Page 76 of A Beach House Beginning

She rose from the chair and turned to face him, and he was struck by two things. One, that the girl in the wheelchair had to be her daughter. They looked alike, except the younger girl’s hair was a few shades lighter and much shorter.

The second thing he saw was that the mother was no longer blinking at the contrast in light from outside, and now that her eyes had apparently adjusted, she didn’t seem particularly happy to see him, which wasn’t a reaction he was used to in women.

“I guess this is where we’re supposed to be.” The original rueful smile she had given him when she first came in had faded, and he would have to say she had turned downright cool. “Hank told us to come straight to the arena.”

“If you’re here for equine therapy, this is the right place,” he answered.

The girl’s head had been tilted to one side as her mother had pushed her in, long, dark lashes flat against her cheeks. He assumed she was asleep or something—what did he know?—but as soon as he spoke, she squinted up at him, then her eyes suddenly widened.

She made an indistinguishable sound, and her muscles tightened so much he was afraid she would fall right out of her wheelchair.

He studied her, awkwardness burning through him. He wasn’t at all sure how to act with her and decided his safest bet was to treat her just like any other teenager.

He smiled. “Hi. I’m Jace.”

She didn’t answer for several seconds, long enough for her silence to stretch painfully. Her mouth moved laboriously, and it seemed to take an extreme exertion of energy before she could answer him.

“I’m Hope,” she finally answered, the words slightly slurred.

He grabbed her fisted right hand and shook it. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Hope. You ready to go for a ride?”

She gave him a brilliant smile that slammed into his gut as if her mother had just shoved the wheelchair right into him.

It was the lingering effects of the hangover, he told himself, but somehow the explanation rang hollow.

“Where’s Hank?” the mother asked, her voice as cool as an ice cube trickling down his back. What was the deal with her? he wondered. They had never met—he was positive of it. Surely he would have remembered those stunning green eyes. So why this instinctive dislike?

Before he could ask, though, Hank returned. “I’m here. Sorry, Christa.” He gave his too-white smile to both women. He reached out to hug the mother—Christa—then bent down to squeeze Hope’s hands.

“You’ve got your boots on, I see, Miss Hope. Looks like you’re all set for some trail ridin’.”

“Yep. I’m ready.” She looked as if she wanted to climb right out of her chair and onto the back of a horse, but her mother rested a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“Not yet, baby. We need to figure out what’s going on first.”

She didn’t look any more thrilled to be here than he had been, Jace realized. Her skin was slightly pale and her hands seemed to clench and unclench convulsively on the handles of the wheelchair.

One of the riders passed them, waving frantically at them, and while Hope was distracted watching the horse, her mother pulled Hank aside.

“I still don’t know about this,” she murmured in a voice too low for her daughter to hear. “I really don’t. I’m just not sure she’s ready.”

“Whethershe’sready or whetheryouare?”

She made a face. “Either of us. Okay, me, probably. Hope isn’t worried about a thing. She’s been over the moon ever since my mother suggested it—and that was before she knewhewas going to be here.”

She didn’t look at Jace, even when Hank gave that rusty-saw laugh of his and nudged Jace with his shoulder. “Don’t blame me for that. You can blame Ellen and Junemarie. They cooked it up between them. Your mom figured Hope might work harder for McCandless here than for a washed-up old rodeo hound like me.”

Reality was slow to sink through his aching head. When it did, Jace straightened from the arena railing. The whole time Hank had been laying on the guilt the night before about all the chances Jace had been given and how maybe it was time for a little payback, he’d thought the old man was just looking for general labor. He didn’t realize Hank had a specific mission in mind for him—to be the carrot for some poor teenage girl.

He had been played, he realized grimly. And he had been too stupid or too drunk to realize Hank had been setting him up.

He was angry at Hank, for some reason.

Christa had barely met Jace McCandless, but she could sense it in the tight set of his wide shoulders and the sudden steel in his dark blue eyes.

She had no idea why he was here, but she had the sudden impression that he didn’t want to be.

Join the club, Mr. McCandless, she thought. Actually, she didn’t mind being here. But she didn’t want Hope anywhere near those horses. Not yet.

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