Cowboy On Call. Leigh Riker

him over. “Once he learns how to behave.”

      “Has he had any groundwork?” The horse, which appeared to be a yearling, wouldn’t be ready to ride until he was three, but he needed to learn some of those manners long before that. Sawyer’s hand all but twitched to feel a lunge line in his grasp, with one flick of his wrist to get the colt moving with a fluid, forward gait in the corral.

      “Logan offered to work with him,” Sam said, “and so has Grey Wilson, but neither one has gotten around to that, much less breaking him first.”

      Sawyer didn’t like the term break. It implied ruining an animal’s spirit. He preferred a gentler touch.

      Years ago, he’d not only been a better ranch hand in the making than his twin brother, he’d also trained a few horses. One of them, at an advanced age and probably now in retirement, still lived in the end stall by the barn doors. On his way through, Sawyer had slipped him an apple. Another, Sundance, was Sam’s horse and now Logan’s part of the time. Another...had belonged to Olivia, but that horse wasn’t here or at Wilson Cattle.

      “I could give the colt a try,” he said, testing the waters. He wasn’t the only one to remember that other horse. He doubted Sam would trust him with the colt.

      Sam blinked. “Been a while since you handled a green one like Cyclone.”

      “I’m willing to try, though. While I’m here,” he added.

      “He’ll need lots of attention. You plan to stay that long?”

      “I don’t know. Depends on what you mean by long.” Yet Sawyer felt his spirits begin to lift. Frankly, this morning he’d been feeling sorry for himself. Regretting his reluctance to take responsibility for Nick’s care. Knowing he wasn’t part of the Circle H anymore, part of anything, really. His partner, Charlie, in the clinic had seemed half-relieved to see him go. Sawyer’s presence was a constant reminder of what had happened there, and he guessed Olivia felt similarly about him. He’d be doing her a favor to keep away from her.

      Sam was right. He wouldn’t stay long, didn’t know where to go when he left, much less how to find redemption for his sins. Still...

      He reached through the stall bars, taking the chance to stroke the colt’s nose. For his first attempt at friendship, he got a sharp nip that broke the skin on his index finger. Sawyer snatched his hand back.

      “Told you.” Sam shoved the horse aside to slide open the door. “Saw him take off the tip of someone’s ear a couple months ago.” He stepped out into the aisle, then threw the bolt, shutting Cyclone inside.

      Sawyer looked at the colt for a moment. It seemed suddenly important to establish his temporary niche at the Circle H, give himself something to do while he was here. Maybe with Cyclone he’d do better than he had with a scalpel in his hand in Kedar. By the time he left, the black colt might have the foundation to become a decent horse. If Sawyer didn’t fail again.

      “I’ll try anyway,” he told Sam.

      * * *

      OLIVIA WAS STILL fuming as she parked her car in front of the antiques shop where she had a meeting with the owner, who wanted to sell. Without warning and after Olivia had called to remind her, Susie had cancelled, which was becoming a habit for Nick’s babysitter. More than once this summer, Olivia had been forced to work from home, which had meant closing her store and losing business for the day, to stay with Nick. Her primary concern, of course, was her son, but she’d had to bring him with her today, and Susie’s frequent no-shows were a problem.

      Now, because Olivia hadn’t let Nick stay at the ranch, he was sulking. Still mad, too, she supposed, about their possible move.

      Even so, he was unusually quiet. She shut off the car’s engine, glanced at Nick in the rear seat, then opened her door. Maybe it was better that he’d come with her so she could watch him. From what she’d seen last night and earlier today, she wouldn’t want Sawyer to look after him. What kind of doctor was he?

      “Nick, Mr. Anderson is waiting for us.”

      Theodore Anderson met them at the door. His stooped posture, the frail look of him, alarmed Olivia. The last time she’d seen him, he’d appeared much stronger. His watery eyes and the fringe of white hair around his scalp added to the impression. Olivia hoped her dismay didn’t show on her face.

      “Ted, how nice to see you.” She reached out for a hug. “This is my son, Nick.”

      He shook Nick’s hand. “How do you do, young man?”

      Nick mumbled a response. Ted had the old-fashioned manners of a nineteenth-century gentleman, which suited his profession, but Olivia caught a faint flicker of unease in his gaze, to which she could relate. Like hers, his shop was filled to the rafters with furniture and delicate collectibles. Every tabletop held glass paperweights, exquisite crystal, ceramic figurines. Olivia spied a graceful Lladró statue of an elegant lady in gray with sweeping, sculpted skirts, one of the first designs the esteemed Spanish manufacturer had issued. Her mouth watered.

      “What gorgeous things you have.”

      Ted’s expression fell. “Apparently, I need to get rid of them. My son and his wife want me to move to Florida.”

      What did he want? Olivia felt sorry for him. He was obviously under some pressure, but Ted’s wife had died several years ago, and she could see he’d declined since then. He probably felt he was losing his independence now.

      “Do they live there?”

      “No. My son has a small ranch not far from here. He’s convinced my arthritis will improve once I get away from our Kansas winters. They’ve found me a lovely condominium down South.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic.

      Giving up his shop would be hard for Ted. He knew each item and where to find it in this magnificent clutter of a place. She didn’t doubt he loved every single piece.

      “I take it you’re not wild about a move, but warmer weather might be nice,” she said. “I don’t care for snow myself.”

      He smiled a little. “Then maybe you should buy that condo. I’ll stay to run my shop—and yours.”

      “That wouldn’t work for me,” she said, “but I’m interested in buying you out here if you do want to sell.”

      His thin shoulders slumped even more. “Let me show you around.”

      Nick trailed behind, his fingers busy on the tablet she’d bought for his birthday, his gaze intent on the screen. He’d recently discovered Minecraft. Although the game was educational and creative, if she didn’t set limits for him, Nick would play all day and night.

      Ted gave her a tour of the shop, pointing out an especially valuable English silver tea set here, an exquisite Victorian fainting couch upholstered in lush plum velvet there, while Olivia held her breath. She’d always loved his store. Ted had exquisite taste. He had carefully acquired an amazing and expensive collection, a good percentage of which Nick, lost in his game, could easily blunder into.

      As they returned to the front of the store, Nick raised a hand to rub his forehead with a frown. He bumped against a round mahogany drum table from the eighteenth century, rattling its display of fine Lalique perfume bottles. Olivia barely righted one in time to prevent it from breaking.

      Her heart slid back down into her chest. “Sorry,” she said just as Nick crashed into a small nearby liquor cabinet, a priceless-looking Tiffany vase on its top shelf. To her horror, the vase wobbled, then fell, shattering into pieces on the floor. Shards of glass, splintered with light into a full spectrum of colors, scattered everywhere.

      Olivia cried out, then dropped to her knees to begin picking up the mess. “I’m so sorry, Ted. Of course I’ll pay for the damage.” Or try to. She felt too shaken at the moment to ask what this particular vase had been worth.

      “No need to apologize. We’ll work it out.” But he looked upset himself. He was simply too polite