A Bull Rider's Pride. Amanda Renee

fracture during the tendon harvest.”

      “You tend to see a lot of that in sports medicine,” Sheila said. “I’m heading to the cafeteria. Care to join me?”

      “Sure. How did it go with your cowboy?”

      The question created a slight tingle in her belly. “He’s not my cowboy.” The image of him standing in front of her replayed in her brain. She shook her head in a vain attempt to rid herself of the memory. “After talking with him, I understand Dr. Mangone’s trepidation about sending him to Dance of Hope. Brady’s a bit too gung ho to climb back on a bull and the fact that the hippotherapy center is located next to a rodeo school concerns me.”

      “Brady?” Marissa stopped in the doorway and faced her. “It didn’t take long to progress to first names.”

      Sheila pushed past her. “Don’t even joke about that. He’s a patient, Marissa. You know any romantic relationship is strictly forbidden by the medical board and this hospital. I’m not willing to risk my residency on anyone.”

      “Relax, I’m only teasing.” Marissa held up her hands. “But if he wasn’t your patient you’d be tempted, right?”

      Sheila spun to face her. “Listen to me. I’ve come too far and worked too hard to jeopardize my career over a rumor. If the wrong person hears what you’re saying, you could ruin everything for me. I’m trying to get into the orthopedic trauma fellowship program next year and I don’t need this.”

      “Whoa. For someone with no romantic attachments to a patient you’re certainly doing your damnedest to defend yourself.”

      She had every reason to. She’d almost given up medical school when her boyfriend asked her to move to Arizona. Fate had intervened and she’d caught him in bed with someone else, saving her from walking away from her dreams. Now she realized no amount of love or promise of a happily-ever-after was worth it. Relationships didn’t last forever. Being a doctor would.

      Before Sheila had the chance to argue her point further, both of their pagers went off. Trauma Alert ER. “Let’s move!”

      * * *

      THE DANCE OF HOPE transport van pulled in front of the combined hippotherapy center and rodeo school entrance. The July sun warmed Brady’s face as he eased his legs out of the van and stepped onto the ground using the door as support. A woman with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair greeted him with a wheelchair.

      “I’m Kay Langtry.” She helped him into the chair. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brady.”

      “Ma’am, it’s a pleasure to be here.”

      “We promise to take good care of you during your stay. Since it’s lunchtime, why don’t I start our tour in the common dining area.”

      Brady hadn’t realized how hungry he was. “Sounds good to me. Lead the way.”

      Kay nodded, silently acknowledging that he didn’t need any assistance. He was sweating by the time they reached the center’s entrance. It was the first time he’d used a wheelchair outside. The experience left him craving a cold shower rather than lunch. Brady paused in the entryway. He could hear the whoops and shouts coming from the rodeo school through massive oak doors to the right. He knew those sounds well and he missed them more than anything. The rodeo was his life—his past and his future.

      “Do you need a moment?” Kay crouched down beside him so they were at eye level with one another. A gesture he appreciated. He got tired of always looking up at everyone, especially when he was used to towering over most people.

      “I’m good. I’m anxious to get started.” When Dr. Mangone had told him about the hippotherapy center, he’d hopped online to research it. He’d been relieved to discover it was less than an hour away from his father, son and Alice. “Visitors are allowed, right?”

      “Yes, they are.” Kay stood. “As often as you’d like. Let’s grab a bite to eat and settle you in. Feel free to invite your family to join us for dinner tonight. We always have enough food around here.”

      “Thank you, I think I will.”

      The common dining area took Brady off guard. He’d seen photos of it online, but it had been empty then. He hadn’t been prepared for the number of children in wheelchairs or on crutches. There were some military personnel—both men and women. That he’d expected. But the children broke his heart. Children Gunner’s age.

      “I know this can be unsettling at first.” Kay placed a hand on his shoulder. “But don’t ever tell anyone here that you feel sorry for them or show them any pity. You will find this to be a very grateful and determined group. Everyone has the same goal—to get out of here one day. Some will walk out, others won’t. But it’s a team effort and everybody is rooting for you.”

      Brady felt his heart pound in his chest. He was used to people rooting for him...in a different arena. He’d root for every child, every person here. As much as he wanted to be in his own home, he knew this was the best place for him. He would walk and compete again.

      * * *

      SHEILA SLAMMED HER front door. She’d lost a patient on the operating table. It happened often in trauma surgeries. She should be used to it by now. But how did someone get used to having a person with a family and a future breathing beneath their fingertips one minute and then gone the next along with all their hopes, all their dreams?

      Sheila ran into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. It never got easier—you just grew more desensitized to it. Today had been particularly difficult—a ten-year-old girl with her whole future ahead of her. Dead thanks to her sister who had been texting and driving. The sister had survived, but would live with the consequences for the rest of her life.

      This was why Sheila was so infuriated with Brady Sawyer. Most of her patients learned something from their experience. The overweight person with two knee replacements learned they had to move and exercise more. The kid with a fractured tibia learned not to attempt a flip-over-willy-grind skateboard trick down the school handrail. What did Brady Sawyer learn? Nothing.

      And yes, there was a chance he’d fully recover. A very slim one, but with the proper therapy, the chance was real. Sheila had been a longtime proponent of hippotherapy and its benefits. Growing up in Colorado, she’d lived near a facility much like Dance of Hope. Few people had known much about hippotherapy and its benefits back then. When she turned fourteen, her parents had allowed her to volunteer there. There was an orthopedic surgeon who visited the facility every week and for four years she’d watched him restore quality of life back to people who’d felt as if their world had ended. He’d inspired her to go into medicine, particularly orthopedic trauma. Now she helped save lives like Brady’s and he was all too willing to throw it away.

      His attitude shouldn’t bother her, but it did. And it would continue to bother her until he was no longer her patient, and then every time she saw a bull riding event on television she’d still wonder. Sheila laughed to herself. He wasn’t her first bull rider and probably wouldn’t be her last. She lived in the heart of Hill Country where rodeos were as common as apple pie. The suburban town she’d grown up in had been a stark contrast. She’d known many equestrians, but not bull riders.

      Thinking of home reminded her it had been over a week since she’d last phoned her parents. Every night there was a message from them on her voice mail. Today she’d actually gotten off early enough to return the call.

      “Hello, honey,” her mom answered on the first ring. “How’s our favorite surgeon?”

      “It was a rough day. I lost a patient.” No matter how difficult her residency was, she knew she could always turn to her mother for comfort.

      “Oh honey, do you want to talk about it?” Sheila heard a muffled sound and assumed her mother had covered the receiver.

      “Mom, tell Daddy later, and no, I don’t want to talk about it. I’d rather hear about your day.”

      “Your