A Cowboy To Call Daddy. Sasha Summers

kicked up the air-conditioning and drove on, bouncing over a cattle guard. The farther she drove, the more removed from the real world she felt. Ambling cows and a herd of red-and-white goats dotted the sprawling pastureland. It was peaceful and quiet, soothing to her frazzled nerves. She bounced across another cattle guard and dodged a wild-eyed roadrunner.

      But her drive was cut short when the car’s engine sputtered. She coasted to a stop, staring at the dash. No lights. No beeping. No clicks. And no air-conditioning. Just dead. She opened the door, the heat immediately stifling in the small car, and sat there hoping something miraculous would happen. Like the car starting. She closed her eyes, rested her head on the headrest and tried to think.

      But when she opened her eyes, she screamed, pressing herself back into the car seat to avoid the massive black horse that had shoved its head inside the tiny car, putting them eye to eye. And scaring the crap out of her.

      Her scream made the horse skitter back, knocking its head on the door frame, sliding on the red dirt and sending rocks flying in its wake.

      She pried her fingers off the steering wheel and covered her face. What was wrong with her? It was a horse. A horse. On a horse refuge.

      Her fingers sought out the three turquoise stones on her braided leather bracelet. Three stones, three words. Take a breath. Krista, her counselor, said it was a centering phrase. Take a breath. Sometimes—like now—Eden substituted her own words. Keep it together.

      Yes, having an immobile car was inconvenient. And her dead cell phone, which she’d been charging in the car, was no help. But she wasn’t the damsel-in-distress type. Was she thrilled about the two-plus-mile trek ahead of her? No. Not at all. She was irritated and hot, but none of this was earth-shattering.

      That included an excessively inquisitive animal. She glanced out the door at the giant black horse. A horse that was already too close again, its thickly fringed eyes focused on her.

      She met the animal’s unwavering gaze. “Would you please back up?”

      The horse didn’t move.

      She took a deep breath and slowly climbed out of the car.

      The horse flicked its ears in her direction, the head rose, big brown eyes blinked. She stood, her back pressed against the hot metal of her car, and waited. But the horse didn’t move, so she did. And scraped her ankle against the side of a cactus.

      “Damn it.” She pulled her leg back, stooping to examine the spot. Two sharp needles stuck out of her pale skin. Her sweat-slick fingers made pulling the thorns free a challenge. One she cursed through. By the time she was needle free, her skin stung. “Damn it.”

      The horse snorted, loudly.

      “My skin’s not as tough as yours,” she muttered, glaring at the glossy black face. You’re talking to a horse. Upside, it couldn’t argue, yell or demean her. Best conversation of her day so far. “It’s been a shit day,” she added, because there was no one to reprimand her for her unladylike language. Even stranded and overheated, there was something freeing about not having someone looking over her shoulder, criticizing her every word and deed.

      She’d barely finished her morning cup of tea when she’d had her first fight of the day with her father. He resented her reminder to take his meds and avoid stress. Next, a fight with her brother about what the word deadline meant—a suggested timeline, Greg’s take, or an actual due date and cutoff, Eden’s perspective. His frustration toward her over his misunderstanding never failed to amaze her. But Greg always found a way to make everything her fault. By the time she’d hurried home to hand the girls off to her ex-husband, Clark, she was ready to cry. Considering how distracted and impatient Clark had been, Eden’s concern over her daughters’ first multi-night visit with their father escalated. And the girls...

      She swallowed. Thinking about her baby girls right now wasn’t smart. They were with their father. For all his failings as a husband, he was trying to be a good father. But Eden knew the only reason she wasn’t hyperventilating over the separation was because Clara, her wonder nanny, was with them. Eden didn’t know how she’d ever survive without the older woman—not with the hours she kept and the stress she shouldered.

      Stress. She could deal with stress. It was a constant in her life. Like now. Stuck here. Alone. With a black horse staring at her, invading her personal space—almost nose to nose.

      “Is this some sort of horse greeting?” she asked, trying not to flinch as the horse sniffed her head and chest. It’s just a horse. Granted, it was a huge black horse, but what’s the worst it could do?

      The horse made a strange sound, shaking its head and flipping its long, matted mane before clacking its teeth together.

      What did that mean? Should she be worried?

      No, she wasn’t going to worry. If she ignored it, it would leave her alone. She hoped.

      She shaded her eyes and peered down the dirt-and-rock road. Since she hadn’t seen a car or truck in the last twenty minutes, she might as well start walking. She tugged her wheeled computer bag from the backseat and tucked her almost-empty water bottle into the side pocket. She had no other luggage. Because the last fight she’d had this morning was with the airline. For reasons unknown, they’d sent her suitcase to Arizona. But they’d happily offered to deliver it to the Lodge, the bed-and-breakfast housed on Boone Ranch where she’d be staying, as soon as it was located.

      The cloudless blue sky was endless—no hint of any reprieve from the late-August afternoon heat. She twisted her hair, clipping it high on the back of her head, and set off down the red dirt road, dragging her wheeled briefcase behind her. She was not going to acknowledge the big black horse following directly behind her.

      Take a breath.

      Keep it together.

      It was hot. Her black jacket, black pencil skirt and heels were soaking up the heat like a well-wrung sponge. She tugged off her blazer and tucked it over the strap of her wheeled briefcase. Her white camisole was much cooler. She could only hope her SPF 35 sunscreen would save her from getting too burned.

      It was rugged country, with rock outcrops, twisted oaks, brightly colored wildflowers and needle-heavy cacti. But it was gorgeous in a wild, untamed way. The chirp of songbirds, the whir and hiss of the cicadas, and the rhythmic clip-clop of her traveling companion’s hooves offered a complementary soundscape.

      Her heel caught between two rocks, so she paused, tugging her shoe free. What she wouldn’t give for her tennis shoes right about now. The horse, however, didn’t stop. When she had her shoe back on and she was on two feet again, the horse...hugged her. His massive head rested on her shoulder, offering her what she could only consider an embrace—minus the arms.

      She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “You’re a charmer, aren’t you? Let’s keep going.”

      The horse swished its tangled black tail, brown eyes fixed on her and ears perked up.

      Eden set off again, stopping only when her shoes were too full of rocks or dirt to walk comfortably. And every time she stopped, so did the horse.

      By the time she reached the refuge, she was overheated, dripping sweat and thoroughly exhausted. But even dehydration and throbbing feet didn’t diminish the fact that Boone Ranch Refuge was impressive. Too bad her phone wasn’t working; she could take a few pictures of the place her father was hell-bent on closing down. A place her mother had always championed.

      Something large and solid bumped her between the shoulders, almost knocking her off her feet. She glanced back at the horse, tentatively rubbing her hand along its thick neck. “I’m assuming that’s home.” She kept her voice low, the same soothing tone she used when her daughters were sick or upset.

      The horse snorted, pushing his nose into her chest.

      “I’m going, I’m going.” She smiled at the horse before hobbling forward, her briefcase bouncing along, rattling loudly.

      When she walked under the arched Boone Ranch Refuge sign,