6
THE LACK OF light added to Mateo’s disorientation when he opened his eyes. Worse, a rough cushion pressed against his cheek. The material wasn’t the most comfortable—it was also not on his bed. Managing to open his eyes, he groaned. Recognizing the med hangover for what it was, he tried to put the pieces together.
Without light, he couldn’t make out the ceiling, but the scent of cinnamon tickled his nose. Yeah—I got nothing. He was on a sofa, he knew that much for certain. Extending his arm, he gripped the back and used it to brace himself as he sat up slowly.
Tightness pulled his shoulders taut, but he didn’t suffer any more hot lances through his back. Turning, he dropped his feet to the floor, then scrubbed his face with his hands.
Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the dark. The moonlight streaming in the wide window illuminated a familiar-looking sofa and, in the corner, a television. His brain felt gummy, like taffy was jamming his gears. Regulating his breathing helped, and he tried to sort through the pieces of what had happened.
He’d taken Claire to the training barn, showed her around, and introduced her to Sin. She’d proven she understood horses enough to make friends with the high-strung mustang, though neither woman nor mare had been sure of each other. At first, the wariness had amused him, but it hadn’t taken Claire long to win Sin over.
Then they’d gone to Fredericksburg to return her rental vehicle. They’d stopped for tea—son of a bitch. He’d had a spasm right there in town. Fragmentary memories of taking his pain meds and letting her help him into the truck asserted themselves. She’d driven them back to the ranch while he what? Drooled against the window?
The reason the room was familiar was because it used to be Jules’s living room. Fuck. Me. He’d not only collapsed like some weak jackass, he’d had to have the lady get him back to the ranch, and then what? Drag him inside?
Standing, he tested his balance. Wooziness was a by-product of his meds, and so were the shakes. He needed to wash his face, then figure out where Claire was. His glance went to the stairs, but he discounted the notion immediately. It was one thing for her to allow him to stay at her place, no matter how new to it she was, and an entirely different thing for him to head upstairs to use her bathroom.
Besides, he’d likely kill himself trying to climb the stairs while he was still out of it. A low lamp glowed yellow in the kitchen. At the sink, Mateo turned on the water. Cupping his hands beneath it, he let the cool temperature help clear his head by splashing his face a couple of times; then he drank from his cupped hands. His mouth tasted like a sawmill.
“There are glasses in the cabinet if you’re that thirsty.”
Thankfully, he was too tired to jerk with surprise. After turning off the water, he grasped the towel from the hook by the sink and blotted at his face before facing the beautiful woman curled up in the window seat. A teapot and cup sat on the table next to her, along with an empty plate holding some crumbs.
“Thank you.” Two very weak words for expressing his gratitude.
“Of course,” she said, with a smile, then sat forward. She wore an open robe over the shorts and camisole top she’d been wearing earlier that day—or yesterday. Hell, what time was it? “I was just considering making another pot of tea. Would you like a cup? Or if you’re up for it, I can help you upstairs and you can sleep in a proper bed. I’m sorry I couldn’t manage that earlier; I didn’t want to push it and you’re a big lad.”
A big lad? He doubted she meant the term to be amusing, but he couldn’t suppress his laughter. “I can’t put you out any more than I already have.”
When she moved closer to the sink, he retreated a couple of paces so she had room to refill her electric kettle. “As for putting me out, I’m very glad I was there to help. You certainly wouldn’t have been so far from home if you hadn’t been doing me a favor.”
“I offered,” he said, clear on what he’d suggested and what he hadn’t.
“You did, and I had a lovely time.” She turned the kettle on. “I’m also glad you trusted me to drive.”
Trusting her had been the easier decision. Not when his trying to drive while in the midst of a spasm would end with them in a wreck. Rubbing the back of his neck, he leaned against the counter.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to go upstairs and sleep? I may be overstepping, but I don’t think you should drive yet. Your pupils are still a little dilated. While we’re on the ranch, you could still run off the gravel road.” No judgment showed in her expression, nor reflected in her tone. What had struck him as so prim and proper before seemed to resonate with something deeper.
She was something else. “I’m not putting you out of your bed,” he protested.
“I’m not using it currently. I’ve been sitting here reading and enjoying my tea.” She’d freed her hair from the ponytail and it had fallen in a long, gleaming mass. The temptation to stroke his fingers through the golden strands to see if they were as silky as they appeared pulsed through him.
It took a moment for her words to penetrate as he studied her little table set before glancing at her again. “Why are you still awake?,” he asked her. “It’s . . .” He looked at his watch. Three a.m. It had been afternoon. “I slept twelve hours.”
“I know, you were in a lot of pain.” No matter how sympathetic and understanding her manner, he’d let her down—and then he’d become less than useless, a lump on her sofa. His apology died unspoken when she rubbed his arm. “If you’re going to be up, I can make you a sandwich. Jules stocked my fridge.”
“You don’t have to do that.” He withdrew, not because he didn’t like her touch, but because the sensation of her rubbing his arm was too pleasant. It provoked thoughts he shouldn’t be having, particularly when she was all soft and gorgeous. Thoughts he couldn’t act on.
Not anymore.
“Go sit down,” she ordered, and oddly enough, he obeyed her command. At least her kitchen chairs were wider than the ones in the tea shop, and cushioned. Lowering himself slowly, he sat. The drugs had done their work. The radiating lashes of agony had abated to an aching soreness. A glass of water appeared in front of him; then Claire went across the room to pour boiling water from the kettle on the stove into the teapot.
Fuck. Discipline kept him from cursing aloud. He’d slipped a couple of times since coming home. He’d been a lot freer with his language when deployed. Neither Maria nor Ramon tolerated the language, so he’d rehabilitated.
Mostly.
“I’m heating up one of the shepherd’s pies that was in the fridge.” Claire’s voice soothed him and gave his wandering mind something to latch on to. That was the problem with pills and why he didn’t want to take them. They screwed him up, and he’d seen too many guys struggling with addiction to spend any time down the rabbit hole.
“Shepherd’s pie?” Another weak attempt at conversation, but if she were going to make an effort, he needed to try to repay her kindness.
“Apparently your mum wanted me to feel at home, so she prepared several familiar meals and left them in the freezer for me.” Claire smiled. “I didn’t realize how many until tonight. It’s such a lovely gesture.”
“Mama’s really good at taking care of folks, especially if we let her.” A long drink of the water helped wet his throat, but the cottonmouth feeling hadn’t gone away fully. Claire refilled her teacup, then poured some tea into a second cup he hadn’t noticed immediately.
“I will be certain to thank her tomorrow—later today. Do you prefer sugar and milk? I know there’s honey, but I’m not sure about lemon.” She hadn’t taken a seat yet, but she set the teapot on the table, reclaimed the kettle, and returned it to the warmer.
“However you do should be fine.” He wasn’t a tea drinker, so he had no idea how he’d like it.
Claire added two lumps of sugar to each cup, then a dash of milk. She stirred them both before nudging his closer to him. Reclaiming her spot on the window seat, she lifted her tea to take a sip.
What the hell, couldn’t hurt to try it. The cup felt a hair too dainty in his large hands, but he managed to lift it without spilling a drop. His first sip tasted strange, but not bad. Claire watched him over the rim of her own cup as she took a sip.
“Not my first choice,” he said, then took another sip. The cinnamon left a faint burn against his tongue, but the orange afterward added to the experience.
“Tea makes everything better,” she assured him with a beatific smile.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“You don’t have to.” She chuckled and crossed one leg over the other. “Do you feel better?”
Inexplicably, he did. “Yes.”
“Which proves my argument: tea makes everything better.”
Conceding the point, he nodded. Still a little fragmented, he focused on sipping the tea and on Claire herself. “Learn something new every day.” With every swallow, he found himself liking it more. “You didn’t tell me why you’re sitting in your kitchen at three in the morning.”
“You remember when you knocked on my door yesterday morning?”
It still felt like the same day, but he nodded. No way he’d forget how deliciously disheveled she’d been. “You were sleeping in and I woke you up.”
“Jet lag is not kind, and my body thinks I’m still on Stafford time. It’s late morning at home and I was used to being up by five each day, which is ten p.m. here.”
“That’s the suck. I had the same problem after deployments—on both sides of the coin.”
“Any tips for overcoming it?”
He’d finished his cup and she lifted the teapot in offering. “Yes, please,” he said and slid his cup over. After she refilled it, he added his own sugar and milk. He’d paid attention to what she’d done earlier. “Sorry, wish I had better tips than ‘Stay up until you’re at the new time you want to sleep and crash then.’ One good part about the Marines, if I needed to sleep, I trained myself to go right to sleep. Didn’t matter if I’d been on a plane all day or walking miles.”
“After you fell asleep in the truck, I brought you back here, and then you passed out on the sofa. I worried it might be a case of you were asleep until you were ready to be awake. After I got you in, I borrowed your cell phone to call the big house and let them know we were delayed in Fredericksburg and that it might be late before we got back. Hopefully, they won’t mind the little fib or come looking for your truck here.”
She’d covered for him. Profound gratitude flooded him.
“Then I took a shower, checked on you, and made myself something small to eat. I think I dozed a little, but about the time your breathing evened out and you seemed relaxed enough for me to go up to bed, I was wide awake.” Then, as if to disprove her statement, she yawned.
“So you made tea and got a book.” It was a homey image.
“Guilty.” She smiled, glancing at the oven when it beeped. The timer began to tick down the last ten minutes. Scents of meat, gravy, and onions began to waft in their direction.
His stomach twisted uncomfortably. “I can get the food out if you want to try and get some sleep now.”
“After, I can sleep on the sofa. You should take the bed.”
“That determined to get me into your bed, Lady-o? All you have to do is ask.” The tease earned him a wrinkled nose, then a wide smile.
“Will you please use my bed after we eat?”
“Damn,” he said, slipping. “You called me on my bluff.”
“I did.” Another satisfied smile and she lifted her tea. “Go on, drink your tea. I’ll dish up the food in a moment; then we’ll get you to bed.”
She didn’t press him, and they sat in companionable silence. He found it hard to reconcile the dynamo woman who’d charged into the barn full of vigor and ready to get started, with the Zen calm of the woman sitting across from him while they both sipped tea.
Hell, he couldn’t believe he was drinking hot tea and enjoying it. When the food was ready, she rose and fetched it. As she leaned past him to set a bowl before him on the table, the ends of her hair brushed against his cheek. It was every bit as soft as he’d imagined. The food wasn’t bad—a little bland, maybe, but bland wouldn’t kill him considering he’d taken a heavy-duty dose on an empty stomach.
It wasn’t until she cleared the table and began ushering him up the stairs that he realized she hadn’t once asked him about his injury, nor had she treated him with pity. Appreciation swelled within him, even though he sure as hell didn’t deserve her kindness. He’d been an ass to her.
“Claire,” he said catching her hand as he sat on the edge of the bed. The smoothness of her skin seemed delicate under his rough fingers. “I’m sorry for being an unmitigated jackass when you got here.”
“Thank you. Forgiven. Though I don’t think you were totally unjustified. I ambushed you.”
“Because you were eager to get to work, but I forgive you too.” Weariness swamped him once more. Even though he’d slept for hours, that had been the sleep of the drugged. Now he just wanted to rest. “I really hate the idea of kicking you out of your bed.”
“I invited you, and you said yes. You cannot withdraw now.” Even though her manner was playful, her eyes were red-rimmed, with shadows beneath them. She was far more tired than she realized. Her nose was red, as was her forehead.
“I’m not going to take it back, and remind me tomorrow to find you some sunscreen. I don’t want anything happening to your sweet skin.” The redness deepened with her flush. Tough, yet innocent. Accomplished, yet still possessing simple joy. Claire Windsor was a remarkable lady.
“Definitely time for you to sleep—I think you might be going a little mad.”
“Maybe, but stay. I’ll sleep on top of the covers, and you sleep below them. Totally innocent.” Not that he could do anything about his interest. His body had long since failed him on that effort. He wasn’t ready to confess the truth, so he added, “If you go back downstairs, I’m going to have to follow. It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do.”
Lips pursed, she studied him, then shook her head. “I’ll stay, but you get at least one blanket.”
“Sold.” The agreement was worth the cost of wussing out by accepting a blanket. Settling against the pillows, he sighed. His eyes closed and he began to drift almost immediately. Then she draped the blanket over him. A moment later the light switched off, and the other side of the bed depressed.
Claire curled onto her side—beneath the comforter.
“Good night, Claire,” he said gently. “Sleep well.”
A moment later, the soft weight of her hand rested on his arm. “Good night, Mateo.”
He forced himself to stay awake until her breathing deepened, then became regular. The whole time, awareness of where she touched him seemed to leave a brand on his soul.
Sleeping with a man in her bed proved far easier than she’d expected. Claire assumed her exhaustion had as much to do with it as Mateo’s physical limitations. Although her relief when he woke and seemed more himself played a part. Sunlight filtered through the white curtains, dappling warmth across the covers. The air-conditioning unit hummed somewhere, and burrowed beneath the covers, she recognized she was alone before she opened her eyes.
A rumpled comforter, the depression in the pillow where his head had rested, and the neatly folded blanket all served as testament to his earlier presence. Groggy as hell, she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly noon.
Noon?
Talk about oversleeping. She should have been up hours earlier. The temperature outside would be soaring. Shoving the covers back, she dressed hurriedly. Riding jodhpurs and a short-sleeved shirt like the day before. In the loo, she gave her appearance a once-over.
Mateo had mentioned sunscreen the night before, and the redness on her nose and forehead was far more pronounced today—and they were a little tender. She dug into her suitcase for her cosmetics bag and made a mental note to actually finish unpacking after she got some work done. Her facial moisturizer had some sunscreen in it. For now, the cool cream eased the tautness of her skin. After taming her hair with several quick brushstrokes, she twisted it up into a ponytail.
Downstairs, there was no sign of Mateo. A note sat propped against the teakettle.
I went to do the morning feed and I’ll grab a shower at my place. I didn’t want to wake you after keeping you up most of the night. I’ll swing back by at one. Thanks again.
—M.
Claire smiled, then filled the kettle with water to start it heating. She had plenty of time for a cup, then, before he came back. To her surprise, all the dishes she’d left to soak in the sink had also been washed and loaded into the dishwasher. Mateo certainly provided her with plenty of surprises.
While the water heated, she returned to her bedroom and spent ten minutes unpacking her clothes. A couple of family photographs had been stowed in between her items. The first was a photo of her and her mother at her matriculation from university. The second one was of her and her father when she’d been—what, five? Claire was fond of that picture. It was a good memory of her dad, before pain and booze and drugs had taken him away.
Touching her finger to his cheek in the photo, she sighed. Did she want them in her room or downstairs? Undecided, she tucked both into the nightstand drawer—for now. Once she’d stowed everything in the chest of drawers or hung it in the wardrobe—closet, she amended mentally. They call them closets in the States—she returned to the kitchen and set up the teapot to steep. The wall phone rang, the loud jangling startling her before she snatched it out of the cradle.
“Hello.”
Thankfully it was a cordless device, so she didn’t have to worry about stretching a cord through the kitchen as she carried her teapot to the table and fetched the milk from the refrigerator.
“Good afternoon, Miss Windsor,” Maria Lopez’s distinctive drawl coupled with hints of her Spanish accent made for a lovely combination. “I’m sorry to disturb you at home, but Ramon said you weren’t at the barn and we were worried about Mateo.”
Skirting a line between outright deception and protecting Mateo’s privacy required care. “Please, call me Claire,” she said, buying herself a moment. “We didn’t eat until very late last night—well, early this morning. He told me he had morning feed. He told me to have a lie-in this morning and promised to pick me up around one.”
All of which was true, to a point. Harboring clandestine information left a queasy sensation in her tummy. Yet Mateo’s very obvious need to shield himself from the concern of others said a great deal about the possible state of his depression.
“Oh, well, that makes sense. What were you two doing that you were out so late?” Well, Claire had walked right into that ambush.
“We went to Fredericksburg and I found the most lovely little tea shop,” she continued as she finished doctoring her cup of tea. “The shopkeeper, Janet, she introduced me to a sensational new tea—it’s cinnamon and orange. They call it Sweet and Spicy, but I found it to be delicious. Afterward, we explored a few of the shops and I’m afraid time quite got away from me.” Then because it was true, she added, “Mateo indulged my curiosity and I really appreciated it. I should like to go back on my next day off.”
“I’m glad you two had fun.” The speculation in Maria’s voice couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.
“I did,” Claire replied, choosing her words carefully. “I should also take a moment to thank you for the wonderful meals. Your shepherd’s pie was amazing. The taste of home was very comforting.”
“Bueno. It was a new recipe, but I had great fun looking it up. There should also be a steak-and-kidney pie in the freezer.”
Claire’s stomach rumbled. “Brilliant. I just might heat that tomorrow after I’ve finished the rest of the shepherd’s pie.”
“If you want to come up to the main house for lunch, I can set aside some quesadillas for you.”
“Thank you for the lovely offer, but I’ve just sat down with my tea. Could I have a rain check for tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Maria said, admirably managing to sound both disappointed and forgiving in the same breath. Did they give mothers a class on guilt while they were pregnant? “You are always welcome. I’ll be sure to set an additional plate.” It wasn’t until she’d rung off that Claire realized how neatly she’d stepped right into agreeing to lunch regularly at the main house.
Tea in hand, Claire walked out to the porch. The air-conditioning in the house made it difficult to gauge the outdoor temperature. Bright sunshine illuminated a beautiful blue sky. The heat enveloped her as she left the cool house behind. Still sipping her tea, she padded over to the porch rail and leaned against it. Quarter horses grazed in the pasture. They were very popular in the States. Well-muscled and glossy-coated, they flicked their tails and soaked up the sun.
Even with the heat closing around her, Claire couldn’t complain about her view. A hint of dust floated on the wind, and she turned her attention toward the sound of a motor. Mateo’s truck rumbled into view and excitement curled in her stomach. A foolish sense of adventure flowed through her veins.
Anticipation twined in her muscles. I’m here to help him, not seduce him. The mental reminder failed to diminish the temptation of him. Her mouth went dry, and her pulse sped. Breathless, she pressed a hand to her chest, needing to ground the lightness buoying her.
His window was down, and the familiar cowboy hat rested on his head. When he raised his hand to wave at her as he turned from the gravel road onto the strip leading into her drive, she suppressed the ridiculous giggle trying to escape her throat and wiggled her fingers. As he parked the truck, she took in his ready smile, clean-shaven jaw, and better coloring. Gone was the paleness beneath his tan and the lines of pain around his eyes and mouth.
“Afternoon,” he said by way of greeting. Though she tried not to stare, she kept an eye on him as he exited the truck. Gone was the hesitation in his movements, but the faint limp was still visible, as was the stiffness in his posture.
Smoothing a hand over her shirt, she swallowed the laugh bubbling to escape. Then her eyes narrowed on the hitch in his gait. Had he already overdone it? “Good afternoon. Thanks for the lie-in. I’ll have to make up for the off-kilter sleep schedule with extra work today.”
“Is that right?” As he climbed the two steps to join her, he favored her with a smile. The flirt had an unsettling effect on her equilibrium. It was far too easy to forget she was here to help him while she enjoyed the distinctly masculine attention.
“Quite so,” she said, then took a sip of her tea. “I think I’ll work with Sin today if that suits you.”
“You’re an eager beaver, Claire.” Somehow he made it sound like a compliment. “Not everything has to be rush, rush, rush.”
“I’m aware,” she agreed with him. “But I came a long way to do work I love, so it’s not a hardship for me.” While Tanner had asked her to help Mateo, her keenness had more to do with him personally than with any professional request.
“Sounds like a plan.” He folded his arms and came to rest against the railing near her. “I had one of the farm SUVs moved to the barn, so it’ll be waiting for us.”
“Again, thank you.” The borrowed vehicle would save her money and likely make navigating the hard roads around the ranch easier. She’d already had a taste of the bouncing around.
“Before we go—I had a couple of questions for you.” The hesitation returned; then he shifted his stance.
Irritation flared through her. He was in pain again. The talent to mask the level of his discomfort suggested far too long a practice. Snooping would only alienate him, but she wanted to know the root cause and what she could do to help him. “Of course, ask me anything.”
Maybe offering openness would encourage him to do the same.
“We talked about what you want to do with the horse therapy, and how it works. You said you needed bombproof horses. I have some who won’t spook even if you fired a gun from the saddle—but do you want them already trained or did you want to do the training?” Genuine interest reflected in his beautiful eyes. What she wanted was to see his hair freed from the tie at his nape. It was thick and dark and held the faintest hint of a curl.
“Both. The ones who are already bombproof would be great to pair with patients already needing therapy.” Outlining her plans without mentioning him directly required care. “Tanner mentioned that both he and his father wanted a crash course in the theories and methods, so it would be ideal to walk you all through it using those horses—provided you wanted the same experience.”
C’mon, gent, take the bait.
“That was part of my second question. I do a lot of the gentling here—getting the horses ready for bridles, bits, saddles, and eventually having a rider on their back, so I wanted an idea of exactly what you were looking for.”
“Brilliant. Why don’t I take you through everything and get you up to speed? Then you can help me explain the process to Tanner and the Colonel.” If he agreed to willingly be her test subject, then she could offer more overt assistance. “There is both science and art to what I do and what I want to do with the horses. Helping people is important to me.”
“I get that,” he said slowly. “But it sounds to me as though your interest is more personal, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
She wished she could say she did mind, but opening the door meant opening it all the way. “My father had . . . what we call PTSD.” Maybe if she kept it short and sweet, it would be easier to talk about. “It was a struggle then, and we didn’t really have a name for it or the resources we do now. I know how valuable it is to have someone listen—even if it’s a horse—to the story of what you’re going through.” Sucking in a deep breath, she steeled herself against her next confession. “You’ve been through some experiences, and I’m not asking for your details. But you’re the perfect candidate to help me demonstrate what I’m doing, and you already understand horses. So, if you’re willing . . . you could be my candidate A.”
“Works for me,” Mateo said after a momentary pause. Tugging his hat off his head, he frowned. “It’ll be easier for Tanner and me to deal with the Colonel. Tanner even more so than me. Sometimes it’s hard to get an idea out of his head once he’s decided on it.”
“Stubborn men don’t scare me.” If they did, she’d never have gotten as far as she had. Relief flooded her that he neither pressed her for more information about her father nor rebuked her for trying to involve him.
“Is that so?” His voice softened. The invitation to intimacy sent shivers skating over her skin despite the heat.
“Quite.” She lifted her teacup as though offering a toast, then took a sip. Better to change the subject before she ventured too far down the garden path. “You said you had a second question? Oh—and would you care for a cuppa?”
“Not right now, but thank you.” A dimple appeared in his cheek when he smiled, and her heart did a little flip-flop. Mateo Lopez was a dangerous man. Hazardous for her, because he’d already won her affection and the need for tenderness. “The second question’s a little trickier.”
His gaze shifted from her eyes to somewhere beyond her. If he were a horse, the body language would have told her that although he was tempted, he remained wary. Trusting her instincts, she kept her posture relaxed while relying on patience. It was always better to let the horse—or in this case the man—come to her. They were far more likely to cooperate freely than if she had to corner them.
But men weren’t herd animals, no matter how similar their socialization. Horses more often than not found themselves to be prey, while men? No, men were predators. Exercising caution wasn’t only a good idea, it was a requirement.
Blowing out a breath, Mateo finally met her gaze again. “Why haven’t you asked me about my injury?” Genuine concern with no small touch of suspicion tightened his brows.
“Because it’s none of my business,” she answered as honestly as she could manage. “I know it’s been a long couple of days, but we don’t know each other. I would no sooner ignore someone else’s pain than I would that of one of the horses I work with—but just being present doesn’t entitle me to know anything more than you’re willing to share.”
Mateo scratched his jaw, his distrust giving way to something more pensive. “I was clearing a building when some unexploded ordinance detonated. Shrapnel pierced my back—shredded muscle, tendon—and left fragments too close to my spinal cord.”
Claire stopped trying to control her reaction. Genuine horror flooded her, as did sympathy for his plight. “I’m so sorry.”
“It happens.” Though his shoulders didn’t move, she could almost envision the shrug his tone suggested. “I spent time in a hospital in Afghanistan; then they transported me to Germany and finally back here. Neurosurgeons have done the best they could, but what’s left is permanent, unless I want to risk paralysis.”
Finished with her tea, Claire set her cup down. “Sounds perfectly dreadful.” Proud of herself for maintaining an even tone, she relaxed her shoulders and kept her posture open. If he planned to confide in her, she would be worthy of the trust.
“If dreadful means ‘it sucked,’ then we’re agreed. Medical discharge sent me home, and I had to face the terror in my parents’ eyes. Mama doesn’t deal with me being in pain well. The meds I took—the doctors prescribed them because the nerve damage is likely permanent, and I get muscle spasms triggered by bad nerve signals.”
“You don’t like taking them.” It was a certainty, not a guess.
“No—too many guys get hooked. I’d rather take the pain than spend my life strung out.” The dark loneliness implied by the loathing in his tone demanded comfort. Claire worried action might push him away, but she couldn’t not respond. Easing a step closer, she laid her hand on his arm. The heat rising from his skin exceeded the warmth in the air.
Her father had been addicted before the end, and he hadn’t been able to cope without the haze. It had taken her years to reconcile those discordant memories. “I hear you.” It was a flimsy thing to say, but what else could she offer?
“Thanks. No one really gets it. My physical therapist wants me taking them regularly, and the doctor in San Antonio wants me to go for the surgery because he’s . . . he’s run out of other options for me. I’d prefer to do neither. You can’t be stoned around the horses, and if I can’t walk, what the hell good am I?” Raw need underscored every word.
“If you’re asking me, I’ll tell you that you’re intelligent, experienced, and knowledgeable. Mental capacity far outweighs physical. I’ll ask you—are you willing to share your observations about the horses, tell me what you know about them, and work with me as I work with them? Two heads are definitely better than one.”
Surprise flickered through his expression. “I can do that.”
“I have one condition regarding us working together,” she said, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. A shadow of suspicion returned to his eyes.
“What is it?” Not denial or rejection, but clarification. Good, it was a positive step forward.
“I won’t hover and ask you how you are or try to do everything physical for you. I will trust you to look after you if you trust me with honest assessment. If you’re having a bad day, you’re having a bad day. We’ll adjust. If you need to take something, you take it before it’s so bad you can’t function. Fair?”
Mateo smiled, the curve of his lips slow and genuine. “More than fair.” He covered the hand on his arm with his own. “I don’t confide easy, but I’ll do my best to pay attention to the warning signs. You’ll listen to me about the horses?”
“Bang on.” Quiet elation flowered in her. His trust marked her crossing another rail to success. “You know the horses, I know the program. I think we’ll make a good team.”
Aligning herself as an ally was part of the therapy program, but that wasn’t why she made the offer.
Mateo was all the reason she needed.
“Then, Lady-o, let’s get to work.”
“After we have tea,” she said, deciding to push because today she would have her second cup before they put in effort.
His smile deepened. “Because tea makes everything better?”
“Bloody right it does,” she said, retrieving her cup and leading the way inside. “I also think we deserve a slice of cake.”
Following her, Mateo chuckled. “Thought you wanted to offer that to Mama?”
“It’ll be our secret,” she said, deciding in the moment.
“Our secret,” he repeated, his low intonation sending another shiver up her back. She met his gaze as she went to refill her cup. “I like that.”
So did she. “Cheers.”