by Susan Fox
That had been kind of weird. In the old days, she’d have flung back something teasing, like how it’d take more than a fuzzy-cheeked boy’s hand to satisfy a woman like her. One of those comments that’d have him waking in the middle of the night, hard and aching from dreaming about her.
Sally Pantages. The barrel racing queen, while he was a kid honing his skills as a saddle bronc competitor. The sexy, curvy woman with fiery hair to match her sassy temperament. Yeah, he’d had a crush on her and she’d been the reason for more cold showers than any other gal he’d ever met.
As she finished with each horse, she took it out of the barn. When she came back to move the next one, a bay mare, from its stall to the cross ties, she said, “Ben, you said you have a horse in that trailer?” Her slightly raised voice carried easily into the nearby stall where he was working.
“Yeah. These days, I compete in team roping as well as saddle bronc. I’m a heeler. Got myself a great horse, Chauncey’s Pride.”
“Where’s your header?”
He frowned, again cursing himself for having fallen wrong and broken his stupid shoulder. “That’d be Dusty Whelan. Remember him?”
“I think so. Hair to match his name, right?”
“Yeah, that’s him. A good guy. He and I haul together in that rig out there. But since I’ve got this busted shoulder, Dusty hitched a ride for him and his horse with another cowboy who had room.” Ben put some extra force behind the rubber curry comb he was using to remove loose hair and dirt from a black mare’s hindquarters. “The other guy’s pretty new. Competes in tie-down roping. He wants to try team roping, but couldn’t find a partner. Dusty said they could see how they did together.”
“You’ll be fit again soon, and back roping.” Her tone was consoling.
“You bet I will,” he said grimly. No way was he letting some new kid take his place.
Once, he’d been the new guy. Back then, Ben had hoped to prove himself, and make Sally stop seeing him as a kid. Before it could happen, Pete Ryland had swept her off her feet. The man hadn’t even been a cowboy. He’d been in construction or some such thing.
Pete and Sally had been crazy in love. So much so that she’d given up barrel racing, and done it mid-season when she’d likely have gone on to win another Canadian championship. And to compete at the National Finals Rodeo in the U.S. and maybe become world champion.
Ben shook his head. He remembered wondering what it would be like, to love and be loved in such an all-consuming way. Couldn’t imagine it himself, not if it meant giving up rodeo.
His boots silent on the straw-covered floor, he walked to the stall door, ready to move on to the next horse.
Sally, with the bay mare in cross ties, had paused in her work. Her head was down and her shoulders were slumped. A hand rested on the horse’s shoulder, not stroking but more as if she was holding herself up. Ben saw her body move as she heaved a silent sigh. Then she straightened, rubbed her lower back, and returned to work.
Spunky Sally Pantages had fallen in love and given up rodeo, and look how things had ended up for her. Widowed and, from what he’d seen, operating this big, successful spread on her own. Whatever combination of hard work, grief, and loneliness she was experiencing, it had bowed her shoulders and put lines of strain around her eyes.
For the first time since Ben had met her all those years ago, she brought out his protective side.
Right now, the best thing he could do for her was help out, and so he did exactly that as they readied nine horses. She’d taken eight of them outside and had just finished bridling a gray gelding when Ben heard the sound of an approaching vehicle.
“That’ll be the first of my students,” Sally said.
“Want to go say hi and I’ll bring this guy out?” He stroked the gray’s neck.
“Thanks.” She took a battered straw hat from a peg and left the barn.
He put on his own hat—a nicer one than he normally wore, since he’d kind of dressed up to come see her. After untying the gray, he led it across the barnyard to the hitching rails where the other horses waited. Sally stood by a white SUV, talking to a plump brunette and a little boy and girl. The dark-haired kids wore pint-sized Western gear, though with riding helmets rather than cowboy hats.
Ben tied the reins to a hitching rail with a little assistance from his left hand and patted the horse as he watched the students arrive.
Soon they were all there: five girls and three boys around the age of six. The moms clustered around Sally, but a few of the kids came to say hello to the horses. An older boy stared at Ben. “Hey, didn’t I just see you at the rodeo in Williams Lake? Aren’t you Ben Traynor?”
“You bet.” He flashed a grin, happy to greet a fan.
The kid eyed the sling. “You fell off.”
Ben grimaced. So much for impressing a fan. “Yeah. I got the bronc until the buzzer, but then he got me.” Ben had hung on for the required eight seconds, then before he could jump free or the pickup riders could help him get off, Devil’s Eyes had tossed him. Ben had landed badly, on his shoulder, and felt jarring pain, but he had risen quickly and waved to signal—with his right hand—that he was okay. As he had sauntered from the arena, he’d had a bad feeling that this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill injury. The sports medicine team at the rodeo had sent him to the hospital. The rest was history.
“You were in the roping, too,” the boy said as some of the other children wandered over.
“Yeah. Team roping.” He and Dusty had come in second. Thank God that event had been scheduled before saddle bronc.
“You’re the heeler, right?” the kid asked.
“I am.” The other kids, the moms, and Sally had now gathered around.
The boy turned to the others. “His partner’s the header. He ropes the steer’s head or horns, then Mr. Traynor ropes the hind legs.” His know-it-all tone reminded Ben of how he’d been as a boy, hooked on rodeo and ready to tell the world about it.
“That’s right.” And, thanks to Devil’s Eyes, Dusty was trying out another heeler while Ben was twiddling his thumbs waiting for his damned shoulder to heal.
“Mom?” The boy tugged on his mother’s hand. “I want to take rodeo lessons. Mr. Traynor can teach me.”
Flattered, Ben tapped the kid’s helmet. “Sorry, not me. I’m a doer, not a teacher.” He sent a smile in Sally’s direction. “Takes a special person to be a good teacher.” Though he had yet to see her at work, he knew that anything Sally Pantages—Ryland—did, she’d do well.
She acknowledged the compliment with a smile. “Kids, it’s time for our lesson. Ben, d’you want to take your horse out of that trailer and give him some water, food, and exercise?”
“Appreciate that.” Chaunce was a good traveler but, like Ben, he’d rather stretch his legs than be confined to the rig.
He walked over to the trailer as the kids mounted up, some with Sally’s assistance and some using a mounting block. A couple of parents drove away; the others seated themselves on wooden bleachers at one side of the ring.
Ben gazed around, checking out Sally’s spread. As well as the barn, two riding rings, and a couple of fenced paddocks with grazing horses, she had an indoor arena. It was a smart setup, allowing her to be operational year-round and to accommodate boarders as well as riding students. The farmhouse, set apart a ways, was small and attractive, but could use a fresh coat of paint and maybe a new roof. Interestingly, the chicken coop and run looked to be in better shape.
All in all, it was a mighty impressive place that she and her husband had built. Ben shouldn’t be surprised that the woman who owned it wouldn’t be attracted to a man like him. Maybe the truth was that Sally would always be a few steps ahead of him—steps that took her out of his league. And that was a damned shame, at least as far as he was concerned. All the same, he looked forward to sitting down together with a couple beers and catching up.
In the ring, mounted on the gray gelding, Sally had the students walking their horses, working
on proper posture. She sure had a different lifestyle now, from back in her rodeo days. It was a nice life, he guessed, if a person liked settling down in one spot and having a daily routine. Hard things for a guy like him to imagine doing.
Instructing the students, she looked more like the old Sally, not guarded and stressed but relaxed and happy. Easy in her body, free with her smiles.
She’d always been a natural with kids. He remembered her patience, her smiles when children would ask for her autograph and chatter about their riding experiences and dreams. He’d expected her to have two or three little ones of her own, but so far he’d seen no sign of any. Her sister hadn’t been sure, saying Sally hadn’t even notified the family about Pete’s death; they’d found out when an acquaintance in B.C. mentioned it to them.
He shook his head, unable to fathom being so distanced from family. It sure didn’t fit with the outgoing barrel racing queen he’d once known.
Ben entered the living quarters of his rig and downed a painkiller and a glass of cold water, then he went through to the back where his horse was stabled. “Hey, Chaunce. Bet you could use a drink too, and some fresh air and a stretch.”
Working one-handed with his horse’s cooperation, he got Chaunce’s bridle on, but skipped the saddle. The horse, smart and even-tempered, exited the trailer easily and stood while Ben used the ramp as a mounting block and eased onto his back. He urged the gelding forward, down the access road. Chaunce had a smooth gait that didn’t jar Ben’s shoulder, and the painkiller was starting to work.
“We’ll check out the countryside,” he said to his horse as he turned him onto a trail. “Then when Sally’s students are gone, I’ll introduce you to her. Bet she’ll let you hang out in her paddock, maybe even let me park the rig here tonight.”
Chaunce bobbed his head.
“Wonder if she’ll offer me dinner?” Ben mused. “Nah, better if I invite her out to eat.” In the old days, she’d let him buy her an occasional beer, but had refused to go on a real date.
Not that tonight would be a date. She’d made it pretty clear she wasn’t interested in him that way.
Chapter Two
If Ben wasn’t supposed to drive, Sally would bet he wasn’t supposed to ride either. Yet, as she’d seen from her perch atop Stormy, he’d just slid onto the back of an American Paint. The horse was mighty fine: white and bay patches in an unusual, attractive pattern, stocky and muscular, yet with a graceful neck and head, strength and spring in its stride.
Memories hit her. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. Seven years ago, she’d sold her own quarter horse, Autumn Mist. Pete had said they needed every penny they could scrape up to make the down payment on this place. Secretly, Sally had wondered if he was a little jealous of the affection she’d lavished on her horse.
Honest to God, selling Misty had been tougher than leaving the rodeo. The horse had been more than her barrel racing partner, she’d been Sally’s best friend: sweet-tempered, smart, and always happy to listen to a girl’s secrets.
Not that Sally’d had a lot of heavy secrets back in those days. Just shallow stuff like thinking Mandy Kilpatrick, her closest competitor, was a prize bitch. And feeling stupidly attracted to the cocky young cowboy, Ben Traynor, at least until Pete Ryland came along and blinded her to all other men.
Sally refocused on her students. She loved working with children. It was the closest she’d ever get to having kids of her own. No matter how challenging her students were, their energy, innocence, and perspective on life always made her smile.
Yet a part of her mind drifted back to Ben. He would be almost thirty now, the man who sat his horse so easily despite having his left arm in a sling. A little cocky still, but not so much as before. Willing to take orders from a woman and to work hard despite what must be some pretty serious pain.
He was more than eye candy: he was mature, thoughtful, conscientious. And still wonderful with horses. He was . . . appealing. She had felt a small, undeniable tug. It was partly physical, which shocked her. She’d thought the part of her that could feel desire had, quite literally, been beaten out of her long ago. That tug was partly emotional too, and that scared her. That was how a guy got to you: your emotions were the most vulnerable part of you, the part he could best use to control you.
She shuddered. Yes, there were good reasons that she’d sworn off men for life.
As soon as she could free up some time, she’d ask Ben about Penny, then send him on his way. For now, she needed to concentrate fully on her students.
The lesson went well, and after the kids had dismounted and were chattering together, she took one of the moms aside. Tiffany Knight was the mother of Marty, the boy who’d spoken to Ben. “Your son is doing really well,” Sally said.
“Don’t tell me you think he’s ready for rodeo lessons. Have to admit, I wouldn’t mind watching that cowboy teach my boy, but I do think Marty’s still awfully young.”
“Ben Traynor isn’t teaching.” She’d heard Ben’s comment about being a doer, not a teacher; she’d seen his impatience to get back to the circuit. He was a competitor through and through. “I do think Marty’s ready to move up to the next class: the eight- to ten-year-olds.” The boy would be eight at the end of the summer. “He’s turning into a fine rider and he’s confident. He has the right instincts.” She pressed her lips together, remembering being a child a lot like Marty. “If he really is interested in rodeo, he needs to be ten to join Little Britches.”
“I know.” Tiffany gave a rueful chuckle. “I’m safe for two more years.”
“You don’t want him getting involved in rodeo?” Sally’s parents had supported her interest in barrel racing—despite the dangers, the generally low income, and the crazy lifestyle of driving from rodeo to rodeo for most of the year. Her mom and dad had both been in Little Britches as teens, though neither was good enough, or committed enough, to pursue rodeo professionally.
“Well . . . It’s too early to say. We don’t want him getting hurt, yet it’s something he loves. Of course, kids’ interests can change.” With a smile, Tiffany went to collect her son.
Sally’s interests hadn’t changed, not from when she was tiny. She’d loved horses, the almost psychic bond that could exist with them, the challenge of learning, the thrill of competing, the excitement of winning, the companionship of other cowgirls and cowboys. Once she was a pro, she’d even enjoyed the days of driving from one rodeo to the next, seeing mile after mile of countryside unwind. It had been a fine way of life. Until Pete had come along, and a new life began. One that brought wonderful things like living in this lovely place and teaching kids to ride—but that also slowly tore down her self-confidence and brought confusion, dependence, pain. But now Pete was gone and she had Ryland Riding to herself. She’d found another way of life that suited her completely.
Regretting the loss of her assistant, Corrie, Sally loosened cinches on the horses’ saddles so they’d be more comfortable. Right now, she didn’t have time to remove their tack, give them a brush, and put them out in the paddock. She needed to prepare Star of Egypt, one of the boarded horses, because her owner was coming out for a ride. Madeleine, an assistant bank manager, preferred to spend her “horse time” riding, not doing grooming and tack. Sally couldn’t relate to that herself, but she was happy to do whatever the owners wanted, and she charged for the service.
When Star, a gorgeous palomino with Arabian blood, was glossy and tacked up, Sally led the horse out of the barn. Madeleine had arrived, and Ben was back from his ride. He had dismounted and stood stroking his horse’s shoulder as he talked to the sleek blonde.
Madeleine wore figure-hugging jeans, tooled boots, and a long-sleeved blue tee that clung to her full breasts. She laughed at something Ben said, took off her Stetson, and tossed her head so a waterfall of golden hair rippled in the sunlight. Once upon a time, Sally had used that same hair toss.
“Hi, Madeleine,” she called as she led the showy palomino toward the equally
showy owner. “Want me to tie Star up, or are you ready to go?”
Madeleine glanced her way, then back at Ben. Obviously, it was a tough decision.
“You go on and enjoy your ride,” Ben said.
“Want to come along and I’ll show you some of our sights?” The invitation in her voice suggested she had more to show Ben than scenery.
“Thanks, but I’ve already had my ride. Besides, I want to talk to Sally.”
Madeleine cast an appraising glance at Sally, cocked a rather pitying eyebrow, and then turned back to Ben with a smug smile. “Sure. We’ll do it some other time, if you decide to stay in Caribou Crossing.” Clearly, she didn’t consider Sally to be competition.
Not, of course, that Sally wanted to be competition. She just hated having another woman look at her in that dismissive way.
Forcing a smile, Sally cupped her hands and gave Madeleine a leg up, then brushed her hands on her already grubby jeans. “Have a good ride.”
When Madeleine and Star had gone, Sally turned to Ben. “I’d really like to hear about Penny, but I have a couple of private lessons. It’ll be more than two hours before I can take a break.” Even then, she’d have horses to deal with, but at least she could talk to him while she worked. If he was willing to wait until then. “Are you in a hurry to get on the road?” She felt a pang of guilt. He was injured, in pain, and shouldn’t even be driving, and here she was, delaying his journey home.
“I’ll hang around.” He tapped his good hand against his sling. “It’s not like I have anywhere to be.”
A rodeo cowboy, grounded. Yeah, that would hurt in more ways than one. Sympathy and a sense of . . . not exactly comfort, but familiarity, overruled her normal wariness. “Okay. Thanks, Ben. I appreciate it.” She stepped forward to greet his horse, who nuzzled her work-callused hand. “Hey there,” she murmured as she stroked the smooth, warm neck. “Chauncey’s Pride, right? Aren’t you the handsome boy?”
She slanted a glance at Ben, as handsome as his horse and definitely not a boy any longer. “Do you want to let him out in the smaller paddock? The horses there are friendly.”
