. In the past, when he’d walked behind her, he’d said it was so he could enjoy how she filled out a pair of jeans. She doubted that was what he felt right now.
“Here’s the indoor ring,” Jessie said. She would pretend he was a donor who was thinking about supporting Hope’s Ride. That would give her the right attitude. “The afternoon sessions are for the younger children who aren’t in school yet.”
He looked at his watch. “I have a consultation at three, so that gives us an hour.”
Jessie almost made a snarky comment. Paste on a smile and be polite, she firmly told herself. She could do that for the next hour. She could do that for however long it was going to take to save Hope’s Ride.
She explained briefly what the volunteers were doing and each child’s therapy plan. Payson asked questions, but his gaze was intent on the children. They stood side by side for a few moments. She could smell the tartness of the starch from his shirt and clearly remembered what that innocent-looking cotton hid. She would not think about how that scent had invaded her senses when Alex made them kiss.
She refused to remember how he had touched her in their big comfortable bed—a whimsical monstrosity that Payson had bought for her because she’d refused to have a diamond ring. During the divorce, she’d told him nastily that she didn’t want anything from their marriage, especially that “stupid” bed. Less than a year later, a stumble by Candy Cane, her Appaloosa, had changed her life as much as marrying Payson at nineteen had. While her damaged knee functioned pretty well, it wasn’t 100 percent and never would be. She’d had to retire from the rodeo.
After a month of sitting at her folks’ house in Tucson and feeling sorry for herself, her parents placed a firm, but kindly, foot on her butt, encouraging her to open Hope’s Ride. The program had been in her someday plans after seeing riding therapy in action at a farm in Ohio. So, after paying her medical bills, she’d used a chunk of her savings along with a little bit of help from her parents and their friends in the rodeo “family” to get started.
Now, every month had become a balancing act of draining her savings as she tried to put off creditors until the payments came in. The problem was that the payments weren’t covering all of the expenses now, and her savings were nearly gone.
“Each of the volunteers and paid staff go through extensive training,” she told Payson. “The mounts have all been donated. We test each one before any child is allowed on. You can see that each rider has a helmet and helpers. It’s very safe. The movement of the horse forces them to—”
“What conditions do you treat?” he asked, interrupting her.
He was a “donor” she reminded herself, and explained the current program and her hopes for expansion. After another five minutes of observation, he suggested that they move on. She took him to the outdoor facilities and to a small room where the children and their caregivers regularly met to speak with the two other therapeutic riding