Sunrise Canyon (New Americana 1)

Do you really believe she listens to you?

Jake didn’t voice the thought. Early on, after the accident, he’d tried talking to Wendy. But he’d given up on that. It was like leaving voice mail for somebody who would never return your call. Kind of like prayer, which he’d also given up.

“What about your father?” he asked, knowing the question was a bad idea.

“He’s in the army. He was supposed to come back, but he didn’t. I think maybe the army won’t let him. They need him to stay and fight the bad people.”

The auger twisted, driving deeper, all the way to his heart. “I guess you don’t talk to him, do you?”

She shook her head. “He isn’t in heaven. He can’t hear me.”

“Paige!” A motherly-looking Mexican woman in her fifties came bustling around the row of cabins. “Ay de mi! I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing out here, bothering this poor man?”

Jake and Consuelo had met briefly in the kitchen that morning when he’d stopped by for coffee, so no introduction was needed. “She isn’t bothering me,” he said. “But this might not be the safest place for her. She’s probably better off going with you.”

“Come on, chiquita.” Consuelo took Paige’s hand. “I’m making cookies in the kitchen. You can help me.”

As she was being led off, Paige glanced back at Jake. “I’ll bring you some cookies when they get done. Chocolate chip. They’re really good,” she said, giving him her mother’s smile.

The dog roused himself, got up and followed them back around the cabins. Watching his daughter go, Jake quivered from the strain of controlling his emotions. That little girl’s smile held the power to destroy him. Lord, he should never have agreed to come here. He should have stayed in jail, where he, at least, felt safe.

“He isn’t in heaven,” she’d answered when he’d asked her about talking to her father.

She was right about that. It was more like he was in hell.

* * *

“This horse hates me! I want a different one!” Mack, the big boy with anger issues, was red-faced with frustration. He’d chosen a docile bay mare named Bella. She’d let him come close enough to offer his hand for a sniff, but every t

ime he tried to stroke her, she edged away.

“That’s not how it works, Mack.” Kira stood a few steps away, coaching. “If you give up, she’ll know she got the best of you, and she’ll do it again. Step back now and try to relax. She can tell you’re upset. It’s making her nervous.”

“I can’t do this! She hates me!” Mack yanked off his helmet and flung it on the ground.

“Nobody hates you, Mack. Not me, and certainly not the horse. She only wants to feel safe. Now put on your helmet, take a few breaths and think about how easy this will be—or if that doesn’t work, close your eyes and think about your favorite song.”

Mack put on his helmet and closed his eyes. The students who’d gone before him had done all right, including Lanie, who’d been terrified at first. Being the first one to fail would embarrass him and worsen his anger issues.

“Got the song?” Kira asked, and saw him nod slightly. “Good. Now open your eyes, and as you go to the horse again, sing it very softly, just for her. Try it. That’s it. Now let her smell your hand. Keep singing.”

Kira couldn’t hear the song, but she could see Mack’s lips moving. The mare might not be a music lover, but if singing helped relax the boy, that could make the difference. She held her breath as Mack stood to the left of Bella’s head and put out his hand, palm down.

Bella was curious. Her ears pricked forward, a small sign of acceptance. This time she allowed Mack to touch her and stroke her withers. A tiny shudder of pleasure passed through her body. Mack glanced back at Kira, his eyes wide, his mouth grinning. “Hey, she likes it!”

“And I think she likes you,” Kira said. “Good job.”

The last two students had watched the others and had no trouble with their horses. Feeling good about the session, Kira seated the group by the fence. “Tell me some of the things you learned today,” she said.

Calvin raised his hand. “I tried to go on the right side of my horse, like an Indian. The horse didn’t like it.”

“So what did you learn from that?”

Calvin grinned. “I learned to listen to Dusty.”

“Good thinking,” Kira said. Calvin, small, solitary and extremely bright, had been bullied at school and online. His parents had signed him up for horse therapy after he attempted suicide; they hoped it would give him confidence and make him feel less like a victim.

Lanie raised her hand, her sleeve sliding back to show a glimpse of ugly, healing cuts. “If you’re scared or mad, the horses can tell. It’s like they can read you.”