Last Second Chance

by Caisey Quinn

  “Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you, Mr. Walker,” Dr. Ramirez said as he lingered in the doorway.

  You can get the fuck out of my way. “Thank you. I appreciate everything you’ve done already.”

  With a nod, the man finally left.

  Van turned to Sid with what he knew was probably sheer panic spinning wild patterns in his eyes. “I have to go.”

  His manager scrubbed a hand over his bald head and sighed. “Anything I can say to change your mind?”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  Leaning back on the couch, Sid let his head fall as he closed his eyes. “That’s what I was afraid you’d say.”

  Van barely heard the last part. He was out the door and down the hall before the words were completely spoken.

  Speed walking like a madman, Van made his way around a group of nurses who giggled as he passed. There was an elevator, but he didn’t have time for that so he sprinted down a back stairwell and navigated the maze that led him out the front doors of the building. No one was manning the sign-out desk so he didn’t bother.

  Jogging out of the doors, he managed to hold off on breaking into a dead run until he was fairly certain no one could see him. The sun was setting quickly, and there was a light on in the stables.

  She was in there, probably telling Shadowdancer what a colossal dick Van was. Not that he’d disagree with her. The horse was probably nodding along and plotting to flatten his ass next time he got close enough.

  Slowing to a walk and catching his breath, Van approached the stables. Catching his breath had been pointless though. As soon as he saw her, she took his breath away, even more so than running had. Her back was to him, but the glow around her, the goodness and the emptiness that radiated from her, hit him just as hard as it did when she faced him head-on.

  Her hair had been tied back when he’d seen her earlier that day. But now it hung long and most of the way down her back. The silky chestnut locks were mostly straight with just a little rebellious curl at the ends. Snug-fitting jeans hugged her perfect ass and those long, slender legs. The tips of her cowgirl boots peeked out from underneath.

  She held a clipboard and seemed to be counting bags of feed. She knew he had joined her—he could tell by the way her shoulders had stiffened as the tension rolled across them. But she didn’t acknowledge him in any other way. She did, however, stop and love on Shadowdancer as she passed.

  They had a connection. He could see it. Even before she leaned forward and kissed the damn thing on its oversized head. Never in his life had he been so jealous. And it was of a damned animal of all things. Shadowdancer huffed out a loud breath, raised his eyes to Van’s, and—Van could’ve sworn—chucked his chin at him as if to say, “Find your own girl, asshole.”

  She loved that giant black beast. Clearly. Despite his moody and nearly abusive ways. A thought came unbidden into a dark corner of his mind. Could she ever love him that way? Unconditionally? Without judgment? With the capability of complete forgiveness for a lifetime of sins she’d be hard-pressed to even imagine?

  Only one person had ever loved him that way, and it had been more than even she’d been able to handle.

  He wanted to kick his own ass. They were so far from love that it was ridiculous to even think the word in her presence. He wasn’t sure he was even capable of it. Much less interested in finding it.

  Suddenly he had no idea why he’d been in such a rush to get down here. What could he say? I’m not actually engaged anymore, so let’s resume our plans to fuck and forget each other.

  What a pointless waste. And he was running out of energy for it all. It was the first time he’d ever thought about getting high in her presence. That hollow ache, that familiar acidic, internal corrosion that reminded him he’d never be good enough and would only taint someone as pure and beautiful as Stella Jo Chandler, began to consume him.

  He had no clue what the hell he’d ever been thinking. This woman deserved a fairytale, a Prince Charming who’d ride in on one of these fucking four-legged creatures and sweep her off into a happily ever after. That wasn’t him. Could never he him.

  He released an imprisoned breath. In a way, letting the fantasy of her go was a relief. He never could’ve lived up to what she’d expect or deserve. Well…maybe when it came to making her scream as he gave her orgasm after orgasm, he could have. Other than that, no fucking way.

  But as she turned to the side and gifted him a glance at her profile, he couldn’t help but see how sad she looked. He noticed how the rounded swells of her breasts peeked at him from above the deep neckline of her white tank top also, but surprisingly, that wasn’t what caught his attention. Not entirely, anyways. It was the way her mouth was drawn downward, the way she chewed her bottom lip, almost like she was worried. And when she finally turned to face him, that light in her eyes—the one he usually credited himself for—was gone.

  “I’m pretty much done for the night,” she said softly, avoiding his direct gaze. “I don’t really need you.”

  The fuck she didn’t. Maybe she didn’t need him to help take inventory of supplies and shit, but this woman needed him. He wasn’t even sure in what way exactly. When her searching stare finally landed directly on him, he didn’t care if all she ever needed from him was raging orgasms. He’d give them to her—gladly. For as long as she’d let him.

  “Stella Jo, listen, I—”

  Her hand up stopped him mid-sentence. “I’m kind of tired, Van. It’s been an exhausting day. Thanks for coming down, but as you can see, everything’s already taken care of. Excuse me.”

  Bullshit. She hadn’t been taken care of. Watching her force her shoulders back and her chin up, he suspected she’d never really been taken care of. By anyone. Likely she was the type that always took care of herself.

  He’d never taken care of anyone before. He’d always been more the selfish type that remained oblivious to what other people needed. Look out for number one and all that. Because with the exception of Val, most everyone else seemed to be out for themselves. But he damn sure wanted to take care of this woman. In every way imaginable.

  Remembering how she usually backed off when Shadowdancer got riled up—and the near disaster from the one time she hadn’t—Van decided to give her some space. Like that day with the nurse, she’d jumped to a conclusion that had pissed her off. Granted, Vanessa had probably shouted her lies from the fucking rooftop, so it was a natural conclusion to jump to. And while he hated hurting her, in a warped sort of way, it made his dick brutally hard that she was jealous. It also provoked a strange tightness in his chest, but he was ignoring that for the most part.

  “What about you, Stella Jo? Are you taken care of?”

  She raised an eyebrow as she passed him but exited the barn without a word.

  Following her out of the stables, he kept a step behind as he walked her to her door. Like the overly obsessed creeper he was quickly becoming.

  “Hey,” he said as she opened her door. “For the record, I’m not engaged.” He shrugged when she said nothing, and just stared at him impassively as if she couldn’t give two shits if he was engaged or not.

  “Your personal life is none of my business.”

  His hand struck out and caught the edge of her door before she could close it. “Okay. But I’m not and I haven’t been for a long time. I wanted you to know—whether you actually give a damn or not is up to you.”

  “Okay,” she said quietly. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Stella Jo.”

  He let go of the door and she closed it in his face with a gentle click.

  She was mad. Or hurt. Or both. And quite possibly, she was done with him and their little flirtation altogether.

  But her words from a few nights ago haunted him.

  “But now, after…after that… If we don’t, if you never so much as touch me again, I’m afraid I’ll lose my mind.”

  Then that would make two of them.

  Stella
Jo was functioning on autopilot.

  It was her fourth twelve-hour shift in a row, and she was running out of steam. After tossing and turning all night, picturing Van Ransom and Rock Star Barbie together, she’d barely gotten a few hours of sleep. And even then, he’d invaded her dreams.

  For the past few hours, she’d preserved the miniscule amount of energy she possessed by performing her job-related tasks without talking or smiling or maintaining her usual forced demeanor. She was communicating like a cavewoman, primarily with head nods.

  She took another stack of files from Dr. McLendon and handed over the ones she’d completed transcribing.

  “Feeling okay, Miss Chandler?” the blonde asked before Stella walked away.

  “Stella, please.” Irritated that she’d let her Van Ransom-induced exhaustion show, she painted on the widest smile she could. “Oh, yes. Just a little preoccupied is all. Lots to do before the weekend.”

  The therapist sighed. “Tell me about it.” She offered Stella a sympathetic smile, and Stella noticed that the woman looked a little sad. Maybe that smile was more empathetic than sympathetic.

  “You okay, Miranda?”

  Quickly brightening in a way Stella suspected was forced, she nodded. “Yeah, it’s just… You know. When you live where you work, sometimes it’s like you’re always carrying it around. The stress, the pressure, the never-ending to-do list.”

  Stella agreed wholeheartedly. “You live on-site also? I’m in the Homestead cabin, near the stables. I help out with the horses.”

  It was the most words she’d spoken all day. The woman had the kind of eyes that made Stella feel comfortable sharing. Which wasn’t really something she did with anyone. Well anyone without four legs and a tail.

  “I’m in the Wild Catter, whatever the hell that is.”

  Both women chuckled. But as soon as he entered the room, Stella felt her muscles tighten, felt the tension pulling her hard enough to cause physical pain.

  “Be right with you, Mr. Walker,” the doctor called over her shoulder.

  “I should let you get back to work. Nice chatting with you.” Stella pushed the constricting lump down her throat and nodded her goodbye.

  “Hey, you want to grab a drink sometime in the near future? Away from this place?” Miranda inquired too low for anyone else to hear.

  Stella nodded. “Yeah, that sounds great actually.”

  “Thank God. I don’t know how many more bottles of Merlot I can polish off alone before I have to check myself in.”

  Surprisingly, Stella grinned for real this time. She had a feeling she and Miranda McLendon had a lot in common. She’d seen the attractive woman sitting alone at lunch and wondered what her story was. Looked like she was going to find out. And make a friend. Though the last friend she’d had ended up in bed with her ex-boyfriend.

  She did her best to keep her eyes off of Van’s face as she moved toward him on her way out of the office.

  Apparently he didn’t approve of being ignored. A warm hand encircled her wrist as she passed.

  “You have dark circles under you eyes, cowgirl.” His observation was quiet but his voice was laced with inexplicable anger. “I can’t help but think they have something to do with me.”

  Jerking her hand from his grasp, she whispered angrily right back at him. “That’s because you’re exceptionally arrogant and self-centered. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Walker.”

  Her body heated as she stalked angrily away from him. She prayed it was just his gaze on her and that her one chance at female friendship hadn’t just witnessed that inappropriate encounter.

  By the time the weekend finally arrived, Stella was still struggling to sleep peacefully for an entire night. She’d given in and dove headfirst into the murky waters of the Internet to look up Vanessa Reeves online. Sure enough, several pictures of her and Van surfaced quickly.

  Front Man Proposes to High School Sweetheart On Stage was the only headline she read before she closed the screen and stopped herself from falling any further into her personal pit of pathetic.

  “Christ, you look like hell.” Jesse Ramirez wore pure concern on his handsome face when she walked into the stables.

  “People sure are honest around here,” she noted.

  Jesse shook his head and shooed her out of the barn. “Go. Take a long bath. Get some rest.”

  Unable to arouse the enthusiasm needed to make a decent argument, she thanked him and made her way back to her cabin. But even after a long, hot bath, she didn’t feel tired. She felt…restless.

  She’d chatted with Miranda a few more times in passing at work. It was Friday night, about time she took the woman up on her offer to go out for drinks. She wanted to get as far from SCR as she could, give herself some space and time to get past what Van had probably already forgotten.

  After she’d texted Miranda and made plans, she put on a short, black lace dress that hugged her just enough to give her a little of her sexy back. She let her hair air dry, tired of constantly straightening it for work. The tousled look fit her restless mood better anyway. After a quick attempt at a smoky eye and some mascara, she intentionally skipped applying lipgloss, knowing she’d just smear it off on the glasses of wine she planned to consume. After sliding on a black leather jacket, she stepped into her black stilettos. Strangely, they were much more comfortable when she knew she was heading out for a night of female bonding instead of off to work.

  “Well, damn. Now I feel frumpy,” Miranda said as Stella walked out her front door. “Are we going to drink and hang out or are we trying to get laid? You have to clarify these things up front so I can dress appropriately.”

  Stella laughed as she locked her door. “Let’s see where the night takes us. You were right about living where you work. I need a night out. Badly.”

  Despite her comment, Stella noticed that the other woman looked gorgeous. She was one of those naturally fresh-faced women who didn’t need much of anything to be stunning. A burgundy, blousy belted shirt and some skinny jeans made her look like a runway model.

  “You, my friend, are anything but frumpy,” she told her as they got into the doctor’s car.

  Surprisingly, the Roadhouse Bar & Grille wasn’t far from SCR. After a drive in which they mostly discussed their respective musical preferences, they arrived in a gravel parking lot.

  “I think we’re both overdressed,” Stella said as they climbed concrete cinderblock steps to the bar’s entrance.

  “Eh. You’ll see.” Miranda held the door, her bright blue eyes shining in the neon lights on the front.

  Stepping inside, Stella saw a packed bar, a few booths, some scattered tables, and several men playing pool. It had kind of a laid-back vibe but a couple clusters of women were dressed to the nines as if they expected to meet their future husbands here. Some were more casual, like Miranda. While a handful had on jeans and tank tops—similar to what Stella wore to take care of the horses. She even spotted a few wearing boots and plaid like most of the men.

  “This place is a meat market,” Miranda informed her with an eye roll. “But they have the best barbecue nachos in the universe. And a decent wine list.”

  Stella wasn’t entirely sure what a meat market was, though asking seemed like an obnoxiously naïve move so she didn’t. But as they polished off a mile-high pile of nachos and a bottle of Chianti, she began to figure it out.

  People came here mostly to hook up. The later it got, the more people began pairing off. One particular couple, a raven-haired woman in a business suit and a tatted- up cowboy who was buff enough to be one of those cage fighter guys, caught her attention and sent a painful thrumming through her head. The woman had a hand firmly on his ass as they exited the bar.

  Apparently opposites did attract. She couldn’t deny that. She’d experienced it for herself. Was still experiencing it, if she were being honest with herself.

  “So are we going to talk about you and the infamous Mr. Walker or…” The blonde grinned at her from across
their back-corner table.

  “Oh God.” Stella rubbed her forehead and tried not to die of humiliation. “Caught that, did you?” She grimaced at her companion’s amused expression.

  “Well, I have eyes, you know.” Leaning in closer, Miranda sipped her wine. “Look, I’m not judging. And obviously I can’t really say much about him other than be careful.”

  Stella sipped her own wine—drained the rest of the glass, actually—and nodded. Glancing around to make sure no one else from work was there, she paused to choose her words carefully. Miranda seemed nice enough, but in Stella’s previous experience, trusting people hadn’t always turned out so well.

  “We haven’t… I mean, it’s not like we’ve actually done what it probably seems like we have.” Shit. Now she just sounded stupid. Like a teenage girl denying high school rumors. She sighed. “We aren’t sleeping together. It never got that far. There’s something about him, though… Something that scrambles my brain and throws me completely off balance. But I don’t want to lose my job, you know?”

  The woman nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to accost you or anything. It’s truly none of my business.”

  “No,” Stella said, shaking her head. “I didn’t think you were accosting me. Honestly, if you know a way to shut down your hormones and ignore an extremely enticing man with the intensity of a herd of raging bulls, I’d love to hear it.”

  A male voice with a deep Southern twang interrupted their conversation. “Ladies, can I get you a refill?”

  Stella looked up at the tall stranger in tight jeans and a cowboy hat.

  “We’re good, handsome. But thanks. Enjoy your evening,” Miranda said with a wink, giving him the most polite brush-off Stella had ever heard.

  The stranger tipped his hat and continued on his way to the bar.

  “That was pretty smooth,” Stella said with admiration. She’d never been able to handle situations like that very well. Typically she stammered and stuttered until the guy either got bored and walked away or forced a drink she didn’t want into her hand.

  “Yeah, well. I’m a therapist. You give a compliment with the rejection and it doesn’t sting as much.”