shifted his weight in the saddle. It was more than that.
“So you think it might be psychological?” he asked.
Alana shrugged, her dark bay horse lifting its head as if anticipating the cue for trotting. “I’m not sure. These injuries. Well, you know...it’s not an exact science.”
They’d learned that all too well with Rana. The doctors had said she’d never walk again. But the doctors had underestimated the determination of a ten-year-old girl who lived and breathed horses.
“You’re going to keep pushing him, aren’t you?” Cabe asked.
“I think I should,” Alana said, but as they rode toward the back end of the pasture, her mind chewed over the problem. If he did have partial use of his lower extremities, that was a good sign, and a definite indication that his issues might be more mental than physical. The problem was how to get the man to cooperate. Still, she knew when to push and when to keep a low profile. She hung back today, letting Rana work with him, her mind spinning.
A half hour later Cabe called out to Rana, telling her it was time to head back. An hour on horseback. That was a good start. But as the teenager and her sidekick rode toward them, she found herself sliding alongside Trent, despite telling herself it might be wiser to leave him alone today. Rana took the hint and joined her father.
“How you feeling?” She made sure to give him the full force of her smile, not that it appeared to have any effect. She had a feeling if he’d been a dog, he would have growled.
“Fine.”
He was still mad about yesterday. Okay. She understood that. He was still here, though, so that meant something.
“Your arms sore from yesterday?”
“No.”
She held on to her patience by a spiderweb thread. The man made her grit her teeth. Worse, he made her seriously self-conscious. Every time she looked into his eyes it took an effort to keep her cheeks from blazing brightly. Why did he have to be so good-looking?
“Didn’t your doctors tell you that you should be able to walk?”
There. She’d said it, although she instantly regretted the words. If he’d wanted to growl at her before, he wanted to bite her hand off now. He thrust his hips forward, hard, but Baylor refused to go faster. She almost smiled at the frustrated glare he shot her.
“Going somewhere?” she asked, knowing it would infuriate him further but wanting to rattle his cage for some reason.
“Obviously,” he hissed, “there’s no chance of me ever walking again. I would have thought you’d realized that yesterday. I can’t even get this damn horse to move.”
“Yes, you can.”
Anger. Bitterness. Frustration. She saw all that in his eyes and more.
“Are you afraid of failing?” Harsh, yes, but the question needed to be asked.
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Good,” she said quickly. “Because I’ve been taking it easy on you up until today. Not anymore.”
His head whipped back around, brows low, gray eyes glittering. “What?”
“The sooner we dig in, the better.”
She reached out and grabbed one of his reins. He tried to jerk them away.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re going to trot.”
“No, we are not.” He tried to pull the reins back. “I’ll fall.”
“Not in that saddle.” She smiled at him, but kept a firm grip on the single rein. “All you have to do is hang on.”
“No.”
But Baylor knew what to do. The moment she clucked her horse into a trot, the animal followed.
“Stop.”
It was the worst part of her job—pushing people when they didn’t want to be pushed. She consoled herself, as she always did, by telling herself this was good for him. He didn’t believe he could ride, but he could in their specially made saddle. He could even gallop if he’d put in a little effort learning Baylor’s cues. He was just being stubborn.
So as she trotted off, she ignored his cries of protest. She didn’t look in his direction, either, certain all she’d see was anger in his eyes. The soft footfalls of Baylor’s hooves matched her own horse’s steps. After a few yards, she risked a glance backward, wanting to see if he was bouncing out of the saddle or sitting quietly.
Sitting quietly.
She turned away before he could see the smile breaking across her face. Ah. The man might be holding on to the saddle’s horn like a drowning victim, but he wasn’t moving, a sure sign that his legs still functioned.
They caught up to Rana and Cabe in a matter of seconds, Alana pulling her horse and Trent’s to a stop.
“Whew, I’m getting hungry,” she told the group at large, letting go of Baylor’s reins. “I’m thinking BLTs for lunch.”
Rana chirped a resounding “Yes.” Cabe just smiled. Trent glared.
She should have expected it, she really should have, but it was a bit of a disappointment to realize he was so deep into his self-pity he hadn’t even noticed how well he’d clung to his horse.
And then he leaned toward her. Alana pulled up her horse, slowing it down so Rana and Cabe wouldn’t hear what Trent said. It was a good thing, too.
“If you ever do that again, I swear, I will somehow find a blowgun and shoot your horse in the ass with a dart.”
To which she just smiled. “Well, Mr. Anderson, I’d start combing eBay, then, because I plan to do a lot of stuff like that over the next two weeks.” She’d already wasted one week taking it easy on him. Not anymore.
Before he could say another word, she clucked to her horse and cantered away.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER Trent still fumed. He could have fallen and been killed today.
And wouldn’t that have been poetic?
Killed by a horse and not that stupid drunk driver.
He couldn’t leave fast enough. Trent ignored the scenic view once he shot out of the barn. The pine trees weren’t as thick as they were at the edge of the Jensen property, but they still afforded some shade from the sun as he traveled along the gravel path. Some days he wished he were a vampire, a being that would simply poof out of existence in the sun’s rays.
The path wound through a small meadow with loamy red earth smelling musty and dank, and birds chirping in the trees. One thing about the world, no matter how much crap you were wading in, the damn thing still turned. So did the wheels of his chair, faster and faster, although this part of the property wasn’t as steep a grade as the main road, it just took longer to navigate. Trent slowed down once he was out of view.
He wished he’d had the courage to leave yesterday. He couldn’t. He’d promised his mom he’d try and stick it out for three weeks. His traitorous mother, who’d clearly handed over his medical records to the slave driver Alana. He couldn’t believe she’d sold him out.
When he made it back to his cabin, his hands still shook, making it difficult to dial Saedra’s number.
“I was wondering when you’d get around to calling me.”
He smiled when he heard her voice, the first time he’d grinned in this godforsaken place since arriving. He wheeled his chair toward the giant picture window at the front of his cabin. Sunlight glinted off the nearby river. They appeared to be in a low-lying valley, one surrounded on all sides by small mountains, and in the distance to the northwest was what looked