Summer grew quieter, but Pope caught the way her gaze moved over the land. The barns were striking against the backdrop of mountains. The therapy lodge, double its size now, looked like a big, inviting log cabin. Beyond that, pastures spread out toward the mountains.
Her expression softened by the second, and pride moved through him before he could stop it. Though this place didn’t belong to him, he wanted her to love it as much as he did.
He parked in the front and helped Ben out of the truck. Summer stood in the parking area, taking in the activity around the yard, as men focused on their daily chores.
Pope led Summer and Ben to the barn. The airy space smelled of horses and straw, and he filled his lungs with the calming aroma. A few guys were already here, moving down the aisle carrying rakes and shovels to clean the stalls. Most of the horses were out to pasture, and he wondered who had taken over that job since he hadn’t been around.
A couple of the guys called greetings to Pope, and seeing Summer and Ben, they dropped what they were doing and wandered over.
Pope introduced them. Then he nodded toward a tall guy with gray at his temples and more than a few shadows in his eyes who’d remained quiet.
“This is Mathis.” He nodded toward another guy hauling a saddle off the rack. “That’s Reggie by the tack room. And this is Harkness.”
Harkness stepped into view with a slow smile and a face marked by burns along one side, the scarring pulling slightly at his cheek and neck. Summer shifted close to Ben on instinct, not away in fear but toward her son because the kid had gone very still.
Pope saw the question coming.
He rested a hand on Ben’s shoulder.
Ben looked up at him.
One look was enough.
The kid pressed his lips together and swallowed the question.
Harkness nodded at Ben. “You like horses?”
“Yeah.”
“Smart kid.” Harkness gave Summer a simple nod. “Good to meet you.”
“You too.” Her tone was warm and sincere in a way that put all the men at ease.
Next came Truman from the far end of the barn with Ranger walking at his side, the big shepherd moving with the calm focus of a dog who knew exactly what his job was.
Ben’s eyes went wide. “Can I pet his dog?”
Pope squeezed his shoulder lightly. “No, Ben. Ranger is a service animal, and his job is to watch over Truman. He’s working.”
Ben studied the dog with serious respect. “Like you work?”
“Pretty much.”
Truman grinned. “Ranger thinks he outranks everybody here.”
Ranger sat beside Truman’s leg and looked straight ahead as if he agreed.
Ben clasped his hands behind his back to avoid temptation, and Pope felt a swell of affection for the kid. Seven years old and already trying so damn hard to do the right thing.
A farm dog came trotting in a minute later, tail wagging, mud on his paws and no purpose beyond begging for attention.
Ben pointed carefully. “Is that dog working too?”
Pope looked at the mutt nosing around near a feed bag. “No. That one’s freeloading. You can pet him.”
Ben dropped to his knees, and the dog launched into affection mode, licking his face as Ben dissolved into laughter. Summer’s face softened as she watched them, warmth filling her eyes in a way that hit Pope square in the chest.
That look right there.
