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“Howdy, ladies.” Benny’s unmistakable twang rang out.
She turned in the direction of his voice and recognized the barrel shape of him, the rolling gate of his bowed legs. He wore the same ten-gallon hat. That much she could make out. As for the rest, her memory about the grizzled man filled in the blanks.
“How’s Joan?” Amberley jumped, then swatted at a biting horsefly. In the distance, a group of riders lined up atop horses in one of the corrals.
“Resting for now, otherwise I’d take you to her.”
“Please give her this and our apologies.” Charlotte handed over a couple of banana walnut loaves she’d baked this morning. The sweet, nutty smell passed beneath Amberley’s nose as the foil-wrapped rectangles exchanged hands.
Now that Amberley thought about it, her mother cooked a lot lately and she’d taken time off from work to care for her. Was her career suffering? Did she resent being tied to the house alongside Amberley? Regret flashed inside. She didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. She’d been taught better than that.
Amberley’s life might be done, but that didn’t mean the same was true for her mama. Or Jared. Or Harley.
She had to find a way to cut ties with all of them. Otherwise she would bring them all down.
“That’s mighty kind. Thank ya,” wheezed Benny.
“Wish we could do more,” her mother demurred.
Speaking of which...
“Mind if I go and check on Harley?”
“Still got him in the third stall.” A sweep of movement, Benny’s arm, she guessed, pointed her in the right direction.
“Thank you.” She took a tentative step toward the long, ramshackle building that housed most of the stable’s horses. Overhead, birds twittered among the rustling branches of the mighty oaks that covered much of the property. A horse’s neigh spurred on two more, and a shifting movement from the mounts in the corral caught her eye. Her foot encountered something sticking up from the ground, a root maybe, and she stumbled forward, only to feel her mother’s hand at her elbow, steadying her.
“Got you, honey.”
Amberley swallowed down the loss of all that she couldn’t see and focused on Harley. Several paces farther and her fingers brushed the rough edge of the half door to his stall. Inside, a large black shape lifted its head and twisted its neck to eyeball her.
“Hey, Harley,” she cooed, and he lowered his head and blew. His stamping hooves shifted through the straw bed. “Sorry I haven’t been around.”
Lifting the hard metal latch, she eased open the door and made to slide inside.
“Honey. That may not be safe,” her mother cautioned.
“It’s Harley.”
In an instant, she threw her arms around his warm neck and buried her face in his tangled silver mane. When had he last been brushed? The rise of dust from his pelt itched her nose, and she sneezed.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she crooned, and Harley dropped his head to her shoulder at last, nickering, shaking slightly in his withers. “Should never ever have abandoned you.”
Another rumble emerged from the back of his throat. His soft lips brushed against her jawbone and his warm breath rushed by her ear.
“I was scared. Still am. But I’m going to do right by you now,” she vowed, feeling around for a brush. Harley needed her and she needed him. That was plain.
An hour later, she and her mother led Harley by a corral on their way to the pasture. The rise and fall of excited children’s voices indicated a lesson in progress.
“You need to wear your helmet,” she heard an adult exclaim.
“Watch her back brace,” someone else warned.
“No! I don’t want to!” she heard a girl scream. “Please don’t make me. Please!”
Harley slowed and his ears twitched. She clucked to keep him moving, but he seemed more interested in the commotion. Was this the therapy program her doctor had mentioned? If so, good thing she hadn’t joined it. Why force people with disabilities to confront everything they couldn’t do? It was demoralizing.
“Is that Amberley James?” she heard someone squeal. She froze.
“Yes, it is!”
“Amberley!”
A rush of movement, color and shapes, closed in on the fence. Harley sidestepped but otherwise stayed calm.
She’d gotten recognized plenty in her old life. But now, she just wanted to be forgotten. Since she had stayed away from the news, she hadn’t yet heard how the rodeo community responded to her vision loss. Her mother and her agent resolved her former contract obligations. That much she knew, but little else.
Still, she couldn’t deny that a bead of warmth expanded inside at the children’s excitement to see her.
“Howdy,” she called in their general direction.
“Ride? Ride? Ride?” demanded a little boy. A blur of motion at his sides suggested he flapped his hands.
“Can you teach me to be a barrel racer?” asked a child who didn’t appear to have any hair given the bare flesh tone surrounding her head.
Cancer?
Her heart squeezed.
“Oh. No. I—uh—I don’t ride much anymore.”
“See!” cried the child she’d heard earlier. “Amberley’s blind like me and she won’t ride, so I don’t have to either. I want to go home!”
“Well. Ah...” She stalled, unable to agree with that sentiment. Riding helped her during the years her thick glasses made her feel different from other kids. Working with horses gave her a taste of success and achievement. She didn’t want this little one to leave defeated because of her.
“It sure would mean a lot to the kids if you’d join us today,” said a voice she recognized. Joan’s daughter, Belle, home from college. “Not to mention we’re a bit understaffed at the moment.”
Amberley winced, thinking of injured Joan and Harley’s role in it. She owed it to the Jordans to help. At least for today.
“I might take Harley around once,” Amberley said slowly, hardly believing the words as she spoke them. “If you will, too. What’s your name?”
The little girl bowed a head of what looked like blond curls. “Fran.”
“Alright, Fran. If I walk Harley around, do you think you might try for me?”
“Okay.”
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