Soul Deep (8 page)

Janet followed them around a corner and down
a short hallway to a sliding door that opened to reveal the
attached riding barn—an enormous structure with a floor of groomed
sand. It was chilly compared to the barn, but she barely noticed
the cold, the idea that she was about to mount a horse driving all
other thoughts away.

Jack led Buckwheat a few feet inside the
riding barn, then waited for her to catch up. “Mind holding the
reins? I need to get the mounting block.”

Janet took the reins, stroked Buckwheat’s
powerful neck, spoke in soothing tones to the gelding, though it
was her own nerves she was trying to quell. “We’re going to get
along just fine, aren’t we?”

Jack returned in less than a minute, carrying
a large mounting block. It had three steps and space on top that
was big enough to accommodate two people. He set it down on
Buckwheat’s left side, then checked the tightness of the girth once
again. He reached for the reins. “Ms. Killeen, your steed
awaits.”

Janet took a deep breath, started up the
steps, Jack’s strong hand on her waist as he followed her. She
reached the top, turned to face the horse, instinctively reaching
for the saddle horn, her cane still in her right hand. “How do I do
this?”

“Take hold of the saddle, lean into me, and
lift your left foot into the stirrup.”

She tried to do what he’d suggested, but she
had trouble controlling her left foot to get it into the stirrup.
She just couldn’t make it flex. But before she could give up, he
knelt down, caught her foot, and guided it into position.

“Lean on me, and swing your right leg
over.”

Janet was about to lift her right leg, when
Buckwheat shifted. She lost her balance, her pulse rocketing.
“Shit!”

Strong arms held her fast. “I’ve got
you.”

She looked into Jack’s eyes, tears pricking
her eyes. “I’m afraid.”

“I know you are, but you can do this. I know
you can. Try again, and don’t let his movements spook you. He’s not
going anywhere, and neither am I.”

“Will you ride with me? Maybe if you’re on
the horse, too… “

He nodded. “Sure. But you’re mounting first.
You need to do this so that you know you can.”

“Okay.” Janet dropped her cane behind her,
letting it fall into the sand. She took hold of the saddle horn
with her left hand, and put her weight on her left foot, leaning
into Jack for support as she lifted her right leg over the
gelding’s back.

And then she was sitting in the saddle.

“I did it!” She buried her fingers in the
gelding’s thick, blond mane.

“Yes, you did.” Jack swung up into the saddle
behind her, wrapped one arm around her waist, his thighs pressed
against hers, his chest hard against her back. “Are you in any
pain?”

He was so close that she could feel his
breath against her hair, his voice deep, his scent surrounding
her.

She shook her head, not wanting to tell him
exactly what she was feeling at this particular moment. “I’m
fine.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Holding the
reins in his left hand, he urged Buckwheat forward. “Come on, boy.
The lady wants to ride.”

CHAPTER SIX

Jack walked Buckwheat around the barn, giving
the gelding time to get used to their weight and Janet time to
adjust to sitting in the saddle. “How does it feel?”

“It feels great.”

He glanced down, saw the dimple in her cheek,
and knew she was smiling.

There was something healing about horses. He
had watched his son help Megan, who’d suffered terrible sexual
abuse and misuse as a teen, learn to trust again by riding in this
very barn. He’d watched friends of Nate’s, veterans who’d been
burned and maimed, rediscover a sense of masculinity through
riding. He’d watched dozens of children—autistic kids, kids from
abusive homes, kids with terminal illnesses—find joy through the
equine therapy program to which the Cimarron donated horses.

He hoped Janet would find healing here, too,
though not purely for unselfish reasons. If she enjoyed herself
during her stay, maybe she’d come back, and maybe…

You’re getting ahead of yourself, old
man.

“Ready to go faster?”

“Yes!”

Jack decided not to trot the horse, given
that it would make Janet bounce in the saddle, something that could
be uncomfortable and tiring even for riders without injuries.
Instead, he brought Buckwheat to a lope.

In front of him, Janet laughed, the sound
like music. “This is wonderful!”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

It stirred his blood being close to her like
this, her bottom touching his thighs, her back pressed against his
chest, her sweet scent filling his head. He was as aware of her as
he was the big animal that moved beneath them, and could feel that
she was aware of him, too. He tightened his thighs around the horse
and felt her tense. He adjusted his hold around her waist and heard
her quick inhalation. He rested his cheek against the silk of her
hair and felt her relax into him.

If they’d had decent weather, he would have
been able to take her on a ride around the ranch. He would have
packed a lunch and a bottle of wine and taken her up on one of the
trails that passed through groves of old-growth aspens. But the
snow was too deep, and he wouldn’t want her out there now anyway,
not until he knew who’d shot Chinook and why. And so they were
confined to the barn.

Janet didn’t seem to mind, and neither did
Buckwheat, who tugged at the bit, wanting to let loose.

“Think you can handle a gallop?”

“Bring it on!”

Jack let the gelding have his head, and off
they went, galloping in circles and figure-eights, Janet’s laughter
making him smile. She showed no fear, but sat a horse well, her
body’s response to the animal’s motions instinctive and fluid. He’d
have been able to tell she was an experienced rider even if she
hadn’t told him.

When he sensed that Buckwheat’s restless
energy was spent, he brought him to a lope and then back to a
walk.

“How did that feel?”

“Wonderful.” Her voice was tight, a single
tear trickling down her cheek.

It must be hell to have one’s life torn apart
like she had. Yes, Jack had endured his share of loss, but he’d
never been the one to suffer. He’d seen his fellow Rangers die in
combat. He’d found his wife’s lifeless body. He’d had to watch
while Nate dealt with the unimaginable pain and suffering of his
burns, then had his own heart broken as his son came to grips with
living life with a disfigured face. But Jack’s life had changed
very little, revolving around the ranch and the changing seasons as
it always had.

Janet hadn’t been as badly wounded as Nate,
but the life she’d known was gone just the same. It felt good to be
able to give some part of that life back to her.

Jack walked Buckwheat, let the gelding cool
down, and then brought him to a halt back at the mounting block.
Jack dismounted first, then helped Janet. He let her do most of the
work, but kept one arm around her waist just in case. She felt
slender and soft in his arms, every inch a woman.

As her left foot came out of the stirrup, she
lost her balance. “Oh!”

“I’ve got you.” He caught her, held her
fast.

For a moment they stood face to face, his
arms around her, their bodies pressed together, her palms flat
against his chest.

She smiled, a trail of moisture on each cheek
from her tears. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He wiped her tears away
with the pads of his thumbs, his gaze dropping to her mouth. Her
lips tempted him. Hell, yes, they did.

But he’d made a promise, and he’d keep that
promise until hell froze over and he’d walked five miles on the
ice.

Still holding fast to Buckwheat’s reins, he
turned and helped her down the stairs. “I just want to point out
that you got down without your cane.”

She looked up at him, surprise in those green
eyes. “I completely forgot about it. Well, I had your help.”

Jack walked over and retrieved it from the
sand. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” She took it from him, smiled.
“By the way, I’ve decided to stay the week—if that’s still
okay.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

It only bothered him a little to think she
was most likely staying for the horses and not because of him.

# # #

Janet followed Jack back to the stables, her
pulse still pounding from the thrill of their ride, her heart
lighter than it had been in months. She’d actually sat in the
saddle and ridden again—thanks to Jack. She wasn’t certain she’d
have done it if he hadn’t been there to push and help her.

He’d called himself an “old codger”
yesterday, but that’s not what she saw when she looked at him. She
saw a man who was gentle with both animals and people. She saw a
man who loved the land, did strenuous work in the outdoors, and
lived according to his own creed. The fact that he was incredibly
good looking, physically fit, and kissed like a god only made him
more amazing.

Riding together, his arm around her waist,
the hard wall of his chest behind her, had left her feeling more
aware of herself as a woman than she’d felt in a very long time.
When they’d stood together on the mounting block moments ago, she’d
seen his gaze drop to her mouth and had found herself fighting the
urge to kiss him. It would have been so easy, and she would have
loved every moment of it. But she didn’t want to start something
she couldn’t finish. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

Jack was telling her about the stables—when
they’d been built and rebuilt, something about a fire—but his words
barely registered, her attention fixed on the way he walked, the
innate grace of his stride, his skill with the horse and, yes,
okay, his ass. She could hardly blame herself. He
did
look
fantastic in a pair of well-worn jeans.

She watched as Jack clipped cross ties to the
bridle, removed first the saddle and then the saddle blanket,
hanging them from hooks on the wall. She found a curry comb and
began to rub the gelding down, starting at his neck. “Was Buckwheat
born here, too?”

“Yeah, he was. Chipeta is his dam. He was
sired by a stallion from another ranch. He had some conformation
flaws, particularly around his head, so we gelded him just after he
was weaned. He’s a damned good cattle horse and has a great
disposition.”

Janet glanced up, her gaze drawn again to
Jack, who had grabbed another comb and was working on Buckwheat’s
other side. “What qualities do you look for when you decide which
colts get to keep their balls?”

Jack met her gaze over Buckwheat’s back, one
dark eyebrow arching, a grin tugging at his lips. “A good mind and
disposition—those are the most important. After that, I look for
correct conformation—straight legs, good hips and shoulders, a nice
head and neck. A colt that doesn’t meet all of those criteria gets
gelded. There are other things that can tip the scale—gait,
athletic ability. What I’m looking for is a perfect representation
of the breed.”

“How often do you find that?”

“I’d say one out of fifteen to twenty foals
makes the cut.”

She winced at his choice of words. “Or
escapes it.”

Jack grinned. “We do use anesthesia, you
know. It’s not like I chase them around the corral with a machete.
Besides, geldings live much more contented lives than
stallions.”

“How do you figure? Chinook has more sex than
most people, while poor Buckwheat here gets nothing.”

“Stallions are slaves to their biology. Their
lives carry a fair amount of stress. They’re biologically geared to
do two things: fight and mate.”

“That sounds like a lot of the guys I’ve
helped put in the penitentiary.”

He chuckled. “There are times I’ve wondered
if we wouldn’t make the world a better place by treating human
males more like we treat colts.”

“So now we’re talking about mating people?”
The words were out before she could stop them. Was she flirting
with him?

“Well, I was talking more about castrating
some of the male variety, but if your mind is on mating, that’s
okay. Let’s go there.”

“What qualities would you look for in a
woman?”

She
was
flirting with him—and he was
flirting back.

He laughed. “If I had the mindset of a
stallion, only one—willingness. For a male of any species, success
at mating is all about spreading your seed.”

“That’s lovely.” That also described a lot of
the men she’d known.

“Fortunately, I am not ruled by biology. It’s
brains over balls.”

“Meaning what?” She looked up, her gaze
connecting with his.

“Meaning I spent thirty-eight years making a
study of just one woman, trying to be the man she deserved.”

In his words, Janet heard the love he’d felt
for his wife. He’d been devoted to her, and he’d been faithful to
her. Then he’d lost her.

She realized she was staring at him, her hand
motionless on the gelding’s flank. “You must miss her very
much.”

“I do.” Jack smiled, his blue eyes looking
into hers. “But lately I’ve been thinking life just might have a
few surprises left for me.”

And Janet found it hard to breathe.

# # #

Jack fixed cross ties to Chinook’s halter
then held fast to the cheek piece to steady the animal, knowing
full well that ropes wouldn’t hold the stallion if he were truly
frightened or upset. “No sudden sounds or movements, and we’ll be
fine. If your camera has a flash on it, turn it off.”

Det. Sgt. Taylor, a young man perhaps in his
thirties, made an adjustment to his camera, then moved closer to
photograph the wound on the stallion’s forearm and the stippling on
his skin, the camera’s electronic buzz making Chinook nervous.