He was sticking it out. “Here.” She tossed him Baylor’s lead rope. Trent snatched it from the air, but not before shooting her a deer-in-the-headlights look. “Tie him up outside.” “I can’t lead a horse from my wheelchair.” She turned around in the middle of the barn aisle, walking backward. “One thing you should learn. We don’t like the word can’t around here.” She headed toward Radical’s stall, the dark bay gelding nickering to her. “Ready to work, Mr. R.?” she asked the horse, glancing back and noting that Trent hadn’t moved. Baylor stood near him, head held low, ears tipping backward and forward, the animal clearly puzzled about what he was supposed to do. “Turn around and lead the horse out, Trent.” She grabbed her own horse’s halter, slipping inside the stall before he could complain again or think of another reason why he shouldn’t be asked to do such a menial task.
