Page 8 of Smoky Mountain K-9
“I have a confession.” He paused and cast a glance at her from the corner of his eye. “I’ve never been on a horse.”
“Hm, we might have to fix that.” She smiled. “I can’t believe Gemma hasn’t gotten you on one, though. She and Ben go riding a lot.”
“She’s tried a few times, but something’s always come up.” He lifted one shoulder and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “I figure it’ll happen at some point.” He glanced at her. “So, did you grow up on a farm or something? You said you’ve been riding since you were a kid.”
“My family owns a small ranch, so I grew up in the saddle. I was actually a champion barrel racer for several years. My winnings bought my first car and made up a decent chunk of the down payment on the house Blake and I bought after we got married.”
“Nice. Do you still race?”
“No. I’ve kept up my skills, but I don’t do competitions anymore. It’s not really something you can just do on the weekends. It involves traveling a lot. When I was on the youth circuit, the competitions were regional, but on the adult side, they’re all over the midwestern and mountain states. It’s more of a lifestyle at that point.”
“Why psychology and not barrel racing?”
“Because I was smart enough to understand that barrel racing would only last as long as my horse. Sure, my skill played a role, but if you didn’t have a fast horse, you weren’t going to win. Cultivating that kind of animal takes time and money. At that point, it becomes a business more than a sport. That’s not what I wanted.”
“Okay, so why psychology?”
She shrugged. “People are interesting.”
Carter raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? People are interesting?”
She giggled. “That’s what sparked my interest, yes. I wanted to learn more about why people are the way they are. Then in college, it turned into wanting to help people figure out why they are the way they are and to help them cope with their problems.”
“I’ve heard good things about equestrian therapy—before I met Gemma. I know a couple guys who’ve tried it for PTSD.”
“Did it help them?”
He nodded. “They’re still messed up, but they can function now.”
“Soldiers are the hardest to work with. What they—you’ve—seen—” She broke off and shook her head. “I can’t even imagine it.”
Carter’s muscles tensed again as she treaded into dangerous territory. That was a part of his mind he never went to. Not anymore. “Yeah. It wasn’t pleasant.” He kept his eyes on the road, praying she’d pick up on his body language and change the subject.
Several beats of silence passed.
“So, tell me more about this event we’re going to. The elephant actually paints?”
He let out a slow breath. Thankful she hadn’t pressed him for more details about his time in the Marines, the tension left his body. “From what I’ve heard, yes. It should be interesting.”
Their conversation turned to lighter topics as they discussed Thelma, the elephant artist, and the other zoo animals. Neither of them had ever been to the zoo here, so it would be a new experience for them both.
The remainder of the drive passed quickly, and Carter was surprised when the sign for the zoo exit appeared. He’d hoped he and Mara would get along well, so this date wasn’t a disaster, but he hadn’t anticipated that she’d be so easy to talk to. Or that they would get so absorbed in their conversation.
Following the signs, they soon turned off into the zoo’s parking lot. Special event markers guided him to the parking area, and he pulled his truck into a space. The two of them climbed out and made their way to the entrance. Carter showed the attendant their tickets, and the young man waved them through, pointing to the gift shop to their right where everyone was gathering. Another attendant greeted them with a smile and handed them a program.
Carter opened it and held it where Mara could see it. The pamphlet had an itinerary and some information on Thelma and her paintings.
“Looks like dinner’s first. Good. I’m hungry.”
So was he. Though her soft floral perfume was raising a different hunger. Shifting to put a little distance between them and restore his equilibrium, Carter offered her the program. She waved a hand, so he folded it and tucked it into his back pocket. “This is a smaller event than I thought it would be.” He glanced at the small crowd. There were maybe two dozen people present.
“They probably only have so much space in the area where Thelma paints.”
“True.” His eyes traveled over the crowd once more, assessing the couples. Some had struck up conversations with other attendees while the rest were in conversation with each other.
The door opened, and another couple came in, followed by a woman in khaki pants and a purple polo. She paused at the fringe of the group and clapped her hands.
“Everyone, may I have your attention, please?”