“She seems to cook for us a lot lately,” Claire said, tweaking her dad’s cheek to annoy him.
He pulled away with a frown. “Keeps you from having to do it when you get home. Seems like you’d appreciate it.”
“Oh, I do,” Claire agreed. “But it is getting more frequent.”
“Wipe that matchmaking grin off your face, missy. Ain’t nothing going on between me and Rosie.”
Claire grinned wider. “Never said there was.”
Clint set the last of the silverware in place and leaned a hip against the kitchen cabinet. Long, lean and lanky, her father was the quintessential cowboy, from his old, well-worn boots and jeans to his weathered face and the squint lines around his blue eyes. That applied to his outlook on life, too. No frills, no nonsense, no compromise. He had never been as hard on her as he’d been on Cody, but then, Claire had rarely seen him after her mother divorced him and took her to California. There her mother struggled to make a good life for them, building a successful career as a horse gentler. From her Claire had learned independence and the value of hard work, as well as her skill with animals.
“You ain’t saying, but you’re giving me that look,” he drawled.
Before Claire could respond, Rosie yoo-hooed and came in through the back door, holding a cooking pot with insulated oven mitts. A large-boned woman with graying brown hair, she had a round, kind face that one would pick out of a catalog for the perfect grandmother, even though she was younger than Clint. The stew smelled delicious. The youngest Rider girl, Michele, followed with a shopping bag filled with containers of corn and green beans and a basket of hot bread.
“Rosie, you are too good to us,” Claire said, helping set out the dinner. “Won’t you stay and eat.”
“Love to, but I can’t. Kaycee and I are going to be up half the night sewing the girls’ Scout badges on their sashes. I promise I will another time.”
“We’re holding you to it, right, Dad?” Claire winked at Clint, who turned red as a chili pepper under his tan. He mumbled something, and Rosie and Claire exchanged a conspiratorial look.
Michele skipped toward the door. “Gotta go. See you later.”
“I’ve got to get back to the house, too,” Rosie said, tucking the oven mitts into her apron pocket.
Clint followed her out the door, and Claire could hear their low voices just outside. She wondered what they were discussing. Her father rarely talked about anything of importance, mostly mundane day-to-day news. Never anything personal. She took her place at the table and waited for him to join her. Within moments, he returned, filled his plate and sat down, digging into his food.
“I hired a camp assistant today,” Claire said.
Clint gave her a look from under bushy eyebrows. “Who?”
“He’s the brother of a teacher I know, Libby Morgan.”
“He’s a counselor, like you need?”
Claire gave a soft laugh. “Not even close. I called everybody I knew and nobody was available for the summer. Seth’s a bull rider. He broke his leg earlier this year.”
“Seth Morgan? I hated when I heard about that. I’ve seen him ride. He’s damn good.”
Oh, he’s damn good, all right. Claire’s body tightened at just the thought of his arm around her that morning and his warm breath on her face. She exhaled softly. She was going to have to break herself of that reaction, and quick. No way should she be responding to his male appeal at all, considering the circumstances.
“A bad break, according to his sister,” she told her dad. “She says he won’t be able to ride again.”
“I bet that’s not what he thinks.”
“You’re probably right. But from the way he limps, he may be in for a long haul back.”
Clint paused with a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. “I’m surprised you hired him, knowing how strong you feel about rodeo and all.”
“To be honest, Dad, I’d have taken anybody with a good recommendation at this point. I can’t let Micah down.”
“Yeah, I know, but what if Morgan up and quits on you when he finds out you don’t like how those poor little rodeo bulls are treated? How will that affect your camp?”
“Now you’re making fun of me. I can’t see where my opinion would matter to Seth. Besides, he committed to the whole summer and you know a cowboy’s word is everything.” She smiled at her father, who had drilled that into her head from the time she was a baby. “Anyway, why would it even come up?”
“You’ll be on the ranch. The first time you take one of the ranch hands—or Morgan—to task for the way they handle an animal, he’ll figure it out. And if he gets released to ride early, I guarantee you he’ll be gone before you can count eight seconds.”
“I’m not even going to think about that. Libby says the doctor’s not going to okay any bull riding. Seth wants to do some therapy riding, and I think the first time he straddles a horse he’s going to realize he doesn’t want to be on a bull—although he might back out of therapy before he gets started. I told him he’d have to wear a helmet.”
“Now that I’d like to see,” Clint said with a broad grin. “I surely would.”
CHAPTER FIVE
SETH APPEARED at the stables right on time the next morning. One point for promptness, Claire thought. And another for looking flat-out sexy this morning in crisp jeans and a creamy shirt that accentuated his tawny eyes. With that black hat set low on his forehead, the cockiness she’d noticed yesterday was in full force, despite the unevenness of swagger.
“So, I’m here. What do I get to learn today? How to saddle the pony?”
The attitude nixed both those newly earned points.
Ignoring the sarcasm, Claire said, “I thought we’d start with therapy. I received the release from your doctor this morning for supervised sessions.”
“Supervised! I told you I was going to skip that, anyway. I’ll find a horse to ride somewhere else.”
“Your decision, but Belle’s saddled and ready. Wouldn’t do any harm to see if a go-round helps.”
She saw his hesitation, sensed that he really wanted to try but was embarrassed.
“This morning would be a good time,” she added. “Things are quiet and there’s nobody around.”
“Except y—” He bit off the word.
“I’m not the problem,” Claire said. When she held out a helmet, he rebelled completely, almost recoiling from it.
“I’m not wearing that damn thing.”
“You will if you expect to ride.”
“Come on. I’ve never worn a helmet in my life—for anything. And I don’t need a lesson. I just want to get on the horse.”
There. He’d admitted it. Claire wanted to smile. Just as she’d suspected, he did want to ride, probably more than she could imagine.
“Rules. Sorry.” Claire lifted the helmet toward him and waited. Finally he set his cowboy hat on the bench, took the helmet and plopped it on his head. “Satisfied?”
“Buckle it.”
She could feel his rising frustration, but he fastened the strap. Claire bit back a smile. He was as cute as anything with that helmet on, but she didn’t dare say so.
He eyed the mare’s back skeptically. “What kind of saddle is that?”
“It’s specially made for my students. High cantle with extra