Love Somebody Like You (18 page)

She did the so familiar thing of crossing her arms over her chest. “It's humiliating.”

“You think getting thrown off a bronc and busting your shoulder isn't humiliating? Hell, Sally, shit happens; you deal with it; you move on. Shit happened to you and I need to know what it was so I can help you deal with it and move on.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why? It's not your problem.”

Because he cared about her. Maybe more than was sensible for a rodeo cowboy who had no plans for settling down. “I'm your friend,” he reminded her. “I want to see you confident and sassy again. Not afraid, not hiding out here like a hermit, but having a full life.” A life that could—should—include another husband one day, an established man who respected and loved her. Who gave her the kids Ben knew she yearned for.

That thought hurt a little. But he wasn't the guy for her, and he wanted Sally to be happy.

Guessing she'd feel more at ease outside than in his cramped living quarters, he said, “Let's go out and watch the sunset. Talk. Have a drink.” Teasingly, he said, “Happens that I'm out of wine. . . .”

She gave him a small, rueful smile.

“But I can offer you beer or water.”

“I'll take water.” She paused. The smile grew. “If you trust me with a glass.”

He laughed. “I'll take my chances. My stuff's not exactly fine crystal.”

“I'll clean up the mess.”

“No, I'll do it later. You go on out. I'll be right there.”

She nodded and obeyed. He guessed she could use a couple of minutes by herself.

Avoiding the spilled wine and broken glass, Ben got a beer from the fridge and ran a fresh glass of water for Sally. He also fetched a damp washcloth and a few tissues from the bathroom. When he went out, she was leaning back in a chair, her face tipped up to the evening sky and her eyes closed.

Not opening her eyes, she said, “I love how the air smells here.” Now her puffy eyes opened and she gazed at him. “Despite everything, I like it better here than in Alberta. The scenery, the air, it speaks to me.”

“It's lovely country all right.”

When he handed her the glass, she drank thirstily, almost draining it. He gave her the washcloth and tissues, and went back inside to refill the glass, taking the dirty plates with him. He put the sling on and returned. “Tell me about him,” he said quietly.

She pressed her lips together. “You'll find out who I really am. It's not a pretty picture.”

“I don't care about pretty pictures.” Though he suspected that, for him, Sally would always be pretty, inside and out. “I care about you. Start at the beginning and tell me the story.”

Chapter Fifteen

Sally gazed at the handsome cowboy with his tear-soaked shirt. If she told Ben the truth, he'd think less of her. Or would he? Did it even matter? If he could help her makes sense of it all, wouldn't that be a good thing?

She wanted this man to think well of her. But it was probably too late for that anyhow. She'd wasted good wine, broken two glasses, and cried all over him. She must look like the total mess she truly was. He was a friend. Not a prospective boyfriend, despite his disconcerting appeal. If he'd felt attraction to her, her behavior tonight would have destroyed it.

The sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of orange. The sight was beautiful, but her eyes ached and so she closed them. Hiding behind closed lids, not seeing Ben's face, made it easier to talk. Words slipped out. “He swept me off my feet.”

Behind her lids, she saw the images. “It was romantic and exciting. Pete took me to fancy restaurants, he had a sports car, he flattered and courted me. He was only a year older, but he had a real job and he made good, steady money. He bought me dresses—not slutty ones, actually quite conservative—and he said a woman should look feminine, not always wear jeans and boots. He made me feel prettier and more feminine than I ever had.”

Maybe there'd been warning signs, but she hadn't recognized them. “It was like he put me on a pedestal, and yet”—as she realized now—“the
me
he put there was one he was creating. It wasn't Sally Pantages, cowgirl and rodeo performer, daughter and sister, friend. It was his vision of the perfect Sally. His future wife. His idea of a perfect wife.”

“I thought you were pretty perfect the way you were,” Ben murmured.

“I was too—” She stopped. “After we were married, Pete started to criticize me. He said I was too loud. He said I was a tease who flaunted my body and led men on, especially when I drank. I was immature, and alcohol made me act like a fool.” Just like Toby, yelling at Katy last night. “After our wedding reception, he said he didn't like the person I became when I drank, so for the sake of our marriage we would ban alcohol from the house.”

Ben made a guttural noise in his throat. “The asshole. I never once saw you act like a fool. You laughed, you danced, you had fun. Damn it, Sally, there's nothing wrong with any of that! I loved seeing you like that.”

She shrugged. “I believed him. He told me I was naïve, that I didn't understand men and how easy it was to mislead them, to seduce them. He said that if I loved him, my femininity and sexuality should be reserved for him. It seemed to make sense at the time.”

“I buy in to fidelity, but that doesn't mean you have to dress and act like a nun.”

“Pete said that from the day he laid eyes on me, he didn't have the slightest interest in another woman. He was pleasant to our clients, but he never flirted. He dressed plainly. All he expected of me was to behave the same way he did.” She opened her eyes, picked up the water glass and sipped, then closed her eyes again, still hanging on to the glass.

“Flaunting yourself and leading guys on is way different from wearing flattering clothes and being outgoing.”

Of course they were. How had she let Pete persuade her otherwise? “He kind of, well, brainwashed me, Ben.” And she'd let him do it.

“He was an asshole. You're single now. You can dress and act however you want.”

As if it were that easy. “I don't know what's appropriate. I don't trust my judgment.”

“Just look at Cassidy, Jess, Brooke. Attractive, bright, interesting women.”

That did make sense. Why had she let Pete rule her even after his death? “I guess you're right. I've been so isolated. . . .” She had another sip of water. “That was Pete's doing.” But she was getting ahead of herself.

She picked up the story. “When I accepted his proposal, he wanted to get married right away and start our life together. He liked the world of horses and riding—he was a weekend rider—and said his job with the construction company was boring. He wanted us to start a business. It was so exciting. Exciting enough that I didn't mind giving up rodeo. Besides, I wanted to be with Pete, not traveling the rodeo circuit. I really was crazy, head-over-heels in love with him. Stupid in love. So eager to listen to all his advice.”

She opened her eyes and glanced at Ben, his strong-featured face even more striking in the sun's fading rays. “I had no business sense. Mom had always organized my rodeo career. She booked everything and told me where and when to show up. She banked my earnings and gave me, like, an allowance or paycheck, otherwise I probably wouldn't have saved anything. Pete, though, he had a degree in business and was a site manager with that construction company.”

“I can see that you'd listen to his business savvy,” Ben admitted in a grudging tone.

“We did discuss it. What we could do with our skills and our love of horses, and what we could finance based on the money we'd both saved. We came up with the idea for Ryland Riding together. He hunted for properties and found this one, with all the basic stuff we needed.”

“In British Columbia.”

“He said he'd hunted in Alberta too, but this was the best deal. Besides, he said it would be good for our marriage for it to be just the two of us. He made it sound so romantic. My parents were upset, though. They said we should take more time and think things through. They didn't want me to move away.” She sighed. “I should have listened to them, but I was young and in love. Besides, I had no idea that they'd cut me off completely.”

Remembering what her sister had told her, she said, “Though now I'm not sure they did, or whether Pete did that.” She told him about that morning's phone conversation, and how Pete had controlled their e-mail, mail, and only phone.

Ben whistled. “Sounds to me like the guy deliberately isolated you from your family. From your old friends, too?”

She nodded. “After we got settled here, I finally had a chance to write thank-you notes to everyone who'd given us wedding presents. I wrote something personal to most people too, like how I hoped distance wouldn't keep us from staying in touch. I expected at least some of them to respond. But no one did.”

His dark brows had pulled together. “Pete took those thank-you notes to the mailbox.”

She nodded. “He dealt with all the mail.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “I was so stupid. But he loved me. He always told me how much he loved me. When he said my parents had cut us out of their lives, he said it was better this way. Him and me against the world. He said we didn't need anyone else.”

Ben leaned over and rested his hand on her jean-clad knee. “You see what he did, right? By isolating you, he not only bound you tighter to him, made you dependent on him, but he took away your chance to get other people's perspective. They would have criticized him, made you doubt him. He couldn't have that.”

“You're probably right.” She bit her lip. To this day, she didn't understand Pete. “Or maybe he just really loved me. He said that thing from that
Jerry Maguire
movie, about how we completed each other. He said we were two halves that made a whole. He didn't need anyone else and didn't see why I should.” She'd felt cut off and lonely, and disloyal for feeling that way.

Ben shook his head. “Seems to me, if you love someone, you don't tell them what they need. You ask them.”

“He did, sometimes. But he always had some reason why I was wrong. Like, I wanted a radio because I love country music, and a TV, just because I'd always had one. He said our life should be about our marriage and our business, and that radio and TV were frivolous distractions. I admit, I still don't have a TV because there'd be no time to watch it. So, you see what I mean? He was kind of right.”

“But you always have the radio on in the kitchen.”

“I do. And here's another thing. I wanted us to get chickens. We had them on the ranch where I grew up, and I loved them. But he said they were messy, noisy, and time-consuming, and it was easier to buy eggs.”

“It wasn't about the eggs, though. Not for you.” He patted her leg. “If your chickens never laid another egg, you'd still keep them because they're your friends.”

“Yes.” Her emotions were so close to the surface, she felt tears rise. Not just at the thought of her hen friends, but because Ben understood. And he didn't seem to think she was foolish. She puffed out a breath and struggled for composure. “Pete was old-fashioned about what a husband should do and what a wife should do. His parents had had that kind of home.”

“Speaking of his parents, did he cut off contact with them, too?” Ben let go of her leg to reach for his beer.

She missed his touch. “They died in some horrible car accident when he was in his late teens. And he had no siblings. I was it. His entire life.” She'd felt sorry for him, that he had no one but her. All the while, he'd been scheming to ensure she had no one but him.

“Anyhow,” she said, continuing with the story, “he worked hard building the indoor arena, doing maintenance, handling the business. When he absolutely had to have help, he let me assist, but he didn't like to. He wanted me to concentrate on the horses, the lessons, and the house. The house had to be clean and tidy. A hot dinner had to be on the table when he got in from work, and I had to have showered and changed into a dress.” She'd given all those dresses to Goodwill after he died.

“I tried,” she said quietly. “I tried so hard. But I kept messing up. I'd be positive that he'd said he'd be back for dinner at six-thirty, but then he'd come in at six and I'd still be in jeans and the meal wouldn't be ready.” Remembering, she shivered. “He'd be mad.”

 

 

Ben was glad it was almost dark now. It meant Sally couldn't tell how tightly his hands were clenched into fists. Trying to keep his voice level, he said, “And then he'd hit you.”

Her head was down and she swallowed audibly. Breathed, “Yes.” A moment later, she went on. “He'd slap me, or grab my arm and fling me across the kitchen. Or force my fingers down on a hot stove element.”

Anger coursed through Ben's body so forcefully that it was all he could do to stay in his chair.

Sally drank the last of the water and put the glass on the table. Still not looking at Ben, she said, “He'd berate me. Say I made him do it.”

“No,” he said flatly. “You didn't.”

“When he hurt me badly, he'd apologize. He's say he was sorry, but that it was his job as my husband to help me be a good wife so that we'd have a strong marriage. If he went into town, he'd bring back flowers.” She gulped. “Female clients told me how lucky I was to have such a romantic husband who clearly adored me.”

“Shit. How could people not see him for what he really was?”

She gazed at him, her eyes huge in the dusky light. “He really did adore me.”

“If so, it was in a sick, perverted way. The man was an abuser, Sally. Pure and simple. There's no excuse for what he did.”

Her sigh was weighty and tired. “I'm not totally stupid or inexperienced. I knew about domestic abuse. A few times, I stood up to him. I said I wouldn't forgive him, and I was going to leave him. But he'd tell me how much he loved and needed me. He said I needed him, too. That I couldn't walk out on Ryland Riding; I'd have no way to make a living. He said I'd be all alone, there was no one I could turn to. That he was the only one who wanted me and appreciated me.”

Ben's jaw was clenched so tightly he couldn't speak. He forced himself to relax the muscles. “Emotional abuse. He isolated you and undermined your confidence.”

“It's easy for you to apply labels.” There was a small flash of spirit in her voice, and he was glad to hear it. “You weren't there, Ben. You didn't live twenty-four-seven with the man.”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know that labels don't explain what it was really like. I've heard about that kind of abuse and I know you can get trapped so it doesn't seem like there's any way out. So you even think you deserve to be treated that way.”

She ducked her head again. “Sometimes I wished he would die,” she confessed in a barely audible whisper. “And then he did.”

“You didn't cause it. Not that I'd blame you if you had.”

After a long moment, she said, “Maybe I did cause it. He was mad, yelling at me, coming after me when he had the heart attack.”

“Then he deserved it.”

She gave a small gasp. “Ben, I . . . I didn't try to help.” She wrapped her arms across her chest. “He fell and he was conscious. I didn't call 911. I ran away. I l-let him die. Later, the paramedics said there was nothing anyone could have done, but I didn't even try. And I lied to everyone. I said I'd been in the house when it happened. That I found him later, already dead.” Her eyes searched his face. “Does that make me a horrible person?”

“God, no.” Gently, he tugged one of her hands free from its grip on her upper arm. Cradling it in his, he said, “It makes you an abused woman who was terrified of her abuser.”

She didn't pull her hand away, but nor did she return the pressure. “And that makes me sound like a victim. Which I guess I was. But I hate to think of myself that way. Maybe that's why I was in denial.”

“He messed with your mind. No wonder you couldn't sort things out.”

“Even after he died. At first I couldn't really believe he was dead. That this wasn't one of his traps to make sure I obeyed his rules. And then, well, my mind was still such a muddle. I couldn't sort it out.” She wove her fingers through his. “Until now. Until you helped me.”