Love Somebody Like You (19 page)

He squeezed her hand. “I'm so damned glad you dropped that bottle and broke those glasses.”

She gave a small, surprised laugh. “I am, too. I never thought I'd be glad to break something, but it brought everything to a head. Pete would have hit me, but all you cared about was that I didn't hurt myself on broken glass. You know those times when you said I could trust you, that you weren't like him? Well, it finally truly sank in. And it's sunk in that Pete really is gone and I never need to be afraid like that anymore.”

They sat in silence as darkness fell around them. A shrill whine near Ben's ear had him slapping his cheek, hoping he got the mosquito before it got him. “It's cooling off and the skeeters are out. Hang on a sec.” He went into his rig and came back with a couple of lightweight cotton hoodies. When he gave her one, she took it hesitantly, then put it on as he did the same. They both pulled up the hoods to protect their necks and ears.

He hadn't turned the outside light on, but enough light came through the windows of the trailer that he could see how small and feminine she looked, dwarfed by his overlarge hoodie. She brought out his protective instincts, yet he knew the best thing he could do for her was help her believe in her own strength.

“You're free of Pete.” He made it a statement, hoping that she'd accept its truth. “That means you really can move on. What do you want your life to be like, Sally?”

“Whew. That's a big question. I do love it here: the scenery, the climate, my horses and hens, my students. Once, I'd assumed I'd have a happy marriage, a home.” She paused. “Children.” Another pause and then, “Pete didn't want children. I got pregnant, and when he found out, he beat me and I miscarried.”

“Oh shit, Sally. That's . . .” He was so shocked and horrified, he didn't know what to say. “God, I'm so sorry.” He paused, but had to ask. “Do you think it was intentional? Did he want you to lose the baby?”

She blinked back tears. “I don't know. I hate to think it, but . . .”

“Why didn't he want kids?”

Her shoulders straightened. “Looking back, I'm starting to see the forest, not just the trees. Maybe Pete did love me, but he was possessive and jealous. He didn't want me giving affection to anyone, or anything, other than him. Not my family, not my horse, much less my own baby.”

Ben nodded. “And if he'd ever hurt your child, you'd have left him. Loving your kid would have given you the strength to go.” He had to wonder whether Pete came from an abusive family, and his mom hadn't found a way to leave.

“God, I hope so.” The self-doubt in her eyes almost did him in.

“I know so.” She would do anything to protect her child. How could he know this woman better than she knew herself?

Her eyes were glazed with tears again. “Thank you, Ben.”

For a few minutes, they were quiet. Then he said, “That was then. How about the future? What do you want now, Sally?”

She sighed, picked up her water glass, and then put it down again when she saw it was empty. “I guess . . . I'd still like all those things—love, a family—but how can I trust my judgment when it comes to men? How can I know if a relationship will be healthy? I let Pete control me. I let myself become dependent. I let myself be abused and didn't walk away.”

He wanted to argue with her, yet it was a fact that she'd done those things. If she met another man like Pete—a thought that roiled his blood—might she do the same again? He sure as hell hoped not.

She sighed. “This morning, Andrew, the new student, said that young people are too inexperienced to be sure if the love they feel is the forever kind. I think I'm even less confident now, past the age of thirty, that I'd have the sense to recognize the right kind of love.”

“I hate it that Pete did that to you.”

“I hate it that I let him do it.”

“Then don't let him keep doing it. Oh, I'm not saying to leap into the arms of the first man who comes along, but why not get your feet wet? Socialize; have coffee with some guys.” Damn, it was painful forcing those words out. The next ones came much easier. “If you want to try your wings, feel free to use me as a guinea pig.”

After a pause, she said, “Aren't those mixed metaphors, or some such thing?”

“You know what I mean. I like you a lot, Sally. I sure hope by now you know you can trust me.” He badly wanted to touch her, but figured she might hear his message better if he didn't. “You must also know that I'm attracted to you.”

She sucked in a breath. “How could you be? I'm such a mess.”

“You're strong and beautiful. And sexy.”

“Ben, I can't . . . I don't . . .” She sounded confused and exhausted.

“Hey, I'm not gonna push. I'm just saying, when you're ready to test your wings, I'd be mighty happy if you took that first flight with me.” He rose. “We need to get some sleep. I'll walk you to your door.” Ben took the wildflowers out of the glass and handed them to her, then held out his hand. He liked that she didn't pause before putting hers into it.

He tugged her to her feet. “I know you've got a lot to think about. Just, while you're thinking, don't forget about me.”

Chapter Sixteen

Sally woke on Tuesday feeling kind of spacy. Light, like she'd been drained. Tired, yet exhilarated. She thought of the well-worn expression: today is the first day of the rest of your life. For years, she'd assumed that each day would be much like the previous one. Since Pete's death, those days had been pretty darned fine. Yet now she had a sense of possibility, of hope and a new self-confidence. Life could be more than pretty darned fine; it could be fabulous.

It was all due to Ben.

In the kitchen, she admired the bouquet on the table. Whatever her life might look like, she'd make sure it included wildflowers.

Out in the chicken coop, she sat on the top step with her half-finished mug of coffee beside her. Gertrude, a Barred Rock, clambered onto her lap. “What happens next?” Sally murmured as she stroked the hen. “Aside from the wildflowers?”

The creature clucked contentedly and Sally smiled. She had followed her instincts when she got her flock, and they hadn't steered her wrong. Maybe her judgment wasn't as bad as she thought it was. “At least when it comes to chickens, eh, Gertrude?”

Shortly after, when Sally entered the barn and saw Ben in a stall, his back to her, doing the utterly prosaic task of mucking out dirty straw, something stirred inside her. He'd proved to be a true friend, from shoveling manure to helping her start healing from the psychological damage Pete had inflicted. He'd heard her deep, dark secrets, he'd seen her at her worst, and still he supported her. What's more, he was attracted to her. This amazing man wanted
her
. Not because she was a convenient female and he was horny, but because he really saw her and cared about her. Chapped skin, baggy jeans, touchiness, hang-ups, and all.

Was she ready to consider being with a man? The only one she could imagine trusting that much was Ben. The only one she could imagine being attracted to was Ben. He made her aware: physically aware of him and of her own body, aware of sensuality and sexuality. Aware of possibilities. It was seductive, and yet . . .

Could she even imagine having sex again?

That act had become so fraught. With Pete, lovemaking had at first been romantic and he'd showered her with compliments. But over time he'd become critical. Sometimes he hurt her. It got to the point that she couldn't lose herself in physical pleasure because she never knew when he might pinch or slap, or pound into her so hard she was afraid he'd damage her insides.

If she'd been tired or not in the mood, he didn't care. He had said a good wife was always there for her husband. Sometimes he'd used rough sex to punish her. Other times he'd wanted make-up sex after he'd hurt her—and even if he was gentle, her body and emotions were so wounded that all she wanted was to be alone.

Since he'd died, she had owned her own body. Could she ever imagine sharing it with, opening it to, another man?

But she was getting ahead of herself. Ben had suggested she take things slow. There were lots of steps before that intimate, irrevocable deed. He'd said he'd like it if she tested her wings with him. Maybe that was something she could do.

He turned and a smile spread across his face, warming his eyes. “Hey, you. Good morning. How you feeling?”

“Better. Much better. Thank you.” She squeezed her eyes shut against a surge of emotion. “Those words seem s-so inadequate.” Her voice quavered.

“Aw, Sally.” Distress shadowed his eyes. The poor guy must be afraid he was in for another shirt-soaking.

She sniffed, shook her head. “No, I'm fine, really. Happy, hopeful.” Hoping to make him smile, she said, “Did your floor survive my accident?”

And she won that grin again. “Good as new. It's indestructible.”

That flashing smile, those dancing chestnut eyes . . . If she wanted to test her wings with Ben, how would she make the first move, to let him know she was interested?

She'd muse on that. “I'd better get to work.”

They fell into their normal morning pattern, but as she went through the familiar activities, she saw herself in a new light. Not only was she great with horses and a pretty fine teacher, she was a strong woman. She'd held Ryland Riding together by herself for three years.

In the late morning, she asked Ben, “Would you be okay holding down the fort for a couple of hours if I went into town?”

His brows rose, but he quickly responded, “You bet.”

Immediately, she had second thoughts. “Or did you want to take Chaunce for a ride?”

“I'd rather practice in the ring. Exercise my roping arm. I can do that and keep an eye on things. If anything important comes up, I'll call your cell.”

“Thank you.”

“Maybe I can run a load or two of laundry?”

“Of course. Help yourself.”

She went into the house and changed into her newest jeans, frowning at how shapeless they were. She picked the nicest of her old shirts, wishing the one Ben had given her wasn't in the laundry basket. At least she could wear her good boots and brush her hair, though it too was a shapeless mess.

Pete had liked it long. One night, a few months after he died, she'd been brushing her hair and remembered how he'd sometimes pulled it so hard that tears sprang to her eyes. She'd taken scissors and hacked it mercilessly. The last time she'd had hair shorter than her shoulders, she'd been a kid. It surprised her to find it still had that girlish curl. Thank heavens it did, or her do-it-yourself cut would look appalling. She did love the practicality of it, though, and couldn't imagine ever going back to long hair. Certainly not to please a man.

Grabbing her purse and keys, she went to see if her rarely used truck would start. Fortunately, it did. When she reached Caribou Crossing, she parked at the end of town and continued on foot, admiring the attractive storefronts of shops. How could she have lived twenty minutes from town for seven years and know almost nothing about this place?

But that was the past. She was a new woman. Back straight, chin up, she set about accomplishing her various tasks.

It took her a couple of hours and more than an ounce of courage, but she was smiling as she drove home. Window open, elbow resting on the sill, she enjoyed the breeze in her hair and remembered those days on the road, chasing the next rodeo. When the radio played the Waylon Jennings version of “Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys,” she sang along.

Her thoughts turned to Ben. Was he that kind of cowboy, the kind who was always on the road, always alone? Not that it mattered to her, because she wasn't aiming to be a serious girlfriend. But for Ben's sake, she hoped that when he was ready to quit rodeo, he'd find a ranch or some other horsey place to call home. And, of course, a loving wife and two or three kids. He'd been such a natural, cuddling that sweet toddler, Nicki.

It had tugged at her heartstrings. For a moment, she'd imagined herself and Ben with a baby of their own. That was an absurd fantasy, but maybe it wasn't so ridiculous to think that one day, she might find a man who was . . . well, who was a lot like Ben. Not only strong and capable, but kind, gentle, and supportive. A man she could trust. But, unlike Ben, a man who was available, not itching to return to a different life. Perhaps she might one day realize the dreams she thought she'd given up on, of a happy marriage and children.

As for right now, it gave her great pleasure to drive this country road and see the sign for Ryland Riding, to turn down the driveway and think that this piece of heaven was hers. Well, mostly the bank's, but hers as long as she kept up with the mortgage payments. It also made her surprisingly excited to think of future trips into Caribou Crossing to spend social time with the friends she was making and to further explore all that the charming town had to offer.

Her little kids' lesson would start in less than an hour, and as she drove into the barnyard, she saw Ben leading a pair of haltered horses in from the paddock.

He flashed a welcoming smile and she waved a hand as she drove to where she parked her truck. She hopped out and gathered her bags. Though she hadn't eaten a proper lunch, she'd devoured a giant, gooey cinnamon bun from a lovely bakery.

When she stepped into the barn, Ben had one of the horses in a stall and the other in cross ties as he groomed it. He stopped work to eye her from head to toe with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. “You went shopping. The results look mighty fine.”

“Thank you.” Armed with a new sense of herself, plus the knowledge that new clients meant a modest uptick in income, she'd had herself a little splurge.

At Days of Your, with the assistance of Cassidy's friend Maribeth, she'd chosen two pairs of jeans, one plain and one a little fancier. Both were her size, not painted on but definitely not baggy. She'd purchased an embroidered snap-front shirt, two nice but less dressy shirts, and three tees that were more flattering than her loose, high-necked ones. She now wore the plain jeans and a pale blue tee, with a darker blue shirt over it.

He cocked his head. “Your hair . . . It's the same but it's different.”

“Brooke squeezed me in.” The stylist had trimmed split ends, evened everything out, and thinned Sally's thick hair to give it more body and bounce. She had also shampooed and conditioned with products that smelled herbal and wonderful.

“I like it,” he said. “What else did you get up to in the big city?”

She handed him the liquor store bag.

He drew out the bottle of Jackpot Syrah, which had cost an unbelievable forty dollars. “Aw, Sally, you shouldn't have done this.”

She screwed up her courage. “I thought that if I invited you over for dinner, you might bring it.”

A smile grew. “I just might. When did you have in mind?”

“Why not tonight?”

The smile widened. “Why not indeed?”

“It won't be anything fancy,” she warned. “Do fajitas sound okay?”

“Delicious.”

He was so easy to please. Even in the beginning, when Pete was wooing her, he'd been picky and demanding. He'd said it was because they both deserved the best. For Sally, the best was a man who was happy with simple things.

 

 

Ben whistled as he dressed for dinner. Sally was a more free-spirited woman today. He didn't fool himself that last night had banished all her Pete ghosts, but she'd turned a corner and was traveling a new path. Was there any chance that, a few hours from now, that path might lead to a good night kiss?

He had to laugh at himself. In bars after rodeo performances, all he had to do was wear a trophy buckle and flash a smile if he wanted to hook up with a buckle bunny who'd ride him all night long. Now here he was, feeling like an adolescent at the prospect of winning a first kiss.

Truth was, the buckle bunny thing had worn thin a few years back. Sure, he liked sex, but when that's all it was about, his own hand worked almost as well. He liked a woman he could talk to. One who was interested in him, Ben Traynor, not in collecting a notch on her tooled leather belt. Hell, he wanted to be respected in the morning—and he wanted to respect the gal in the bed, too.

Even if he didn't get a kiss from Sally, he'd rather spend the evening talking to her than doing bedroom acrobatics with some anonymous female.

Not that he didn't want that kiss.

He grabbed the bottle of wine and a corkscrew, and sauntered over to Sally's house. Summer was heating up and he wore cargo shorts and sandals. During her lessons this afternoon, Sally had tossed her shirt over the fence, wearing just a short-sleeved tee. It was the first time he'd seen her bare arms. They were slim and toned, strong yet graceful, pale from not having seen the sun. That delicate skin made him think of baring the other covered-up parts of her body, and his own body stirred with arousal.

He forced his thoughts to something else: the e-mails and texts he'd answered before he left the trailer. His mom had wanted to know how he was feeling and to give him a little guilt for not spending his recovery time in Alberta. Dusty had reported on the weekend rodeo in Coronation, Alberta. He'd come third in tie-down roping. As for team roping, he said the wannabe heeler had potential, but Dusty doubted they'd be pulling in prize money anytime soon. He'd told the kid their partnership was temporary, a chance for him to gain experience.

Dusty hadn't tried to give Ben any guilt, but he felt it anyhow. His injury was costing his partner prize money. He could easily push through the pain and get back in action. Yet harsh experience told him that going back too soon could cost him, and Dusty, big-time. Some years back, Ben had done that, and it had resulted in a more serious injury that made him lose the rest of the season and his chance at the Finals.

He had a physio appointment tomorrow. Maybe he'd be lucky and Monique would clear him for this weekend's rodeo. If not, he was damned well going to be ready for the weekend after.

Walking past the vegetable garden, Ben scared off a rabbit. He wished Sally would let him put up a fence, but she said she wouldn't have time to garden anyhow. It bugged him to think that, after he was gone, she'd go back to wearing herself out doing everything. The woman needed to hire an assistant.

Hmm. The idea of some guy living in the apartment in the barn, out here all alone with Sally . . . No, he wasn't keen on that. Unless it was an older guy, a grandfatherly type. That'd be good. It'd be better still if Corrie came back.

He went up Sally's back stairs and into the mudroom. The kitchen door was open, the radio playing Miranda Lambert. “Hey there,” he called.

“Hi, Ben.” Her voice floated out. “Come on in.”

Earlier today, he'd used the washer and dryer in the mudroom, but this was his first invitation to enter her house. Smiling, he kicked off his sandals and went inside. Sally was at the counter, slicing vegetables, and tossed him a smile over her shoulder.