Chapter 4
Samantha Bishop easedthe tips of her fingers through the six-inch gap in the roughhewn wood slats of her grandpa’s fifty-year-old barn, all of her attention fixated on the thorn lodged in Diablo’s right thigh. The stubborn gray horse casually munched on a mouthful of fresh oats and pretended to ignoreher.
She’d taken one look at the half-starved creature at Peterson’s abandoned ranch last week and fallen head over heels. When it took her a full two days to rope the creature, plus the help of two men to drag him into the trailer, she should have taken the hint. He was stubborn and deserving of the name one of her ranch hands had given him after an unfortunate incident while unloading the horse. Part of her liked him more forit.
She eased her hand forward another inch, and Diablo swished his tail in warning and lowered his head, his ears flattening. Sam kept one eye on his face and the other on her target: a broken piece of blackthorn lodged deeply into his scarred fur. The area around the wound had already turned red and started to swell. If she let it go much longer, they could be dealing with an infection, which, if left untreated, could lead tolameness.
Afraid to breathe, she kept going, moving slowly. Very slowly. A couple more inches and she’d be able to grab the thorn and yank it straight out. Diablo pulled his lips back and neighed, the warning as clear as it had been the day he’d taken a chunk out of her ranch hand’s butt. Only this time his intended target would be herfingers.
She’d been around horses most of her life, knew some of them needed a strong hand and some of them didn’t. Diablo didn’t like any kind of hand. Not that she could blame him. The Petersons had been known for their neglect, but no one had discovered the extent of the abuse they’d perpetrated on their innocent animals until old Phil Peterson keeled over from a stroke. The sheriff had been called out to the man’s ranch after no one heard from the curmudgeonly bastard for a week, only to discover him stiff and all of his animals dead ordying.
Her hand trembled, rage at the memory physically tightening her stomach. How anyone could treat these magnificent creatures with such cruelty was beyond herunderstanding.
“Easy, fella. I just wanna help you,” she breathed out, soothing with her voice as much as possible. Diablo eyed her. Sam froze. She knew this wasn’t the best way to approach a wild horse, but she’d tried everything short of tranquilizing him. That thorn was coming out today whether the horse liked it ornot.
Seconds passed. His tail swished. Finally, the sweet-smelling oats won out and Diablo turned back to his feed. Sam grabbed the thorn and carefully plucked it from his skin. Diablo kicked and she yanked her hand back through the fence just in time to keep it from gettingsmashed.
“Don’t worry, Sam, he’ll warm up to you sooner or later, just like we all do.” Matt Graham rolled forward, the thin rubber tires of his wheelchair crunching softly over the straw. He’d come to Hope Ranch a few months after she’d turned it into an equestrian rehab center for veterans. A veteran who’d lost his legs and part of his arm at the tender age of twenty, he’d been close to giving up on life. But this place had changed him. Matt was a wonderful example of the miracles Hope Ranch couldwork.
She managed a smile for Matt and swept a filthy hand through her sweat-soaked hair, unsticking a few black curls from her face. “I hope you’re right. I’m worried about him. A lot of those scars are fairly fresh, but more of them are old. He’d been abused for a long time.” The words tasted like sawdust in hermouth.
She would devote every ounce of energy she had to taming Diablo, but what if he was too far gone? What if he never camearound?
“He will. You’re going to help him just like you helped me. Just like you helped all of us.” Matt timidly touched her arm. “No one is unsalvageable,right?”
Her heart squeezed. It’d taken her months to get Matt to open up to her. Her four-year degree in counseling had done absolutely nothing to aid her in helping him—it had been pure instinct and the help of her other wounded warriors: her rescue horses. They responded to your subconscious emotions no matter how much you tried to hide or repress them, even fromyourself.
“Right. Thanks for reminding me, Matt. Would you mind sitting with him while I go grab some antibiotic ointment? I think it would be better for both of us if he had a little time to cooldown.”
His hand lingered on her arm a second longer than it should have. “You know Iwill.”
Sam cleared her throat and stepped back, putting some distance between them. Sometimes therapy patients clung to the person who helped them, something she didn’t want to encourage. “That would be great, he needs to be exposed to people as much as possible. We have to show him we are not athreat.”
Taking the hint, he rolled back a bit and offered her a sheepish half-smile. “I brought an apple to bribe the bastard with. Just have to be careful he doesn’t bite the fingers off my good hand.” Matt held up his hand and wriggled his fingers, smiling as he poked fun athimself.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, please protect those fingers, I’d hate to have to get Jim Wayne to feed yousupper.”
He frowned. “That’s justwrong.”
Sam gave him a wink. “Guess you better take care ofyourself.”
The first week she’d spent here, he’d run the place while she floundered about trying to figure it all out. She’d come to this West Texas ranch from Atlanta, Georgia, determined to see her vision of an equestrian rehab facility through without having much of an idea of how to go aboutit.
Matt wheeled around to face the horse, pulling a shiny red apple from the pouch in his wheelchair. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed and then held it near the wood stall so that Diablo could do the same. “Come on, Diablo. You know you wantit.”
The horse whinnied and promptly gave Matt hisback.
Sam laughed. “Good luck. I’ll be back in a minute.” She had some ointment in the tack room at the other end of the barn. Maybe, just maybe, Diablo would let her get close enough to slap some on his wound. She really didn’t want to have to pay to tranq the proud animal. She could barely afford to keep the placerunning.
Ryder had warned her not to take on any more ‘pet’ projects, but she couldn’t turn her back on an abused creature. Animal orhuman.
Besides, she’d always found a way before. She knew no better tactic than to keep onpushing.
She was about a foot from the tack room when a tall shadow fell over her. A man stood in the open barn door, holding a case and taking up nearly all the free space. He was so tall his shoulders nearly touched the frame. The bright sun at his back and the dark shade on his face hid his features, but something familiar tugged ather.
“Samantha?” His rough, gravelly voice was familiar, too, and it had the hairs on the back of her armstingling.
She squinted against the glare of the sun, trying to discern his features. “Yes? Can I helpyou?”
