Sweet butter on a biscuit.
Jedd gives me a knowing look as I rouse myself from the memories. “It’s so cold in that old barn, and we have so many rooms. I’m on the first floor, but I could trade with Hannah if she isn’t comfortable with you upstairs.” Is this a bad idea? Maybe I shouldn’t ask? He’s going to say no.
“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone,” Jedd says, although he’s fighting a smile on those damn lips.
“I wouldn’t ask if—”
He holds up a hand and finishes for me, “If it was an inconvenience.”
He chuckles, and I smile, but I’m holding my breath.
“I’d love to move in with you, honey.”
And before I can object that that’s not exactly what I asked, he kisses me.
“Does it hurt them? To be ridden like that?” I followed Jedd into the stable, peppering him with questions as he explains the particulars of a bucking bronco. It sounds dangerous, and I don’t know how he did it one-armed. No wonder he was a star. The women must have gone crazy for him. A warrior. A cowboy. And still so physically fit. I’d felt that strength when I sat on his lap while we were riding the tractor the other day, but even more so, I felt it last night as he surrounded me. His strong arm over me was a comfort I’d never known.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he states, pulling me from my memories of last night, curled into him, his broad chest at my back. “Some animal activists get all up in arms, but it doesn’t make any sense for a bronc rider to hurt the horse. It’s a game of wills, not destruction. The thrill of trying to tame something untamable.” Jedd’s eyes focus on the side of my head, but I don’t look over at him as I stroke the white patch on the nose of his new Quarter Horse, Lucky One. He’s three years old, and a horse trainer tried to get him to race. He’s a worker, not a racer, though. He refused to follow rules, and the supplier thought he’d make a better rodeo horse. A little kindred spirit speaks to me with this one; there is mischief in his eyes as though he’s daring me to ride him. With my condition, I don’t think so.
“You know horses can be very therapeutic,” Jedd states as if reading my thoughts. “Even the bucking ones can help a guy out.” Jedd reaches over to touch Lucky One, and the horse whinnies and nips, causing Jedd to retract his fingers as he hopes to keep the remaining ones he has.
“You little...” He pauses before cursing at his new steed. “That ornery spirit will make you a winner,” he teases the beast. Lucky One has turned his head back to me, and I hesitate as I hold up my hand, the palm forward for him to inhale my scent again before I reach for his patch.
“Dammit, I think he has a soft spot for you, Bee. You seem to have that effect.”
“I think ornery just recognizes ornery.” I laugh.
Jedd huffs in agreement. “Horses are smart. He senses something in you, but don’t you be softening him up. I need him tough.”
Maybe that’s what the horse senses—a tough spirit that doesn’t want to be tied down. I’ve been down too long. It’s time to buck up, as the saying goes.
“Did you own a horse? The one you bucked. Is that the right terminology?” It sounds dirty, and my eyes meet Jedd’s with a sly smile. I like how we think alike, even if I won’t admit my thoughts. But Jedd isn’t smiling in return. He’s been leaning on his left shoulder against the stall as we talk. He slides his body so his back supports him on the wall. Looking across the center aisle, he wrestles with a memory before speaking.
“I didn’t own him. You get what you get and whoever stays on the longest wins. But a bucking horse has a flank belt strapped to him, like I told you. It doesn’t hurt. In fact, if it did, a horse actually won’t buck because of the pain. They’d stand still with fear of moving. Some damn activists, as I mentioned, can get their nose in a snit. They hadn’t been able to prove PAFRA was hurting any animals, so they went after individuals, stating our spurs weren’t meeting standards. All cowboys have spurs on their boots, but when broncing or riding they should be dull, so again, no harm will come to the horses. The spurs are even inspected. A particular...shall we say person...went after me. Had it out for me, I guess, and made a claim I’d harmed a horse by my spurs. I would never, ever do such a thing,” Jedd states with heartfelt sincerity. He rolls back to perch on his shoulder and reaches up to the beast to prove his tenderness, only Lucky One snaps at him again.
“Dammit.” He chuckles without humor. “Anyway, the evidence proved otherwise. In fact, the evidence proved more damage than any spur could have done to an animal. The horse died. The rodeo blamed me.” His sadness fills the entire stable. “They didn’t revoke all my titles, but they stripped me of the ones I’d earned last season. PAFRA did what they could to go easy on me, but they didn’t want the trouble. I don’t fault them. I fault—” He stops short, and I turn my head to him.
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He squints at my hand stroking down Lucky One’s nose. “What’s done is done. PAFRA couldn’t take me back. I hung out a bit, working where I could, mostly helping out with animal care and giving advice on broncing. That’s when I got the idea to just hang up my boots and assist others in learning the challenge.” He smiles with pride. “I’d really like to help veterans once I get up and running a little better.”
The thought of more people around the farm worries me, but then again, if they are all like Jedd—even-tempered, tender—and trying to do good for others, a few more bodies might not be a bad thing.
“Can I ask you something?” And I hold my breath, waiting out Jedd’s answer.
“Shoot.”
“Why here? Why my farm? I know you mentioned you were from these parts, but you never said where specifically.”
Jedd rotates to his back again and tips his head against the stall. This makes the ball cap he’s wearing tip up a bit on his head.
“Where I’m from doesn’t exist anymore. But this Valley is home to me, and I was ready to come home. I just needed a reason.” He turns to face me, and his cap falls back into place. “I found my purpose.”
I swallow at the intensity of his dark eyes, the sharp edges of his jaw, adding to the earnestness of his comment.
“Why my land?”
“Why not? You have lots of unused space. It’s beautiful.” His eyes zero in on me. “What’s not to love? It’s perfect.”
I have to disagree. It isn’t perfect—the rotting barn, the old house, and the overgrown land—but it was beautiful in its own right. However, the gleam to Jedd’s eyes hints he doesn’t mean my pastures are the beautiful parts.
Can he love it here indefinitely? Will he want to stay? Will he continue to grow and expand his dream, or will he get bored? He’s already told me he had a nomad heart. Can his heart allow him to plant roots in one spot? Or will he need to sow his seed, like Howard? I don’t like the thought, and something in my expression must give away my negative feelings.
“What is it, Bee? What’s that pretty head thinking?”
“Just wondering what you want for breakfast,” I say instead of offering my concerns. The glimmer in his eye turns to a full spark as his gaze roams down my body. I shiver. I want to give in to that look, to the appraising perusal, the hungry stance.