The Surgeon and the Cowgirl. Heidi Hormel

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СКАЧАТЬ would take such a hands-on approach, but if she wanted to keep Hope’s Ride operating, she had to accept the invasion. She’d try to cooperate. She really would. It was just tough with Payson as the one coordinating the study by the hospital.

      He stood and waited. She got up and limped off through the barn. It had been weeks since her tussle with Alex and the horse, but her knee refused to stop aching. Being short-handed at the ranch hadn’t helped her condition. She’d been doing more than usual, and going to the doctor was out of the question. Until Hope’s Ride made money, Jessie had only the most basic insurance.

      Payson followed her, making her even more self-conscious about her gait. In the past, when he’d walked behind her, he’d said it was so he could enjoy how she filled out a pair of jeans. She doubted that was what he felt right now.

      “Here’s the indoor ring,” Jessie said. She would pretend he was a donor who was thinking about supporting Hope’s Ride. That would give her the right attitude. “The afternoon sessions are for the younger children who aren’t in school yet.”

      He looked at his watch. “I have a consultation at three, so that gives us an hour.”

      Jessie almost made a snarky comment. Paste on a smile and be polite, she firmly told herself. She could do that for the next hour. She could do that for however long it was going to take to save Hope’s Ride.

      She explained briefly what the volunteers were doing and each child’s therapy plan. Payson asked questions, but his gaze was intent on the children. They stood side by side for a few moments. She could smell the tartness of the starch from his shirt and clearly remembered what that innocent-looking cotton hid. She would not think about how that scent had invaded her senses when Alex made them kiss.

      She refused to remember how he had touched her in their big comfortable bed—a whimsical monstrosity that Payson had bought for her because she’d refused to have a diamond ring. During the divorce, she’d told him nastily that she didn’t want anything from their marriage, especially that “stupid” bed. Less than a year later, a stumble by Candy Cane, her Appaloosa, had changed her life as much as marrying Payson at nineteen had. While her damaged knee functioned pretty well, it wasn’t 100 percent and never would be. She’d had to retire from the rodeo.

      After a month of sitting at her folks’ house in Tucson and feeling sorry for herself, her parents placed a firm, but kindly, foot on her butt, encouraging her to open Hope’s Ride. The program had been in her someday plans after seeing riding therapy in action at a farm in Ohio. So, after paying her medical bills, she’d used a chunk of her savings along with a little bit of help from her parents and their friends in the rodeo “family” to get started.

      Now, every month had become a balancing act of draining her savings as she tried to put off creditors until the payments came in. The problem was that the payments weren’t covering all of the expenses now, and her savings were nearly gone.

      “Each of the volunteers and paid staff go through extensive training,” she told Payson. “The mounts have all been donated. We test each one before any child is allowed on. You can see that each rider has a helmet and helpers. It’s very safe. The movement of the horse forces them to—”

      “What conditions do you treat?” he asked, interrupting her.

      He was a “donor” she reminded herself, and explained the current program and her hopes for expansion. After another five minutes of observation, he suggested that they move on. She took him to the outdoor facilities and to a small room where the children and their caregivers regularly met to speak with the two other therapeutic riding instructors, both of whom were certified. She had help from a couple of part-timers to care for the stock and everyone else volunteered their time and expertise to help the children. She took him into the horse barn. It was empty except for a cat and flies that buzzed lazily in the air.

      “The older riders are expected to help care for the horses,” Jessie said.

      “Free labor, huh?”

      “No, Payson, the children, especially the teens, need that kind of responsibility. They don’t have a lot of confidence in their own abilities. Caring for the horses shows them that they have a lot more going on than they think.”

      “Plus a rider always takes care of her own horse,” he said, nodding a little as he repeated the words she’d told him often enough.

      “Yep. There’s that, too. It’s also a chance for the kids to really bond with the horses. It’s an important part of the therapy.”

      The tour was over, and they were standing in the aisle of the barn. Even with the sun streaming in through the stalls, it was dim, the concrete floor keeping the space cool. Jessie couldn’t see Payson’s expression, but his stance was taut. She shifted to give her knee a rest.

      He took her arm and said, “That’s it. You’re going to let me look at that knee.”

      She started to pull away but his fingers tightened. Her arm tingled where he touched her skin. “It’s fine, Payson.”

      “It is not fine. You were limping the last time I was here, and you’re still limping.”

      “I have an appointment for next week.”

      “No, you don’t. You’re lying. You turned your head,” he said.

      Darn it. How could she have forgotten that he knew her better than anyone else?

      “You’re a kid doctor. I’m an adult,” she said.

      “A knee is a knee. Do we have to go through this again? I wanted to look at it the last time I was here.”

      “I said no then, too. You don’t owe me anything, Payson.”

      “Who said anything about owing you?” he asked. “I’m trying to fulfill my duty as a physician.”

      * * *

      PAYSON GRITTED HIS TEETH. Why did Jessie have to make things so hard? She had this idea that if she didn’t do things herself, people would never respect her. So, here they were glaring at each other. The way she favored her leg, it must be excruciating.

      When they’d been married, she’d often ridden with something pulled or strained. Jessie was used to being hurt and not showing it. He remembered her eyes shining with tears more than once and her fighting to keep them from spilling down her cheeks. The code of the rodeo, she’d told him. “You don’t let people see you cry no matter how much you hurt.” It was all about respect. That was what was driving her to limp around on a knee that needed rest and attention.

      He glanced at his watch. He was already late for his consult, and he tried to ignore the hitch in his stomach from the same tug of war that had strained their marriage: patients or Jessie. With more heat than he intended, he said, “You need to have that checked out.”

      “I will if it doesn’t get any better.”

      He followed her from the barn, his concern as a physician fighting with his intense arousal as he watched her tall, lithe body shift under her just-tight-enough clothing. In the old days, even when he’d been exhausted during his surgical residency, following her around like this would have made him hot enough to not care about schedules or exams. He would have dragged her into one of the stalls and...

      Why would he remember any СКАЧАТЬ