She leaned forward to whisper something in her horse’s ear. This may have been the boys’ first time in the saddle, but it definitely wasn’t Eden’s. “So your dad was a native Coloradan?”
“Yes, but he joined the army right out of college and they stationed him at Fort Meade, where Mom was a clerk in the records office.” She looked over at him. “What about you? Did you move to Maryland when the team signed you?”
“No, I was already out there, attending the University of Maryland.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember reading about that in the article. You were majoring in animal husbandry and playing for the school’s baseball team when a scout saw you.”
Nate snickered quietly. “You remember more about that fluff piece than I do.”
“I’d hardly call it fluff. But it says a lot about you, that you don’t buy into your own publicity.” Eden winked. “Gotta admire a guy who’s comfortable in his own skin.”
Miranda had majored in communications and minored in psychology, so he’d heard enough psychobabble to choke Patches. Her insistence on analyzing his every word, action and reaction had been the main bone of contention between them. If she hadn’t taken her eyes off the road to rant at him about his indecisiveness...
“Long, long way between then and now,” he ground out. And to smother any platitudes she might spout, Nate said, “Did you and your brother spend summers back east?”
Eden was silent for several moments. “No. My mom’s parents visited once, about five years after...” She shrugged. “We raced around doing so many touristy things, there wasn’t time to reconnect. We saw them a time or two after that, and then their health declined.”
She fell quiet again. “Stuart looks a lot like my mom, and I inherited her mannerisms. It’s nobody’s fault that we reminded our grandparents of their only child, but it explains why it was tough for them to be around us.” Another shrug. “Listen to me, droning on and on about the past. What a bore!”
He laughed with her, although he found her anything but boring. Nate nodded toward her charges. “Takes a courageous woman to take on a challenge like that.”
She glanced ahead on the trail, where the boys joked and talked as if they didn’t have a care in the world. And for the moment at least, they didn’t.
“Oh, believe me, I haven’t reached all of them,” she said softly. “Yet.”
He might have asked what she meant, if he hadn’t noticed one of the boys leaning too far right in the saddle.
Eden saw it, too. “Uh-oh. Thomas won’t take it well if he falls.”
Man, what he wouldn’t give to know what that meant!
“Don’t worry. Nobody will fall. Not on my watch.”
Nate rode up the line, knowing Thomas’s mount would automatically match his own horse’s pace. “Thirsty?” he asked, holding out a bottle of water.
“No way. If I let go of this handle, I’ll end up in the pond.”
He didn’t bother correcting the boy. “Use your knees, everyone,” he said loudly enough for the others to hear. “That’ll let your horse know you’re the boss and help you keep your balance.”
Something about Thomas unnerved him. That almost-smirk on his face, for starters...like he was up to no good. The feeling stayed with him for the rest of the afternoon, as he showed the boys how to remove and stow saddles, blankets, bits and harnesses, taught them how to brush the horses’ coats, and lectured them on the dangers of overfeeding or overwatering the horses following a long ride.
He put them to work mucking the back stalls, and when they finished that, he pointed to the pitchforks and shovels hanging on the wall. “Wheelbarrows are out back. Fill ’em up and roll ’em out there,” he instructed, pointing at the steaming mound near the tree line.
Last, Nate asked for help moving sacks of feed from the grain shed to the barn. And the whole time, he made it his business to know where Thomas was.
Eden pitched in and pulled more than her fair share of the load. They were all red-faced and sweating by the time they were finished.
“Good job, y’all,” Nate told them. “Go ahead and grab your gear, and meet me at the bunkhouse so I can explain how we do things around here.”
Kirk led them toward the driveway as, too tired to complain or ask what he meant, the boys muttered about achy muscles and blisters on their palms. He’d expected to lose them after the first wheelbarrow tipped. Surprisingly, they stuck it out. Even Thomas.
Eden started to join them in their slog toward the van, too, but he stopped her. “They’re liable to be sore in places they didn’t even know they had,” he said, smiling down at her. “Any aspirin in your pack?”
“Yes,” she said, laughing as she headed toward the van. “But if they feel anything like I do right now, they’ll need some strong liniment, too.”
Later, as the boys played rock-paper-scissors for their turn at the showers, he led her to a small room at the back of the cabin. Hardly bigger than a closet, the room held a narrow cot, a coat rack, a small desk and chair, and a shelf that held quilts and pillows.
“Foreman’s quarters,” he explained. “The walls are thin, so it doesn’t offer much in the way of privacy, but it’s clean.” He nodded toward the foot of the bed. “Everyone’s got fresh linens, but the nights can get cold this time of year, so if anyone needs extra blankets, help yourselves.”
She pressed her fingertips into one of the pillows. “Fat and fluffy,” she said with a wink. “Just the way I like ’em.”
“Think the guys will be okay with these rugged accommodations?”
She glanced at the boys, who were snickering and exchanging good-natured shoves as they flapped sheets and shook pillows into their pillowcases.
“This place is like Buckingham Palace compared to where some of them lived before Latimer House. And you worked them hard. I have a feeling they’ll be dead to the world long before dark.” Eden started for the door. “Walk with me?”
Outside, she removed the baseball cap, freeing a mass of curls that spilled down her back like a cinnamony waterfall.
“Two of them were homeless. Living in alleys and under bridges before the cops picked them up.” She harrumphed. “And trust me, they were better off there than under their parents’ roofs. Every time I think about the things they must have seen and survived...”
He remembered Thomas’s dark, darting eyes. What had the boy experienced to inspire that look of fear and apprehension...and simmering anger?
“I’m guessing you’re not allowed to get specific about their pasts.”
“You’re right. But you’d be less than normal if you didn’t wonder how they all ended up with me.” She crossed both arms over her chest. “Let me put it this way: Kids who end up in places like Latimer House usually have fairly long records. Nothing overtly violent, mind you, but repeated offenses, like arson, breaking and entering, shoplifting, assault, even loitering and curfew violations. With no parental supervision, they were well on their way to a prison cell. Latimer House is the end of the line. One more goof-up, and it’s off to juvie.”
“What about foster care?”
A sad smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “There’s nowhere else in the system for boys with their histories. Besides, the number of kids waiting for placement in foster homes far outweighs the number of families willing to take them in.”
“Why would the state put that many troubled teens in the care of one itty-bitty counselor?”
Eyes narrowed slightly, she arched her left brow. “I’m sure you aren’t insinuating