Rancher and Protector. Pamela Britton
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work to train at Camp Cowboy. What if this was a mistake? What if Dee didn’t respond to horse therapy as she hoped?
“Either way, learning a little about hippotherapy is a good thing,” she said. “Who knows where it might take me?” She glanced down at her lap for a moment. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to help my nephew. If this doesn’t work out …” she shrugged again. “Well, I’ll just try something else.”
Gil nodded, smiling. “Good. I’m glad you’re not looking at this like it might be an answer to your prayers. One never knows how an autistic child will respond.”
“I know.”
“Then I wish you luck,” he said, standing.
Luck. Yeah, she would need that.
Chapter Three
She was in a meeting, Colt thought, heart pounding, as he put Flash away. He would never have a better opportunity to search through her belongings than right now.
But the idea filled him with a sense of anxiety and dread.
His fingers shook as he unclipped Flash’s halter. The camp wasn’t fully staffed yet. He’d been told most of the live-ins would arrive tomorrow. That meant fewer people around today.
He had to investigate now.
His stomach roiled as he left the stables. “The lodge,” as staffers called it, looked like it belonged on a dollar bill: Georgian-style roof, sash windows, wide steps leading up to the entrance. It had been built on a slight incline, with a pebbled road leading up to it. Those employees who would be driving in Monday would park around back, but for now, the place looked deserted.
Colt took the steps two at a time, feeling sick with trepidation. The lodge had double doors at the entrance, but only the right side worked. Colt saw movement on the other side of the frosted glass. He knew Gil’s office was to the left, and when he stepped inside, that door was closed.
Good. Amber was still in her meeting.
“That was fast.”
Colt jerked his gaze to the right, to find Jim or Jerry or whatever his name was sitting there. In the cafeteria, actually, although the spacious room with the hardwood floors looked more like a ballroom, except for the tables and chairs.
“No reason to stick around at the stables if there’s nothing to do.” The horse therapist Amber had introduced him to earlier looked skeptical.
“Don’t you have to feed stock or something?”
The guy—Jarrod, he suddenly remembered—was obnoxious. Colt had no idea what he’d done to garner such animosity, but it was obvious they hadn’t hit it off. “Not for another hour,” he said, moving past the cafeteria without another word. There was an elevator in the left-hand corner of the foyer—a recent addition by the looks of it. He ignored it and took the steps directly ahead. The staff would all be living coed style, which, for all he knew, meant Amber could be bunking right next to him.
She wasn’t.
He checked the room chart hanging at the end of the hall. Room seven. He was in room three, which meant he had to walk by his own room, which meant—
Woof!
“Mac,” Colt warned. “Quiet.”
But his dog had caught his scent. White-and-black paws scratched at the door. Colt could just make them out through the crack. Terrific. He’d insisted the animal wouldn’t be a problem, but Gil had warned that if Mac disturbed any of the residents, Colt would have to board him at a kennel—an option he couldn’t afford.
“Quiet!” He glanced left and right as he walked on. A few of the doors were open, but he didn’t see anyone. The place reminded him of a hospital ward. Utilitarian was the word. No frills here.
Her door was closed.
He peeked over his shoulder, grateful that nobody was around, but when it came time to actually grasp the doorknob, he hesitated.
Woof.
“Mac,” he called out. He opened the door and stepped inside before he could change his mind. If someone heard his dog and came to investigate, they’d see him standing there. Not good. But once inside her room, he froze.
He hated this.
Just do it.
Forcing himself to relax, he scanned her room. Bed to his left. Table and chairs to his right. There was a purse sitting on the brown seat, clearly open.
Go.
But he couldn’t. He wasn’t cut out for this, he realized. The idea of rummaging through her things …
He just couldn’t do it. He swung around, and came face-to-face with Amber.
“What the heck are you doing in here?” she said, her blue eyes wide with surprise.
“I … uh …” Damn it. He couldn’t think. “I wanted to apologize.”
“Apologize? For what?”
“Earlier,” he improvised. And he hated it. Lying wasn’t in his nature. “For forcing you to get on Flash.”
“You didn’t force me,” she said, crossing her arms. “I didn’t ride at all.” With the window behind him and the sunlight pouring over her, her eyes seemed to glow. As did her hair. He found himself forgetting for a moment what he’d come here to do.
“You would have if we hadn’t been interrupted. And I was pushy about the whole thing.”
“I didn’t notice,” she said, but he knew she lied.
Colt shook his head, hoping she didn’t see guilt on his face. “I, uh, I spend a lot of time working out of doors. With men. On ranches. I guess I just forgot you weren’t one of my crew.” That, at least, was true. So far he hadn’t lied to her. Not really. And he hadn’t rummaged through her belongings.
“You don’t have a girlfriend?”
“No,” he said quickly.
Her lips twitched, as if she was about to ask him a question, but she must have changed her mind.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, to fill the quiet.
Now why’d you go and say that?
“Boyfriend?” She laughed. “Hah. Who has time for that? Between my job and my …”
He waited for her to say the word nephew.
“… crazy life,” she said instead, “I don’t have time for sleep, much less a boyfriend.”
“Your life’s crazy?”
But she wasn’t budging. He could see that. “It is,” she said, swinging open the door pointedly. “Anyway, apology accepted.”
“Can we try again tomorrow?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You mean ride?”
He nodded.
She licked her lips. And suddenly he found himself thinking less about subterfuge and more about the shape of those lips.
“Let me think about it,” she said.
He didn’t move, even though it was obvious she wanted him to leave. But he couldn’t do that. If he couldn’t bring himself to rummage through her belongings, he needed to come up with some other way to get the information out of her.
“Don’t chew it over too long,” he said, forcing himself to smile. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. From what I hear, things are going to get crazy on Monday.” He walked to the door, but didn’t leave. He turned to face her, effectively imprisoning her between