She sighed and fanned her legs, making a clucking sound as she asked Brutus to break into a slow jog. She’d already warmed him up with some circles on the longe line, so he responded to the request quickly. “Someday soon I’m going to ask you to lope, big boy. Just to show you it’s safe.”
Her horse had endured the wrong end of a whip in his past life, the long pale scars—devoid of hair—visible on his haunches. He still shied away from sudden movements near his head—especially if those movements were made by a man—and Trisha couldn’t blame him. He was as much in need of therapy as any of her other patients. So when she’d told Dr. Dunning he was a special case, she hadn’t been kidding. But the horse had come a long way over the past several months. So had she.
In his own way, Brutus was helping her recover as much as she was helping him. Guiding the gelding to the center of the indoor arena to go through a large sweeping figure eight, they changed direction from clockwise to counterclockwise, and she smiled when one of his ears swiveled back to face her, listening for any verbal cues she might give. “Good boy.”
Although Brutus had shown his nerves at Dr. Dunning’s presence in no uncertain terms, things could have been a whole lot worse, according to what she’d been told by the rescue organization. Trisha might have maintained her poker face a little better than her horse had, but she hadn’t been unaffected. Oh, no. Especially not once she’d realized the man had not been a killer sent to deliver a personalized anniversary message, courtesy of her ex-husband. Her fear had morphed into something else entirely when he’d flipped her onto her back, his firm warm chest pressing against her breasts, his breath mingling with hers. Her thoughts had taken off in other directions. Dangerous directions.
She’d wanted to wheel away from him just like her horse had. Only she hadn’t been able to, and not just because he’d had her pinned to the ground with his body, hands imprisoning hers.
Two days later she still couldn’t shy away from him. No, in all likelihood, she was going to have to work with the good doctor on a regular basis. If she could convince him she and her horses were not a danger to him or his patients.
To do that, she was going to have to find a way to keep her job at the forefront of her mind. And since he was due at the barn in two short hours, fifteen minutes ahead of her first young patient, she would have just enough time after working Brutus to shower and dress in something a bit more professional than her standard faded jeans and halter top combo. And somehow she needed to squash her silly reaction to the surgeon’s presence. Especially since she had big plans for the man. Plans that included making him shed that thick coat of control he wrapped around himself and get him to agree that she could help some of his patients.
If she could just get the man to co-operate.
* * *
Hippotherapist does sound a little bit like hypnotherapist.
Mike turned his car into the driveway leading up to Patricia’s place. This could have all turned out differently had he heard Doris Trimble correctly. He’d been so sure she’d said she wanted her young daughter to visit a hypnotherapist that he hadn’t even glanced up from his prescription pad, but had continued writing as he’d asked her what she thought that would accomplish. Then the word horse had been mentioned and his head had jerked up to attention as she’d explained about the new equine therapist in town. By the time he’d got the gist of what she’d been talking about, he’d been in too deep. He hadn’t been able to just shoot the suggestion down, especially after getting a good look at the hope imprinted on her face. Clara had grinned wider than he’d ever seen as her mother had continued to make her case.
“Have you already taken her to see this person?”
“Just for a quick peek at the horses,” she’d said, a fleeting look of guilt flashing through her eyes. “Clara seemed to love them. She responded immediately.”
Perfect. This wasn’t going to be a passing idea, evidently. He was either going to have to get behind the plan and support her, or give her at least one good reason why she shouldn’t let Clara anywhere near Ms. Bolton or her horses. Hopefully that reason would come today.
There was no paved parking area near the barn, so he pulled into the same spot he’d parked in the last time. Glancing to his left, he spotted two horses close to the fence. They seemed to be studying his arrival with interest. He thought one of them might be the infamous Brutus. He could swear the animal on the right gave him a look of pure dislike, lifting his head to follow Mike’s movements as he got out of the car. He had to fight not to climb back into his vehicle and beat a hasty retreat.
“Well, guess what? The feeling’s mutual.” He tossed the words at the animal, only to stiffen when a quiet feminine voice answered him.
“What feeling is that?”
He swiveled around. Patricia Bolton had evidently come out of the barn when she’d heard his car drive up. He shrugged. “Just talking to myself.”
She glanced out at the pasture, where Brutus was still staring at them. “I see.”
“Ms. Bolton, look, maybe we can save ourselves both a whole lot of—”
She held up a hand to stop him. “Call me Trisha. My patients do.”
His patients called him Dr. Mike, but it seemed a little presumptuous to ask her to do the same. So he said, “Okay...Trisha. Why don’t you call me Mike?”
“Great. If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you how I prepare for my first clients of the day.”
So much for leaving. She’d smoothly intercepted any pre-emptive strike he might have made and disarmed him.
Following her inside the barn to the very place he’d lain with her on the ground, the image of tangled arms and legs and of fingers running up his thighs came back with frightening clarity. He swore he could still feel her touch. He shook his head to banish the sensation.
There was a horse tethered in the same position that Brutus had been the other day, only this time there was some sort of saddle draped over a post, along with a brightly patterned blanket. “I was just grooming him before saddling up. This is Crow.”
Pitch black without the slightest trace of white, the animal’s coat had a healthy gleam that made Mike think she’d gussied him up just to show him off. His mane was even braided. She needn’t have bothered, though. Because just standing there near the horse made his gut contract.
“Do you want to touch him?” Trisha walked right over to the animal and stroked a hand down his neck, smoothing a misplaced braid.
“That’s okay.” He kept to the far side of the aisle, hoping against hope there wasn’t going to be another incident like the one a couple of days ago.
“Come on. He won’t hurt you. You’ve agreed to ride him next week, so you might as well get some of the preliminaries out of the way.”
What had he been thinking, coming out here again? His wife had died handling one of these animals. Did he really want to do this? No. But something about Trisha’s quiet voice and calm manner made him take a step closer. She wasn’t afraid at all.
But, then, Marcy hadn’t been either. And yet in the blink of an eye she’d been gone. And he’d still had to deal with her horses and clients in the midst of everything else. Thankfully, one of her close friends had helped out, going as far as buying the horse that had turned his world upside down. He’d tried to warn her off, but Gloria had insisted it was what Marcy would have wanted, that what had happened had been a tragic accident and not the horse’s fault. She was probably right.
Still, he didn’t want to