Safe In His Arms - Vicki Lewis Thompson Page 0,10
him say that. “Thank you, Adam.”
“For what?”
“Being a stand-up kind of guy.”
His conscience pricked him. “Don’t make me out to be a hero. I’ve done plenty of things I’m not proud of.”
“But you wouldn’t abandon a woman to a crazed mob.”
“God, no. I’m sorry if you like the guy, but that’s despicable. You could have been killed.”
“Fortunately I wasn’t.” She stood. “But since then I’ve been a little . . . edgy.”
“No doubt.”
She started in on Rocket Fuel’s flanks. “You don’t have to babysit me now. I’m getting into this.”
“Okay.” He stepped back. “When you get to his rump, just come around that way to this side, but stick close to him and keep your hand on him so he’ll know you’re there. He’s not a kicker, but it’s better to learn good habits. When walking around behind a horse, either stay out of range, or move in close so he can’t get any momentum.”
“Have you ever been kicked?”
“Once, and I’m sure it was an accident, plus I wasn’t paying attention like I should have been. I had a football-sized bruise on my thigh for a good while, but no broken bones.” He hoped telling that story hadn’t been a mistake. “I don’t mean to scare you, but I want you to be safe.”
“You’ve made that very clear. And I appreciate it.”
“Common sense takes care of most things with horses, especially if they’re raised right, like Rocket Fuel was. I can’t take any credit for him. He was a sweetheart when I got him.”
“Mm-hm.” Her answer was soft, almost indistinct.
He no longer heard the sound of the brush whisking over the horse’s coat. When he peered over Rocket Fuel’s back, he discovered her head was down, her face obscured by the brim of her hat. She rested the hand with the brush against Rocket Fuel’s ribcage, and she’d propped her other hand right next to it. Her shoulders quivered. She was crying.
Shit. What was he supposed to do? The guys didn’t cry. They swore a lot, but not a one of them had cried. He couldn’t just stand there and let her cry all by herself. She’d had one guy desert her in her hour of need. He’d be damned if another one would.
Moving quickly to her side of the horse, he spoke her name so she wouldn’t startle. Then he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
With a sob, she turned and buried her face against his chest, knocking her hat to the ground. He wrapped her in his arms and held on while she soaked his shirt with her tears. She was a fairly noisy crier, and he thanked God for Rocket Fuel, who remained calm and stoic in the face of her misery.
Adam wasn’t so stoic. He wanted to find the asshole who had left her to be trampled by a mob. Adam had a strong urge to rearrange the guy’s face. Accidents happened, but she wouldn’t be sobbing in his arms if the slimeball had stuck by her.
Thank God she’d plowed into him the other night and he’d had the presence of mind to get Will’s card to her, or rather, to her friend. Valerie couldn’t do better than Will for a problem like this. But she was crying so hard, and all he knew to do was hold her and tell her everything would be okay. He doubted that she even heard him.
Eventually she ran out of steam, but she kept her face pressed against his damp shirt. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.”
“I am. I don’t even know you.”
He rubbed her back. “Sometimes that’s better.”
“Maybe.” She sniffed and kept her face buried. “I’m supposed to stay for a whole hour, but if it’s okay with you, I’d like to hang it up for today.”
“Whatever works for you.”
“I’ll be back.”
“I hope so.” He really hoped so.
“I didn’t know brushing a horse would turn me into a faucet.”
“Like I said, Rocket Fuel has his own methods for getting to know folks.”
“He’s a great horse.”
“Yes, he is.”
She took a shaky breath and finally lifted her head. “Don’t look at me. I’m sure my mascara’s smeared and my eyes are red.”
“So’s your nose.” He wasn’t about to obey her command not to look at her. She was beautiful even when she wasn’t.
“You weren’t supposed to look.” She gave him a wobbly smile.
“I like looking at you, Valerie.”
“Stop that. You’ll make me cry again. How come you’re so great?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” Rising on tiptoe, she pressed a quick, but very warm,