And over Jake’s protestations, Rebecca drove them down to the stables.
There were three horses in the stables; a half dozen more were out grazing. They began in a paddock, where Rebecca and Robin showed them how to approach a horse, how to get on, how to dismount. Cole was far better at it than Jake, swinging up like an old pen rider. Rebecca showed Cole how to rein the horse and took him around the paddock a few times until Cole was doing it on his own. In the months Robin had known Cole, she had never seen him smile so broadly, had never seen him enjoy himself so much.
Jake, on the other hand, was not enjoying himself quite so much. In part because he was inexperienced, but also because they had saddled up old Belle for him, a mean old mare who was one step away from becoming a bottle of Elmer’s Glue. Belle was supposedly managable, a prime consideration as far as Jake was concerned. Only Belle did not like to be ridden, and she made that very clear the moment Jake sat on her back.
Naturally, being 110 percent male, Jake refused any help from Rebecca and insisted on trying to persuade Belle to trot around the paddock. Belle was having none of it; she danced and tried to switch him off with her tail. Then she began side shuffling, trying to rock him off. But Jake held fast.
Robin and Rebecca exchanged looks, both stifling a laugh, watching as Jake desperately held on to the old girl. Finally, in a fit of frustration, Belle did the unthinkable—she bucked. Having no clue it was coming or how to hold on, Jake went toppling off her like Humpty Dumpty, landing squarely on his butt. Robin shrieked and tried to climb over the rail; Rebecca went rushing over to help him up, and Cole laughed hysterically from atop his horse.
Jake was up before Rebecca could even reach him, waving her off. “I’m fine,” he said cheerfully. “But I’m going to kill that old nag,” he said and went striding forward, prepared to do battle.
Jake won.
Belle was riding beneath him after another hotly contested match between the two, and even looked a little happy. As for Jake, well, the Cheshire cat had nothing on him. That was so like Jake, Robin thought—when life kicked him in the teeth, he got up, brushed himself off, and went at it again. She so admired that about him.
Rebecca next took them out of the paddock and into the adjoining pasture. Robin watched from atop the railing. She turned when she heard the sound of an approaching golf cart, thinking it was Mom. But it was Dad, wearing a safari hat, khaki pants, and Maui Jim sunglasses.
He stopped the cart and got out, walking carefully in a sort of lopsided way to where she was sitting.
“Hey Dad, how are you today?”
“A little green.”
“Jeez, shouldn’t you be feeling a little better now?”
“You’d think,” he said and draped his arms over the railing.
“What if it doesn’t get better? Will you go back to New York?”
Dad sighed, adjusted his hat. “I don’t know. Your mom has some eastern doctor lined up. They do some mumbo-jumbo deal where they supposedly treat the whole you, and cure the cancer while they’re at it. I figure it’s worth a shot at this point.”
The sound of dejection in his voice was heartbreaking. “Don’t give up, Dad,” she muttered helplessly.
He squinted up at her on the rail and reached out, covering her hand with his. “I’m not going to give up, baby girl. I’m going to fight this with everything I have. I have too much left to do.” He patted her hand, shifted his gaze back to the riders again. “I just hope you don’t make it any harder on me,” he said, his hand slipping away from hers.
“How would I make it harder?”
“I want to talk to you about this guy.”
Robin’s gut contracted; she steeled herself against his assault. How strange, she thought, that her body seemed to react defensively so naturally. But then, Dad had never been an easy man to deal with. She had been steeling herself against one thing or another for as long as she could remember, and swallowed down a lump now. “What about him?”
“He’s not right for you.”
No surprise there. They’d had this conversation a dozen times in her life about a dozen different guys. “Dad . . . you don’t even know him.”
“Oh yes, I do—I know what kind of guy he is. I know what he wants.”
“No, you don’t—”
“Robin, don’t be foolish,” he said angrily. “That man is after your money, sure as I am standing here.”
“Don’t insult me,” she said, just as angrily, and jumped off the fence. “Do you think I am so stupid I don’t know when someone is trying to take advantage of me?”
“In a word? Yes.”
“Oh, thanks a million, Dad. Nice vote of confidence. Again.”