actually gave a damn. There was a whole herd of people who came through once a month, did something they thought would benefit the Troubled Youth staying there, and then went home, washed their hands thoroughly, and felt better about themselves for donating their two hours to charity.
Christyne was not one of those. She was a full-timer who worked her butt off sixty hours a week for a paycheck that probably didn’t even cover rent. And that’s the only reason Jess was even thinking about joining her.
Christyne got a quiet look on her face that Jess recognized. It was the one that made her look like she could poke right into your brain and tell what you were thinking—but for some reason, it wasn’t scary. So weird, because Jess had never wanted another soul to have any idea what was going on in her head.
“Come on,” Christyne said. “It’s safe, and it’ll make you strong.”
Jess looked up at her, but didn’t reach for her hand. Finally, shrugging noncommittally, she pushed up off the couch. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll try it.”
She had nothing else to do today except think, anyway. And thinking was getting her nowhere fast.
Besides, strong was a word that spoke to her. After all, maybe if she’d been stronger, she could have resisted Mama’s sicko boss without losing Mama her job. Maybe if she’d been stronger, she wouldn’t have ever hooked up with Billy.
Maybe if she’d been stronger, she’d have left him before it was too late.
Chapter 6
“So I’m going to take a wild guess here and say some wild bronco bucked you off when you were a kid?” Early Tuesday morning, Cole winked at the forty-something woman currently clinging to the fence post but trying not to show it. She’d arrived last night, a week late for her session, and after twenty minutes of making idle conversation in hopes of getting her on a horse this morning, he was pretty sure he knew why she’d almost backed out of the entire vacation.
“Something like that.” Elise grimaced. “It was a Shetland pony.”
Cole laughed out loud. “The ferocity of Shetlands is definitely underrated.” He motioned her toward Goldie, an old mare they kept at Whisper Creek just for people like Elise. On a good day, the most Goldie could work herself up to was a full plod, so she was just about as harmless as a horse could get.
“Come say hello to Goldie. She’s twenty-two years old, but don’t mention her age around the other horses. She prefers they think she’s not a day over fourteen.”
Elise smiled, and Cole hoped it was the first sign of a breakthrough.
“Goldie has never bucked anyone off in her life, right, old girl?” Cole ran his hand down the mare’s nose, and she snorted in response. He glanced at the other corral, where it looked like Decker had everyone mounted and ready to head out for the morning trail ride. Cole gave him a subtle go-without-us signal, and two minutes later, it was just Elise, Goldie, and Cole left in the stable yard.
Or not.
While he’d been talking to Elise, Jess had ambled out of the stable and was leaning against the other side of the corral, looking unfairly gorgeous with the morning sunlight glinting off her dark hair. She was dressed in a loose cotton shirt and jeans, and once again he had to blink hard not to think about the curves he knew were hiding under her clothing.
“Morning, Jess.”
She waved. “Pay no attention to me. Just wanted to see how old Goldie’s doing.”
“Shh. Don’t call her old.” Cole smiled, then reluctantly turned his attention back to Elise and the horse. “All right, Goldie. We’re going to convince Elise here that all horses aren’t bad. It’s a big job, but I know you’re up to the challenge.”
He tugged the lead rope to start Goldie walking toward Elise, but they’d only gone two steps before she backed up even farther. The poor woman was going to fall through the fence if she took one more step backward.
She put her hands up. “I’m sorry, Cole. I have no idea why I thought this would be a good idea.”
He stopped walking toward her. “It is a good idea. You always wanted to learn to ride, but you got good ’n’ scared and never got to try again. It doesn’t matter whether you get thrown by a Shetland or a big black stallion. It hurts, and it’s scary. Not your fault.”
“Thank you?” Her voice was small, her