by Susan Fox
Lying with Sally in his arms, their bodies still joined, post-orgasm lassitude seeped through Ben’s veins. He couldn’t give in to it; he needed to get up and on the road. He’d prepared everything last night. All he had to do was make coffee, fill his thermos, and load Chaunce. The thought of the old routine—the call of the near-empty open road, the exhilaration of competing, the easy pleasure of sharing a beer with Dusty—sent a jolt of adrenaline to counteract the lassitude.
How many hundreds, if not thousands, of times had he packed up at or before dawn and pulled onto the road, more than a few times leaving a warm, willing woman behind in bed? But never a woman like Sally. Hell, he was going to miss her.
It was really too bad she wasn’t still a barrel racer. But she wasn’t, and he wasn’t some settled-down established guy like she’d be looking for, and those were facts.
He eased away to deal with the condom, wondering how to say good-bye.
With her back still turned to him, she said, “You should get going, Ben. It’s a long drive.”
“Yeah.”
Her body tensed, then she rolled over and gazed into his eyes. “Promise you’ll drive safely? And stop and rest?”
“Promise you won’t work yourself into the ground?”
A soft smile touched her mouth. “I’ll promise if you will.”
“Deal.” He smiled back at her. God, but he cared about this woman. “I’ll e-mail or call to let you know how things are going. You’ll do the same, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well . . .”
“You know I can’t thank you enough. For everything.”
Her tone was too serious, her eyes too solemn. Gratitude wasn’t what he wanted from her. Affection, yes. “Yeah, you got a deer fence out of it,” he teased.
“I got a lot more than that. It doesn’t seem fair, everything you did for me and all I did was give you a place for you and Chaunce to stay.”
“You gave me . . .” He trailed off, searching for the right way to describe everything she’d given him. Her warm, generous body; the best slow dances and lovemaking he’d ever experienced. A bunch of great shared times: riding at sunset, throwing together meals at the end of a hard day’s work, even mucking out stalls. Doing things with Sally turned chores into enjoyment. She’d given him her trust, sharing secrets she hadn’t told another soul.
“Yes?” she asked.
“You. You gave me you. You let me into your life and I let you into mine. And we’re stuck there now.” Man, he really wasn’t good with words. “I mean, we’ll always be friends. Always be there for each other.” God, he hoped she felt the same way.
“Yes. Oh, yes.” Her eyes glistened and she sniffed. “I’m going to miss you.”
Oh hell, was she going to cry? “I’ll miss you, too. But we’ll stay in touch. All the time.” It was hard to imagine a day going by without talking to Sally.
“Well,” he said awkwardly, “I should get going.”
She pushed herself to a sitting position, shoved an extra pillow behind her back, and pulled up the sheet to cover her breasts. “And I need to do the morning chores. Let’s just say good-bye now and”—she swallowed—“go our separate ways.”
He slid out of bed and quickly pulled on his clothes, then gazed down at Sally.
She crooked a finger. He sat on the bed and leaned over to kiss her. When their lips touched, she closed her eyes. Her fingers sifted through his hair. They parted their lips and deepened the kiss. She gripped his head tightly for a moment, then released it. Opening her eyes, she broke the kiss. “Bye, Ben,” she murmured on a soft breath, her eyes shimmering with tears.
“Bye, Sally.” He straightened and gazed at her for one last moment. Not memorizing her face because he’d done that long ago. Just capturing one final image to hold in his heart.
Then he turned and, without looking back, left the room. He wasn’t going to take the time to shower, nor to brew coffee. Leaving was hard. Best to just do it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Late Saturday afternoon, Sally was slicing grilled beef, onions, and green peppers for fajitas when her cell rang. A glance at the screen had her grabbing it. “Ben! How did it go?” He’d called last night to let her know he, Dusty, and their horses had arrived safely in Kennedy. Today, they’d been scheduled to compete in team roping.
“It wasn’t our best time by a long shot, but we made it into the short round tomorrow.” His voice was as welcome as cold, pure water on a hot summer day when her throat was parched.
She sank into a chair at the kitchen table. “That’s terrific.” The short round was the finals of the event. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Fine.”
She grinned. “Yeah, cowboy, I know. Now tell me the real truth.”
His chuckle, warm and low, made her shiver with need, just as if he’d run his callused fingers across her skin. “Can’t put one over on another rodeo rider, can I? It’s fine, really. The okay kind of hurt.”
Tiredness and a little strain, but no further injury. “I’m glad. But no bronc riding until you’re cleared by a doctor or physiotherapist, promise?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Ha ha.”
“Corrie get there okay?”
“She’s unpacking now, and then she’ll come over for dinner. I’m making fajitas.”
“I’m envious.”
“I guess you and Dusty will be having dinner and a couple of beers?”
“Yeah, we’ll hit a bar tonight. Haven’t had a chance to shop for groceries yet.”
She imagined the pair of them at a Western bar with buckle bunnies flirting. She didn’t figure Ben would be going home with any tonight, but he was a virile guy. He wouldn’t want to go too long without sex. The thought of him with some other woman, doing the things he’d done with her . . . She shuddered. She had no right to be jealous, but that didn’t stop her.
“I’m real glad Corrie’s there,” he said. “Not just to help with the work, but so you’ve got some company.”
It was his company she wanted. But of course she wouldn’t say that. Trying to sound happy and carefree, she said, “Yes, it’ll be great. I want to get to know her better.”
Out the window, she saw Corrie walking toward the back steps. In denims cut off at midthigh, a cotton tank top in sage green, and sturdy sandals, the young woman looked healthy and fit. “In fact, she’s just arriving. I’d better go. Good luck tomorrow. Let me know how you do.”
“You bet. Take care, Sally.”
“You, too.” She put down the phone.
Corrie came into the mudroom, took off her sandals, and stood tentatively in the open kitchen door. “Hey.”
“Come on in. Help yourself to a beer. They’re in the fridge.”
“Uh, thank you.” Corrie almost tiptoed into the room, quite a feat for a strapping woman of five feet ten. She took a bottle from the fridge and twisted off the cap. “Can I help?”
“Not tonight. You’re the guest.” To celebrate Corrie’s return, Sally had driven into town and bought the ingredients for one of her own favorite meals. She’d also picked wildflowers for the table as well as for Corrie’s apartment.
It seemed everything she did: the shopping expedition, the flowers, the meal she’d chosen—one she’d shared a couple of times with Ben—reminded her of him. But then everything did, since he’d gone. She’d shed some tears as she sought comfort with her hens, but life went on and hers was busy, not allowing time for melancholy. Except when she was alone in bed at the end of each long day. Tonight, she’d replay that phone call over and over, not so much for the words as for the sound of Ben’s voice.
She forced away the sadness. She’d been in a horrible marriage, then she’d been alone and had led a constrained existence. Now she was alone again, but her life was richer. She should be happy for what she had, not depressed over what she didn’t.
Corrie propped a hip against the kitchen table. “Thanks for cleaning the apartment and
putting some groceries in the fridge. And for the flowers.”
“You’re welcome.” In all meanings of that phrase. Sally tossed the onions into a heated cast-iron pan. A few stirs, add the peppers, add the beef to quickly reheat it. “We’re all set. Condiments are on the deck table. I’ll bring the filling. Could you bring the plate of tortillas?”
A couple of minutes later, they were both seated, Corrie in Ben’s usual place. As they dished out food, Corrie said, “This looks great. It’s really nice of you.”
“You had a long drive on a hot day. And I’m happy to see you.” Sally smiled. “I know I’ve said this before, but I’m so glad to have you back.”
“I’m so glad to be here.” She gazed out at the view, beaming. Her oval face, framed by the pulled-back walnut-brown hair she wore in a long braid, bore no make-up. She wasn’t conventionally pretty, but there was an understated beauty about her regular features, clear skin, and gray eyes. Sally guessed that if someone who was skilled with make-up and hair styling got their hands on her, they could make her look like a movie star.
Corrie turned her attention back to her rolled fajita, and took a bite. “Mmm, delicious.” After another bite, she said, “I took a quick tour around the place. It’s looking great. I saw new names on the schedule, new horses in the paddock, and wow, that deer and rabbit fencing around the vegetable garden is awesome.”
“Things are going well. Fingers crossed.” She raised her hand, the middle finger crossed over the index one.
“Fingers crossed.” Corrie mirrored the gesture. “Your last assistant was obviously great.”
“He was. But Ben wasn’t as much an assistant as an old friend.”
“Oh?” She slanted Sally a curious gaze, then quickly refocused on her food, obviously remembering how Sally valued her privacy.
“Yes, from my rodeo days. He dropped by to say hi. He had to take a couple weeks’ break from rodeo because of an injury, so he offered to help out in return for a place to park his trailer and keep his horse.”
“A nice deal for both of you.”
Corrie had no idea how nice, and that information was too personal to share. “It was.”
“You look great, too,” Corrie said. “Younger and, uh, not stressed out.”
“I feel better, for sure. Having business pick up has taken a weight off my shoulders. But how about you, Corrie? You left because of some urgent personal thing. Now you’re back, so I hope it got resolved okay.”
“Yeah.” Corrie fidgeted with her beer bottle. “It’s fine.”
“Good.” But not good enough for the new Sally. “I don’t mean to pry, but I care about you, Corrie. If you want to talk about it, I’d like to listen.”
“Oh. Uh . . .” The younger woman lifted the bottle and drank deeply. Finally, she said, “Back when I was a kid, I was shy; I stuttered; I was taller and bigger than my classmates, including the boys; and I liked animals better than dolls. Kids teased me and I didn’t have many friends. When Bill asked me out in high school, at first I thought it was a joke.”
“Oh, Corrie.” Sally’d been the opposite as a girl: always pretty, confident, popular.
“But it wasn’t. We’ve dated ever since. He’s the only guy I’ve ever gone out with. We both went to college, then he went to law school. I didn’t really know what I wanted to do, and I took the job at the garden center because I like physical work, and being outside.”
Sally nodded. Corrie’s former employer had provided a glowing reference.
“Last year, when Bill graduated and we both turned twenty-five, he proposed.” Her mouth twisted. “Actually, he said it was time we got married.” She raised her bottle and took another long swallow.
“Not the most romantic proposal,” Sally ventured.
“No, but then I’m not the kind of woman who inspires romance.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. You’ve grown into a lovely woman.”
Corrie gave a disbelieving snort. “Anyhow, when I thought about us being married, living in Vancouver, him being a lawyer and me keeping working at the nursery, I just . . . well, I didn’t exactly feel happy. Then I was online and happened across the job you’d advertised. It was exactly what I wanted to do. So I told Bill I needed some time to think, to decide about my future. He wasn’t happy. At all.” She scrunched up her face. “But what could he say? Besides, he had an articling position at a big downtown firm and they were busting his balls making him work insane hours.”
“So you came to work at Ryland Riding, and made yourself indispensable. And then?”
“Bill said my time was up. I needed to grow up and do the sensible thing. Come home and marry him. He wasn’t going to wait any longer.”
“Hmm. Again, that wasn’t the romantic way to do it, but I admit I can kind of see his point. He needed to know if you really wanted to be with him.”
“I know. I wasn’t being fair to him. And I did want to be with him. Well, sort of. I mean, he was the only man I’d ever been with. Not just sex, but, you know, cooking a meal together, going to a movie. Me hanging out at his place reading while he did some work. Besides, he was the only guy who’d ever shown interest in me. If I didn’t marry Bill, I’d probably be alone for the rest of my life.”
“No.” Sally shook her head. “That’s not true, Corrie.” If it had been the other way around—that he was the only man Corrie could ever imagine loving—then she probably would be alone. As Sally expected that she herself would.
“Well, whatever. That was what I thought, so I went home. My parents were happy to see me and, like Bill, happy I’d finally come to my senses.” She frowned, gazing at the beer bottle she rotated between her hands. “It was surreal. Being the old Corrie, living in the basement suite at my parents’, spending time with Bill. Like a time warp. Or like my time here at Ryland Riding had never existed; I’d just dreamed it. But it was sure a great dream. Yeah, I was lonely sometimes—”
“I’m sorry. I should have been better company.”
“No, not at all. I’m shy and an introvert. And self-sufficient. I figured you were the same way, and that was fine. I had the horses, this amazing countryside, and a job that I enjoyed every minute of.” She nodded thoughtfully. “That’s what I remembered when I was back home. I missed it so much. I didn’t feel really alive.”
Sally nodded. That was how she felt about this place, too.
“Then I read your e-mail. It was like, you know, that cliché ‘click,’ the light bulb moment. It hadn’t all been a dream, and I could have it again.” A smile lit her mouth, then it faded. “It was the hardest thing in the world, telling Bill. After years together, after him being so patient, I hurt him. And yet in my heart I knew it was the right thing for both of us. When you see the truth, you have to honor it, don’t you think?”
“I do.” Sally’s truth was that she loved Ben Traynor. And the way she honored that truth was by not telling him. By respecting the life he’d chosen, wishing him the best of luck, and being a good friend. Even if she longed to be so much more.
“This is the life, eh?” Dusty said. He hoisted his beer bottle toward Ben. “Good to have you back, man.”
They sat at bar stools in a bare-bones Western bar in Kennedy on Saturday night. Ben clicked his bottle against Dusty’s. “Good to be back.” It had felt damned fine being out in the arena again. He grinned, remembering how he and Chaunce had chased after the steer as Dusty roped its head and tugged it to the side, then Ben let fly with his rope and neatly captured its hind legs. Chaunce and Paddy, Dusty’s horse, had done their part, backing to face each other, pulling the ropes taut. Teamwork, the four of them moving smoothly together.
Life was back to normal. He and Dusty were sharing the rig again, their horses keeping each other company in the back.
He shifted position, trying to ease the ache in his injured shoulder. When he’d been roping, he’d forgotten about it, but that workout on top of the long drive had been rough. Still, he was used to this. The heali
ng process took time. He’d wear the sling when he needed to, keep up with the exercises Monique gave him, and he’d be fine.
His heart, though . . . There was an ache in it that was getting worse hour by hour. He missed Sally. Sure wished she was sitting here tilting back a beer bottle with him and Dusty. Sure wished she’d be sharing his bed tonight, and breakfast in the morning.
Talking to her on the phone only made the ache worse. But it was pretty darned clear that she was doing okay without him. He was glad she was reaching out to Corrie. Making friends. Last night she’d mentioned having plans to get together with Cassidy Esperanza and two or three other women in town, since Corrie’d be there to look after Ryland Riding.
Before too long, Sally would meet a man. One with a serious job who wanted to marry and start a family. He took a healthy swig of beer. “Yeah, it’s good to be back,” he said again, reminding himself of that fact.
“So how’s Sally Pantages anyhow?” Dusty asked. “Still as purty and feisty?”
Ben had told him he’d looked her up and stayed to help out, but that was all he’d said. “Yeah, in a more grown-up way.”
“It’s a pity that gal quit the circuit, but if you’re gonna do it, hers was the right way. Goin’ out on top, not like some busted-down old-timer who don’t have the sense to know his time’s over.”
“You ever think of quitting, Dusty?”
His partner shoved back his shaggy hair, a light shade of brown that matched his name, and gave a crooked grin. “Maybe after we hit the top and stay there for long enough that it’s time to give some younger guys a chance. You?”
“Sounds about right.” Wasn’t it every rodeo rider’s dream? “Ever thought what you’ll do when that day comes?” For the first time, it struck Ben as strange that, after years on the road together sharing the cramped quarters in the trailer, drinking beer, and shooting pool, they’d never talked about this stuff. Always, their conversation had focused on the immediate. And didn’t that just point out the huge difference between Ben and Sally?
“Can’t say that I have. Something’ll come along. Be a rodeo judge, maybe, and stay on the circuit.” Dusty flagged down the waitress, flirted a little, and ordered another round of beer. When she’d gone, he said, “How ’bout you?”
