Page 4 of Wilde Ride

“Why do I have a feeling you’re not going to be coming back to River Falls?”

Levi kicked at the ground once again. “Caroline wants to move to Denver when I finish school. She thinks I’ll make more money there rather than here.”

My eyes went wide. “You’re leaving River Falls completely? What about your dad and the practice? I thought the plan was for you to take over when he retires?”

He shrugged. “Plans change.”

I blinked at him and slowly shook my head. “I guess they do. Is this what you want, Levi?”

“No. But sometimes you have to put your feelings aside for the people you love.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That works both ways.”

His eyes snapped up to meet mine. “You don’t understand, Em.”

It was my turn to shrug. “I guess not.”

We started walking again, and when we arrived at the house, we faced each other. Levi flashed me that dazzling smile of his, and I returned the gesture. Holding up the box, I said, “Thank you so much for the shirt. It really is beautiful, and I can’t wait to wear it.”

“You’re welcome. Maybe I’ll see you around campus.”

The chances of us seeing each other would be rare, but not impossible, since at least a few of our classes would be in the same area.

I wasn’t sure whether I was happy or sad about that, now knowing that Levi was marrying Caroline. Before he’d dropped all his bombs on me, I was so excited for the chance of running into Levi at school. I’d even dared to hope we might get to hang out together.

“Maybe,” I replied. Levi took a step closer and drew me in for a hug. It was an innocent gesture. He didn’t linger or hold me too close. It was the kind you give a sibling. He stepped back, leaned down, and brushed a kiss to my forehead.

“See you around, Em.”

My heart slammed against my chest. No one ever called me Em. Now Levi Tucker just went and ruined my first, and probably last, nickname.

He turned and started to walk around the side of the house. He glanced back, and I lifted my hand and waved.

“See you around, Levi.”

Seven years later

A light knock on my door caused me to look up and Moose, my one-year-old chocolate lab, to let out a bark. I smiled when I saw it was my mother. I quickly stood and moved around the desk to hug her. Moose jumped up as well and nearly knocked me over. My little office was across the hall from her office, which was housed in the horse barn over on the east side of the ranch. It was close to my grandparents’ house, and was the original barn built on the ranch when my great-great-grandfather settled this land. It had, of course, been changed over the years, but this barn felt more like home than my own house I’d grown up in. I was here all the time. The barn by my parents’ house was for the cattle, so I hardly ever set foot inside unless I was helping out.

“I got your note that you wanted to talk to me.”

“It’s about the summer camp sessions.”

She sat down in the spare chair in my office. “What about them?”

“I know we already have one week in June, one in July, but I was thinking we could add another one in August this year—but wait,” I said when she went to speak what most likely was going to be an objection. “I was thinking this third week could be for kids with special needs.”

Her brows lifted. “You’ve always talked about wanting to do that. Have you researched it? We would need the right staff at camp for that week.”

“You know me, Mom. I’ve researched the hell out of it. I was thinking, what if it was for the whole family? That way, the parents—or at least one parent—could come with their child. After speaking with over two-dozen parents of children with special needs, every single one of them loved the idea of going to camp with their kids. Being there for them while watching them try new adventures. And you know that equine therapy was something I was fascinated with in college.”

“I remember.”

“Horses can calm riders with autism, allowing them to be able to focus on learning how to ride. There’s a woman I met at a conference last December who uses therapeutic horsemanship to help campers concentrate on learning how to ride, communicate, and connect with the horses. It teaches them that they can live life as fully and independently as possible, taking into account each camper’s situation. And imagine learning not only how to ride a horse, but how to care for one as well.”

My mother smiled. “Would it only be for kids with autism?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think we need to limit it to just that. We would, however, need to hire someone trained in therapeutic horsemanship to oversee the program. I’ve been trying to learn as much as I can for the last several months. We’ll need to train our volunteers and camp counselors on how to interact with the campers—and by that, I mean, we’ll need them to assist a bit more than they do with the other campers.