by Susan Fox
She gazed over at Ben, looking so at home on the back of his Paint despite the sling he wore. “Good thing you ride Western.” English style riding involved holding reins in both hands.
“If I rode English, I wouldn’t have been on a bucking bronc,” he reminded her, and they both laughed.
A lot of folks thought people were crazy to compete in rodeos, but she’d always said it was no more crazy than most jobs. For her and Ben, crazy would be sitting inside at a computer all day, not breathing fresh air or exercising and challenging their bodies. Despite the temporary glitch of a fractured shoulder, his body, clad now in a short-sleeved blue shirt along with his usual jeans, boots, and hat, certainly showed the benefits of all that exercise. No question he was a fine-looking man. A man in his prime.
As for her, she’d thought she was past her “best before” date, yet in the past few days she’d begun to think maybe that wasn’t true. Look at Brooke Brannon. The woman was more than ten years older than Sally, a grandmother and new mother. She looked young, vibrant, sexy, and her handsome husband, Jake, was obviously head over heels for her.
Maybe what mattered was attitude, Sally thought. If you felt vital and attractive, then you could be those things. Right now, that was how she felt. She tossed her hat back so it dangled by the cord, and urged Campion into a gallop. The bay gelding loved to run. Fingers of breeze combed through her curls, making her feel free and a little wild.
Ben’s laugh sounded from behind her, then Chaunce raced up beside her, keeping pace.
How much better this was than spending her evenings cleaning tack, doing housework, or paying bills. Having Ben around had, among other benefits, lightened her workload. She’d even found an hour to work in the garden, though it was frustrating to know she was helping feed the deer and rabbits. She hadn’t mentioned that to Corrie, not after all the effort the younger woman had put into that garden.
Corrie had asked, in her e-mail, whether Sally’d found a new assistant. Sally had fudged and said she did have someone helping her. She hadn’t wanted Corrie to worry. She, on the other hand, was concerned about Corrie and whatever problems had called her away.
Riding into a patch of woods, Sally slowed Campion to a trot and leaned forward to pat his neck. As the trail narrowed, Ben eased his horse in behind.
What would she do when he left? And not just because he was such a helpful assistant. His cheerful company brightened each day and his insight and support helped her regain her confidence. The attraction that sparked between them made her not only remember she was a woman, but be glad of it. If Ben hadn’t dropped by to visit, she might well have been stuck in the same old rut for the rest of her life.
And wasn’t that a sobering thought? Not that she’d been miserable by any means, but now her eyes had opened to how much more life had to offer.
When they came out of the trees and onto a dirt road, Ben drew up beside her again.
“I owe you so much,” she said.
“What?” He glanced over, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
“For helping me break out of the prison I’d stuck myself in.”
The frown lifted. “Aw, Sally. That’s about the nicest thing anyone ever said to me. Thank you.”
Her mouth opened in disbelief, then she had to laugh. “Ben Traynor, you’re really something. I start out thanking you, and somehow you turn it around so you’re thanking me.”
“Seems like you and me are lucky to be together.”
“I guess we are.” And how flattering that was, that he counted himself lucky to be with her rather than with some hot young buckle bunny.
As they rode on, she told him about her sister’s phone call this afternoon. Penny had been in tears over what Sally’d gone through. They’d sworn not to let anyone or anything ever again drive a wedge through their family.
Entering the outskirts of town, Sally asked, “Where will we put our horses?”
“There’s a place called Westward Ho!”
“I think that’s where Dave and Cassidy board their horses.”
“I checked it out the last time I was here.”
She followed him and they arrived at a nicely maintained barn and paddock. Because they only figured on being half an hour, they chose to tie their horses to a hitching rail in the shade. After loosening the horses’ cinches and giving them a couple of sips of water, they provided the cheerful teen staff person with their cell numbers and the animals’ names. Then they strode along the sidewalk leading downtown.
Ben reached for her hand and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to let him take it. Such a simple thing, but how wonderful it felt, being connected to him that way. His fingers entwined with hers in a perfect fit.
But when she saw Madeleine, the owner of Star of Egypt, step out of a store, her habit of privacy returned and she slid her hand free. Madeleine turned and walked in the other direction, not even noticing Sally and Ben.
“Sally?” Ben questioned.
“I’m not comfortable with holding hands.” Bad choice of words. She felt very comfortable with her hand in his. Trying to clarify, she said, “I don’t want people gossiping about me.”
He glanced at her and she sensed there was something he wanted to say, but he settled for “Okay.”
It was late enough that the specialty stores like the bakery and deli were closed, so Sally and Ben went into the grocery store.
“I packed bottled water in my cantle bag,” she told Ben, “and I put what was left of last night’s wine in a plastic bottle. I picked some baby carrots from the garden, and I packed a couple of pieces of peach pie.”
“A good start. Let’s get a loaf of French bread, some cheese and cold meat, and some olives. I brought a knife. No plates, though.”
“I have paper towels. They’ll do. I didn’t bring glasses because I was afraid they’d break. I’ve been responsible for enough broken glass. Want to buy plastic ones?”
“I’m good with drinking out of the bottle. If you are.”
Passing a plastic bottle and both drinking out of it? She loved the informality and the intimacy. “I’m good with it.”
It didn’t take long to make their selections, and she remembered to add sunscreen.
Back at Westward Ho!, Ben stuffed the groceries into their saddlebags and she borrowed the restroom to slather on sunscreen, then wash her hands.
As they rode out of town, Ben said, “Want to go to that lake with the beaver dam?”
“Sure. It doesn’t have a beach, so it’s less likely to attract local teens who want to party.”
Her logic proved right. When they arrived, they had the lake to themselves except for the ducks, dragonflies, and a pair of noisy kingfishers. Ben unfastened a plaid blanket that he’d had rolled and tied to the back of his saddle, and spread it on a sunny patch of rough grass. They tugged off their boots and socks and couldn’t resist rolling up the legs of their jeans and dipping their feet into the cool water.
Refreshed, they heeded their growling stomachs and unpacked the goodies. Using Ben’s knife to slice the bread and cheese, they dug in. As they ate, they passed the plastic bottle of wine back and forth. An older couple rode by and exchanged greetings, and then a teenage girl who was texting as she rode.
As contented and lazy as one of her hens basking in the sun, Sally didn’t feel any pressing need to make conversation. Either Ben felt the same way or he picked up on her mood, because he mostly kept quiet too, except to make an occasional comment about the food or to offer her more wine.
Though they didn’t talk, she was totally aware of him. He was large, taking up more than his fair share of the blanket, but he was also just so physical and masculine. The tanned skin of his forearms, the press of his strong thighs against the faded denim of his jeans, the relish with which he ate, they made her not only aware of his body but also of hers. And of the slow warmth of arousal rippling through her blood, far more intoxicating than the wine.
After polis
hing off the peach pie, they packaged up everything but the wine and water. Ben stretched out on his side, using his good arm to prop his head up. “This is the life.”
The air had cooled slightly and Sally pulled her shirt on over her tee, but left the sleeves rolled up her forearms. She sat cross-legged on the blanket beside him. “You’re easy to be with,” she told him shyly. “I feel like I can be myself, and that’s okay with you.”
“It’s more than okay. That’s how I want you to be.” He studied her face. “Who’s ‘yourself’? I mean, how do you see yourself?”
“Um . . .” No one had ever asked her that. She reflected, taking an absentminded sip of wine. “A country girl, obviously. Hardworking. My parents taught me that things that come too easily often don’t have much value. There’s a lot of satisfaction in old-fashioned hard work.”
“True. But life’s got to be about more than work.”
“Sure. So, to add to my list: nature-lover, horse-lover, chicken-lover. Those things give me joy. So does teaching, especially teaching children. I love country music. Wildflowers. Fresh veggies from my own garden. I guess I’m a woman of simple tastes and pleasures.”
“Those are all good things you’re listing. Anything more that you see in yourself?”
Thinking about that, she uncurled her legs and stretched out on her side, facing him. “Being a daughter and sister used to be a big part of my identity. A friend, as well. I value those things and I care about people. I’m . . . rusty when it comes to relationships, but I’d like to rebuild some and also pursue some new ones.”
He sat up. “How about man-woman type relationships?”
“That’s a really good question.” She lay still, watching him. He was such a tempting man.
“Is there a really good answer?” he teased as he slipped off the sling.
She tensed slightly, not with fear as much as anticipation and desire. Was he going to kiss her? Come on to her? Her body craved him, yet the idea of sex made her anxious. What a mess she was. Slowly, she said, “I didn’t think I’d ever want to be with a man again. I didn’t think I could ever trust one. Or trust my judgment.”
“But?” He took her bare foot in both his hands, startling her.
Again she tensed but then, as he began to massage her foot, she relaxed and shifted to lie on her back, giving him better access. Oh, that felt good, his warm fingers kneading firmly, finding aches she hadn’t been aware of. Putting her hands behind her head to pillow it, she closed her eyes. “I’m only now realizing how badly Pete messed me up. And that I can be a different person—I already am—but it’s going to take time.”
“But it was okay when I kissed you? Did you like it?” His thumbs worked the top of her foot and his fingers rubbed the bottom, strong enough to cause a delicious sensation as knots of tension softened and released.
“Mmm. Ben, that feels so good. And yes, I liked it when you kissed me, and I liked dancing with you. It made me . . .”
His hands paused. “Yes?”
“Want more,” she confessed, her eyes still closed, the words barely more than a breath.
He captured her other foot and started to work it. “Me, too. Sally, I won’t hurt you and I won’t try to control you. I like you all feisty and strong and independent. Do you believe me?”
“I think I do. You make me feel . . . safe.” Here they were, on a picnic blanket out in the middle of nowhere, and was he trying to jump her? No, he was massaging her feet. Which, actually, felt more than a little arousing.
“Safe is good. Sexy is good, too.”
She couldn’t help but grin. “I guess it could be.” The sensations traveling from her foot up her leg to her feminine core were pretty darned sexy, and definitely good.
“You know I’m going back on the rodeo circuit, right?”
Surprised, she opened her eyes and looked up, to find him gazing at her. “Of course.”
“After I go, I hope we’ll stay friends. Keep in touch. I want you to know that if you ever need me, you should let me know.”
“O-kay,” she said slowly. “But, um, it kind of sounds like you’re saying good-bye now. I thought Monique said today that you’d need to wait at least another week.”
“She did. Sorry, that’s not what I mean.” He released her foot and gazed earnestly at her. “I want to be clear about where I stand. Most important, I want us to be friends. And like I told you, I’m really attracted to you. If you’re looking to, uh, try out the male-female thing with someone safe, then, uh . . .” He broke off, made a rueful face. “Oh, man, I’m messing this up.”
A giggle spluttered out and she sat up, hooking her arms around her bent knees. “You’re volunteering to have sex with me out of the goodness of your heart?”
He grinned back. “Like I said, messing up totally. I’m trying really hard not to sound like some lust-crazed monster, and I promise I won’t act like one.”
She leaned over and touched his bare forearm, so strong and warm. “I think I get it.”
“No expectations. No demands. No strings. If it never gets past a kiss, that’s fine.”
“You’re not going to force a wedding ring on my finger and move me to some distant province?” she asked dryly, proud that she could attempt a joke about her experience with Pete.
“Somehow I don’t think that’s in the cards.”
In truth, she knew Ben would never do anything like that. Not only wasn’t he that kind of man, but he had no interest in leaving rodeo and settling down, not for some years yet. Even if he had, he should find a younger, less damaged woman, one who had more to give him than she did.
He had said he was safe. That was true in so many ways. Safe, in that he’d respect whatever limits she set. Safe, in that he wouldn’t sweep her off her feet and try to take over her life. Safe, in that he’d already helped her start on the path of healing. He’d helped her feel like a woman, an attractive and sexy woman.
And she was attracted to him. Right now, she couldn’t imagine even contemplating sex with any other man.
The evening sunshine turned Sally’s eyes a deep mossy green. “You know what I’d like?” she asked.
“No idea.” Though he could hope.
“Another dance. In my kitchen. And after, when you kiss me, maybe you could”—mischief glinted in her eyes—“ramp it up a little?”
He was on his feet, extending his right hand to pull her up. “Race you home.”
They loaded up their gear and, despite his joking words, took their time riding back. It was a perfect July evening and Ben liked hanging on to the anticipation of that dance and ramped-up kiss. The ride, with the sun slipping from the sky and the only sound the creak and jingle of the horses’ tack and the soft thud of their hooves against hard-packed ground, seemed like part of the slow, teasing sense of foreplay.
He had to be careful, to bank down on the desire that threatened to rage through his body. Yeah, in part he felt like a lust-crazed monster, but he’d rather die from blue balls than do anything to scare Sally.
Back at Ryland Riding, they greeted Heather and a couple of owners who’d just returned from a ride of their own and were turning their horses out to pasture. Heather left and Ben took care of Chaunce and Campion while Sally tended to her chickens. He then made a pit stop in his trailer to splash water on his face, brush his teeth, and comb his hair. He left the sling on the table and deliberately did not put a condom in his pocket. It wouldn’t be right for things to go that far tonight, even though his body hungered for release.
Man, he was as nervous as a teen on his first date.
Mary-Jane Kowalski. Brown hair, blue eyes, and the cutest impish grin. They’d been twelve and he’d taken her to the movies. She’d wanted to see Free Willy 3, so two ranch kids who’d never seen the ocean had watched boys rescue an orca from whalers. He’d held her hand, their fingers greasy from eating buttered popcorn. Grinning at the memory, he sauntered toward the house, admiring an indigo sky full of stars.
&n
bsp; The kitchen door was open and he heard music playing. After knocking lightly on the doorframe and calling a quiet “Hello,” he took off his boots and stepped inside. The room was dark and there was no sign of Sally. On the radio, a Carrie Underwood song ended and the announcer said, “And now I’m gonna play something for all the lovers out there. Grab your honey for Keith Urban singing about ‘Somebody Like You.’”
“Sally,” Ben called, “they’re playing our song.”
Footsteps thumped lightly on the stairs and she appeared in the kitchen doorway, illuminated by light from the hallway behind her. “We have a song? Oh, that one.” She’d taken off the long-sleeved shirt and now wore only the tee with her jeans. She was barefoot and her hair was freshly brushed.
He held out his arms to her and she stepped into them with no hesitation. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he gathered her close but not too close, holding her firmly but gently. Taking care with her. Leading her so that their bodies found a harmony in tune with each other and the music. Her hand was warm and relaxed in his, her waist supple under his other hand. His sock-clad foot brushed her bare one a time or two.
He struggled to control the arousal that tightened his groin.
As Keith Urban sang about letting go of the lonely days and forgiving himself for his mistakes, Ben hoped that Sally could do all of those things too. If she did, what would she want? Would she want, as the guy in the song did, to love somebody?
Ben wanted that for her. He wanted her to have all the things she’d ever dreamed of. A man who respected and loved her, who deserved this amazing woman. One day Ben would drive though Caribou Crossing, stop to visit, and she’d have a husband and a couple of kids. And he’d feel . . . well, he’d feel what he felt right now. A pang he couldn’t put a name to, something poignant that sent an ache through his heart.
And that was just plain crazy when he was holding this sweet-smelling, gently curved, strong yet vulnerable woman in his arms. He eased her a little closer so his hip brushed hers.
