by Karen Rock
What was his secret?
Her boots crunched on a pebbled road somewhere on Cade Ranch. The scent of manure signaled they passed a pasture, an unoccupied one given the relative silence.
“You can see some,” Jared’s deep voice rumbled beside her ear. Instantly, her pulse ratcheted up several notches. “I want to surprise you.”
“I hate surprises.” Her palm slid on Petey’s halter handle. He’d been training hard, Jared reported, and would most likely pass his certification test next week. Amberley didn’t doubt it. The rambunctious dog calmed instantly at Jared’s signal and now walked sedately ahead of her. His wagging tail brushed her bare knees as he guided her down the lane. It surprised her how easily she’d put her trust in Petey.
Could she do the same with Jared and his crazy scheme to return her to competitive barrel racing?
“You’ll love this surprise.” His calloused fingers mingled with hers and tightened.
Her heart leaped into a gallop. Let go, she warned herself, then released his hand and drew off her hat. The warm late-afternoon sunlight warmed her face. A balmy breeze rushed through her unbound hair. “You said that before you tried making me bungee jump.”
“It’s still on our bucket list.”
Long ago, they’d listed everything they wanted to do together before they died. It’d never occurred to them that they wouldn’t be friends forever...until one kiss changed everything. Now she didn’t know what to call their status.
Was there an emoticon for friends with momentary lapses in romantic judgment? Maybe a fallen Cupid clutching his spinning head?
“It’s our last entry for a reason—possible death. Plus, I can’t do half that stuff anymore.”
At Jared’s snort, her drooping head lifted. “Yes, you can, and I’d never let anything happen to you. Ever.”
The taut muscle of his bicep brushed against her bare shoulder, raising goose bumps. She wore a pink lace-edged tank top today—a birthday gift from a friend. She’d thought it way too girlie for her taste, but when Jared called to make plans, it’d seemed like exactly what she wanted to wear.
Which didn’t bear much examining...along with her mixed-up feelings for Jared.
She loved him, had always loved him, but was she in love with him now?
A groan swelled in her throat, and she swallowed it back. No girl should entrust her heart to a lady-killer like Jared. Besides, she needed him in her life long term. Now, more than ever. It’d be the dumbest mistake in the world to get involved with him.
They passed the next few moments in silence, then Jared said, “Hold.”
Petey stopped. She knelt on one knee, cupped his furry head and stroked his wiry hair. Large paws landed on her shoulders, and Petey’s sandpaper tongue rasped over her fingers and face, his tail slashing the ground like a whip.
“Down,” Jared commanded, and the obedient dog flopped to the ground and let loose a sigh so human it made her laugh.
“You little sweetheart,” she said with a chuckle. “Such a good boy.”
If Jared didn’t work out, she’d always have Petey, she thought, mouth twisting sideways. He lent her confidence in navigating the world. Freedom. Independence. Her lungs expanded in a deep breath.
The air smelled of wild irises. She could practically feel the scent float into her nose, her lungs, her blood. Her veins would smell of purple. Funny how her other heightened senses had rushed to fill the void left by her sight. She could identify flowers by scent, horses by their gait, women by their perfume... As for Jared, well, she had a special sense for him. She seemed to know, intuitively, whenever he was close.
And then she heard it.
A high-pitched whinny cracked in the humid air.
Her eyes flew open. “Harley!”
A blur of black and silver rushed to what must be a gate.
“Easy there, boy,” Jared called, pitching his voice low and firm.
A moment later, the metallic latch clicked open and Petey led her through the opening. A carpet of greenish-brown appeared beneath her feet. The burnt-straw smell of dead grass reached her nose. She peered all around and made out the faint horizontal white of what must be a fence encircling a large space.
Her stride faltered, then stopped. “Where...?”
“Let me show you.” Jared’s voice sharpened with urgency.
Her lips hooked up in the corners as she pictured his kid-on-Christmas-Day expression, all bright eyes and flashing teeth, the mental image making her feel ridiculously warm and tingly. Funny how, despite her inability to “see” him, her mind, her heart, kept Jared in sharp focus, deftly recalling images like now. In some ways, she saw him clearer than ever.
He nearly dragged her off her feet to a bright yellow object, about five feet high. Round.
Her fingers slid over the hard, metallic surface.
“A barrel?” she gasped.
“Yep. Three of them. They’re in the WPRA pattern using standard spacing.”
“You made me a practice rink?” Her heart dropped and rose inside her like a buoy. “And trucked Harley over?”
“One hundred and thirty by two hundred foot,” he pronounced, each word swelling with clear pride. “Professional. I did it for you and Harley.”
“Jared...” She didn’t know whether to smile, laugh, nod or cry and dance. “That is the kindest, the sweetest...”
His scoffing noise interrupted her. “Aw. Don’t get all sentimental, Amberley. This is about winning. One of us needs to start doing it again.”
“Winning, huh?”
Her elation popped and withered. She’d never be a winner again.
The tips of his boots nudged hers and his cowboy hat brim brushed the top of her head. “And it’s about friends.”
“Okay,” she said, a breathless catch in her voice, her stomach jumping. She’d told him to stop flirting, but lately she’d stopped objecting as much. What did she want from Jared? From them?
A heavy silky neck dropped over her shoulder, a long head nudging between them.
“Hey, boy.” She hugged Harley and tried ignoring the worry that’d slipped into her stomach. Walking him around a small rink posed little risk, but a real barrel racing course? What if Harley took off on her? What if she steered him into a barrel? Or a fence? What if...
“Let’s get you up on Harley and give this a go.”
She set her jaw and swung herself into the saddle. Jared led her back the way they’d come, toward the open gate.
“This here’s your score line. I spray painted it.”
She peered down at a waving streak of fluorescent orange as she turned Harley back around. “I see it.”
“Good. So now look at the barrels.”
She squinted into the field, and for a moment she heard it, the sound that haunted her dreams. Cheering crowds. Hooves pounding, thunderous hooves, just as fast as her heartbeat and a win, a championship, a spot on the ERA Premier touring team in her grasp, burning like a brand on her heart. Amberley shook her head and the sound stopped. Her breath whooshed out of her, and she shoved the memory down so deep it couldn’t hurt her anymore.
Those days were done.
She was crazy for even trying this. Honest to goodness, she didn’t know if her heart could take another failure.
Her head dropped to her hand. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can,” Jared’s voice urged, static-filled. Close.
Where?
Her groping fingers landed on a walkie-talkie affixed to the side of her saddle horn.
“I can’t,” she whispered into it.
“Prove yourself wrong.”
She peered in Jared’s direction. A black-and-white blur clung to his side. Petey. Jared had trained the abandoned stray to become the ranch’s top herder and now a guide dog. He could train anyone. Did he see
her as just his latest project?
Or more?
And did she even want it to be more...?
“I don’t have to prove anything.”
“Then prove to me you’re a quitter, because I don’t believe it. I don’t believe that about you,” Jared declared. Staunch. Always her loyal defender.
“What if it’s true?” She was sweating, and felt dizzy, nauseated, too small and too large all at once.
“It’s not. Please don’t make me beg, or do my Elvis impersonation—whichever annoys you the most.”
Despite everything, a smile crept across her face. “Definitely Elvis.”
He crooned a classic tune over the walkie-talkie, making Harley sidestep and nicker. And just like that a bubble of laughter escaped her, their age-old pre-competition ritual of tough love and slapstick working its usual magic.
She clamped hands over her ears. “Please make it stop!”
“Some people don’t appreciate good music,” he huffed, sounding so goofy that her chuckle turned into a full-on belly laugh.
Jared scrupulously maintained his reputation as the local legend and heartthrob, dressing and acting the part in public. Those who knew him best, his family and her, however, saw his silly, sometimes flat-out weird side, which made her special...a friend, sure, but maybe, just maybe they were becoming more than that.
Did she dare slide a toe over the line they’d been dancing on these past couple of weeks?
“All set?”
“You bet,” she said, realizing her readiness in that instant.
“Close your eyes and picture those barrels just like we did those balls at the pool hall. Your first one’s sixty feet starting at a forty-five-degree angle to your right. The distance between the first and second barrel is ninety feet, and the distance from the second barrel to the third barrel is one hundred and five feet. Got it?”
She nodded, unable to speak, as she struggled to see those barrels in her mind’s eye. After hundreds and hundreds of runs around them, she’d sometimes thought she could ride a course blind. Not that she’d ever been dumb enough to try it.
Until now.
Lord help her.
“Start with walking Harley through the course.”
She nodded, resolved, and tapped the top of her black Stetson for good luck.
Daddy. If you’re watching. Uh... Please don’t.
She squeezed her legs, and Harley moved forward a mite too quick. Tension flowed up the reins.
Keeping her hands light, but firm, she held him in check as she squinted for the first barrel. Sixty feet had never seemed so far before at this snail’s pace.
“Coming in on it now, but you’re crowding, ease off,” Jared advised through the walkie-talkie.
A yellow blob emerged from the dim. Amberley felt each of her heartbeats hammering in her veins as she pulled Harley’s head slightly to the left, away from the barrel. Dismay rocked through her when he dropped his shoulder right into the metal container, knocking it slightly.
She bit her lip, wincing for Harley, who, unable to see with his head pulled sideways, trotted too far. A groan escaped her. She’d just made one of the worst rookie mistakes. A thick knot filled her aching throat.
“Turn him around. The barrel’s right there,” Jared said, his voice steely, full up of no-back-down.
It prodded up her chin.
Right. Jared dared her to prove herself a quitter because he predicted she wouldn’t. No one knew her better than Jared, even herself.
She guided Harley around the barrel, then rose in the saddle, giving him his head several paces later. In an instant, he took the bit and kicked into a trot that rapidly carried them across the empty space toward the second barrel.
His silver mane flew behind his lifted head, his pace, his bearing oozing confidence. Excitement. He knew this course as well as she did. Centering herself in the saddle, she counted his strides and prepared herself for the second barrel.
“Almost on it,” she heard Jared say, “Rate Harley!”
Without warning, yellow burst before her, quicker than she’d expected. Alarmed, she tried gathering Harley, but he strode a length too far, their rhythm out of sync. When he caught sight of the fence, he balked, then jerked to a stop so abruptly her teeth bit her tongue.
She leaned down and stroked his quivering neck. “It’s okay, Harley,” she murmured over the thumping, the banging of her heart. “It’s okay.”
What a miserable mess. A failure.
“You quitting?” Jared’s holler was so loud she could hear it through the walkie-talkie and in the clear, warm air.
“Nope.”
“That’s my girl.”
Locking her jaw, she brought Harley around.
“Barrel’s a hand’s length away as you go past,” Jared said. “Position him for the last one, now.”
She closed her eyes, pictured that final barrel, then gave Harley his head. His legs flashed forward and back in a familiar gallop. At that speed, she instantly knew their position and how long before the last turn. Her body relaxed and rocked in time with Harley’s, the familiar rhythm returning at last.
One, two, three...
She opened her eyes, and sure enough, the yellow loomed. Instinctively, she eased back into her pocket the moment her thigh flashed by the barrel, then rotated her body through a turn she felt more than she saw. Harley responded to her cue and executed a tight turn. They thundered back in the remembered direction of the starting line.
In a second, they swept through and past the gate.
“Whoa! Hold up!” hollered Jared as they flashed by him and a barking Petey.
Oh, but it felt too good to stop! Jared jogged beside her and snagged Harley’s bridle just as she pulled him up. Her breath came in short, hard pants, her pulse thundering against her eardrums. She’d done it. She’d raced a course.
“What was my time?” she gasped.
“Wasn’t clocking you.”
“Will you next time?”
“So, you’re not quitting?”
“Never!” She laughed, exhilarated, pumped with enough adrenaline to lift her right off this saddle and into the sky. “Let’s go again.”
A couple of hours of hard work later, she flung herself from the saddle and into Jared’s waiting arms, euphoric.
“We did it!”
One large hand stroked down her back. The other cupped the curve of her hip. “You did it!” His deep, soft voice held an unfamiliar note. If she had to name it, she’d say uncertainty. Did she rattle Jared’s infamous confidence?
Harley whinnied.
“Okay, fine, diva, you did it,” she joked, finding it hard to breathe this close to Jared.
They laughed, but silence soon crept over them. A smile still played about her lips, and he reached for her hand. She wanted to pull it away but couldn’t bring herself to do so. He held her hand against his, flattening their mismatched palms against each other, interlocking his long fingers with her smaller ones.
“You proved me right. You’re no quitter,” he said, his eyes downcast, she supposed, fixed on their hands.
“Not me,” she avowed, her heart raw and trembling.
Her nostrils flared as she inhaled his fresh-laundry scent, now tempered with an edge of sweat. Drawn to him, she inched nearer still, close enough for the curls of his breath to touch her face. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Oh, how she wished she could see his face. Never had the ache of her disability struck her as hard as it did in this moment.
“You looked good out there. Except for all these tangles.”
As if he were handling the finest gossamer, he released her hand and swept her hair to one side of her neck, then gathered the messy strands. Not into a bun, like she sometimes did: a loose braid that drew together over her shoulder. His work-roughened fingers ra
n over her scalp and throat, alternating one group of hair with the other. The softest tremor ran down her spine.
Jared released her hair, then tucked a stray curl behind her ear. His other hand came to rest on the small of her back, pressing her to his chest. The warmth of him comforted her. And she could feel the exquisite tension in his muscles, the thunder of his heart.
Did he want to kiss her?
He nuzzled his head against her cheek. His fingers traced her collarbone. Her blood turned gold and glittery.
“Your skin is warm,” he said throatily. “I never—” He stopped.
Her fingers pushed between his knuckles. She kept her eyes open. His lips moved to her jaw. She guided his hand to her waist. The excruciating lure of his touch hypnotized her; she couldn’t flinch or refuse him. She wanted this. Today reminded her of who she used to be—a no-guts, no-glory kind of gal. She’d relived their kiss every time she’d looked at him this week and suddenly she needed to know, right here, right now, if it’d been a fluke.
“Are you flirting with me?” His teasing tone came off wrong, more serious than light.
“Could be.”
“Amberley,” he began, but she surged forward and kissed him. She almost knocked him to the ground. But he shot out an arm to Harley’s side and braced himself as his spare arm wrapped around her middle. She let the touch, the taste of him fill her senses. His breath filled her lungs. She twined her fingers in his crisp hair, and as he kissed her fiercely, she let everything fade away.
Don’t stop, don’t stop.
His hands ran up her sides, her back, and clasped her. She placed her hand against his neck. She felt the thick beat of his heart. His rhythm. Her rhythm. She’d never felt anything like this in her life—this rising in her chest, this thirst to touch. She burned.
His lips nudged hers apart as he held her face in his hands and traced her lips. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks. Their foreheads touched.
Don’t stop, don’t stop.
His lips sampled her mouth, her cheek, her neck, and the hollow of her throat. He slid his palms over the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. Firm, bold strokes, brimming with rising confidence. Awakening. She undid the top button of his shirt. Her fingers slid over his collarbone.
