Page 78 of A Beach House Beginning

It was tough to let go of her fears, but for her daughter’s sake she could do her best.

They passed her again, Jace McCandless and her daughter. The lean, sexy cowboy sat behind the saddle supporting Hope’s weight atop the raw-boned mare. He sat easy on a horse, as she would have expected from someone who had made a very good living on the rodeo circuit, and with each pass through the arena he seemed more comfortable with his duty.

And Hope, Christa saw, didn’t just glow with excitement, she exploded with it. Her eyes were bright and she laughed out loud several times though the horse was only moving at a sedate walk.

She watched them go around again, then Jace slowed the horse and slid off, keeping one reassuring hand at the small of Hope’s back.

“Is that it?” she asked Hank, who had stopped to watch.

“Looks like they’re going to let her have a few go-rounds on her own,” he answered.

He must have seen her sudden panic, because he gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. McCandless wouldn’t leave her alone up there if he didn’t think she could handle it.”

Despite his attempt to comfort her, she clenched her fists so tightly she could feel her fingernails gouging the skin of her palms. She needn’t have worried. Hope seemed to pick up riding again better than she had anything else since the accident.

They would have to come back, Christa realized with some dismay. How would they possibly afford it with all the co-pays and deductibles piling up? Her medical insurance didn’t cover equine therapy, so she would have to cover the entire cost out-of-pocket.

She would just have to juggle both her budget and her time to make it happen, she thought as McCandless used the lead line to guide the horse back to the mounting block.

As she hurried to join them, she saw him lift Hope down from the horse and set her gently in her wheelchair.

“How was it?” Christa asked. “You looked great up there! Did you have a good time?”

Hope looked tired but jubilant. “Loved it! Want to barrel-race now!”

Jace gave Christa a wide grin she could swear sizzled through her, clear to her toes. She frowned, upset at the reaction, while Jace squeezed Hope’s shoulder.

“Not yet, champ. Maybe next time.”

She beamed up at him, as susceptible to that smile as her mother, apparently.

“Nice work, Hope,” Hank Stevens said as he joined them. “Nice riding!”

Hope bestowed her delighted smile on him, as well.

“Glad you had fun. We usually make the riders brush down the horses when they’re done—works their arms and shoulders, see?—but seein’ as it’s your first time, we’ll let you off the hook.”

“I can do it,” Hope insisted with the mulish determination that had carried her through eight surgeries in five months.

“I’m sure you can. But next time.” He turned to Christa. “Same time next week?”

A hundred doubts still swirled through her mind, but they all paled next to Hope. “Okay. Sure. Thanks, Hank.”

She would find a way to make it work. She’d been doing just that since those dark days as a stupid eighteen-year-old girl alone in a strange city with a newborn.

“Can I give you a hand out to your car?” Jace asked, still holding the handles of Hope’s wheelchair.

Her first instinct was to refuse his offer of help, to show him she was tough and independent. Hadn’t she been from the beginning?

But the bald truth was that Hope weighed as much as Christa, and all the transfers she required in the course of an average day were physically exhausting.

Right after the accident, a wise physical therapist urged Christa to always accept help when it was offered, no matter how it stung her pride not to be as self-sufficient as she would like.

For some reason, accepting help from Jace McCandless seemed particularly galling, but she forced herself to do it anyway.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“You handle the doors and I’ll be the muscle.”

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