Love Somebody Like You

by Susan Fox

  “Hmm.”

  “Let me guess. You want to ask what my intentions are.”

  “Well?”

  Because Ben appreciated the way the other man cared for Sally, he told him. “I like Sally and I respect her. A lot, on both counts.”

  He glanced toward the open dining room door and caught a murmur of voices from the kitchen down the hall. Turning back to Dave, he leaned forward and said quietly, “I’ll be honest and tell you I’d be a happy man if it turned into something more. But all I’ve got to offer is short term, and that might not suit a woman like her who deserves so much more. Besides, Sally’s got her boundaries, her defenses. She’s . . .” He hunted for the right word. “She’s vulnerable.”

  Dave’s brows rose. “Don’t let her hear you say that.” His voice too, was low.

  Ben gave a short laugh. “I’m not that stupid. She’s strong, proud, too independent. But there’s something beneath it.” He studied the other man. Did Sally trust Dave enough to tell him a truth she refused to reveal to Ben?

  Dave’s hazel eyes gazed steadily into his. “Grief can knock you back a long way. Make you wary about ever jumping in again.”

  “I saw that with my grandma after Granddad died. But . . .” He drummed his fingers again. “Look, I don’t want to gossip about Sally. But we both care about her and . . . I think there’s something wrong. She’s too nervous around men.”

  Dave blinked once, slowly. “A widow. A young, attractive woman living alone. Makes sense she’d be cautious.” His tone was neutral. If he knew Sally’s secret, he wasn’t divulging it. At least not yet.

  “Sure. But you didn’t know her before she got married. She was sassy, feisty.” He gave a quick grin. “Hell, she had no trouble putting cocky cowboys like me in our place. Now all that sass is gone and she acts . . . afraid. I think some man scared her. Maybe hurt her.”

  Dave let out a long sigh. He rose, thrust his fingers through his hair, and paced the length of the room. “Cassidy and I wonder about that, too. It was part of the reason we were so surprised to hear she had a man staying at her place, and we wanted to meet you.”

  So Sally hadn’t confided in Dave either. Relieved that the other man had accepted him, Ben turned sideways in his chair to look up at him, “If she didn’t know me from the old days, she wouldn’t have let me stay.”

  “She knew you well enough to trust you.”

  “She trusts me up to a certain point, but she has strict boundaries. And she’s skittish. Like a horse that’s been mistreated. D’you know what I mean? Are you a rider?”

  “I sure am. And yes, that’s a good description.” His jaw tightened and he shot a glance out the open door. “I hate to think of someone hurting Sally.”

  “I know.” Ben realized he had fisted his right hand. Stretching his fingers out again, he said, “I’ve tried to talk to her. She won’t admit that something happened. But I did get her to tell me that, if there had been some problem, the guy was no longer a threat.”

  Dave’s face lightened. “I’m surprised she’d say that much. And relieved.”

  Ben rose to stand beside Dave. He checked to make sure that the female murmur was still safely distant. “Wondered if it might be Pete.”

  He frowned. “Surely not. He and Sally were crazy about each other.”

  “You saw them together?”

  “No. But everyone said so.”

  “Did Sally say so?”

  Dave opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. After a moment, he said, “No. But she let me believe it.” He frowned. “Did you know Pete?”

  “No, but I was around when he swept in and courted Sally. It was fast, romantic. He was like a freaking tidal wave carrying her along with him.”

  “Sometimes love hits like that.” A shadow in Dave’s eyes suggested that he might be thinking of his deceased fiancée.

  “I guess. They did really seem to be in love.” Ben had put a lot of thought into this over the past day or so, and now he shared what he’d been thinking. “But looking back, it was almost too intense. The guy was obsessed with her. She gave up rodeo, suddenly they were getting married, then they moved to B.C. Did you know she cut off connections with her family? And all her rodeo friends? That sure as hell wasn’t like the gal I used to know.”

  Dave gave a low whistle. “I didn’t know all of that. She doesn’t talk about personal stuff. Here, she and Pete kept to themselves.”

  Ben swallowed, and then spoke words that grated in his throat. “Abusers isolate their victims, right? If something bad had been going on, Sally’d have had no one to turn to for support.”

  “I hear what you’re saying. But he’s been dead three years and she’s still skittish.”

  “Maybe because he gave her reason to mistrust men. Damn, Dave, you should’ve seen her the way she used to be. So happy and vibrant.”

  The other man’s eyes warmed. “You do care for her. More than a little.”

  Gruffly, Ben said, “Hard not to. Maybe I’m wrong, and it wasn’t Pete. But the fact remains, she’s messed up.”

  The female voices grew louder and Robin cried, “No, Merlin! Stay in the kitchen.”

  Dave said under his breath, “Then help her, Ben, but don’t hurt her. She can’t take being hurt again.” He strode over to meet his wife, relieving her of a platter with a chocolate-iced cake.

  Sally followed with a tray holding four coffee mugs and a glass of milk. Robin carried dessert plates and a carton of ice cream.

  As Ben resumed his seat, Cassidy said, “Guess what? We talked Sally into coming on Sunday. So, Ben, you make sure she doesn’t back out.”

  As Sally handed him a mug, he gave himself the treat of brushing his fingers against hers. “Hah. This woman has a mind of her own. But I’ll use my best persuasive powers. I’ll tell her she’ll break your heart if she doesn’t let you play dress-up with her.”

  Sally snorted, but her eyes danced with humor as she gave him a mock glare. “You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you, cowboy?”

  He winked, happy that she was joking with him. “I have my moments.”

  “I suppose you do.” Her eyes softened with an expression that made his heart give an unexpected throb.

  Oh, man, Sally Ryland was getting to him.

  Dave had warned him not to hurt her. But it occurred to Ben that, just possibly, he might be the one who was in for some pain.

  Chapter Eleven

  Early Saturday evening, after a day packed with lessons, Sally was tired but full of a sense of achievement.

  “Busy day,” Ben commented as they led the last two horses out to the large paddock. “You’re a great teacher. You enjoy it, don’t you?”

  “Very much.” She unbuckled Melody’s halter and gave the buckskin a final pat on the neck before stepping outside the fence and latching the gate.

  “Not as exciting as barrel racing.”

  “It’s exciting in a different way. I find it really satisfying to share my love of horses and to help riders develop their skills.”

  “Watching you, I can see what you mean.”

  Without discussing it, their footsteps turned toward the foaling paddock where Song and Moon were both flourishing. She and Ben settled side by side, his right forearm next to her left one on the top rail of the fence. Hers was covered by a cotton shirt, buttoned at the cuff. His was bare below the short sleeve of his shirt. The heat of midday had worn off, thankfully. Earlier, it had been a scorcher. Out in the ring, sweating under the triple layers of bra, tee, and shirt, she’d seen Ben working Chauncey’s Pride in the neighboring ring, his shirt unbuttoned down the front. She’d caught tantalizing glimpses of firm pecs and six-pack abs. It hadn’t helped her concentration on the lesson—and she’d been amused and irked to notice that the moms in the bleachers had paid more attention to him than to their young riders.

  But at least it normalized her own distractedness. It wasn’t slutty to enjoy looking at a handsome man.

  “Best enterta
inment in the world,” Ben said.

  She gave a guilty start before realizing he meant the colt playing with its shadow. “I could watch foals forever.” Or, it seemed, Ben’s fine body. Moon made her smile with affection and amusement; Ben’s physique aroused more—well, arousing—sensations. Around him, she felt like a woman again. She was beginning to think that might not be such a bad thing.

  He turned to her. “Want to put something together for dinner?”

  Much as she enjoyed being around him, she shouldn’t get used to it. Besides, she needed her personal space. Even more than that, she needed him to respect her boundaries. “Not tonight, thanks. I have some housework and other stuff to do.” Her pulse quickened. Going against Pete had never worked out well.

  “You still need to eat. I could make something and bring it over.”

  She swallowed, unable to distinguish between kindness and pressure. “That’s nice of you but, uh, I’d kind of like to be alone.”

  “Sure.” He said it easily, without any undertone of hurt or anger, at least not that she could hear. “Just promise me you’ll eat.”

  Tension eased from Sally’s shoulders. “I’ll eat. After that amazing meal last night, I think it may just be salad and hard-boiled eggs tonight.”

  “I hear you. That was some food, eh?”

  Leaning on the fence beside him, she glanced at his profile. Ben likely wouldn’t want to hang around Ryland Riding on his own on Saturday night. “Feel free to go into town.”

  He glanced at her. “I’d rather pack up some sandwiches and a bottle of beer and take Chaunce out for a long ride. Go to the lake, or up that hill you took me to, and have a picnic.”

  That sounded nice.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re welcome to come.”

  Had she looked wistful? “Maybe some other time.” She did need some space, some time away from Ben, and something had been nagging at her all day that she wanted to do.

  “I hope so.”

  They walked to the barn, then went their separate ways.

  Sally made herself a quick, light meal, did an hour or two of housework, and then went into the spare room. This had been her and Pete’s bedroom. After he died, she’d called Goodwill and donated the furniture, along with his clothes and personal possessions. Online, she’d bought an inexpensive bedroom set and had it delivered and set up in a different room.

  Now the old bedroom was empty but for storage boxes. After some rummaging, she found the one that contained her tooled cowboy boots, the one nice pair she’d kept from the old days. Not that she’d ever worn them again, but sentiment wouldn’t let her toss them. They were well broken in from two-stepping and line dancing in lots of bars along the rodeo circuit.

  She eased her foot into one. To her surprise, the boot fit like her foot belonged in it. The leather, the shade of dark honey, was dry, but leather conditioner should restore it. If she went to the Wild Rose tomorrow night, her feet would be dressed in appropriate style.

  Next she found the box that held her trophy buckles. Pete had said it was egotistical to flaunt a flashy belt buckle, but Sally had always taken pride in these. It wasn’t the “I’m the best” thing as much as the sense of how she and Autumn Mist had worked hard and achieved something special together. Sally took out the last one she’d won, from the Calgary Stampede just before Pete proposed to her.

  It symbolized the end of her old life. Could wearing it again symbolize the start of a new life, one where she freed herself from Pete’s influence? Maybe she could become a new Sally, one who acknowledged her past accomplishments, her present strengths, and her femininity.

  From a shelf in the closet, she took out her old jewelry box. Her best friend had given it to her for her twelfth birthday. Made of pale wood, it had a rearing horse carved on the top. She opened the lid. Inside, there were only a few items.

  She picked up the engagement ring with the big, sparkly diamond solitaire. She hadn’t been able to wear it when she was working around Ryland Riding, but she’d had to remember to put it on whenever she was in the house.

  Pete came through the door from the mudroom, a smile widening as he took in the attractively set table, her demure dress, the pot bubbling on the stove. “Now there’s a fine sight to greet a man after a hard day’s work.”

  Sally let out a breath. Her last lesson had run late, and she’d dashed into the house in a panic, trying to remember all the things she needed to do before Pete came in. It seemed she’d got it right.

  He held out both hands. “Come here, my pretty wife.”

  She stretched out her arms, then gazed in horror at her left hand. Her ring finger bore only the simple gold band. Her sparkly engagement ring lay in a dish on the bedroom dresser.

  “What the hell?” Pete’s voice went from sugar to icy steel. “Where’s your ring? What’s this mean, Sally? You don’t want to be married to me?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Of course I do.” It had been the early days, and she’d meant it then. “I’m wearing my wedding ring. I never take it off. But—”

  He grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the stove. One swipe of his other hand sent the soup pot flying. And then he forced her fingers down on the hot element.

  The burns hadn’t been deep. She’d applied antibiotic lotion and worn gloves, and they’d healed fairly quickly.

  But she had learned that there were no “buts,” no excuses.

  Next, Sally picked up the gold wedding band. She’d worn it all the time, even for a year after Pete died. She’d been too scared to take it off. Scared of crazy things. Like that he wasn’t really gone but was faking her out, setting a trap, waiting to catch her betraying their marriage.

  After all, how could he really be dead? One minute he’d been gripping a pitchfork, yelling at her, red-faced and furious, raising his hand to strike her.

  She backed away, tripped, turned, and started to run even though she knew it was futile, it would only make him angrier.

  And then he made a sound. A tortured, startled, disbelieving sound. One she’d never heard from him before.

  It made her freeze, glance back, and watch as, in slow motion, the pitchfork fell. His raised hand groped toward his chest. And he went down. Heavily, solidly.

  Still frozen, she watched and waited. Waited for him to get up. To come after her, madder than ever.

  Instead, lying on the floor of the barn, he stared toward her, his face contorted. “Sally,” he gasped. “Sally, I . . .”

  She should run to him and start CPR. But she’d as soon try to help an injured grizzly bear. He could smash her with one swipe of his hand. He could be faking.

  Or he could be dying, in answer to her desperate midnight prayers.

  She should pull the cell phone out of his shirt pocket and dial 911.

  Instead, she turned and walked away. She went into the house and vacuumed the downstairs. Then she went back out to the barn and yes, he was still lying there, his eyes shocked and furious, staring at nothing. Now, she carefully picked the phone—the only phone they owned—out of his pocket and called 911.

  “I came out to the barn and I found my husband lying on the floor. I think maybe he’s had a heart attack or a stroke.”

  The dispatcher asked questions and she stumbled through answers: no, she couldn’t find a pulse, didn’t think he was breathing.

  An ambulance arrived and the paramedics pronounced Pete dead. They gazed into Sally’s stunned face, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and held her frozen hands. They said that even if she’d found him earlier, there was nothing anyone could have done to save him.

  That didn’t assuage her guilt. She knew that, even had there been a way of saving Pete, she wouldn’t have done it.

  Now her hand clenched around the cold metal of the two rings. The edges of the diamond stabbed into her palm. Until death do us part. A life sentence.

  But even after Pete’s death, she hadn’t been free. He’d left her not only a heavily mortgaged piece
of land and a business loan on a shaky enterprise, but a manure heap of self-doubt, shame, and guilt.

  She opened her hand and stared down at the rings. How had something that had started with such promise so quickly turned dark and scary? How had she let it happen?

  So many times after his death, when she’d worried over how she could possibly make the next mortgage payment, she had thought of selling these rings. Yet something had held her back. Now, maybe it was time to get rid of these reminders.

  But the rings weren’t the reason she’d opened her jewelry box tonight.

  She lifted out a couple of the half dozen pairs of dangly earrings: etched silver feathers and gold hoops strung with turquoise stones. She’d loved to wear them to the bar, along with a fancy shirt with an embroidered yoke and pearly snap buttons.

  The earrings would look good with her tooled boots and the clothes Cassidy was going to loan her. When Sally was thirteen, she and a couple of friends had pierced each other’s ears. The holes in her ears had grown over, but the Internet would remind her how to do it. She could imagine the expression on Ben’s face.

  She grinned, then shook her head and put the earrings back. That was just plain foolish. If she decided to get her ears re-pierced, she’d have it done professionally.

  At the bottom of the box, she found the silver chain with the dangling horseshoe. This was the item that had been on her mind all day. Her parents had given her the necklace when she had signed up for Little Britches rodeo. It became her lucky charm. She’d worn it every single time she competed. When she took it off after that last Calgary Stampede, the night Pete had proposed, she’d had no idea she would never wear it again.

  She walked into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, then undid the clasp of the chain and held the necklace up. Automatically, her fingers did what they used to do and fastened the clasp behind her neck. She stared at her reflection.

  Her face was thinner, her cheekbones more pronounced. Her long hair was now much shorter, a mess of wavy curls that she whacked off when they got annoying. The freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose were the same. The neckline of her T-shirt was higher than anything she used to wear. The horseshoe, which used to dangle on display in the notch of her collarbone, now tangled in the neck of her tee.