Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
And that same driving force of wanting to be in his presence was what had compelled me to show up in the barn at the crack of dawn the last two mornings.
I had slept in after the nightmare, which had felt good. And when I finally made it to the barn, Sienna was already there, so I helped her with the goats instead. But that similar tension seemed to tether me and Kerry together even across the stalls, and I tried to avoid his gaze, or I might’ve given myself away. Kerry must’ve had the same thought because he fled the barn as soon as his chore was finished, but not before throwing a shy, disarming smile in my direction. It was hard to keep my lips in a neat, straight line even though my stomach felt like it was in a free fall. Like I had some ridiculous junior-high crush on a strong, silent cowboy who seemed more like a figment of my imagination.
As I approached the paddock, Kerry briefly glanced my way before turning his attention back to Ainsley and her horse. “Hey there.”
“Hi,” I replied, then focused on Ainsley, who was using a round brush on Piper’s flank. I’d come to learn that they used three types of brushes to groom their horses, but I hadn’t paid close enough attention to know the difference.
Sienna had explained to me on one of my visits to the stables that grooming was a necessary task—it cleaned their coats, released natural oils, and helped with blood circulation. And, of course, helped a person bond with their horse. Especially a rescue horse. Which must’ve been why Ainsley seemed to spend so much time watching or helping George with the chore. But I’d only been here a few weeks, so what did I know?
“Is that woman a horse trainer?” I asked, watching the lady with the blonde ponytail and riding boots direct Ainsley to switch brushes, then motioning for her to stand in front of Piper and pay special attention to the horse’s face. For her part, Piper seemed to be enjoying the attention, but I didn’t really have a read on their emotions, which was part of the reason why they were so mysterious and intimidating. But she certainly wasn’t trying to get away.
“No, um…” Kerry cleared his throat. “Dr. Barnes is an equine therapist.”
“Equine what?” I asked in confusion, and he cracked a smile.
“Right? Didn’t even know they existed—or maybe just never paid much attention—but it makes sense now that I know a bit more about what she does with Ainsley.”
“Daddy!” Ainsley called out when she spotted us, a huge grin on her face. “I’m gonna saddle her today.”
“Yeah?” he asked, and the equine therapist gave him the thumbs-up.
What in the world?
“I’ll be right here watching you.”
The way his eyes crinkled at the corners made my heart squeeze. Damn, he loved her. Even hired a horse therapist for her.
Kerry glanced at me. “Probably seems strange to you.”
I shrugged. “Not really. I’ve only been to talk therapy at the VA, but I suppose there are lots of different kinds.”
He nodded. “Thing is, after going into remission, Ainsley developed anxiety. She’d been in enough hospitals to last a lifetime, and had been poked and prodded more than any little girl should ever endure.” I winced. Fuck, I hadn’t thought about it in quite that way. “And we wondered if the trauma of all of that was going to cause her to have reservations about doctors in general and maybe even nightmares…sort of like yours.”
I inhaled sharply as my gaze swung toward Ainsley again. She had survived a battle all her own. Damn.
The therapist was brandishing a shiny tan saddle, and Ainsley was trying to wait patiently even as she squirmed beside her. “And?”
“No nightmares. At least not yet,” he replied, and I breathed out a sigh of relief for her. No way I’d wish that on anyone, especially a nine-year-old. “But she started freaking out every time we were out of her sight. As if somehow she would lose us and be left all alone if she didn’t keep track of where we were. And if you added more people in the mix, it was even worse.”
“Poor Ainsley,” I said, watching her help Dr. Barnes gently place the saddle up toward Piper’s neck, then slide it down into place on her back, all the while speaking to her in what looked like a comforting voice, as if to make sure the horse was comfortable. I liked watching them. I found it soothing.
And now I remembered Mom having a talk with me as a kid as we sat on the plane, heading on a trip down here. She warned me to approach the horses cautiously, or they were liable to startle and accidently kick you with their hooves, which were hard, hurt like heck, and could cause damage. “Happened to me,” she’d said, “and I had a bruise for weeks.” And now I wondered if that was where my trepidation about horses originated. That, along with seeing something similar in a couple of Western movies—one that resulted in death—had sealed the deal.