“I’m glad you’re here. Thanks for coming with me,” he said. He looked away when he saw her discomfort. Damn, the woman couldn’t handle a compliment.
“Of course,” she said. “Don’t thank me, though. I’m pretty sure I didn’t give you much of a choice. I care so much about Ryan. He’s such a great kid.”
There was something in her expression when she spoke about Ryan that he had never seen on one of his girlfriends’ faces—certainly never on Sara’s. Sara tolerated Ryan. She was polite, and so was he, but Ryan always left the room when Sara was around, and she never encouraged him to stay. With Margaret, well, wasn’t it just about Storm? Now he wondered. What else had he missed with his son?
“I didn’t realize you and Ryan were getting so close,” he said.
She had such a vibrancy, a life, that it shone from her eyes when something she was talking about filled her with passion. “Ryan feels comfortable talking to me,” she said. “He’s a great kid, but he holds on to so much. I guess I recognized myself in him, you know, two peas in a pod.” She touched his arm again. “Come and sit down over here. Rest for a bit.” She reached for something in the saddle bag, pulling out a water bottle and a bag of nuts. Then she started walking to where she had set the bedroll in the driest spot under the trees.
Joe followed. “So what has Ryan been telling you?” he asked. For some reason, hearing that his kid felt more comfortable talking with someone else made him feel inadequate, as if he was a bad parent. “Is there a problem? Is he keeping secrets from me? Did he say he was going to take off?” He was starting to get himself worked up as he followed her to where she sat cross-legged and patted a spot for him to sit beside her.
“Come on, Joe. Sit down.” She unscrewed the lid to a water bottle and held it out to him. “Drink. You have to have some water.”
Joe hesitated and then took the water bottle, taking a drink and then handing it back to Margaret. She didn’t bother to wipe the rim before taking a swallow. He sat beside her on the ground, feeling her heat and taking in her long legs as she extended them in front of her. Joe crossed his legs beside her and leaned back against the tree, his shoulder bumping hers. She opened the bag of nuts and offered him a handful, shaking it a bit when he didn’t shove his hand in right away.
“Thanks,” he said. He was touched by her generosity, such a simple thing that someone did when they cared. He didn’t remember a time when a woman had put his interests and comforts first—other than Evie.
“Ryan never felt threatened by me,” she said. “I don’t know what it was, but from day one, he started sharing little bits about himself, just like Storm did. They each had their own story to tell. When we own a horse, we have to become really comfortable with ourselves, to learn the horses’ language, the way they speak. Horses are honest, and they’ll always tell you the truth. I guess I just allowed Ryan to do the same thing.”
“So Ryan told you what an awful person I am,” he said. He couldn’t help it. He was worried his kid had said something bad about him. “Ryan should have come to me about his problems.”
She touched his hand, and he took in her long, slender fingers. She had short, clipped nails, efficient, different from the long, painted nails Sara wore. He turned his hand over, and she linked her fingers with his, squeezing gently.
“Ryan loves you very much,” she said, “but there are times when we feel misunderstood, and talking to someone who understands is the only thing that helps. I was just an ear for Ryan. He feels you’re disappointed in him, and Storm picked up on his fear of all his failings.”
“He said that?”
“No, not in so many words. This is about what he didn’t say, too.” She chewed on some nuts, and he wondered, by the way she was watching, whether she was judging him.
“Then what did he say, in so many words? Did he tell you he was going to take off?” he said. She flinched, because it came out much harsher than he expected. “Sorry.”
“Look, Joe, I know you’re upset. Ryan didn’t say he was going to run off. He was shocked when you announced you were going to marry Sara. He felt betrayed. I saw it. I know you couldn’t. You made him get in the truck with you when he wanted to do some work with Storm. He feels you don’t hear him, and even though you told me you were marrying Sara to give him a mother…” She stopped and shook her head. “Joe, you want Sara for you. Be honest, at least, about that. Sara isn’t interested in Ryan. Ask yourself, when has she ever had a real conversation with him, or tried to make him feel comfortable, or made any effort to spend time with him or get to know him?”
“She just needs time, and so does he, to get to know each other,” he said, realizing it didn’t sound true even to his own ears.
“Joe, seriously, you can’t make someone be comfortable with your kid. Maybe down the road, they’ll tolerate each other, but in case you didn’t notice, neither gives the other a second glance when they’re together. They avoid each other. Sara looks anywhere where he isn’t, as if she truly doesn’t see him. Ryan knows, and it hurts him. Why do you think he was pushing so hard to have me around, begging me to come to his party, making me believe that you wanted me there? I figured it out. In case you didn’t notice, it was me he ran to, not Sara.” She chewed on some nuts and looked out at the lake.
“Why are you so comfortable with my son?” he asked.
She hesitated and stopped chewing for a minute, looking down at her lap, their fingers still linked. She pulled her hand away about the same time he could feel something about her pulling in. “I really like him. Other than the fact that he reminds me of myself, he’s such an amazing kid, Joe. Deep down, he really wants to please you. I understand what he’s doing. I understand the feeling of not being wanted.”
“Why the hell would you say that? He’s my kid—don’t ever say I don’t want him!” He was on his feet, fisting his hands.
She stood up and stepped right into his space, meeting his gaze and stepping closer. This woman wasn’t afraid of him at all. “That’s not what I meant, Joe. I know you love him. I can see that. With that horse alone, you push him because you love him, but sometimes, when we push too hard and do what we believe is best, things actually backfire. He won’t say anything to you because he doesn’t think you’ll listen. With Sara and the other women you dated, he always made fun of that until you started getting serious. No matter what you do or did, he doesn’t like Sara because she doesn’t accept him. He feels you chose her over him, and he can’t tell you. He’d rather get himself killed by Storm than say one word to you about how he’s really feeling!” she said. Joe began to speak, but she cut him off.
“Storm is an excitable, high-energy horse, and he needs someone to match his energy. The emotion between you and Ryan…of course the horse is picking it up! If you start looking back on when you started having problems with Storm, you’d see the change that happened in your life. Ryan wasn’t as secure, he was uncertain, he was stressed. Every second of his life went into that ring with him, and Storm felt it. Ryan’s not that confident. He needs a horse who’s quieter, slower, older, more stable. He can start at the beginning. He needs to know you hear him, and you have to pay attention to him, because he says so much, Joe, without uttering one word.”
Her face lit up when she talked about his son, and if he’d ever had any doubt about how much she cared about Ryan, he didn’t anymore. “You love him, don’t you?” Joe said.
She blushed and set both hands over her cheeks. “How could I not?”
Joe placed his hands over hers. He lowered his gaze to her nose, narrow and long, and to her full, pink lips, wondering whether she had ever worn any color but her own. She had light brown freckles over the bridge of her nose and a soft chin that hardened when she was tense. Her eyes were big, full, brown, unable to hide any of the passion, pain, and heartache she had. She was such a passionate, honest woman, and he didn’t know why he hadn’t allowed himself to see it before now. When her eyes drifted to his lips and he felt her br
eathing become heavier, he couldn’t help himself from leaning in, setting his lips to hers gently, softly. He pulled away a fraction, feeling her warm breath. With no hesitation, he deepened the kiss, angling his mouth to hers, tasting her, his tongue touching hers. Her hat was gone, and his was on the ground, too, as he reached into her long, dark hair and ran his fingers through it.
Her hands slid up his back, her arms around him, and he set his hand behind her head, holding her to him as he slid his other down over her buttocks, pulling her to him. She stepped closer, pressing her curves into him, her fingers working into his shoulders, his back, as if she couldn’t get closer. He held her tight against him as he lifted her, and then they were on the ground. He pressed her arms above her head, and she hooked her long legs around his hips. He kissed her as if she were his last breath. He reached down and ripped open the snaps of her coat, lifting her sweater and bra and taking her breast, first one nipple and then the other, in his mouth, sucking and watching as her body lifted to him, closer.
She gasped and called out his name: “Joe, oh my God, Joe!” She had her hands under his coat, opening the snaps and then going for his belt buckle at the same time he ripped open hers. He pulled back just a few seconds to pull down her jeans as she toed off a boot and got one pant leg off. He unzipped and didn’t wait or be sure she was ready as he pushed into her hard and fast, and she locked her legs around his. He took her hands again and pressed them above her head, watching her as he moved.
Her eyes showed every emotion she was feeling, and he could see the moment he stripped her down that her heart had cracked open and he could step in. She was bare, innocent, and he realized he could probably get her to do anything. He could see how badly she would hurt and bleed, and he still couldn’t stop. He had to have her. This need, it was like the way a junkie needed crack. “Margaret, you feel so good,” he said.
She whimpered beneath him, and he felt her tighten around him as he let himself go.
Chapter Sixteen
Margaret’s heart was racing as Joe collapsed, all his weight on top of her. His heart was pounding to the same beat as hers. She ran her hand under his shirt, feeling his warm, bare skin and the muscles in his back. He was still inside her, and she felt wet and wonderful, but then she remembered Ryan, and Sara, and she started to push at his chest. “Get off,” she said.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
He pulled out of her, and she scrambled to her feet, her jeans bunched around one ankle. She turned her back to him. She couldn’t look at him, because she was suddenly embarrassed for throwing herself at him. Just who had kissed who first? She couldn’t remember. Her hands were shaking as she stepped into her jeans, stepping a sock foot on the wet ground. Every moment, she could hear Joe behind her, standing up, zipping up his pants, letting out a sigh of irritation, annoyance—hell, she didn’t know what it was. She heard the clink of his belt buckle, and she shut her eyes again as she zipped up her pants, pulled down her bra and sweater, and snapped up her coat. She turned, keeping her eyes to the ground as she searched out her boot, which was scattered out a ways. When Joe reached for it and then stepped into her line of sight, she did everything to look away until he took her jaw and leaned into her face.
“I’m sorry, but you didn’t act like you didn’t want to be fucked,” he said.
Her mouth gaped at his crudeness, and she stumbled back as if he had slapped her. “Is that all I am to you, someone to satisfy you? Well, you’ve had your fun. I have to tell you, I’m not a one-night stand. I’m not made that way. The casual sex that you men get off on is not something I can do.” She started to say she wanted him to make love to her, that she had dreamed of it, but not like this. The words froze on her tongue. She couldn’t shake the sense of being back in that same, dark place as the unlovable woman Keith had left. She was doomed to repeat the cycle again and again. He hadn’t been as careful as Keith, and he’d left part of himself inside her. Maybe this was her one chance at having someone to love. She lowered her hand to her abdomen and set it there for a minute before glancing up at Joe. The man’s face was torn and weary, on the edge of breaking.
He handed her the boot, and she took it and pulled it on. “We should start riding before we lose light,” he said.
She didn’t say a word as she bent down, shaking off the leaves and pine needles and dirt from the bedroll before rolling it up. She didn’t look up as she heard him turn and walk away.
Chapter Seventeen
He rode with Margaret behind him in silence for hours, each one taking turns calling out for Ryan, Joe checking his cell phone over and over as they took one trail after another, weaving their way further away from home. The atmosphere was tense. He’d hurt her badly. He knew it, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was worried sick about his son, he’d have tried to talk to her, to smooth it over. He was confused as all hell about his feelings for Margaret and for Sara. He seemed to be screwing up one thing after the other, starting from what he had done to Evie. He wondered whether he could do anything right.
He heard something, a whinny, and stopped, holding his hand out to Margaret. “Did you hear that?” he said. He glanced back at her and the shadows of the forest around her as they listened. “Ryan!” he shouted again.
Margaret looked around and then called out, “Storm, here boy!” She whistled and chirped, urging her horse forward and cutting through the brush heading down the hill where they had heard the horse.
“Be careful,” Joe said behind her, but nothing was holding her back as she moved through the forest, zigzagging through the trees. Her horse stumbled once, and then Joe saw Storm, still saddled, his reins dangling on the ground. He appeared to be trembling, his eyes wild. Margaret stopped Angel and climbed out of the saddle calmly.
“Stay back, Joe,” she ordered, tossing her reins to him. “Let me get him.”
Joe grabbed her hand, because he took one look at that horse and knew this was an accident waiting to happen. He wished he’d brought his gun. “Just be careful,” he said.
She nodded. “Joe, let go. I’ll be careful, but I have to see if he’s hurt. I know what I’m doing.”
He eased his grip, and she slipped away, holding out her hands as she stepped carefully toward the horse. “Whoa, easy there, Storm. That’s a good boy,” she said. She kept her voice calm and reassuring, but he wasn’t taking his eyes off her. If that horse did anything to hurt Margaret, he’d be in there, and he was ready with his palomino, keeping it steady and holding Angel’s reins beside him.
Storm snorted and reared up, screaming out before stomping to the ground, pawing and sidestepping. Margaret kept going slowly, walking as if she meant every step, setting all her focus on the horse. Joe wanted to yell at her to get back when she reached for the reins and then touched Storm’s neck. The horse was wild and out of control, rolling the whites of his eyes, his head high and frantic.
“Whoa, easy there,” she said over and over.
As he watched, there was something magical about her. She appeared to draw the horse in, to offer him relief. Joe watched, paying attention to what she was doing for the first time. He’d never seen her this way. He’d also never taken the time to stay when she was with Ryan, and he realized now that there were so many things he wanted to say to his son. He hoped and prayed he’d have the chance. This woman had reached his son when he couldn’t, just like this beast that he had been so quick to write off. She was calming him and moving him, and the horse started to respond a bit. She kept moving his back end, pulling and releasing, and the horse began to respond to her.
“Joe, the stirrup is broken,” she said. “There’s brush stuck in the side of his saddle. He could have been running a long way. He’s got a gash on his side, too. It’s not bad, but…”
The horse was a mess, with mud coating the back of his legs, his hocks, his back end. Joe climbed down from the saddle and started toward Margaret, but Storm reacted and reared up, screaming.
“Joe, stay
there,” she said. She raised her hands and calmed Storm again, but he was having none of it.
“Any sign of Ryan?” Joe called out.
Storm lowered his head a bit, and she patted his neck. “Good boy. There, it’s okay. No one is going to hurt you,” she murmured. “No, Joe, there’s no sign of him here. There’s a rope in my saddle bag. I need it. Can you walk over with it very slowly and calmly?”
Joe did as she said, glancing over at the way she started to move Storm and then walked him over to where he was rummaging in the saddle bag as he held the reins for both horses. He pulled it out and handed it to her, and she didn’t give Storm a chance to freak out, as she moved him backwards and then to the side, getting him to think. Joe knew that if a horse was working, having to think, it wouldn’t spook. This horse needed more than he could give, more than Ryan could give, but not Margaret. This was easy for her.
She looped the rope around the ring of his halter, which Ryan had obviously put on him under the bridle, and then she tied it loosely to a tree, letting him graze. “Joe, if we can figure out the direction he came from, we can backtrack.”
He started down the trail until he found a fork. “We can’t take him,” Joe barked, heading back to Mercedes.
“I’ll take him behind Angel. We can’t leave him. He wouldn’t make it,” she said. She waited until Joe mounted his horse. “Start down the trail. I’ll be right behind you.”
Joe hesitated when she took the reins from him and walked over to Storm, and he watched as she untied him and held the rope while she mounted Angel. Storm decided to spook and sidestep, but Margaret spoke softly and moved a step . She didn’t face Joe when she said, “Joe, start down the trail. He’s scared, and we need to move.”
He knew they did. The shadows around them were growing darker, and they were losing light fast. He looked to the ground, searching for tracks, spotting prints in the mud left from Storm’s shoes. He was glad he’d had him shoed, now, as it was making his son easier to track. He glanced back and saw Margaret talking the horse down, and he kept looking back. “Are you okay?”
Danger Deception Devotion The Firsts Page 10
