A Cowboy's Pride

A terrified yell, that’s what the words sounded like in his skull, a litany of other words pounding between his ears.

You haven’t been on a horse since the accident. No horse is completely trustworthy. What if it moves? What if you fall?

This is a bad idea.

But he would not, under any circumstances, back away from the challenge his mother’s words had evoked. And so he rolled his chair as close to the saddle as he could, glancing at the bay gelding. The horse didn’t look one iota interested. In fact, it had its head down, its lower lip hanging...as if it were asleep.

See that, Trent, they put you on the old nag. A horse you wouldn’t be caught dead riding a year ago.

He trembled, yes, trembled in anger at the whole situation, at his life, at the fact he felt goaded into doing this, that he was even here, at this ranch, when all he wanted to do was be back home in Colorado. Still, he reached for the saddle, slowly testing his weight on the padded seat as he prepared to slip from his chair to the horse’s back.

The horse didn’t move.

Quickly, before he could think better of it, he shifted from his wheelchair to the saddle, sitting sideways for a moment before using his hands to lift his right leg and somehow managing to get it swung over the saddle’s horn, the limb, like his left leg, dropping like an anchor.

“Good job,” the girl cried.

He was on a horse, could actually feel the saddle beneath his butt. He tried clenching his thighs, but he only had marginal feeling in them. Still, it might be enough to hold on...if he clenched hard enough.

“Well done,” Cabe echoed.

On a horse for the first time in almost a year. On a horse that hadn’t moved an inch and that seemed to realize he was a damn useless human being. His breath hitched as he inhaled, his eyes suddenly burning hot.

Don’t you dare blubber.

He closed his eyes, waited a few breaths, then opened them again.

He wasn’t useless. He would find something to do. Anything had to be better than staring at four walls.

Feeling sorry for yourself.

When he opened his eyes again, Cabe was staring up at him, but another person was by his side. Alana stood there, too, and she was smiling, her own eyes rimmed with tears.

“Congratulations,” she said softly. “You’re back on.”

If she’d been hoping to lift his spirits, her words had the opposite effect. “I might be back on, but I still can’t ride.”

His words came out like a death ray, melting her pretty little smile.

“Not yet.” She glanced at Cabe. “Not yet.” She appeared to take a deep breath. “We usually walk on either side of our guests when they ride for the first time. Did you need us to do that?”

Like he was some kind of toddler on a pony ride? “No.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Alana mounted her own horse less than ten minutes later, but you’d have thought they had just secured Trent Anderson to a medieval torture device, so loudly did he protest. The man still grumbled under his breath.

“Okay, let’s go,” Cabe said, swinging up onto his own horse.

“This is ridiculous,” she heard Trent say. “I can hold on. You didn’t need to strap me into this thing.”

She risked glancing in his direction, although she sensed if he caught her staring, he wouldn’t be pleased. The man seemed to have taken an instant dislike to her. Well, the feeling was mutual, never mind how good-looking he was.

“It’s for your own safety,” Rana said. “Even though you might feel capable of balancing in the saddle, we can’t risk you falling off, especially since you don’t want us to spot you while you’re riding.” She grinned at him. “Try and use your leg to kick Baylor forward.”

“I’m a paraplegic,” Trent shouted right back. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

To give Rana credit, she didn’t let his words faze her. “You’re a partial paraplegic.”

Alana almost smiled. The girl sounded forty, not fourteen.

“Your horse responds to hip movement,” Rana added. “A portion of your thighs still work, so use them. Pretend you’re kicking. It’ll move your hips, which will cue Baylor forward.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Yes, it will. I know. I was once a paraplegic, too, a full paraplegic, so don’t tell me what you can and cannot do.”

Way to go, Rana, Alana thought. Don’t let him push you around. She shifted her gaze to Trent. The look on his face was priceless.

“You had a spinal injury?” he asked.

Cabe kicked his horse forward then. “Didn’t you know? That’s how we got into this gig.”

No, he hadn’t been told. Alana could see that. So what was the guy doing here? From what Cabe had told her, this was supposedly some kind of last resort, but he clearly didn’t want anything to do with therapy.

It was her turn to nudge her horse forward. “It’s time you rejoined the land of the living, Trent.” She met his gaze head on. “So either kick that horse forward, or get left behind.”

She gave Cabe and Rana a look, one that clearly said to follow her lead. They did.

“Hey,” she heard Trent call out.

Rana went so far as to kick her horse into a lope, Cabe following suit. Alana didn’t glance back.

“Hey!”

Keep riding, Alana.

“Don’t you dare leave me here.”

Reluctantly, she pulled on the reins, but only because she’d caught the edge of panic to his voice. But when she turned back, the man wasn’t even looking at her. Rage had him contorting atop that horse like a Jedi Knight trying to use the force. Alana almost laughed, although there was nothing funny about the situation.

“Use your hips,” she called out.

He could move them. Patients with an L2-S5 injury had movement through the pelvis. Some even had moderate to mild use of their limbs below the waist—like Trent. But the man acted as if he were a quadriplegic.

“Try pretending you’re scooting a chair forward.”

Miracle of miracles, the man finally listened, his hips thrusting so forcefully, it was a good thing they’d strapped him in. He’d have toppled forward otherwise.