so the obvious conclusion was that he was on the mend. And the therapist agreed with him, right up until Matt said he was about to start riding again.
That was when the lecture about lateral motion and collapsing knees began and when Matt had begun to tune out. He’d forced himself to listen under the time-honored premise of knowing your enemy—or in this case, your infirmity—however he was not taking the gloomy prognosis as gospel. People had come back from worse injuries than his.
Pessimistic bastard...
Matt wasn’t going to accept the therapist’s blithe opinion that his career was over, because it wasn’t. He’d step up his exercise program, continue eating protein, take his supplements, work at building the muscles around the joints and only wear the brace for extra support when he was roping or riding.
Matt yanked open the truck door and got inside, banging his knee on the steering wheel and letting out a curse.
Shit. Was nothing going right today?
He hadn’t heard from Willa, even though Craig’s week was officially up as of yesterday, so it looked like he was going to have his roommate for an indeterminate amount of time. Not that he minded, but he wanted Willa to do him the courtesy of calling—not for his sake, but for Craig’s.
Craig didn’t seem all that put out by the deadline coming and going, but Matt knew all too well how kids could harbor resentment and not show it. He’d spent years bearing one hell of a grudge and as far as he knew, had hidden it like a champ.
Matt stopped at Safeway to pick up a prescription the Bozeman doctor had phoned in after his visit there, only to find that due to some glitch the order hadn’t been filled. The excellent day continued. As he waited, reading the labels on the vitamin display and wondering if there were anything else he could be taking to build up his knee, he heard his name. Turning, he saw Pete Barnes walking toward him.
“I heard you were back. How’s it going?” Pete glanced down at Matt’s knee. “Making progress?”
“Some,” Matt said. “You know how it is. Slow going at first.” Pete knew. Matt had seen him recover from almost the same injury in high school and he was still roping. Not professionally, but he burned up the local circuit and earned some decent money.
“Hey,” Pete said, “I saw your horse at the arena two nights ago. That big sorrel.”
“Was he wandering loose?” Matt asked.
“What? No. Liv was riding him with Susie’s drill team. He was having a hell of a time keeping up with them. For some reason she kept turning him in the wrong direction.”
Matt felt his jaw start to drop. His horse in a drill team.
The pharmacist’s assistant dropped a bottle into a bag and raised it so that Matt could see that his order was ready. Matt pulled his wallet out of his back pocket before looking over his shoulder to ask Pete, “How often does the drill team practice?”
Pete shrugged. “A lot. Susie and I are trailing down together tonight. I’m roping and she’s riding in the warm-up arena.”
“Yeah? What time?”
“Seven.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, uh...” Pete nodded at the pharmacy bag. “How do you like Dr. Fletcher?”
Matt frowned, wondering if Pete was looking for a referral. “He’s okay.”
“I thought he was too cautious, myself.” Pete stepped up to the counter and handed the assistant his prescription slip.
“Cautious how?” Matt asked.
Pete gave a soft snort. “Cautious like once you injure a knee, you’re done for life.” He gave his head a slow shake. “That isn’t so.”
“You seem to be walking pretty good,” Matt said.
“Yeah. No thanks to Fletcher.”
Matt was about to ask who he was seeing when Pete gave a slight shake of his head. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Yeah. Sure. Later.”
As soon as he got into the truck, Matt tore open the bag, popped one of the anti-inflammatory pills into his mouth and washed it down with cold coffee. The best roping horse he’d ever owned on a drill team. He had to get him back.
He reached down for the ignition. Well, at least he now had a way to see Beckett, because Liv sure as hell wasn’t going to let him lay eyes on him at her place. And it still fried him that she’d assumed he’d stolen Beckett—although steal wasn’t quite the right word for getting back something that already belonged to you. What kind of a guy did Liv think he was?
The kind that wasn’t above