Can't Let Her Go

by Sandy James

  “Bathroom.”

  “I need some water.” He held his hands out to her. “Go back to the barn with me?”

  When she took his hands, he jerked her off the fence rail. As she let out a squeak of surprise he caught her and crushed her against his body. After slowly lowering her to the ground, letting their bodies press together, he covered her mouth with his.

  Chelsea wasn’t sure if her heart was pounding from the shock of nearly falling or from the way Ethan’s tongue was rubbing against hers so deliciously. She liked this new side of him and found there was something about how uninhibited he was—how freely he expressed himself—that made her feel free too.

  After a few long moments, he eased back, grinning at her. His hat was pushed back, near to falling off his head from their kiss. He set it back firmly where it belonged, took her hand, and started toward the barn.

  “We should go out for steaks tonight,” he announced when they reached the small refrigerator he kept in the tack room. He plucked out a bottle of water, handed it to her, and grabbed another for himself. Twisting off the cap, he chugged big gulps, no doubt thirsty from getting Hamlet broken, even though it seemed as if the horse had done all the work. “Some nice rib eyes,” he said, “and a bottle of cabernet?”

  “Sounds like heaven,” Chelsea replied. “I’ll have Addie grab some groceries, then we can cook at my place. Or here, if you’d rather. Who gets to do the cooking honors?”

  He shook his head. “I’m taking you to Tennessee Roadhouse. I haven’t been there yet and everyone keeps telling me how great their food is.”

  “Ethan, I’m not in the mood to be hounded tonight.” Sometimes she loved being a celebrity. Tonight, she just wanted to be alone with Ethan. Besides, from what she’d learned and everything she’d seen, he’d sooner have all his wisdom teeth pulled without anesthetic than be recognized in public. A place as popular as the Tennessee Roadhouse? She’d be signing autographs and posing for selfies instead of enjoying a nice meal with her boyfriend.

  Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Such odd terms to describe two people their age sharing a relationship. Surely there were other words that suited them better.

  Lover? Not yet.

  But soon…

  “Then we’ll go to Pancho’s,” he said. “It’s been around forever and not trendy at all. No one cares about celebrities there. No rib eyes, but fantastic tamales.”

  Although she wasn’t so sure, she decided to let him have his way. “Fine. Pancho’s sounds great.”

  A loud whistle from outside the barn forced a sigh from Ethan. “Joe’s got the next one ready.”

  “By all means, then. Let’s go so I can watch you break your neck.”

  * * *

  The bite in Chelsea’s tone shouldn’t have made Ethan happy. But it did.

  She was worried about him. Truly worried. He couldn’t help but smile at that realization. “I’ll do just fine.” Taking her hand in his, he led the way back to the paddock. “I’ve broken plenty of horses.”

  Exactly as he’d suspected, Hamlet had been easy. Not only was the horse docile, but it was also used to weight on its back.

  This one might be another story.

  As Chelsea climbed the fence again to plop herself next to Savannah, he directed his attention to Thunder—the palomino one of his old friends had bought that needed to learn a new role as a saddle horse.

  Thunder was a tall son of a bitch. Heavily muscled, too, considering he was only three years old. Probably a good thing the horse was gelded, because as a stallion, breaking would be a war. Joe had done an admirable job walking the horse around to calm him. The animal looked as ready as he would ever be.

  Ethan made a quick glance back to Chelsea and Savannah, wishing they’d left after Hamlet’s saddle debut. The women were going to have to accept that he was going to get tossed on his ass a few times before Thunder figured out that Ethan wasn’t giving up. The last thing he needed was a hysterical female overreacting and bursting into tears the first time he got thrown. Plus, he didn’t like the idea of Chelsea crying.

  With a shake of his head, he dismissed them. He had a job to do, damn it. Since when did he fuss and bother over whether a woman let a tear or two fall?

  Turning his attention to Thunder, he approached slowly, talking in a low voice to the palomino. “Whoa there, boy. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Now me? I prefer easy.” He stroked the animal’s thick neck and then gave it a pat.

  The horse let out a snort and tried to toss his head back, an action stifled by the tight hold Joe had on the bridle.

  “Think he’s tellin’ you it’s gonna be the hard way, boy,” Joe said with the chuckle clear in his voice. “Let me work on him for a minute. Gonna calm him down some more.” He began leading Thunder and coaxing him in that low, rumbling voice of his.

  “Figured as much,” Ethan said mostly to himself. Since the best way to approach a task was to just get at it, Ethan waited until Joe led Thunder back. While the animal seemed calm, Ethan grabbed the pommel, stuck his foot in the stirrup, and threw himself into the saddle.

  Things happened pretty quickly. With an enraged squeal, Thunder reared, jerking the bridle right out of Joe’s hands. Before Ethan could even get his foot in the right stirrup, he was tumbling off the horse’s muscled rump.

  He slammed into the ground hard, his back hitting with such force that it knocked every bit of air from his lungs as stars dotted his vision. Pain followed right behind, and for a moment, he feared he was going to pass out.

  Feminine screams seemed to hang in the air, but there was nothing he could do except lie there. Breaths wouldn’t come, and there were a few long moments of panic. As Chelsea and Savannah suddenly fell to their knees on either side of him, more panic racked him in unrelenting waves. With it came a new fear, one he’d never faced before.

  He was mortal.

  It wasn’t as though his life flashed before his eyes. And it wasn’t as if he’d thought he would live forever. But to take a fall while breaking a horse? A fall that made it impossible for him to even twitch a muscle?

  Ten years ago, he would have gotten up, dusted himself off, and crawled right back in the saddle. He’d broken two fingers once upon a time while working with a skittish colt. All he’d done that day was tape the fingers together, pop a few aspirin, and down a cold beer. Then he’d gone right back to whatever he’d been doing.

  Now, he was lying in the dust and wondering if someone should be calling the paramedics.

  “Oh God, Ethan,” Chelsea said in a panicked exhale. Her hands were suddenly all over him. “Did you break something?”

  As if he could answer her. He still couldn’t draw a decent breath, and the few he could manage sounded like asthmatic wheezes.

  “Shake it off, boy,” Joe said, the words piercing Ethan’s haze of pain and further wounding his pride. “Got a job to do. Needs to get done.”

  So Ethan obeyed. Since breathing was becoming easier, he pushed himself up on his elbows with a groan.

  Chelsea immediately pushed against his chest. “Don’t you move!”

  “I’m fine.” He brushed her hands away and then noticed that Savannah was fiddling with her phone. “Put that thing away.”

  “You need an ambulance,” she said.

  “Don’t you dare.” Ethan sat up, his anger and wounded pride overriding his aches.

  “But—”

  “I’m fine,” he snapped again. “I’ve got a horse to break.”

  * * *

  Chelsea sat back on her heels, not at all convinced Ethan was fine by any stretch of the imagination. His face was still pale and drawn, his lips nothing but a thin line. At least he was breathing better, but she could tell each lungful caused him pain. “Ethan…you might have cracked ribs or something.” She reached for his hand.

  “Enough,” he barked.

  She jerked her hand back as her concern shifted to anger. And hurt. “Okay, then…”

  “I told you I’m fi
ne. Stop fussing at me.”

  Fussing? Since when was caring for someone, especially someone who’d just taken a bad fall? Narrowing her eyes, she bit her tongue to keep from unleashing the irate words that wanted to fall from her mouth.

  Never had someone frustrated her the way Ethan Walker could. Never.

  He didn’t want her help? Well then…she’d let him have his way. Getting to her feet, she glanced down at Savannah. “Let him be. Tough guy wants to sit there with a couple of fractured vertebrae? More power to him.”

  Still holding her phone, Savannah knit her brows. “Are you sure?”

  Joe was the one to speak. “He don’t need no ambulance. On your feet, boy. Get back in that saddle.”

  With a low growl directed at the men, Chelsea turned away. If Ethan didn’t want her help, fine and dandy. He could listen to Joe and let his macho flag fly, but she had no intention of sticking around and watching him break his stupid neck. “Couple of idiots,” she muttered at she marched toward the gate.

  Savannah jogged to catch up with her. “You’re really leaving?”

  “Damn right, I’m leaving.” Chelsea tossed her head at the men. “I’m not staying here and watching Ethan kill himself on that horse.”

  “Maybe we should stick around.”

  Deep down, Chelsea wanted to stay if only to be the one to say “I told you so” when Ethan got thrown on his sorry ass again. Then she’d let Savannah call first responders while Chelsea took her first ride in an ambulance as she accompanied him to the emergency room.

  The press would have a field day.

  But she couldn’t stay. At least not up close and personal. Seeing him fall again would be too much for her to bear. And if that didn’t speak volumes for her growing feelings for him, nothing would.

  She cared. A lot. Had from the moment she’d met him.

  When she got to her SUV, Chelsea hugged herself and leaned back against the front fender. “I’ll wait, but I can’t watch.”

  Savannah mimicked Chelsea’s actions. “He’ll be okay. He’s done this before.”

  “Joe told me it’s been years since Ethan broke a horse.”

  “Your point?”

  “I think that fall hurt him more than he’d expected,” Chelsea replied.

  “Yeah, he did look a little…surprised.”

  “More than a little.” The noise coming from the paddock made Chelsea sneak a peek over her shoulder. Damn if Ethan wasn’t in the saddle, keeping a firm grip on the reins. “He’s doing it.”

  Craning to watch, Savannah let out a chuckle. “He sure is. Guess he showed us, huh?”

  After a few moments of watching Ethan weathering a rough ride, Chelsea snorted and made herself stop watching. “Yeah, he showed us. And he’s going to hurt like hell later.”

  “I imagine he’s going to realize he’s not twenty anymore.” Turning away as well, Savannah dropped her arms to her sides. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What’s bugging you so much about this?”

  “About what?”

  Savannah shrugged. “I’ll admit I was upset when he got bucked off, but Ethan’s a tough guy. Trust me, I’ve heard plenty of stories. Breaking a horse isn’t really that big a thing compared to lots of other stuff he’s done. I just wonder why you’re so upset over a fall.” A few stilted moments passed. “You’ve got it bad for the guy, don’t you?”

  There was no getting around it, and since she really didn’t have anyone but her mother to talk to about her situation, Chelsea nodded and opened up. “Yeah, I’ve got it bad. I think I’m falling in love with him, and I’m not sure that’s a good idea at all.”

  “Why not? You two seem great together.”

  “I’m not sure us being great together can overcome the problems we face.”

  “Problems?” Savannah asked.

  “First and foremost…I’m a celebrity. There’s no way around that and Ethan hates publicity. The press gives him hives.”

  “You’re right. That might be a problem, but…”

  “No ‘but,’” Chelsea said with a disgusted shake of her head. “He’d never be able to handle how I live. Touring. Recording. Dodging the paparazzi. He’d be miserable. Absolutely miserable.”

  A sly smile crossed Savannah’s lips. “You’re already thinking about a life together.”

  Chelsea sighed. “Yeah, I am. Much too often.”

  “Why is that a bad thing?”

  “Because there’s no way Ethan and I could ever work.”

  “I disagree.” Savannah turned to face Chelsea. “Look, I know it wouldn’t be easy.”

  “Not with my life, it wouldn’t.”

  “I’m not talking about you; I’m talking about Ethan. He’s not an easy person to love.”

  Chelsea cocked her head. “Why not?”

  Holding up her index finger, Savannah said, “He’s stubborn.”

  “So am I.”

  A second finger extended. “He’s never had a relationship that lasted longer than a month.”

  “My longest was three,” Chelsea admitted.

  A third finger joined the count, and Savannah grinned. “He likes things his way.”

  “So do I.”

  Savannah’s smile grew. “Then it sounds like a match made in heaven.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Even getting out of his chair seemed like an impossible task. Which was a damn shame, because Ethan wanted a couple of shots of whiskey to help kill the pain. He couldn’t muster the energy to even try to get to the liquor.

  He hadn’t broken a horse—especially a horse as ornery as Thunder—in almost longer than he could remember. Evidently getting bucked off at thirty-five was a hell of a lot different than at twenty-five.

  His afternoon had been nothing but an internal battle, a fight between the part of him that wanted to believe he could still do whatever he wanted and the part of him that realized he wasn’t a kid anymore. The sane part was winning, which only pissed him off more.

  Hard for a man to admit he might be past his prime.

  A conversation Ethan had with Brad a few months back came slamming back into his thoughts. Brad had been teasing him one day after a night of rather excessive partying. Ethan had been pretty pitiful, nauseated and dealing with a headache that felt as though his brain was too big for his skull. Evidently, Brad saw great humor in Ethan’s misery, and he’d droned on and on about how Ethan might have finally reached the age where having a night of debauchery cost him too dearly.

  Since he’d been too queasy to do anything except lie on the office couch and take the lecture, Ethan had tried hard to ignore Brad. Seemed now that many of his friend’s points had taken root in his brain. And damn if those points weren’t making a lot of sense in light of Ethan’s current predicament.

  “Be kinder to yourself, Ethan,” Brad had said. “You’re not gonna live forever. Hell, keep up the way you are, and you’re not gonna see forty.”

  Chelsea had stuck around long enough to watch him finally ride Thunder, but then she’d driven away before they’d had a chance to talk much. That was probably a good thing, because she’d looked ready to scold him, and he hadn’t been up to hearing any more of what she thought about his tumble.

  The crunch of gravel alerted Ethan that someone was driving up to his house. Uncle Joe, no doubt. He’d found far too much humor in how stiff Ethan had gotten as the afternoon wore on. Not that Ethan would tell him, but the walk from the barn to the house had been utter agony.

  Once inside, he’d groaned like an old man, made his way to his recliner, and all but fallen into it. After finding just enough strength to flick up the leg rest, he’d somehow gotten his boots off and his feet up and hadn’t moved since. That was almost an hour ago.

  How was he going to be able to pull himself together, get a shower, and then drive to Chelsea’s so they could go out for that dinner he’d promised? Yet the idea of calling her and telling her how badly he hurt wounded his pri
de to the point he was almost able to get up.

  But not quite. At least not yet.

  A car door slammed. Someone was definitely here. Good thing he’d left the back door unlocked. Joe could just let himself in, which meant there’d be more teasing. At least the old man could pour Ethan a drink, so a visit wouldn’t be a total waste of time.

  Someone knocked.

  “Shit.” That meant that it wasn’t Joe, because he would’ve barged right in.

  The door opened with a squeak. “Ethan?”

  Chelsea. What was she doing back here?

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” He’d be damned if he’d let her see him looking like a crippled geriatric. Problem was that his body wouldn’t obey his commands as he tried to get up. A loud groan slipped out when the muscles in his lower back seized into a tight ball of agony.

  Footsteps hurried through the kitchen until she was standing next to his chair. “Oh, my God. Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” He settled back in the chair, wishing there was a heating pad or two or ten behind his sore body. “Just resting before we go out.”

  Her snort told him she didn’t buy it for a moment.

  “I am.”

  “Sure you are.” Turning on her heel, she headed right back to the kitchen.

  “You’re leaving? You just got here.”

  Another snort echoed back to this living room followed by the crinkly sound of sacks being unpacked. The refrigerator opened and closed a couple of times, as did the pantry door. When she came back, she carried a carton of Epsom salts and a large jar of Instant Heat. “I’m going to draw you a hot bath. You can soak for a bit while I work on our supper. Then we can eat, I’ll rub you down with this”—she held up the jar—“and then you can get a good night’s sleep.” As though she suddenly remembered something, she set the salts and ointment down and scrambled back to the kitchen. She returned with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen.

  At her insistence, he swallowed four tablets and handed her back the empty glass. His pride took a huge blow when he had to admit the truth. “I’m not sure I can get up.”