A Cowboy's Pride. Pamela Britton

      Chilly. Go figure. The black poufy jacket did little to keep her warm this time of morning. That was the problem with living at a higher elevation, she thought, stepping onto the gravel path that led to the barn. Nights and mornings were always cold, thanks to a snow-cooled breeze that blew in from the mountains. One learned to dress in layers, because by noon it’d be warm again. But nothing could beat the view, she admitted, passing beneath a thick stand of pine trees that surrounded Cabe’s backyard. Gray mountains in the distance. Meadows nearby. And a sky so blue it looked almost purple. Paradise.

      Her breath misted as she stepped beneath the trees’ canopy. Soon enough, she spotted the arena. To her left was the barn, a state-of-the-art facility with room for twelve horses, an office above that featured windows across the front and side, and a board-and-batten exterior painted white. It looked as though the barn was made out of wood, but it was really made out of an artificial compound resistant to fire, not that you’d ever guess.

      It looked so pretty sitting there this early in the morning, diffused sunlight painting the outside a pale orange, steam rising off the dark green roof above. The weather vane pointed west, she noticed. That was why it was so cold. Wind coming in from the hills, just as she’d suspected.

      A horse spotted her. Its neigh echoed across the stable yard between the barn and the arena.

      “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

      Behind the barn was the main pasture, the ranch horses that they used for guests grazing in the distance, and behind them a faint line of trees that signaled the Bureau of Land Management’s property line. Cabe had the grazing rights.

      A horse nickered impatiently, its knee bumping the stall door. “All right,” Alana said, less patiently. She turned toward an open area to her left filled to the brim with grass hay. “Sheesh, you guys.”

      It wasn’t her job to feed the horses, not really. Cabe usually took care of it, but when she was up early enough and she had no guests to attend, she didn’t mind lending a hand. She enjoyed feeding the horses, loved the smell of a freshly opened bale of hay. Alana inhaled deeply as she grabbed a flake, then turned around. She couldn’t help but smile at the horses’ looks of anticipation.

      “Hey,” Cabe said from her right. Alana paused, a flake of oat hay in hand, the rich, loamy scent filling her nose. The horse she’d been about to feed stamped its foot in impatience, sending up a flurry of dust that caught the early morning light, particles swirling through the air.

      “What are you doing up so early?”

      Gray eyes and dark blond hair flashed into her mind.

      “Couldn’t sleep,” she said. Trent’s handsome face had haunted her all dang night.

      “Oh?” Cabe teased as he walked toward her. “Guess he really got under your skin, too, huh?”

      It bugged the you-know-what out of her that Cabe could read her so easily. She thought about denying it, but she knew better than to try to con her best and oldest friend, so she frowned, shaking her head a bit.

      “I have a feeling he’s going to be a real pain in the rear.” She tossed the flake of hay through the feed door, much to the bay gelding’s delight.

      “He’ll settle in.”

      He’d stopped in front of her—Cabe Jensen, one hundred percent cowboy in his dusty brown Carhartt overalls, with a dark green button-down shirt beneath.

      “You make him sound like a new horse.”

      Cabe pressed his lips together, considering her words, then moved to the edge of the stall so he could peer through the metal bars that kept the horses’ heads away from guests, his gaze sweeping over the animal she’d just fed. Jacob. His best rope horse.

      “He might be as fractious as a new horse.” He met her gaze, obviously satisfied with what he saw. Cabe wore the same cowboy hat he’d worn for years, one that was black but looked faded these days, its flat brim warped and somewhat frayed.

      “Just remember—” he tucked his hands in his pockets—probably because they were cold “—it wasn’t long ago that we were dealing with similar emotions from Rana.”

      It was true, and something she’d reminded herself of at least a hundred times last night. Somehow, though, it was different coming from Cabe. Trent wasn’t family, and his good looks made her uncomfortable. There. She could admit that.

      “I just hope he’ll at least try some of the therapies I suggest. I’m not even certain he’ll let me assess the damage done to his legs.”

      “Maybe you can do that without actually examining him.”

      “How?”

      Cabe smirked. “I was giving it some thought last night and I agree. He doesn’t want to be here, but to be honest, I was already warned about that. So I was thinking we need to outsmart him.”

      “You were warned?”

      A crafty look entered Cabe’s eyes. “I called his mom last night. She told me it took all her persuasive powers to get Trent on the plane. Apparently, he called her last night, too, and he made it perfectly clear he wasn’t happy.”

      “Oh, great.” She could understand reluctance, but out-and-out hostility would make things difficult.

      “That’s what I’m saying. We need to outsmart him.”

      “And how do you propose we do that?”

      “Put him up on a horse today.”

      She lost her power of speech for a moment. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. A million things bubbled through her mind, but she couldn’t voice them...except for her next words. “You’re kidding, right?”

      “Why not? He has partial use of his upper legs. He should be able to hold on just fine.”

      “Yeah, if he had some training.”

      “That’s what the special saddle we use is for. He won’t fall off.”

      “You’re right, he won’t because he’s not going to agree to it.”

      Amusement filled his face, wrinkles crinkling the corners of his mouth all the way to the line of his jaw. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

      Her boss had lost his mind.

      The words repeated themselves as she went about her morning chores. Truth was, she was a lot more than a therapist. She wore a lot of hats: cook, chauffer, ranch hand. No two days were ever alike, so as they headed into breakfast it didn’t take her by surprise when Cabe said, “You going to check on him this morning, or shall I?”

      The words you do it almost escaped her lips. One thing stopped her—the twinkle in Cabe’s eyes. It was as if he dared her to beard the lion in his den, and to be honest, Alana wasn’t as averse to the idea as he might think. It wouldn’t hurt to show the man that she wasn’t intimidated.

      “I’ll do it.”

      An hour later she brought the John Deere Mule—an ATV-like vehicle with a miniature truck cabin and bed—to a coasting stop in front of Trent’s temporary home, the tires crunching on the drive. There was no reason to have butterflies in her stomach, she told herself. He might be a rodeo legend, but his injuries were all the proof she should need that he was also just a man.

      “Knock, knock,” she said, rapping lightly on the door.

      Of course, there was always the chance he wasn’t up yet. She’d no sooner had the thought than she caught a whiff of maple-cured bacon, the sweet smell making her stomach growl. They’d had oatmeal for breakfast. Boring.

      “Hello?”

      Would he ignore her? She had to admit, it was totally possible. He might choose to stay in his cabin the whole—

      The door opened.