Rancher and Protector. Pamela Britton
off now,” he said. “The horse will think he’s won.”
It might have been a few years since he’d worked his father’s ranch, and he might have been young back then, but when you were dealing with animals, you wanted to be in control.
“I’m scared,” she admitted. “Seriously, I think I should wait for Jarrod. He’s the person I’m interning with, and when he helped me out yesterday, I wasn’t half as scared.”
“That’s because he was standing right behind you,” Colt said, moving up next to her and urging her forward with his hand. “And I can, too.”
She was short, no more than five-three, with enough curves to fill a road map. But his buddy had warned him that Amber Brooks was a real piece of work. He’d known Logan since high school and was inclined to believe his friend. She might look heaven sent, but she was no angel.
“Here,” he said. Damn it. “It goes like this.” He demonstrated how to hold the halter, how to put the horse’s nose in first, than how to slip the crown piece through the brass buckle. “See?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” she said. “I remember now. It’s like the harness that people use for bondage.”
Colt froze.
“Not that I’m into bondage or anything!” she quickly exclaimed, and if he read her body language right, she couldn’t believe she’d said the words. “I did a paper on fetishes when I was working on my masters.”
“Uh-huh.”
So. She was highly educated. Probably thought she was better than everyone else.
“Thanks,” she said, wry amusement on her face. “Honestly, I feel like an idiot.”
“You’ll do fine next time,” he found himself saying. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” she asked.
“I was told to help you saddle up the horse. That you were wanting to learn how to ride.”
“Ride?” she repeated, her blue eyes suddenly huge. “Oh, I—uh …”
He waited, wondering what the deal was with her. Why was she at this camp if she didn’t know anything about horses? She was the reason he’d taken the job. It was a deal he couldn’t refuse. In exchange for locating Logan’s son, Colt would receive the papers on his buddy’s best roping horse—an animal that’d been sitting around for a few years, sure, but a damn good horse all the same. The gelding was just the ticket Colt needed. A tie-down roper was only as good as the animal he rode, and for the past few years, Colt hadn’t been that good.
“Well,” he said, “the only way to learn is by working with them. Go get me a lead rope.”
“Is that the long cord thingy?” she asked.
He nodded. He needed to get to know her better. To put her at ease. To become her friend.
She came back into the stall, lead rope in hand.
He snapped the rope to the horse’s halter.
She was temptation wrapped in denim, and that presented a hell of a problem. He planned on betraying this pretty little package one day soon.
Chapter Two
Ride, Amber thought with a gulp.
She realized in that instant that it was one thing to decide to become a hippotherapist, quite another to actually do it … especially when horses were involved.
“Go on,” Colt said, motioning her ahead of him.
He didn’t look happy. She wondered if men like him found it tedious to teach newbies like her. His expression was as dour as a thundercloud.
“Where should I take her?” She glanced up at Flash.
“It’s a him,” the cowboy said. “There’s a rack out in front of the stable. Tie him out there.”
It was as if a really scary monster was following on her heels; that’s what leading a horse felt like.
Get used to it, Amber. A horse might be just what Dee needs. And if that proved true, well, she’d buy him ten horses.
Colt appeared unfazed by his surroundings. How nice to have been born on a ranch. Maybe if she’d been born on one, too, she wouldn’t feel so dang scared.
“How long have you been in the horse business?”
“Long time,” he said.
They stepped out of the shelter of the barn, and after being inside for so long, Amber had to blink in the glaring sunlight. It was bright outside, but so beautiful. Tall trees framed a parklike setting. She was pretty sure the trees were redwoods, they were so huge. In the distance she could see the empty army barracks. It seemed sad that up until last year the place had been abandoned. Well, now the Golden State Therapeutic Center, aka Camp Cowboy, made good use of it.
“No,” Colt said. “Not like that.”
Amber glanced down at the cord she’d wrapped around a pole.
She’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t given a second thought to how she tied it. “Not like what?”
“You need to use a quick-release knot.”
“Uh … how do I do that?” Jarrod hadn’t taught her that yesterday. The good-looking blond staffer had simply taken the lead from her and done it himself.
“Like this.” Colt stepped toward her. Surely some football team in the South was lamenting the loss of such an athletic looking guy. “See?”
No, Amber hadn’t seen. They stood in front of a hitching post that looked a lot like the ones in Western movies. Apparently, there hadn’t been a lot of technological advances in horse hitching recently. But what he did with that rope might as well have been cat’s cradle. “Can you do that again?”
“Wrap it around once,” he said. “Then cross over, then make a loop, then pull the end through the loop. See?”
“I think I do,” she said. But it quickly became apparent that she didn’t see at all.
“Here,” he said, taking her hands in his. He had a really huge one. Ginormous. She felt like Fay Wray in King Kong’s palm.
“Wrap it around once, cross the two strands, slip the loop through the V here.” He demonstrated, then slid the loose end through the resulting loop.
“Oh!” At last she got it. Though why they needed a special way to tie horses was anybody’s guess.
“It’s so you can release the rope quickly if he pulls back.”
Had she really been that easy to read?
“Got it,” she said. “Although I’m not sure I want to know what ‘pulling back’ means in horseydom.”
“I don’t expect that to happen with any of the animals here. As I understand it, they’ve all been therapy horses for at least a year.”
“That’s a relief. I was thinking I might need to update my life insurance policy.”
There he went, staring at her again. “You’ll be fine,” he stated simply.
“Good to know,” she murmured. “Now what?”
“Well, I assume there are some grooming brushes around here?”
“Oh, yeah. Jarrod showed me where they were. They’re in the tack room.”
Colt nodded, his hat tipping low over his eyes. He reminded her of a cardsharp from an old Western, the kind that sidled up to a bar and growled, “Whiskey. Straight up.” A lot of men wouldn’t be able to carry off such a look. He could.
A