Page 3 of Signed, SEALed, Delivered

CHAPTER TWO

Kennedy

“That's it, Mr. Green, let sugar do her magic.” Clenching the bridle in hand, my eyes bouncing back and forth between our patient, John Green an injured veteran from California, and Sugar our four year old Gelding. It had taken me three visits to convince him he wouldn't fall off the horse, injuring himself further. His wife contacted us almost a year ago when he came out of surgery unable to move his legs. Navy doctors gave him a less than five percent chance of ever walking again after his accident involving an IED explosion.

“I need you to focus on the movement of her hind legs.” Equestrian therapy was once considered nothing more than voodoo to the medical community. All that changed when a celebrity or two showed marked improvements after attending this very facility.

“Memorize how she sways back and forth.” Mr. Green closes his eyes while holding the horn with one hand and the reins with the other; his knuckles are white from the intensity of his grip. “Remember to breathe, Mr. Green.” I add with humor.

Most of the patients start out in much the same way, scared to death of climbing on a horse, and trusting a spit of a girl to keep them from falling. Sabrina Hall, the owner and my boss, tells me it’s the charm of my southern accent that wraps them around my finger and helps them feel at ease.

“Looking good, John.” Speaking of Sabrina, she is perched by the gate, her salt and pepper hair pulled back in a low ponytail, tan corduroy shirt hanging over the top of her jeans, the legs tucked into her boots. “Keep this up and you’ll be walking by Christmas.” I appreciated her optimism, always believing everyone would be a success story, and while I have seen quite a few patients take those steps doctors said would never happen, Mr. Green would not be one of them. Unfortunately, my time here in Colorado was up and I was expected back in Atlanta by the end of next month.

I would miss everything about Colorado, the fresh air which filtered through the mountains, the snow as it piles high in the dead of winter, and the majestic mountains peaks, stretching with effort to touch the sky. Mostly, I would miss the freedom of doing what I love without fear of disappointing my family, specifically my mother, with my dirty boots and worn out blue jeans.

When I first arrived in Colorado Springs, I called my parents to share the delights I’d found here. Mother reminded me the altitude was much too high and would result in unbearable headaches for her, inhibiting any travel plans I would allude to. Somehow she managed to deal with the discomfort when her bridge club gathered in Aspen for a weekend retreat. My being three hours from her provided no reason for her to make a stop to say hello, not that I expected any less from her.

Growing up as a child of John and Claudia Forrester came with certain privileges, and even greater expectations. According to my mother, women of my upbringing were to be well versed in languages, culture, and design. All the necessary skills I would need in order to land a proper husband, one with deep pockets lined with old family money and southern society holdings.

I wanted to stand on my own, pave the way to my future with hard work and dedication, not by dropping my last name or asking for favors. I’d always wanted to work with horses, since the first pony my daddy ever bought me, a deep love was born. As I grew older, I learned of different ways horses were used in the modern world. A documentary on paraplegics gave me the passion to help those injured in an accident by way of horses.

When I graduated high school, my mother tried to force me to attend the same college she and my sister did. I begged my father to let me attend the University of Colorado and then allow me to stay an additional two years to fellowship train with Sabrina. He was hesitant, upsetting my mother wasn't something either of us enjoyed, but he allowed it, with stipulations of course. I loved working here; the smell of hay, the sounds of the horses as they woke in the morning, even cleaning out the stalls gave me a smile, which lasted the whole day.

Sabrina had offered me a full time position, but I couldn't accept it. I would keep my word I gave to my family and return to Atlanta. My mother had called daily with updates of teas and charity events scheduled in the next few months after my return. I was surprised she didn't have a list of men she wished me to entertain as well. While I would do as she asked and return to Atlanta, I wouldn't be following in her footsteps and joining any society groups. I had my heart set on something much bigger than chairing an event.

“Heard you come in early last night.” Sabrina, my best friend as well as boss, maintains her view of Mr. Green as he passes by us. “Date not go well?” She’s trying to hold back a smile, the lines around her mouth giving her amusement away.

“You know as well as I do Ethan and I have nothing in common.”

I didn’t have the heart, or perhaps courage, to say no to the young man who came to the center three months ago to take photos for the reporter doing a story on Sabrina. Ethan Porter, a freelance photographer from Denver, is everything I don't particularly find appealing in the opposite sex. His blonde hair, brown eyes, and pale skin were not on the list of attributes I wanted in the man I chose to date.

Ethan had been sweet and considerate with his compliments and openly flirting, returning virtually every weekend to see if I would grant him the honor of taking me to dinner. I tried to explain to him my time here was quite limited, but he remained persistent, continuing to drive the hour each way on the chance I would say yes.

“Yes, but does he know this?” Unable to control the laughter bubbling up inside, a chortle leaves her throat, quickly evolving into a belly laugh. Sabrina had enjoyed more laughs when it came to Ethan and his affection for me than what I would consider appropriate. At first, she—as many friends do to one another—teased me for having captured his attention. When he wouldn't stop his pursuit, her teasing took on a life of its own.

“Go ahead and laugh, but I'm fairly certain we have seen the last of Mr. Porter.” Shifting the humor to reflect the odd sense of accomplishment I felt after the conversation I had with Ethan. Sabrina accused me of being far too polite to ever intentionally hurting anyone’s feelings. Too bad she had never been the recipient of a backhanded compliment served with a glass of freshly brewed sweet tea.

“Oh, this should be good,” her laughter ceasing, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “What, did you pull out the stern face and then bless his heart?” Shaking her head as her focus returned to observing me work. “Your southern anecdotes only work on the locals who understand them. Men like Ethan find them to be like foreplay, always diving in for more.”

She was right, from the first moment I arrived in Colorado, I had one person after another asking me to say a plethora of words, repeating them mockingly at the slowness of how I spoke. “Actually, I used something I learned in a movie I watched a few years ago.” Sugar had begun to slow her footing, slacking off when she thought I was too busy talking to Sabrina. Clicking my tongue, I let her know I was still watching her.

“You doing all right, Mr. Green?” His knuckles were no longer white from the death grip he had earlier, still grasping the horn and the reins, it was now in a more relaxed fashion.

“Yep, but she’s right, it's the sound of your accent keeping me on this horse.” Even I couldn't avoid joining in the laughter at Mr. Green's honesty.

“Careful, Mr. Green, next time I'll put you on Loco.” A once explosive smile was now a line of concern, and I had to work hard to keep my game face on.

“What kind of name is that for a horse?”

Sabrina chose this moment to disappear into the stables, her way of hiding her face and ruining my teasing. Loco is a rescue horse we found abandoned on a farm the owners lost to the bank. Extremely malnourished and skittish as hell, but I managed to get him to trust me enough to get in the horse trailer. It took a lot of work, sleepless nights and a few prayers, but now Loco is one of the best horses we have around here. When it came time to give him a name, José the handyman around here said we were crazy for keeping an animal who could snap at any moment. The name and the horse are working out just fine.

“Keep working hard and watch yourself, and you’ll never have to find out.”

***

I brushed the dirt and shedding hair from Sugar, a mindless task I have always enjoyed. It's a good time to let your mind wonder, ponder over the events of the day. I refused to think of the day when I would no longer have this escape; too busy keeping up the facade of being the daughter my mother needs me to be.

“You were about to tell me how you got rid of stalker boy with your movie knowledge.” Startled from my musings of doom and gloom, a gasp leaves my mouth and Sugar pushes back two steps. “Whoa, there.” I croon, trying to calm her, swallowing my fear, as it isn't good for her.

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