Chapter Three

      Wyatt looked up from the busted computer to find Susannah and Amber staring at him with nearly identical expressions on their faces. There was dread, even fear in their eyes.

      They expected him to explode, like Travis Bradley would. Like his father had, that last night, before stomping out of the house in a drunken rage.

      Their reaction cut him to the bone. For a few seconds, he couldn’t find the words to respond. He was not his father.

      “I sorry,” Amber said in a tiny voice, her tone a plea. “Can you fix it?”

      He pulled in a deep breath. “Maybe. I’ll take it to the computer shop in Casper, see what they can do.” Then he met the little girl’s gaze. “It was an accident,” he said as gently as he could. “They happen. It’s okay.”

      “Use my wages to buy a new one.” Susannah put a hand on Amber’s shoulder. “I insist.”

      “That won’t happen. Really. It’s okay.”

      “You’re kind to say so.” Her frown eased slightly. “But it’s not, really.”

      “We’re not going to argue over this.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I think I’ll spend some time in the barn, watch the kids ride. And I’ll eat lunch with them in the bunkhouse.”

      “Wyatt—”

      “If you’ll unplug the cord—” He hated having to ask. “Thanks.” With the cover closed and the cord coiled on top, he pushed the laptop to the center of the table. “You two have a good afternoon.”

      Walking up the hill to the barn, he acknowledged the anger simmering in his chest. Anger at Travis Bradley, for conditioning his family to expect violence when they made a mistake. How could such a man live with himself?

      He also had to admit to being angry that Susannah would put him in the same category as Bradley, if only by reflex. Wyatt had done his best, since she’d been here, to be reassuring, to appear totally safe. He was safe, dammit. Why would she think otherwise?

      A single step into the shadows of the barn brought the sweet aroma of hay to his nose. Almost immediately, his temper started to cool. Walking along the side aisle, breathing deeply, he let the peace of the place soothe him. He’d spent too much time in the house this last month. Of course he was irritable.

      At the back of the barn, he wanted to prop his arms on the half door leading out to the corral, but the brace restrained him from bowing his shoulders. So he stood stiff as a stick, instead, watching the teenagers ride their horses. With Dylan leading the line on his Appaloosa, Leo, the kids rode patterns around the ring—circles, diagonals, even serpentines. And they were jogging, which constituted great progress since Wyatt had last observed them.

      He couldn’t help noticing that Nate, Susannah’s son, seemed more comfortable with his horse’s motion than any of the riders except Dylan. He sat easily in the saddle, arms relaxed and steady, not flapping up and down in imitation of bird wings. His long legs were wrapped around the mare’s barrel and stayed still in the stirrups. Caroline and his brothers had mentioned the boy’s natural ability. Now Wyatt witnessed it for himself—they had a prospective cowboy on their hands.

      The rest of the kids deserved encouragement, too, and he tried to speak with each one as they came in the barn to put away saddles, bridles and blankets.

      “Good job,” he said, as Thomas Gray Cloud lugged his saddle into the tack room. “You’re keeping your hands down really well at the jog.”

      The boy fiddled with the way the stirrup was hanging. “Sometimes.” He shrugged and, with a quick glance at Wyatt, headed for the door.

      Only to run straight into Marcos Oxendine.

      “Hey, watch it,” Marcos shouted. “You about knocked me down.”

      Thomas glared at him. “Like you don’t weigh twice as much as me. Give me a break.”

      “I’ll give you a break. I’ll break every—”

      “That’s enough.” Wyatt used his own version of loud. “There’s no call for an argument. Just stand back, Thomas, and let him get inside with his gear.”

      Rolling his eyes, Thomas moved out of the way until the other boy had come through. But when he tried to leave, Lizzie Hanson blocked his way.

      “Oh...hi, Lizzie. I’ll move.” He retreated again. That was an interesting development—Thomas being nice to one of the girls.

      “Thanks, Thomas.” Blonde and boy-crazy, Lizzie fluttered her mascaraed lashes. “Can you put my saddle away? That would be so great.” Then she noticed Wyatt’s raised eyebrow. “Okay, never mind. I’ll do it.” One of the camp rules was that each rider was responsible for their own tack.

      “You’re looking comfortable in that saddle,” Wyatt told her. “You and Major seem to be getting along well.”

      She gave him a wide smile. “I love him.” Lizzie had been afraid of horses at the beginning of the camp, but Major, a brown, white and black pony, had proved to be just the partner she needed.

      Nate was the last of the teens to leave the corral because he spent the longest time brushing his mare, Blue Lady. Thin and quiet, he kept his gaze down as Wyatt spoke to him.

      “You’re a born horseman, Nate. I appreciate the way you take care of your animal.”

      “Thanks.” He glanced up briefly. “I want her to be clean. Comfortable.”

      “A real cowboy does exactly that.” Wyatt’s turn to hesitate. “So...you’re having a good time? Enjoying the camp?”

      “Sure. It’s fun.” He straightened his shoulders and, finally, looked Wyatt squarely in the eye. “Thanks for taking care of my mom and my sister. I was worried about them.”

      “We’re glad to help. We’ll make sure all of you stay safe.”

      Nate took a deep breath. “I hope so.” He didn’t sound convinced.

      Before Wyatt could reassure him, Dylan looked in the door. “There you are, Nate. We were counting heads and missing one. Lunch is