Her Cowboy Soldier by Cindi Myers Page B

anything to calm Pete. The animal sidestepped as they neared the pen, where Josh’s job was to help usher the next batch of calves driven by Ben and Tomas into the chute.
    “It’s okay, boy,” Josh crooned soothingly. “Everything’s all right.” He leaned forward to run a gentling hand along the gelding’s neck, but forgot he no longer had a hand. As soon as the metal of the hook touched the horse’s flesh, it panicked, twisting and bucking as it fought to rid itself of this alien rider.
    Josh fought to stay with the horse, but felt himself slipping, falling. He kicked free of the stirrups and covered his head as he hit the ground, facedown. Sharp pain cut through his body as a trio of calves raced over him, their fright fueled by the horse’s antics.
    “Son, are you all right?” Firm hands gripped his shoulder and turned him to his side. He looked up into his father’s pale face. “Don’t move. Let me check you out.”
    “I’m okay.” He pushed aside his father’s probing fingers and staggered to his feet, brushing dirt and muck from his clothes. He’d feel the bruises tomorrow, but nothing was damaged, except his pride.
    “You’re done here today,” his father said. “Get on up to the house and get those cuts seen to.”
    Josh wiped his hand across the side of his face and realized he was bleeding from a gash there and another on his arm. “Take the ATV,” his dad said. “Tomas will bring Pete back.” Ben held the horse a little ways from them. The animal stood, legs splayed, glaring at Josh.
    Josh started to argue that he could stay and keep working, but what would be the point? He was acutely aware of the others’ eyes on him, the hands’ expressions guarded, his father’s scrutiny equal parts concern and annoyance. Mitch saw Josh as a liability. Someone to be looked after, who couldn’t be trusted to do a man’s work.
    Josh retrieved his hat from the dirt and stalked to the ATV. Thankfully, it started with no problem, and he gunned it away from the holding pens. But instead of heading to the house, he set off on a faint track to his favorite spot on the ranch. He left the dust and commotion around the shipping pens and headed across a series of low hills toward a distant knot of trees.
    As the noise of bawling calves, clanging gates and shouting men receded, Josh’s shoulders began to relax, and he eased his grip on the ATV’s throttle. He reached a grove of scrub oak and cottonwood alongside a wide spot in the creek that was out of sight of any of the buildings on the ranch, sheltered in the lee of a hill dotted with wildflowers and sage. As a boy, Josh had spent hours here, fishing, swimming, reading favorite books or simply staring out at the land.
    By the time he parked the ATV in the shade of a leafy cottonwood, his racing heart had slowed and the angry haze had cleared from his vision. He stripped off his boots and socks and left them, along with his hat and belt, on the seat of the ATV. He waded into the creek and dived under, letting the icy water wash away the dirt and muck and some of the shame. When the cold made his bones ache and his teeth chatter, he abandoned the water to sit in the sun.
    The gentle heat began to dry his clothes and hair and the chattering ceased, replaced by drowsy inertia. Thoughts drifted through his head like the dragonflies that landed on his arm, then took off. He loved this ranch, but it was never his. It was always his father’s alone. He’d gone to college to study agriculture, thinking he could use his knowledge to help his father and improve the ranch, but Mitch only saw his son’s ideas as interfering. Or as criticism that the way Mitch did things wasn’t good enough. After a while, Josh had felt as if every time he opened his mouth his dad was prepared to argue.
    He could admit now he’d joined the army out of spite. The military had offered a free ticket to see the world and the opportunity to serve his country, but he also knew his dad