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Oh shit . . . What else had she told him?
Chapter 3
With Emma in the house getting ready, Shep continued to follow the horse around the sand ring at a slow pace, ensuring the gelding cooled down after the training session. Right as the horse’s breathing returned to normal, his head lifted at the black truck blazing up the long driveway lined with mature evergreens. Shep left the sand ring, locking up the gate. He had no intention of taking Emma out this evening, but he needed time to get ready for what he planned next. Fate had delivered her to him. Again. He wouldn’t waste it.
Behind him, the abused horse began making a fuss, snorting and prancing, his head held high as the truck’s tires spat up rocks. What the horse needed to do was eat. Ribs stuck out on his side. Instead, when the truck barreled by him, his pacing along the fence only burned more energy the horse desperately needed.
Shep frowned. The horse was a danger to Emma, and Shep didn’t like the thought of her being alone with such an unpredictable animal. Too bad for him Emma had a lot of her grandmother in her. Daisy had made a name for herself in River Rock. A good name. She cared for the broken animals, and the people in town loved her for it. The day she passed had been a dark day. The skies had opened and delivered more rain in that one day than River Rock had seen in years. The difference between Daisy and Emma was Daisy had experience in dealing with abused animals. Lesson one: Gain their trust before you touch them. Something he doubted Emma would ever forget now.
With his cowboy boots kicking up dust from the ground, Shep made his way back to the house, stopping in front of the porch. The truck began to slow then pulled to a stop next to him, the passenger side window open. A smart-ass smirk, along with amused blue eyes—the same color of his—greeted him. Nash, the youngest Blackshaw brother, was twenty-eight years old, four years Shep’s junior. He never did understand the need for sophistication. Now a retired professional bull rider due to a spine injury a year ago, his light brown hair hadn’t seen a brush since their mother stopped combing his hair when he was a toddler.
Nash waggled his eyebrows and said, “This woman must be something special if you’re sending us around town running your errands.”
Shep narrowed his eyes, not about to fall into Nash’s trap. “Did you bring what I asked for?”
Nash reached into the back seat then offered a brown grocery bag. “Got it all. Plus, condoms.”
Shep snorted, scooping up the grocery bag, spotting the box of condoms on top. He grabbed the box and tossed it back at Nash. “Idiot.”
Nash caught the box and laughed. “You never can be too prepared.”
“That was his idea, not mine.”
Shep glanced toward the middle Blackshaw brother, Chase, sitting behind the wheel. A few months ago, he’d celebrated his thirtieth birthday. While Nash and Shep had their mother’s eyes, Chase’s were the color of their late father’s, a warm hazelnut brown. Chase being only two years younger than Shep, most people said over the years they could pull off being twins. His brown hair was styled with gel, even his short beard was trimmed. Chase and Nash had always been the complete opposite, and Shep figured his personality landed him somewhere in the middle. Neat when necessary. Sometimes messy to keep things interesting.
“You’ve had an interesting day,” Chase said, hugging the steering wheel.
“You could say that.” Shep gave a dry laugh.
Nash tossed the condoms into the glove box then gestured with his chin. “I take it that’s the horse.”
“That’s him, all right.” Shep glanced at the horse who stared them down. “It took two of the guys”—cowboys who worked at Blackshaw Cattle—“to get the damn bastard back here.”
Chase cocked his head, regarding the horse through the dirty windshield. “I heard Old Joe brought him.” Old Joe was a local horse rancher who picked up horses at the auction and resold them once they were trained. Chase’s troubled gaze fell to Shep’s. “I guess once he realized what he had on his hands, he figured no one else would take the horse.”
Frustration tightened the corners of Nash’s eyes. “He’s a reckless son of a bitch for leaving her with that. The horse should be put down.”
“I told Emma as much,” Shep wholeheartedly agreed. “But she’s got Daisy in her.”
Nash’s head jerked to him. “What exactly are you going to do with it, then?”
“Help.”
The horse whinnied, pawing one hoof at the ground. Chase snorted. “Good luck with that.”
Even Shep knew the challenge ahead of him. He’d broken many horses over the years. Some put up a fight, some gave no fight at all. The black depths of this horse’s eyes declared he would never b
reak.
With only one thought on his mind, he turned to his brothers again. “Emma wants to help the gelding, so that’s what I’ll do.” To Nash, he said, “If I need you, you’ll assist?” Out of any of them, Nash had the most experience with training horses. He also had the ability to stay on a bucking horse when Chase and Shep ended up in the dirt.
Nash’s grin returned. “You know I’m always up for a challenge, especially if it involves helping out a pretty lady.”
Behind the amusement, Shep noted Nash’s quick, false smile. His younger brother often put on a brave face, though he never could hide how much he missed his career as a professional bull rider. His retirement hadn’t been by choice but forced onto him by a terrible fall off a bull. Nash had only stopped physical therapy a month ago, and Shep wasn’t all too sure what was next for his younger brother. Nash didn’t seem to know either, working alongside the Blackshaw Cattle cowboys, wasting time more than rebuilding this life.
“How badly was Emma hurt?” Chase asked, drawing Shep from his thoughts.
He propped the grocery bag on the hood of the truck and leaned an arm against the side mirror, the hot sun flushing his skin. “She doesn’t appear to have a concussion. I woke her up every hour since I brought her home. The doc thought she’d be more comfortable here than sleeping off the drugs at the hospital. By the fifth time I woke her, she told me if I came into her room again, she’d disembowel me.”
