Her Hometown Hero. Margaret Daley
me.” Nate began walking toward the barn. “I’ll check on Cinnamon and be on my way. But I’m coming back. Kit may not think she needs anyone, but she does.”
Howard followed him. “Why are you doing this? You were willing to compromise years ago. She’s the one who decided to cut all ties when she moved to New York.”
Howard’s question stopped Nate in his tracks. He glanced back at his friend. “I didn’t want to leave college to follow her around the country, but I was willing to continue a long-distance relationship. She wasn’t, and she was right. It wouldn’t have worked in the long run.”
“Because her focus was on her career.”
“Marriage is hard. If both aren’t committed, it won’t work.” I don’t want to come in second in my wife’s life.
“You can say that again. Beth and I realized that real quickly in our marriage.” Howard started for his house where his office was. “You’re welcome here any time, Nate. You’ve got a standing invitation to dinner.”
“Thanks, but I actually enjoy cooking at the end of the day. It relaxes me.”
“Don’t tell Beth. She’ll expect me to start helping in the kitchen. That wouldn’t be a pretty picture.”
Howard’s chuckles filled the warm air as he walked away. At the entrance into the barn, Nate peered toward the cabin. The urge to go see how Kit was doing nipped at his good senses, but he refrained. He knew her well enough to realize he had to let her get used to the idea that he was privy to the extent of her injuries.
* * *
“Emma, you have a way with animals. What I call a special touch,” Nate said to his assistant at the animal hospital, then finished entering notes in a computer file for his last patient, a Great Dane, similar in coloring to his own white-and-black one.
“Dogs are my specialty. Now give me a cat and I’m often at a loss as to why they do the things they do.”
Nate laughed. “That’s because they have an independent streak with a touch of stubbornness. It’s usually their way or no way.”
“I do have to admit I’ve trained a few dogs like that. Some I’ve given up on. Not all of them can be a service or therapy dog.”
He leaned against the counter in the examination room. “I’ve been thinking about talking to you or Abbey about Caring Canines,” he said, referring to the organization that Dr. Harris’s daughter, Abbey, had started last year to help supply service and therapy dogs for people who needed them, regardless of their ability to pay. “I have a friend I think who could benefit from a therapy dog.”
“What’s the problem with your friend?” Emma asked, her long blond hair pulled back in her usual ponytail.
“This isn’t common knowledge and must remain between you and me.”
“Always. When I train a dog for a person or someone comes to get one, what information they tell me remains private.”
“She lost her leg from the knee down in a car accident and is having a hard time coping.”
“No doubt. That can be quite an adjustment. Abbey is working with some veterans who have lost limbs. We’ve even matched up the ones who want a therapy dog. Nothing beats an animal attuned to your moods, especially when you’re depressed. Is she having any nightmares about the accident? Sometimes people will relive the moment their life changed over and over when they sleep. Their subconscious at work.”
“I don’t know.” And he didn’t feel he was in a place to ask her—at least not at the moment. For the past two days since Kit had told him, he’d wrestled with what to do about the information, but he knew he had to help her.
“Does your friend have a preference on the breed of dog? Will she talk to me?”
“I’m not even sure if she’ll accept a therapy dog, but I have to try. She used to have a black poodle as a kid. Missy went everywhere with her.” He could still remember the day Missy died and how hard Kit took it. He’d hurt almost as much as Kit, watching her deal with her grief. When she cared about something, she did deeply.
Then why couldn’t she have cared enough about me? That question came unbidden into his mind, warning him to be cautious with Kit.
“There’s a white, medium-size poodle at Caring Canines I’ve been working with. I could escalate her training, and she could be available by next week.”
“Great. In the meantime I’ll talk with Kit about it.” He’d have to think carefully about how to approach her so she didn’t get her defenses up and refuse. “What’s the dog’s name?”
“Lexie.”
“Okay, then, I’ll visit her and see what she says.”
“If she doesn’t want a poodle, bring her out to Caring Canines. We have several other therapy dogs ready right now.”
The receptionist peeped around the door frame. “Your next patient is here.”
“Thanks, Caroline. I guess we’d better get back to work,” Nate said as Emma made her way into the hallway to bring the next animal back to the examination room.
As Emma led in the next patient, a pet pig, Nate decided to call Howard and invite himself to dinner one evening soon.
* * *
Kathleen struggled but managed to secure the saddle on Cinnamon, put the reins over her mare’s head and rest the leather straps across her withers. After Kathleen let down the stirrups, she looked to see if anyone else was around the back of the barn where she would mount her horse. Howard had worked with Cinnamon to get her accustomed to being mounted on the right, but this was the first time that Kathleen had ridden her.
Since arriving at the ranch five days before, she’d kept to her cabin. But her brother had come to see her earlier this afternoon and told her about what he’d been doing the past few days since Cinnamon was better. He’d all but challenged her to go for a ride. She’d wanted to but always seemed to come up with a reason not to, even after Cinnamon was over the colic.
What if she couldn’t ride with her prosthetic leg? She didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of others. Holding Cinnamon in place in front of her, she stepped up on the mounting block that Howard had adapted with a railing. With a mental count to three, she put her right foot in the stirrup then swung her leg with the prosthesis over the back of her mare and successfully sat on top of her horse. She punched her fist into the air, joy spreading through her.
But when she started out in a walk, her left leg slipped out of the stirrup. Frustrated, she stopped Cinnamon and slid it back into place. She didn’t go far from the barn in case there was a problem. Her foot came out a couple of more times until finally she left it out. Her balance was a little off, but she managed to walk Cinnamon around the pasture. Even for a brief moment, she relished the fresh air with the scent of newly mowed grass peppering the light breeze.
When Kathleen glimpsed a red truck drive up the lane—Nate’s—she thought about heading for the rolling hills to the east of the house but knew she couldn’t avoid him. She made her way back to the barn at a fast walk, her left leg bouncing around more than she liked, which only increased Cinnamon’s gait. She hung on and concentrated on keeping her balance. She wanted to dismount before Nate caught sight of her.
What are you afraid of? He knows. Do you really think you can keep it a secret from everyone for long? That inner voice that had been nibbling away at her resolve to hide from others kept chipping away at her. What was she going to do, not just for the rest of her life, but right now, the next few weeks? Sit around doing nothing? Maybe ride once a day? Would that be enough?
Kathleen made it to the mounting block as Nate strolled out of the back of the barn and paused near the entrance—watching her.
“Go away,” she said, her grip on the reins tight. Cinnamon tossed her