Page 37 of The CEO and the Mountain Man

Miguel, too, had worked his magic with the teens. He and Stevie helped every rider to wind their way—slowly—around the barrels, managing their horses’ direction, grinning at their accomplishments. I’d worried Miguel would be too distracted by River, but he did a good job balancing instruction with almost-subtle flirting.

I’d have called him out on it, but I could tell that, despite the positive signs at breakfast, River was still getting into his head. I couldn’t tell if that fed into his physical state or vice versa, but Clark had to run and get his walking stick about halfway through the instruction.

River was uneven, at best. Fraught silences, followed by playful banter, followed by reddened eyes that he tried to hide from the rest of us. Miguel had a knack, though, for bringing him around.

Clark was riding every rise and dip of his son’s emotions. He stood off to the side, away from the other parents, hand to his chest when River surreptitiously brushed away tears. Allowed himself to breathe easy when River chatted with the other teens.

I approached from the side and patted his back. “River’s doing a great job.”

Clark jumped at my touch, then settled into it with a sheepish smile. “I … You think so?”

“I do.”

“Even though it feels like I’m on the world’s shittiest carnival ride?”

“Even though.” His shoulders tightened again, so I asked, “Howdidit go after I left y’all in your cabin?”

Clark chewed his upper lip for a moment. “I was able to get his grief group counselor on a call.” He looked off to the side. “I wanted to call his therapist, but he likes Carla better.”

“You did a good job, honoring his wishes.”

“You think?” He looked up, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

I wanted to pull him into my arms so badly that I had to step back.

“Well, if Carla’s leading a grief group, I’m sure she has some kind of counseling in her background.”

He hugged himself, rubbing his arms like he could barely register the warm temperature. “Yeah, she’s a retired social worker and has a degree in child psychology, so…”

“If you don’t mind me saying, you still seem pretty shaken up.”

He nodded, turning away again. Wiped at his eyes. “He … uh. He was in and out of consciousness during the three hours and seventeen minutes he was trapped in the car. But he remembers a lot more than he ever let on. The pain, especially. Didn’t want to tell me about that.”

“Because he knows how empathetic you are.”

“I guess.” Clark raked his hand through his hair. “He spent that entire time with his mom’s dead body. Trying to convince himself that she was just unconscious. And … I can’t hold that pain for him. I’m supposed to just, you know, let him feel it and…”

His words trailed off, and he stared hard at the horizon.

I rubbed his back, grateful that he let me.

“I can’t imagine anything worse for a dad like you than to not be able to snap your fingers and make it better for your son.”

“Monica always said I was too much of a softy,” he said, talking to the foothills.

Miguel whispered something in River’s ear, and he threw his head back, laughing. That finally broke Clark’s trance.

“Miguel’s a good kid,” Clark said, half statement. Half question.

“He is. Dad abandoned him young, mom did her best but was in and out of jail for drugs and other stuff. Was recommended to us by a friend of a friend.”

“He got lucky with this place.”

I shook my head. “Pretty sure we’re the lucky ones.”

I stayed by Clark’s side as I oversaw things. Some of the kids would probably never get on a horse again, but Cynthia, the girl twin, may have just discovered a new hobby.

At the end of our activity time, the teens decided to have an impromptu barrel race. Stevie sent me a mischievous look, letting everyone go before her. I was the starter and designated timekeeper. River had a respectable time, but Miguel was by far the fastest.