“They say so. His parents are at the hospital with him, and they’ll keep us informed,” Amos said.
Cecily pulled back, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy. “It wasn’t like him to miss work and not call. He’s been here three years and only missed work one day when he was sick, and he called, you know? He doesn’t ever just not show up. I knew something was wrong.” Amos handed her a paper towel and she wiped her nose. “I should have checked on him sooner. That’s what you do for friends. You don’t leave them for dead by the side of the road. Who would do something like that?”
It must have been horrifying for her to find him the way she did. I didn’t know Cecily well enough to have the perfect words to make her feel better, so imperfect words would have to do. “You did everything you could, Cecily. I know it’s easy to get dragged down by the weight of all the things we should have done, but think of what you actuallydid. You spent your day off looking for him. You got him help. He would have died without you.”
Her head bobbed rapidly as she moved the paper towel through her fingers, looking for a dry spot. “I didn’t let him die. He’s going to be okay.”
“Gotta get to cooking now. Whole lot of hungry cowboys and guests wanting breakfast.” Amos’s voicewas as gruff as ever, but he dropped a large hand on Cecily’s shoulder and squeezed. “You need to sit this one out?”
“No.” Cecily shook her head. “I can do this. Miguel would smack me upside the head if I sat around crying over him, especially now that he’s going to be all right.” She wiped her nose again and looked up at me. “Maybe we could go visit him in the hospital this afternoon? Could you drive me?”
Before I could answer, Amos said, “I talked to his dad this morning. He’s out of surgery, but they’re not allowing visitors who aren’t family yet.”
Cecily’s shoulders drooped. “Oh. Okay.”
“Jeremiah is giving me a riding lesson this afternoon,” I volunteered. “If he has any updates on Miguel, I’ll pass them on. Give me your phone number.”
“You’re going riding with Jeremiah? Just the two of you?” Her brows furrowed. “He doesn’t usually do that. But that’s good. He was with Sheriff Sherwood yesterday, after the sheriff took my statement. I want to know what the sheriff plans on doing about this.”
She looked heartbreakingly young. Her shiny eyes tugged at my protective instincts. I wanted to tell her that everything would be all right.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that trouble had followed me here.
17
JEREMIAH
Most peoplewho came to Mercy River Ranch considered horses to be an asset. Cattle were our business, but horses were our heart. I had witnessed it time and time again, the way a horse could heal a wounded soul.
Judging by the way Lennon backed up with a surprised gasp when Indigo sniffed her, she did not agree. I bit back a smile.
“This is Indigo. He likes city slickers.” I held the black gelding’s reins loosely in one hand while Lennon gave us both a dubious look.
“Howdoes he like city slickers?” she asked suspiciously. “Served with a side of oats for breakfast?”
I chuckled. “I know he looks like a demon, but Ipromise you’re safe with him. This boy is bombproof. Aren’t you, boy?” I gave him a solid pat on his neck, and he turned to look at me. “Nothing fazes him.”
“He’s not the one I’m worried about,” she muttered, but she stretched tentative fingers toward his nose and rubbed gently with the back of her knuckles. “He’s soft,” she said begrudgingly. She shifted closer.
“Horses can sense a person’s emotions,” I told her. “They’re prey animals, so they’re wired to stay alert for signs of danger. That means if you’re a nervous rider, your horse is going to pick up on that and start acting out. But Indigo here, he stays calm no matter how silly his rider is. That’s what makes him good for greenhorns.”
“Is he slow?” Lennon asked hopefully.
“As slow as you tell him to be,” I evaded.
Indigo was one of the smartest, most intuitive horses I’d ever had the pleasure of riding, but slow wasn’t his preferred speed. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though. I’d learned the hard way that a lazy horse and an inexperienced rider were a match made in hell. Once a lazy horse realized his rider didn’t know shit, he’d take advantage of that and graze away, no matter how much his rider kicked.
A horse like Indigo, who liked to stretch his legs and didn’t care too much if his rider bounced like a sack of potatoes on his back, was a much better fit for a new rider.
“Ready to ride?” I asked.
Her brown eyes widened. “But I don’t know how.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you learn on the ground, honey.” I placed the reins in her left hand. “Face the horse, left hand on the saddle horn but don’t drop the reins, right hand on the cantle—that’s the back of the saddle. Yes, right there, you’ve got it. Left foot in the stirrup. Now step up and swing your right leg over his back.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
But even as she spoke, she gave an experimental hop and then went for it for real. It wasn’t graceful, but she was in the saddle. That was one of the things I liked about Lennon. Even when she doubted success, she was always game to try. She gave it her all.
