by Tessa Layne
“Buy the next round?” Gunnar slid onto the stool next to him and threw a twenty onto the well-worn wood.
Ben lifted a shoulder. “Thanks.”
The bartender placed two pints in front of them, and Gunnar took one, raising it. “Sorry things didn’t work out between you and Hope. You two seemed like the real deal.”
How in the hell was he supposed to respond to that? He couldn’t. So he took a sip and studied a crack in the wood.
“I can tell you’re upset about it. If it’s any consolation, Hope’s a wreck.”
Great. “Make your point, Gunn.”
Gunnar studied him thoughtfully and took another sip of beer. “Look. Hope’s been pretty tightlipped about whatever passed between you, but it’s been a few weeks. Have you tried to talk it out?”
Ben tightened his mouth grimly and gave his head a single shake. “No point. I’ve seen up close what betrayal does to relationships.”
A muscle in Gunnar’s cheek twitched. “Are you comparing my sister to the sorry sonofabitch that was your father?” His hand tightened around his glass. “Be very careful how you answer that, Sinclaire.”
Ben couldn’t blame Gunnar and Axel for circling the wagons around their sister. Hell, if it was his sister, Emma, he’d do the same thing. But Hope had committed the unforgivable, and he knew all too well from experience that small transgressions always led to bigger ones, that lies only led to more lies, and the only foundation betrayal built was disaster and heartbreak. Better to be broken now, before legal entanglements and children. Even if it hurt like hell.
Gunnar drained his pint and set it on the bar with a thunk. “Of all the Sinclaires, I always liked you best. Know why? You’ve always been the peacemaker. The reasonable one. The only one willing to look at a problem by standing in someone else’s shoes. And if Hope loves you… you must be halfway decent.” He signaled the bartender for another. “I’m not one for getting up in other people’s business–”
“Then maybe you’d best butt out.”
Gunnar scowled. “Fair enough. I won’t say any more.” He raised a finger. “Except this. If you’re the kind of man that throws in the towel at the first sign of trouble, then you’re not the man for my sister. She at least deserves to be heard before being dropkicked to the curb.”
That chapped him. He hadn’t dropkicked anyone. Had he? He was the one who was wronged. “Now hold on just a sec–”
Gunnar shook his head firmly. “Nope. I’ve said my piece.” He threw another bill on the counter. “Good luck finding a woman who can measure up to your exacting standards.”
He shouldn’t have come. He should have begged off. Finishing off his pint, he pushed back from the bar and took Brodie aside. “I’m going back to the hotel.”
Brodie’s smile faltered a fraction. “You okay?”
Ben shook his head. “Nope. And I’ve been a wet blanket all afternoon. I’m sorry. You deserve better.”
Brodie shrugged, a playful light entering his eye. “I’ll collect double later. You need a ride back to the hotel?”
“Nah. I’ll walk. It’s only a few blocks.”
“Well be careful. It’s looking like things are starting to glaze up outside.”
“You too.” Ben jammed his Stetson down further on his head, flipped up the collar of his Carhartt and stepped outside. The wind whipped around him, driving an icy blast into his face. Ice glistened along the empty tree branches up and down Poyntz Avenue, reflecting the light from the overhead lamps and Christmas lights, giving the street an otherworldly feel. At least the sidewalks and roads had been treated.
“Icepocalypse my ass.” They’d made the right call driving up to Manhattan today. Once again, the weathermen had overhyped a little rain and ice.
Ben hurried the handful of blocks to the hotel, head ducked into the wind. As he drew near to the hotel, a horse-drawn carriage passed him, and a couple, snuggled under a blanket, lifted their travel mugs with a “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” he raised his hand in response. Of course, the hotel was right across the street from Manhattan’s municipal Christmas display. He’d been so focused on helping with wedding preparations and helping Blake with the ranch that Christmas wasn’t on his radar. It should have been. Just the other night, Brodie and Jamey had invited everyone to the lodge to decorate the cedar they’d chopped down. Blake had promised Maddie he’d do the same for the Big House as soon as the weekend was over. Call him Scrooge, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Christmas this year.
In spite of the icy wind, he stopped to admire the lights. Maybe what he needed was a little Christmas spirit. The Christmas tree loomed large over the plaza, casting icy sparkles into the night sky. In spite of the conditions, he wasn’t the only person out. Couples and families clustered together, some with mugs of hot coffee or chocolate. Carriages lined up along the street, waiting to take lovers on a romantic ride, and the tinny sounds of Christmas carols echoed across the space. It was a sight… meant to be enjoyed with a lover. The little spark of light that had briefly flared inside him sputtered out. A gust of icy wind and rain swirled across the plaza.
If Hope had been here with him, they’d be huddled together laughing at the sound quality of the Christmas carols. Sharing a hot drink. Muttering under their breaths at the poor horses being forced to stand in the icy elements. The thought of holding her close, of laughing with her, sharing a secret smile, warmed him for the first time in days.
What was she doing right now? Was she with Maddie and Jamey? Or was she in her gaudy pink princess bedroom learning more about natural horse training? God forbid, was she shivering in the tree house?
Was it even icing there? Prairie was over an hour south of Manhattan. Depending on where the ice/rain line was, they could be entirely missed. He tucked his hand inside his coat and reached for his phone. It hadn’t been a conscious action on his part, but a natural movement as a result of thinking of Hope. And now the phone burned like an ember in his palm. God, he’d love to hear the sound of her voice, breathless with anticipation. The husky laugh that melted his insides. The way he could tell she was smiling – just from the tone of her voice.
Ben pulled up her contact information, and her bright eyes popped up on the screen, a beacon in the dark. His pulse jumped as he studied her picture, and his thumb twitched, hovering over the call icon. The world dropped away – for how long, he wasn’t sure. But he stood there, heart pounding in the icy rain until he was nearly bowled over by a particularly strong blast. The storm had picked up. He scanned the plaza and realized he was the only one left.
What was he doing? He jammed the phone in his pocket and turned, nearly falling on his ass. Shit, it had gotten slippery fast. Standing in the ice, teeth chattering, and contemplating calling Hope was idiocy. He could at least screw up the courage to call her from the warmth of his hotel room.
Very carefully making his way across the ice-covered pavement, he breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped onto the street. At least the de-icing treatment on the streets was holding. Although, if the ice kept up overnight, things would be slicker than snail snot in the morning. At least there was room service at the hotel if they had to hole up.
Ben pulled out the key card and let himself into the suite. After hanging up his wet clothes, he turned on the fireplace, grabbed a beer and sat down on the couch, absently flipping through cable channels. The local weather caught his eye and he paused surfing for a minute. The radar showed a large swath of pink that stretched from Wichita to the Nebraska state line.
Damn.
They were in the process of getting pounded. Good thing Blake had moved the horses over to the Hansens’. Maddie didn’t need to be out in this weather in her condition. He glanced at the phone to his side, thumb itching to call Hope.
Just do it.
What would he say?
Hi. I love you. I’m still pissed. And hurt. But I’ll listen.
Wasn’t that caving? Turning a blind
eye to her omission?
She hadn’t blatantly lied, but she’d led him on. Let him assume things. Hadn’t she? He felt betrayed at the most fundamental level. But Goddamn, he missed her with an intensity that shredded his insides. He leaned his head back and shut his eyes, letting the two sides of his feelings battle it out.
He was startled awake by the phone buzzing. Without checking, he instinctively answered. “Hope?”
A nervous laugh greeted him. “Ah, no… not Hope.” He recognized the voice of a very nervous Maddie. “Maddie?”
“Do you know where Blake is? I can’t reach him.” Her voice rose anxiously, borderline hysterical.
Now he was wide awake. He sat up, fingers tightening on the phone. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
“I need to reach Blake, Ben. My water just broke.”
CHAPTER 26
Hope fumbled for the phone. “Hello?” she mumbled, eyes still shut. Someone had called three times. So much for trying to sleep.
“Oh thank God you answered.” Maddie’s relieved voice came through the phone.
Hope sat bolt upright, wide awake. “What time is it? What’s going on?”
A gust of wind slammed against the dormer window, and with it, a clattering of ice. Storm was here and it sounded like a good one. When Hope had gone to bed, there had only been a light glaze of freezing drizzle.
“My water broke.”
“Holy shit. Isn’t it too soon?”
“A few weeks. I’m technically thirty-seven weeks, but everyone said first babies are late.”
Hope could tell Maddie was doing her damnedest not to panic. But she could sense the fear in her cousin’s voice. “Have you talked to Blake? To the midwife?”
“Yes to the midwife, but I can’t reach Blake. I talked to Ben though, and he said to call you. He said you’ve attended lots of foalings.”
She warmed at hearing Ben had instructed Maddie to call her. Maybe that meant he wasn’t through with her entirely? “Okay, but there’s a huge difference between horses giving birth and humans. What did the midwife say?”
“To hang tight and call her if I have contractions.”
“Are you?”
“Having contractions?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“No. But I’m scared, Hope. Can you and Martha come over?”
“Of course.” She answered without hesitation. Then she peeked out the dormer window. Ice on the branches reflected the porch light. She squinted, trying to see beyond the pale glow of the lamp. A gust of wind shook the tree, setting the branches bobbing. It was hard to tell how much ice had built up, but there was definitely more than a glaze now. “I’ll go wake up mom. We’ll be over as soon as we can.”
Hope tiptoed down the hall and into her parents’ bedroom. “Mom,” she whispered loudly. Giving her mom a shake, she leaned close. Martha’s eyes flew open. “It’s Maddie. Her water broke, she needs us.”
Rubbing her eyes, Martha nodded and flung her legs over the side of the bed. “Of course. I can be ready shortly.”
“Ma? It looks very icy out.”
Martha stood and approached the window, peering out. When she turned back around, her mouth was set grimly. “We’re not going to leave the poor thing by herself. We’ll just have to bundle up. I’ll go put on the coffee.” Martha slipped into a robe and hurried to the stairs.
Hope sped back to her room and quickly dressed herself, pulling on her favorite wool sweater and socks. Reaching into her tiny closet, she fumbled among the boots until she found her heavy-duty rubber Hunters. She would need as much traction as possible in the ice. Wrapping a scarf around her neck and grabbing her leather work gloves, she bounded down the stairs to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee.
A few minutes later, Martha joined her, stopping first to peer out the back door. When she turned to Hope, her face was lined with worry. “Thermometer says twenty-eight, and the rain’s still coming down hard.”
“Maybe the weathermen were right for once.”
“That’s not going to help Maddie any, with all the men up in Manhattan.”
“Let’s get going then.” Hope took a last gulp of coffee before laying the mug in the sink and reaching for her heavy coat.
“There’s de-ice on the back porch and sand in the back of Gunn’s truck,” Martha said over her shoulder as she grabbed a coat from the closet.
Hope opened the back door to be greeted by an icy blast. Pushing open the screen, she slid reaching for the scoop in the bucket of de-ice. It would take a few minutes to work, but at least it would get them safely to the truck. Worry began to fester as she examined the railing along the back stairs. There was easily a quarter inch of ice already.
“Ma?”
Her mother appeared in the doorway.
“Did Gunn cover any of the trucks with a tarp?”
Martha frowned. “That bad?”
Hope nodded.
“Let’s take a look. If he didn’t, maybe we can pry the door open.”
It was slow going, but in a minute, they had reached Gunnar’s truck. Hope gasped in dismay. The truck was shellacked. There was no way they could chip through the ice. Not without damaging the door.
Martha tugged on Hope’s elbow. “Let’s get back inside.”
Together they shuffled back to the porch, shoulders hunched against the onslaught of wind and ice. When they were safely inside, Hope turned to her mother, panic rising. “Ma, what are we going to do? Maddie’s stuck over there. Jamey can cook, but I don’t think she’s ever delivered a baby in the kitchen.”
Martha gave her a wan smile. “No one knows when the baby’s coming, sweetheart. Just because Maddie’s water broke, doesn’t mean she’s started labor.” The corners of her mouth drew in. “Buttercup hasn’t been shoed, has she?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“It would be slow going, and you’d have to be very careful, but a surefooted, shoeless horse would have half a chance.”
Adrenaline rushed through Hope, setting her heart slamming. “But I’ve only ridden Buttercup out of the pen once.” The contest was only a few days away, but the arena was a controlled environment. Loud, yes, but more or less predictable. A far cry from riding out into an ice storm.
Martha refilled her cup. “I’ll check with Eddie to see if we have another reliable horse in the barn. You’ll get there faster, and a horse may have better purchase on the hills than a human. Especially with the way it’s storming outside.”
Heading out into the storm with a green horse was insane. Sheer stupidity. But what other choice did they have? Her mom was right. In the best conditions, a walk to the Big House took a good forty-five minutes. In good weather. But the thought of Maddie possibly delivering a baby all alone in the Big House was unacceptable.
They would have to take their chances. “Okay. Let me get my helmet.” Hope sped out of the kitchen and took the stairs up to her room two by two. She grabbed her helmet, strapping it on as she hurried back downstairs.
Martha gave her a quick hug. “I’ll go wake your dad. If there’s another horse I can take, I’ll catch up to you.”
Hope threw on her coat again and stepped back out into the storm. Bending, she hoisted a fifty pound bag of de-ice onto her shoulder. Flipping open her little penknife, she slashed a hole in the bag, covering the opening with her hand. Pocketing the knife, she stepped down the now melted stairs and began to scatter the pellets in front of her. It was slow going and treacherous. She nearly lost her balance at least a half-dozen times. The bag was empty by the time she reached the big barn doors.
Thank goodness Eddie had insisted on stabling Buttercup. Her brothers might brush off weather warnings, but her father always erred on the side of caution. Hope had been worried that Buttercup would act up, but Eddie had put her in the foaling stall and laid down extra hay.
The warm scent of hay and manure greeted her as she pulled the door shut behind her, momentarily calming her anxiety. She walked down the aisle, flipped t
he light on inside the tack room and reached inside her coat to shoot off a quick text to Maddie.
Trucks shellacked. Going to try and ride Buttercup over.
Her phone buzzed a moment later. Be careful!
Hope pocketed the phone and grabbed tack for Buttercup. Soon they were ready. Hope gave the horse a final nuzzle.
“Okay, Buttercup. Maddie needs us. I need you to be brave. Can you do that girl?” She scratched Buttercup’s cheeks and briefly shut her eyes, offering up a silent invocation. Turning, she led Buttercup down the aisle, and pushed open the door. An icy blast swirled around them. Buttercup momentarily tensed but didn’t refuse to walk outside. After Hope had ensured the door was completely closed, she mounted up and turned Buttercup toward the river.
If anything, during the time she was in the barn, the storm had intensified. Ice was quickly collecting on Buttercup’s pale mane, though Hope brushed it off as best she could. Why, oh why, had the men ignored the warnings?
She knew why. The last three winters had been very mild. And on several occasions the weathermen had hyped storms, predicting huge amounts of snow, ice, or tornadoes, only to have the storms fizzle out or move in a different direction.
Not this time.
This time, they’d been right. But they’d cried wolf too many times. How many others across the area had been caught unawares? Was it this bad in Manhattan? Sometimes a few miles one direction or another made a difference in a storm. Especially when ice was involved. It might be snowing in Manhattan.
As they neared Steele Creek, Hope’s thoughts turned to Ben. Would he be as disappointed in her as her parents had been? As her brothers? Yes. Maybe even more. She needed to tell him the full story. She owed him that much. It wouldn’t change his opinion of her, but maybe in time they could become cordial again. Her stomach still turned to stone at the thought of seeing Ben, but never again feeling his strong arms around her. Never feeling his mouth move across her skin. And God help her, never feeling him deep inside her, bringing her to the edge of sanity before pushing her over into oblivion and ecstasy. A little sob escaped her and was carried away by the wind.
