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“You don’t miss a thing.” He grinned again. Then he headed out.
Reva followed him, saying, “Now don’t go forgettin’ about Macy Dalton’s retirement luncheon in two weeks. We’re all expecting you—Macy, in particular.”
“I’m not so sure I’m going to make that one,” he confessed. “I give back-to-back lessons around that time on Sundays.”
“Macy Dalton has twin grandsons who come from a long line of champion jumpers and they’ll be ready to climb on the backs of ponies within the year.” She gave him a pointed look.
“Then I’ll be there.”
She nodded. “Had a feeling you’d reconsider.”
Sam opened the passenger door of his truck and set the desserts on the floor. The scrawny pup snuggled under the wool blanket on the bench seat stirred and poked his nose out. His dry nose, much to Sam’s dismay. The yellow Labrador wasn’t doing so hot.
Reva spotted the little hound and leaned in, clapping her gloved hands together. “Oh, my gosh, Sam. He’s so adorable. When’d you get a dog?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he told her, “Wasn’t exactly a premediated decision. I found him alongside the road, not far from the ranch. In the snow, looking damn-near starved to death and brutally kicked around.”
Reva gently peeled back the wool and gasped. The pup’s pale body was covered in black-and-blue marks, along with several cuts. She pressed a hand to her mouth. More tears sprang to her eyes.
Sam reached around her and covered the Lab up again. “He ought to be okay in a couple of weeks. I’d be happier if I could get him to eat more than a few bites here and there, but it’s like he doesn’t trust me to feed him proper food or something.”
Composing herself, Reva said, “He’ll come around. You just have to keep talking softly to him and showing him you’re not going to hurt him.”
Sam shut the door and he and Reva rounded the front of the truck.
She added, “Take those roads home slow, now. It’s starting to get dark.”
He chuckled. “You worry a little too much about everyone. I’ll be fine.”
Resting a hand on his forearm, she stared up at him and said, “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for my family since Hank got sick. And to be so concerned about Layton.” She seemed to fight more emotion as she told him, “You’re very special, Sam. Now if I could just find the right woman for you.”
She lightened the mood with her joke. Though she was actually serious.
Sam said, “I’m not lookin’ for one, Reva.”
“He says that today,” she wistfully jested.
Sam tried to keep his expression neutral, forced his shoulders not to bunch. He’d had the woman he’d wanted, once upon a time. A kid on the way, too.
A son.
But one asshole who’d been stupid enough to get behind the wheel when he’d had too much to drink had altered Sam’s future in a flash.
He still hadn’t recovered. Could still feel Cassidy in his arms as he’d held her shaking body while sirens had wailed too far in the distance and her blood had covered his chest, his arms, his hands. It’d been impossible to separate where the wounds began and where they ended. She’d been a mangled mess to rival the car.
And there hadn’t been a goddamn thing Sam could do to save her.
But he tried really hard not to dwell on the past. To keep the nightmares at bay.
Not dating—not getting emotionally involved—helped with that. He was nowhere near ready to open himself up like that again.
So he politely deflected when it came to Reva’s good-intentioned attempts at matchmaking.
She headed toward the tack room, saying, “I’ve got some more organizin’ to do. Sorting out what Layton might be able to use of Hank’s and his granddaddies’ for the upcoming competitions. I’ll see you at the party.”
“You take care.” Sam slid behind the wheel. The pup shifted under the blanket and all but threw his slight weight against Sam’s jean-clad thigh, getting as close as he could, in hopes of body heat or maybe just physical reassurance.
Sam cranked the key in the ignition and warmth flooded the cab. He backed into the turnaround spot and then drove off the property. The light snoring of the puppy filled the silence as Sam headed south on 93 toward Lakeside. It was a raspy, slightly strained sound. But steadier than it’d been when Sam had found the stray a few days ago.
