Page 67 of Doing Life

“Oh, he feels different back here.” Lance put his hand where Boone led him.

“Yep. Rougher, right?”

“Yeah.” And then it was a fascinating study in texture and communication as he and Sarge learned each other. He also learned about the saddle and bridle, and then he was learning how to mount.

“Whoa.” Once he was up, he had to use a muscle or two to stay there.

“See what Luke said about your legs and core?”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Okay, so reins like this. Don’t pull back and up if you need him to stop. Pull back gently. Up might make him fight you.” They went through all sorts of adjustments, and then he was riding, Boone leading Sarge around the paddock.

Holy shit. This was so damncool.

Riding Sarge sort of felt like sitting on a big rocking chair that was alive. And he smelled like nothing else Lance could ever imagine, mixed with leather and the green scent of manure.

And he was doing this.

And it was amazing.

By the time he had ridden a half hour and then Boone taught him how to give Sarge some water and groom him, Lance was exhausted.

But proud. Exhilaration filled him. “I did it.”

“You did, man. Let’s go get your dog.” Boone let him tuck his hand into the cradle of that lean arm, and he was heading back to the dog run to get Abby.

He couldn’t wait to tell Sloan about all of this.

His body was sore, but pleasantly so, and his brain was buzzing.

This kind of therapy he could get behind.

Chapter Nineteen

Sloan threw his cruiser into park and headed into the Woody’s Family Mart, intent on getting some beer and Slim Jims and dry roasted peanuts for tonight.

He and Lance were going to be listening to a new audiobook and having pizza and snacks, so he needed to stock up without having to go to the Super One or the Brookshires.

He rolled his head on his neck. Lord, it had been a long day. At least he had his AC back in his car, but he had still spent the whole damn day running down witnesses for one of the detectives and alternating that with traffic stops, which were ugh.

He headed inside, humming a little with the song that had been on the radio when he’d parked.

As soon as he walked into the store, Sloan knew something was wrong. The place was quiet as a tomb, and there was no one behind the counter.

“Leah?” he called out. “You in the back?” He knew he was letting a potential problem know he was there, but he’d never been the stealthy kind. He found that most criminals were opportunists, and would cave and run when faced with a cop.

Though he sure as fuck wished he had a K-9 unit with him. Announcing that a potential robber was about to get bit? Could really make them see reason.

There was no answer.

Sloan drew his service sidearm and padded over to the front on the toes of his boots, keeping his heels from ringing on the floor. He peered over the counter, but Leah wasn’t back there. She always worked this time of day, though, so she had to be in the stockroom or out behind the store.

Dammit.

He took a deep breath and thought about leaving. Going to his car and calling for backup. But where did that leave Leah? And he could just as easily get shot leaving the store as standing at the counter or going to the back room.

He called it in though, because he could always say he’d made a mistake, call them off. “Possible sitch at the Woody’s off 34.”

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