Reclaimed (8 page)

Guess she didn’t need an out. “Yep. And a lead. Do you know how to do that?”

Nodding, Suzanna stepped back toward the barn. “We even practiced yesterday.” Her shoulders relaxed, and her voice smoothed.

Paul waited for her to snag the synthetic lead, and then they started toward  the corral.

Suzanna stopped at the gate. “Is that stupid?”

“Practicing?”

Her cheeks filled with rosy heat.

Paul grinned. “Naw. It’s a good thing.”

He pictured her fumbling with the knot, calling the horse like it was a puppy and taking it for a walk. With her helmet on. He worked to smother a chuckle.

Suzanna approached the palomino mare with a timid stride. Paul leaned against the gatepost, fascinated as the woman pushed her shoulders back, her posture contradicting her gait. She wanted to be brave, even if she wasn’t on the inside. Wasn’t that called courage? Fresh admiration tickled in his chest.

The horse dropped her head, a willing partner. Suzanna would be fine on that mount, but he’d leave their arrangement for now. If he could help grow that seed of courage, he would. She’d need it out here. Need it against the Chuck Stantons of this world.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Suzanna hefted her father’s saddle over Bronco’s back. The leather moaned as it shifted, rubbing against itself. Sheesh, it was heavy. Maybe there were good reasons—work, Paul had said—but the extra weight and equipment seemed ridiculously cumbersome. Or maybe it just made her feel unacceptably feeble.

“Good.” Paul nodded. “Now we’ll see if you remember how to secure a cinch knot.”

Her strength grew in the light of his approval. It would have been faster, easier, if he’d simply saddled her father’s mare for her, and they’d set off. But he seemed to understand her desire to learn, to be able to manage on her own. He seemed to commend it.

Pulling the leather strap through the ring, Suzanna smiled. Paul should have been the last person to seek her as a friend. She’d been at her worst with him. Presumptuous, stubborn, and outright rude. Why had he pursued reconciliation? What was in it for him?

“Around the D ring.” He guided her hand as she looped the strap against itself. “Right. Now pull it tight.”

Done. She tugged on the cinch around the animal’s girth. Two fingers slid snuggly between leather and hide, just as Paul instructed.

“Is it set?” she asked.

“Looks good.” He squeezed her shoulder as if congratulations were in order. “Are you set?”

“Yes, sir.”

She slipped her dusty boot into the stirrup Paul had shortened for her and tugged herself upward. Settling in the saddle felt strange. It rode different than the English gear, but it wasn’t the equipment that spiraled discomfort through her gut.

Visions of her mother trotting in a manicured arena took her back ten years. Always the quintessence of perfection, Katrina Wilton graced her riding suit with enviable beauty.

A single scene, forever etched in Suzanna’s memory, played. Mother cantered exquisitely, circling the course once and then entering the jump pattern. She performed with excellence and finished the exercise with a wide grin. Her eyes gleamed with something more than pride, and her stare settled on Mr. Pembroke. Their gazes held, too long for comfort, too intense for a married woman and her single trainer, too intimate for her teenage daughter to witness.

Something was not right. Suzanna should have known her world would crumble in the near future, but it didn’t matter much. What was a seventeen-year-old supposed to do with that, anyway?

Paul relieved her of the memory, pulling his mount to a stop short of the gate. “South or west, Suz?”

She scanned the landscape, forcing resentment into a dark corner of her soul. Maybe she could let go of the hurt if the anger stayed chained and out of the way.

Yellows and oranges called an invitation. Suzanna loved trees, especially in the fall. “Can we go by the creek?”

“You bet.” Paul dismounted and made for the gate.

Leaning into the cedar post with his shoulder, he pulled the loop over the corner post, and the barbed wire went slack. So, that’s how that was done. Suzanna had buzzed around her property on the four-wheeler Daddy had kept in the barn, but she hadn’t been able to open the gate so she could explore the pastures.

Paul pulled the gate back and handed Suzanna the mare’s reins. She led his horse into the pasture and dismounted as well.

“Can I have a go?”

He had the post set in the ground loop but stepped back to let her take over. She leaned just as he had, but the loop fell short. She reset her boots and tried again. Still, a no-go. Her third effort proved successful, though it cost her a little sweat.

“Attagirl.” He patted her helmet.

Suzanna breathed out a chuckle, and they both remounted.

“They make a cheater for the fence, if you want one.” Paul nudged his horse, and they set in motion. “There’s no shame in it. Several ranchers use them, especially with the gates they open often. I’ll go with you to the feed store on Sunday after church, if you want. They usually have them in stock.”

Church. Nothing magical happened last week. Of course, she and Paul weren’t on friendly terms then, either. Not that he could make or break a worship service. But maybe she could give it another try. Her dad would want her to.

Paul stayed quiet as they descended a gentle slope. The trees met the terrain at the leveling point, and the creek gurgled quietly under a kaleidoscope of fall hues. They followed a game trail cut parallel to the water.

“Did you know this is spring fed?” Paul twisted in his saddle and spoke over his shoulder.

“I did.”

“It originates on your property.”

“The spring?” Suzanna pushed a low branch so it wouldn’t catch her face.

“Yes.”

Rock Creek bubbled up right here on her dad’s land. Might explain some things. “Is that why all my neighbors want it?”

Paul grinned. “Not all. Let’s just keep that clear because I’m not wearing a helmet.”

What a rip she must have been. Poor man. “Not you, of course.”

“Right.” His hat bobbed with precision as if they’d settled something vital. “Yes, that’s why they want it. You hold senior water rights. Seems that’s become a concern.”

“Has it always been a concern?”

Paul reined back, waiting until Suzanna’s horse caught up with him. “Not always.”

“I didn’t think so. Dad never spoke of any issues.” Suzanna scanned the property—or what she could see of it from the creek’s depression. “He loved it here. Loved the land, the charm of small-town life and the opportunity. Intrusive neighbors don’t figure into the picture. Made me jump to some conclusions about my own welcome.”

His hand rubbed against his jeans. “I’m guessing they were something along the lines of chauvinistic cowboys and small-town snobbery.”

Suzanna tipped her head. “Something like that, yes.”

“Well, I can’t say those conclusions were all wrong, but they weren’t dead on, either. Rock Creek has its fair share of jerks, just like anywhere else.”

Nodding, Suzanna pictured Chuck Stanton. Calculating, intimidating, and selfish. Yep,
jerk
about summed him up.

“Where exactly are you from, Suz?”

She glanced at him again, glad he continued to rescue her from the mental images that stirred her anger. “Fort Collins, mostly. I lived in Greeley for a while.”

Paul looked surprised. “I assumed Denver. Mike talked about going to Denver the few times he went to Colorado.”

“He did go there a couple of times. My sister lives in a suburb. Have you been?”

“A few times. National Western Stock Show over a few scattered years. When I was a teenager, I used to go as often as I could. Life changes though, and the city doesn’t call to me anymore.”

Suzanna pictured Paul taking the wide sidewalks of downtown under his long stride. He’d fit, actually. His strong profile and compelling good looks, complemented by the cowboy boots and hat, would make him blend. Until he opened his mouth and one discovered he wasn’t numbered among the urban cowboys. No, Paul and the city would not be long-term companions.

“It used to?” she asked.

He smiled. “It took me a long time to grow up, Suz. I had some strong opinions about myself and this town that seemed incompatible.” He cleared his throat. “The truth is, I was pretty much incompatible with just about everything and everyone in my life, and it was a long, tough road before I discovered the problem was mine, not everybody else’s.”

Suzanna leaned back in the saddle, comfortable in it. Comfortable with Paul. “That sounds like the overture to a story.”

Paul laughed. “Such a gherkin.”

“Gherkin? Why?”

“
Overture
? Fancy talk for a simple country boy.”

He chuckled again, and she grinned.

“I’ve always had a fondness for words.”

Paul ducked under a branch, holding his hat in place. The trees thinned on the trail ahead, and the ground heaved. The top of the hill sat barren of timber, and the grass swayed under the late morning sun. He guided them through the last of the trees to a body of water at the base of the hill. In a pool twenty feet wide, water rippled against the silt banks before it tumbled lazily down the creek path. A current bubbled near the center—the spring.

“Here it is,” he said. “The source of the creek. Maybe of your troubles, too.”

Maybe. Water rights were a big deal in Colorado. It wasn’t hard to believe they’d be an issue here as well. But it seemed that they hadn’t been. Not until she moved in.

Troubles, indeed. They could lie, for now.

Riding with Paul offered a reprieve. From everything. Her mother stayed locked away from her mind; the taste of bitterness didn’t rise to her tongue. Grief didn’t lodge in her throat. Anger didn’t lurk near the surface of all that she did, all that she said. Suzanna held on to that relief; she’d keep it for as long as possible.

Standing in her stirrups, she let her gaze follow the movement of the creek. The sun glittered off the rippling water, and a soft gurgle harmonized with the rustling leaves. She soaked in the serenity—an unfamiliar feeling.

“Such a pretty secret,” she whispered.

“I haven’t been here in years.” Crossing his arms against the saddle horn, Paul let his reins go slack, and the mare wandered to the edge of the pool. “Since I was a kid.”

Bronco followed the other horse until the pair stood with their noses in the spring.

“Since you pulled dandelions for Mrs. Hawkins?” Suzanna unlatched her helmet.

“You know about that, do you?”

“Andrea.”

His smile came easy. It seemed to be a natural part of his expression. “Actually, Dre did most of the pulling. I weaseled out of work every chance I got.”

“Yes, you were hinting you were quite a devil. Did you plan on finishing that story, or were you going to leave it as an overture?”

“Not really a great story, Suz. You’ve already had a bad opinion of me. But...” He reached for a water bottle he’d packed in his saddlebag. After a long swig, he wiped his mouth and passed it to her.

She accepted the offer, squelching the paranoid germ-a-phobia she’d acquired from hospital sanitation standards. “But?”

“If you promise not to hold my rebellion against me....”

Swallowing the cool water, Suzanna nodded.

“I was a horrible brother. I don’t know why Dre is so good to me now because I wasn’t any good to her when we were growing up. But it wasn’t just her. I failed school my senior year. Hard to pass classes when you don’t show up. I came long enough to stay eligible for football, and after the season ended, I found trouble. Plenty of trouble. I’ll spare you the details, but I ended up on a short stay with the state juvenile system. Have you ever heard of Boys Town?”

Suzanna shook her head.

“It’s in Omaha. It’s kind of like a crisis-intervention boarding school. I spent four months there.”

“Why?”

“My parents didn’t know what else to do with me. I’d been in legal trouble for underage drinking more than once, and then my dad caught me high in their basement. I had a record of being destructive, irresponsible, and disrespectful, and they’d had it. Dad said if I couldn’t live with their rules, I couldn’t live with them. He meant it.”

Suzanna felt shock contort her face. Paul Rustin? The neighbor who had been kind to her even when she’d been horrible to him? She studied him, unable to picture him as anything other than the gentleman he’d shown himself to be.

Warmth shaded his complexion crimson. “See, not a very good story, right?”

“Why?”

“Why did I do those things?”

She pressed her lips together, wondering why she pushed him but nodded anyway.

“I don’t really know, Suz. I was just angry, and I’m not even sure why. I didn’t want to live here, I didn’t want to be nothin’, and I couldn’t see anything beyond myself. I didn’t have a real reason.”

“What happened?”

Paul’s eyes softened, and a smile crept over his features again. “I didn’t graduate from Rock Creek—I went to Boys Town in March of my senior year. My grandpa came to Omaha to visit me in April with a proposal. If I studied and got my GED, I could come out and live with them. I would have to work like a ranch hand, but they’d keep me on until I figured out what I wanted to do with my life.