Her Rodeo Hero. Laura Marie Altom
Fourteen
Amazing.
Natalie Goodman watched from the grandstands, mouth slack, as Colton Reynolds stepped back from the black gelding, lifted his arms and gave the cue for his horse to rear one more time.
“See.” Jillian Thacker, one of Natalie’s best friends, leaned in toward her. She had to yell to be heard over the appreciative roar of the crowd around them. “What did we tell you?”
The gelding pawed at the air, mane flying like a royal banner, nostrils flaring. The horse was clearly listening to Colt’s commands—or did it watch for them? Natalie couldn’t tell.
The man in the arena seemed a mysterious figure in his black hat, black jeans and black shirt, a conjurer come to ply his trade with a magic wand. The only thing missing was a cape to complete the image. A day’s growth of razor stubble covered his square chin, but the rest of his face remained in shadow. Yet something about the man’s stance told Natalie all she needed to know, just like last time. She’d met him once before, at a wedding. She hadn’t been impressed. Today she couldn’t look away as she watched him lower his arms. The horse’s front feet returned to solid ground. The crowd that lined the rodeo arena went wild again.
“He’s the real deal, Natalie.” Jillian’s fiancé, Wes, tipped forward so he could peer around Jillian, his handsome face glowing with approval. “If you’re looking for someone to help train your horse, he’s your man.”
Train her horse. Because she couldn’t. Or shouldn’t. Doctor’s orders—no more horses. But Jillian and Wes didn’t know that; they thought she only needed help to learn a new sport. They had no idea she’d been forbidden to ride, period.
“The trouble is getting him to agree,” Wes added.
That didn’t surprise her. The time they’d met he’d been about as friendly as a stepped-on dog. That was before, back when she’d been one of the top riders in the country, slated to represent the United States in international competition. She’d had her whole career mapped out, and then... Bam! The wreck. The recovery. The restructuring of her life. She’d lost everything but her sense of determination.
She refused to think about that. Instead she focused on her surroundings inside the Arroyo Grande Rodeo Grounds. The sky had blossomed a deep blue this morning, and a few wisps of fog had floated through a field of bonnets. The crowd let out a gasp of surprise as Colt’s horse suddenly bowed, its nose touching the ground. Natalie hadn’t even seen the man give the command. Nor did she see him signal for the horse to get back up and then head toward an open trailer parked in the middle of the ring, one with Colt’s name emblazoned on the side along with the words Rodeo Misfits in an Old West–style font.
“I’ve seen him take some of our rescue horses and turn them completely around...” Jillian had to wait to finish because the crowd had erupted again when the black gelding climbed into the horse trailer without so much as a by-your-leave from Colt. “He’s a miracle worker.”
A year ago Natalie wouldn’t have believed that the day would come when she’d need help training a horse. A year ago she’d been riding high after winning a silver medal at the Pan American Games. A year ago she hadn’t been recovering from the worst riding accident of her career.
A lot could change in a year.
“Does he train professionally?” she heard herself ask.
Jillian’s black bob brushed her cheeks as she shook her head. “No.”
If Natalie didn’t miss her guess, her friend’s eyes lost some of their luster. “He’s a bit of a recluse, but Wes can bring him around.”
“You hope.”
“No. He will.” She smiled and clutched her fiancé’s forearm. Wes tipped back his straw cowboy hat and gave his wife-to-be a kiss, after which Jillian said, “Wes and Colt go back a long way.”
Natalie hated the thought of asking anyone for help, especially a reluctant someone, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Was that relief she spotted in her friend’s expression, too? She hated to admit it, but it probably was. Jillian had been present when she’d attempted to ride her horse without a bridle the first time, something that might seem crazy, but was actually an emerging sport. To say it hadn’t gone well was an understatement.
Down in the arena Colt waved to the crowd, the white bucking chutes behind him contrasting starkly against his black attire. Natalie thought the act was over, but she was wrong. Just as Colt went to swing the trailer door closed, the black horse came bolting out. She thought the animal had made a mistake, but something about the way Colt acted, the way he placed his hands on his hips and then shook his fist at the animal, told her that this, too, was part of his skit.
Sure enough, the animal came barreling back toward him, and the crowd gasped yet again when it seemed as if the horse might run him down. It didn’t. Instead the animal snatched a black handkerchief, something Natalie hadn’t spotted before, out of Colt’s back pocket and ran off with it. Colt spent the next few minutes making a big show of trying to get it back, much to the crowd’s amusement. Natalie continued to be amazed as the animal expertly played its part. Finally, Colt appeared to give up. He climbed into the driver’s seat of his truck, pretending to be so mad he’d decided to drive off with the trailer door still wide open. Natalie saw why a moment later. As he drove out of the ring, the black gelding followed, leapt for the open door, and then whipped around, still holding the black handkerchief. The horse waved it at the crowd as if saying goodbye.
“Amazing,” she heard herself say.
“He is.” Jillian and Wes applauded as loudly as the rest. Heck, even the cowboys who sat or stood behind the chutes gave him a hand. “Wes can go down and talk to him right now.”
Natalie stood up. “That’s okay.”
Jillian’s pretty green eyes dimmed. “Are you certain? Colt would never so no to Wes.”
She smiled tightly. “He won’t say no to me, either.”
* * *
DAMN SPURS. THEY ALWAYS seemed to hang up in the carpet of his truck, Colt thought. He’d nearly fallen on his ass when one of the rowels snagged a loop as he hopped out. He’d be glad when he could take them off. He never used the damn things anyway—they were all for show. Part of the act. Jeans, black chaps and black cowboy hat. City people seemed to expect that.
“Get on out of there, Teddy.”
The gelding stood just where he expected—at the back of the trailer, head hanging out, handkerchief still clasped