Love Somebody Like You

by Susan Fox

  The belly that had once held the beginnings of her child. A child she’d have loved with all her heart and protected with her life. A child Pete had taken away from her.

  Hunching forward, she rocked back and forth.

  Ben’s heart ached for her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sally hugged herself, feeling the emptiness in her womb. Why hadn’t she left Pete after he made her miscarry? Those things he’d said to her, they were like a spider web he spun around her, holding her in place, powerless. While little by little he devoured her spirit, her personality, her soul.

  “Sally, don’t let him get to you.” Ben moved closer and his hand stroked circles on her upper back the way he’d done last night. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Sure, like anyone else you had weaknesses. We all do. Things that people can exploit if they’re mean. Pete beat you up, physically and emotionally. Don’t beat yourself up, too.”

  She loosened the tight grip of her arms. “How do I know it won’t happen again?”

  “You’re older and wiser,” he said bluntly. “Don’t be isolated. Get back in touch with your family, make some friends. Build your confidence. See a counselor.”

  She cocked her head. “A counselor? The macho rodeo cowboy is suggesting therapy?”

  He touched his sling. “A fractured shoulder might heal by itself, but it’ll do better with the help of a physio.”

  “Hmm. I’ll think about it.” It would mean spilling her guts to a stranger, but she’d done that with Ben and felt better for it. “Okay, that’s enough of my issues for tonight. I know you watch your carbs, but could I tempt you with warm peach pie à la mode?”

  “Oh, man, that sounds great.”

  “It’s bakery pie, not homemade, but it looked good.” It was a sign of how much she trusted Ben that she’d done this. The first and only time she’d served store-bought baked goods to Pete, he’d thrown the chocolate cake across the kitchen.

  “Sally, I know you’re too busy to bake pie.”

  They both gathered up plates and leftovers and he followed her into the kitchen. She didn’t protest when he rinsed the dirty dishes. This was companionable, the two of them working together rather than her waiting on him. Her kitchen felt like a warmer, nicer place.

  Soon they were back on the deck with pie and ice cream, and mugs of coffee. It was dusk now, and she lit the citronella candles to discourage the mosquitoes.

  She savored her pie while Ben wolfed his down. Then he moved his chair from behind the table so he could stretch back in it and rest his bare feet on the low railing that ran around the deck. Balancing his coffee mug on his flat stomach, he said, “Terrific dinner. Thanks, Sally.”

  “Thank you, Ben. For everything.”

  “My pleasure.” His smile warmed his eyes, telling her he really meant it.

  Tonight he wore shorts that ended a few inches above his knees, showing off well-shaped legs dusted with dark hair. Though he was naturally dark-skinned thanks to his Native Canadian heritage, his legs were lighter in color than his tanned arms. She was so used to seeing him in jeans and boots that his bare legs and feet seemed particularly naked. Physical. Masculine.

  Appealing.

  She kicked off her old flip-flops and wiggled her own bare toes. Maybe the next time she went into town, she’d buy shorts from the friendly Maribeth.

  Shedding clothes was liberating. Wearing nicely fitted ones was, too. Pete had made her feel like she needed to hide her femaleness from the world, but Ben had suggested she look at Cassidy, Jess, and Brooke as role models.

  She liked that. He didn’t issue orders the way Pete had. He gave her suggestions and things to think about so she could make up her own mind.

  They sat in easy silence as she finished her pie and he sipped coffee. Then he said, “I keep meaning to ask, whatever happened to that pretty silver grulla mare you used to ride? I remember how you used to dress to match your horse.”

  Silver grullas were rare, and Misty’d been gorgeous with her silvery body and dark sepia brown points and face. Sally had worn a silver shirt teamed with brown pants and a brown hat. Rodeo was, after all, a performance for an audience.

  “Autumn Mist,” she said nostalgically. “I hope she’s enjoying a happy retirement. When I quit rodeo, I sold her to a breeder who specializes in rodeo horses.” The mare could breed winners: she’d had the quickest legs, the tightest turns, the fire in her belly to round those barrels cleanly, race down the stretches, and bring it home in the fastest time.

  “I’m surprised you sold her. You were such a team. When a rider has a bond like that with their horse . . .” He shrugged.

  “I know.” Ben had it with Chaunce; it was obvious when she saw them together. “I still miss her. Pete said we needed all the money we could raise to buy this place and get the business started.” She lifted her chin. “I see now that making me sell Misty was another way he cut me off from my past, from everything I cared about, and made me emotionally dependent on him.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Yeah.” It felt good hearing Ben say that. Even better would be saying it herself. “He was a bastard. An asshole.” She swallowed. “An abuser. He was sick and he was mean.” Power flooded through her as she spoke each word.

  “Good for you,” Ben said gruffly. He cleared his throat. “It kills me that he isn’t still alive so I could beat him up and give him a taste of his own medicine.”

  That notion shouldn’t give her a thrill, yet it did. Still, she said, “It’s the past, Ben. I’m in control of my life now.” And she knew what she had to do. “I’m going to call my parents.” After this conversation, she had the nerve to do it.

  “Good.” He paused. “You mean now?”

  She checked her watch, and added an hour. “They’ve probably gone to bed. I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”

  “Speaking of which.” He dropped his feet to the deck. “Morning comes early.”

  They took the dishes to the kitchen. She hadn’t left a light on, so the room was dim. On the radio, Kip Moore started to sing “Hey Pretty Girl,” one of those songs that made a relationship sound like a lifelong romance. When she had married Pete, she’d actually believed that was how it would be. She laid her plate and mug on the counter, but when she reached to click the light switch, Ben’s hand stopped hers.

  “Hear what he just said?” he asked.

  “He asked her if he could have the next dance.”

  “Seems like a real good idea to me.” Deftly, he undid the cuff and collar of his sling. “Don’t tell me I shouldn’t take this off. It’s just one dance.”

  She tensed, uncertain, as he held out his arms to her. And then, because this was Ben and because she wanted to, she stepped closer. She put one hand in his and rested the other on his uninjured shoulder.

  When he set their bodies in motion slow and easy, she closed her eyes and let herself simply enjoy being with this man. Enjoy being a woman dancing to a romantic song with a man she liked. Not a woman without baggage, but a woman making a fresh start.

  Ben’s body was so strong but he held her as if she was as special as a wildflower. Her hand rested in his as if it had come home. This close, she could smell his scent, like sunshine on pine needles. He hummed along to the music, a little off-key, which struck her as endearing.

  Kip Moore had reached the verse where the woman in the song had their baby. It always brought tears to Sally’s eyes and made her click off the radio. But not tonight. She remembered how right little Nicki had felt in her arms. Maybe one day she’d be a confident woman and she’d meet the right man—a kind, trustworthy man a lot like Ben—and they’d fall in love, marry, and have children. How amazing it was to feel hopeful. Perhaps even optimistic.

  The song ended and, still within the circle of Ben’s arms, she looked up at him. She owed everything to this man. The one gazing down at her with warm eyes, eyes that held affection and—her breath caught—desire.

  Her body tightened in r
esponse, every cell tingling with awareness. With an instinctive craving for his touch. And yet she’d learned to be scared of touch. Learned that a caress could so easily do a one eighty and become a blow.

  His head lowered.

  She tensed. She wanted him to kiss her, yet memories of being hurt made her afraid.

  As Ben’s lips touched her forehead, she kept utterly still. He held her loosely; she could pull away if she chose to. Yet she didn’t. She waited and, as his soft lips lingered against her skin, she slowly relaxed and enjoyed the sensation, gentle and warm as the kiss of the sun. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up to him.

  He kissed the space between her eyebrows, the tip of her nose.

  Her breath quickened and her lips parted slightly to let air in and out.

  His lips touched hers, feather-light. Not pressing, just resting there as she breathed against him. Did she want more? Could she handle more?

  Before she could decide, his mouth left hers and he was stepping away from her with a sigh of regret. “Night, Sally. It was a fine one.”

  And he was gone, leaving her with her lips still open a crack, unable to find the right words. Maybe there were no words for how wonderful this felt.

  Lying in bed, Sally listened to the resident birds vying to see which could give the most vibrant welcome to a new day. She felt like adding her voice. She had so many things to look forward to, including new clothes and attractively cut hair. And Ben.

  First, though, there was something she needed to do. Now, while the day beckoned, before she could have second thoughts.

  It was an hour later in Alberta. Her parents, country folk, rose with the dawn. She sat up in bed and called the old, familiar number. Two rings and a male voice answered, “Morning.”

  “D-dad? It’s Sally.” Had Penny mentioned that they’d spoken or was this coming as a complete surprise?

  The long pause told her it was a shock to her father. She imagined his jaw dropping, and hoped that, when reality sank in, the expression on his face would be pleasure rather than anger. “Sally? Is that really you?” His normally vigorous voice faltered as hers had.

  “It is. I’m sorry for not calling before, but I wasn’t sure . . . I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me.”

  “Not want to hear from you? You’re our daughter.” He must have turned his head slightly, because he didn’t burst her eardrum when he yelled, “Marge, get in here, it’s Sally!” Then, into the phone, “Are you all right? You’re not sick or anything?”

  “No, I’m fine. Just—”

  “Wait a minute. I’m going to put you on speaker phone so we can both hear.”

  A moment later, her mother’s voice said, “Sally, is it really you?”

  “Mom, I’m so sorry—”

  “I thought we’d never hear from you again!” Sally heard tears in her mother’s voice.

  Blinking back moisture in her own eyes, she said, “I wanted to talk to you but I thought you were so mad at me for marrying Pete and moving away.”

  “We weren’t exactly happy,” her dad said gruffly. “But we sure didn’t mean to drive you away from even being in touch with us.”

  “You didn’t. I think . . .” It was Pete. “I talked to Penny and she said that for the first year after Pete and I moved here, you e-mailed, phoned, and wrote.”

  “Well, of course we did.” Her mom sounded confused.

  “But you didn’t reply,” her dad said. “Then Pete told us in no uncertain terms that you didn’t want any contact with us, and we should stop harassing you.”

  There it was: the truth. Her parents would never lie to her. Unlike the husband who had promised to love, honor, and cherish her. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  And she let it spill. All of it. How Pete had cut her off from them, isolated her from the world. The emotional abuse. The physical abuse. Even the miscarriage. Sometimes she could barely force words out, she was crying so hard.

  Her mom sobbed too, and Sally thought that even her dad shed a tear or two. He said that if Pete was still alive, he’d rip him to pieces and her mom said, “Not if I got to him first.”

  It was messy; it was honest; it was loving. She only wished she were with them to feel their arms around her.

  Finally, her mother said, “I really wish you’d known you could always come to us.”

  Sally wiped tears away. “He messed with my mind. But I’m thinking for myself now.”

  “What happened, honey?” her dad asked. “I mean, why did you call us now?”

  “Penny met an old friend of mine who’s still riding in the rodeo. He was coming to B.C. and she asked him to look me up. She said enough time had gone by, and that you all missed me. That made me think, and I called Penny, and—”

  “She didn’t say anything!” Her mom sounded outraged.

  “It was only a couple of days ago and I was confused. That was when it started to sink in, what Pete had done. I cut the call short. Penny probably wasn’t sure what I’d do and didn’t want to get your hopes up. I need to call her again.”

  “Would it be easier for you,” her mother asked, “if we told her what you said, so you don’t have to go through it again?”

  She considered. “I think it would. And then would you ask her to call me?”

  “Of course,” her mom said. “Oh, Sally, I wish you could come for a visit.”

  “Or just come back,” her father said. “Why don’t you come home?”

  “I’d really like to be close to you guys, but I do love it here.” Now it wasn’t only the appeal of the countryside, and the business she’d built, it was also the sense that she might have friends, even become part of a community. Of course in Alberta there’d be some of the kids she’d gone to school with, but she was a different person. Too much had happened. “Maybe you could come here for a visit?”

  “We for sure can do that,” her dad said. “Penny can’t travel for a while, though. Did she tell you she’s expecting?”

  “She did. That’s so wonderful. I’d love to see her, and the baby when it arrives. And to meet her husband. But I really can’t leave Ryland Riding.” Even if Corrie had been here, it was too much responsibility to hand over to someone else. Nor could Sally afford to cancel lessons.

  “We’ll work something out,” her mom said.

  Sally recognized that determined tone. When Marge Pantages used it, things happened.

  Ben, at work in the barn, kept glancing at his watch. Usually, Sally was here by now. Had he offended her—or even worse, scared her—with that kiss last night?

  When she finally appeared, her eyes were puffy and red. Damn. “You’ve been crying,” he said gruffly. “If I did something to upset you—”

  “No!” She shook her head, her tossing curls bright in the barn’s dim lighting. “No, not at all. I called my parents and it got pretty emotional.”

  He peeled off his work gloves and caught her hand. “Oh, man, was it bad?”

  Another head-shake, less vigorous. “No, it was really good. I told them everything. They forgave me, said they understood.” Her lips twitched. “They both wanted to kill Pete.”

  “They can get in line behind me.”

  “I think they’re going to come out for a visit.”

  “They’ll be proud of what you’ve built for yourself here.”

  “You think?”

  “This is damned impressive.” It impressed the hell out of him. Made him very aware of how little he’d accomplished at going-on thirty. What did a bunch of trophy buckles and a few thousand dollars in a savings account count for compared to what Sally had achieved?

  “It’s strange to think that I wouldn’t have all of this but for Pete. I think in his own way he did love me and want a good life for us. But he was . . .”

  “Twisted. And an asshole.”

  “Yes.” She smiled and freed her hand from his.

  “I need to know something. Is it okay that I kissed you last night?”

&
nbsp; Her eyes widened, then she blinked slowly, lashes fanning down, staying there for a couple of beats before they rose again. Something knowing and female touched the corners of her mouth. “You call that a kiss, cowboy?”

  It was his turn to be surprised. He gulped, but quickly recovered. “I can do way better than that, ma’am,” he drawled. “If you give me a second chance.”

  She gazed into his eyes, not blinking now or looking embarrassed. “I just might do that.”

  Heat surged through him, making his heart thud and tightening his groin. “Sally, I like you and I want you. You know I’ll only be around for a little while. But while I am, I want whatever you’re willing to give me. You get to set the boundaries. Always. Tell me what they are, and I’ll never overstep.”

  “I believe you. Right now, the boundaries are a moving target. Let’s take it one step at a time and see where we go.”

  “Fair enough. How about we see if Heather’s available to come out for the evening? We could ride into town, pick up some picnic food, and find ourselves a pretty spot to eat dinner.” He imagined the two of them stretched out on a blanket, maybe by a scenic lake. Romantic and secluded, yet other riders might pass by, which would help Sally feel safe.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The late-afternoon sun felt good on Sally’s bare arms. The aroma of fresh cut hay made her breathe in deeply and smile as she and Ben trotted their horses side by side along a dirt-and-grass farm road. A red-wing blackbird sent a serenade trilling from a fence post.

  Her long-sleeved shirt was stuffed into the cantle bag she’d tied onto the back of Campion’s saddle, and she felt free and easy in her short-sleeved green tee. She’d need to buy sunscreen, though. It was something she hadn’t needed before, since she’d always been so covered up.