Love Somebody Like You (27 page)

“There's no click.”

No what? Baffled, he shook his head. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Oh, nothing. But it's like, well, he has his own horse and loves riding, but he's happy to have Corrie and me do the heavy lifting. I can't imagine him using a hoof pick.”

A chuckle escaped Ben. “So if you put up a profile on an Internet dating site, it'd say ‘must be handy with a hoof pick'?”

“Pretty much.”

“Ah.” He was a mighty fine hand with one himself, which he had proved to her once his shoulder had healed enough. If that were all it took to win Sally's heart, he'd be set for life.

Wait a minute? Was that really what he wanted? To be with Sally for the rest of his life? Was that what the ache in his heart was trying to tell him? He knew he cared for her, cared a lot, and that the idea of her dating someone else pissed him off. He'd have to think about this some more. In the meantime, she was carrying on about why she'd thought Randy and Madeleine might get along.

“Anyhow,” she said, “they'd been riding at different times and had never met. I suggested he come one evening when she'd be there. They flirted in the barn, went riding together, and went for dinner after. They're now officially dating.”

That was one prospective suitor out of the way. How many more would there be? “I guess there's someone out there for everyone.” He almost groaned. He sounded like a talk-show pseudo shrink.

“I guess there is.” She paused. “I wonder how you know if you've found them?”

Maybe when your stupid heart hurt worse than a broken shoulder? “Uh,” he stumbled around, “I dunno. I guess you just know.”

“I guess you do. Well, it's late. We both need to get some sleep.”

“Sure. Night, then.”

In fact, he didn't need to go to bed now. Tomorrow was a free day. He and Dusty'd been in Lethbridge, Alberta, last weekend and there hadn't been any rodeos midweek that they could reasonably get to. So they'd taken a leisurely couple of days to make the drive to Armstrong. The Interior Provincial Exhibition and Stampede was a huge event that ran for five days over the Labour Day long weekend. Neither he nor Dusty was scheduled to compete until Friday, which was the day after tomorrow.

They wanted to do well here. There were two ways to qualify for the Canadian Finals Rodeo in November. One was to be in the top ten money earners in your event—which meant competing in every damned rodeo you could get to. The other was to place first or second in one of the last ten rodeos of the Canadian Tour season. He and Dusty had done that for team roping, winning last weekend in Lethbridge. But he hadn't qualified in saddle bronc yet, nor had Dusty in tie-down roping. If they could achieve that this weekend, it'd sure take some pressure off.

“I could visit Sally,” he told Chaunce. In fact, he could have been with her right now. It was a four-hour drive. He could've left Dusty to look after the horses, and taken the truck. “But she knew I'd be in Armstrong,” he muttered, “and she didn't suggest I visit.”

Chaunce tossed his head.

“Yeah, and I didn't suggest it either. Maybe it isn't a good idea.”

Another head toss, this time more demanding.

Ben hauled himself to his feet and fed his horse a carrot, then gave one to Dusty's horse Paddy, a powerful chestnut gelding. “Right now, the one thing that seems like a truly fine idea is to have a beer. Or two. Night, guys.”

At some rodeos, he and Dusty put their horses in the barns on the rodeo grounds, but often they kept them in the rig where the cowboys could control the environment and keep a close watch on their equine partners.

Now, Ben went through the connecting door to the living quarters. Dusty was watching a baseball game on TV. Ben checked out the score: the Blue Jays were getting their butts kicked.

“Beer?” Ben asked, heading for the fridge.

“Wouldn't say no.” Dusty clicked off the TV. “Game sucks.”

“Sit outside?” Without waiting for an answer—how many times had they done this over the years?—Ben handed two cans of beer to Dusty, then got the folding chairs from a storage compartment.

They sat down outside the door and popped the tabs on their beers. For a few minutes, they drank in companionable silence. Around them were parked other contestants' vehicles: trucks, horse trailers, people trailers, rigs like his and Dusty's. A couple of cowboys walked by and they all exchanged a “Hey.”

Eventually, Dusty said, “How're things with Sally?”

“Good.”

“You two sure do a lot of talking for a guy and a gal who're just friends.”

Ben shrugged. They drank some more, then he said, “I been thinking some more about that rodeo school idea.” He'd been doing a lot more than that. Much of his spare time over the past couple of weeks had gone into researching the various rodeo schools in Canada and the States. He'd e-mailed a few owners with questions and spoken to a couple of others on the phone, finding they were invariably happy to discuss their work with another rodeo cowboy.

“Yeah?”

“You think anyone would come?”

“Hell, yeah. We're already on the way to making names for ourselves. Give it a few more years, win the CFR a couple more times.” Dusty'd won tie-down roping once and Ben had won saddle bronc twice. “We'll have serious cred.”

Ben rotated his beer can back and forth. “I was wondering about, maybe, now.”

“Now?” Dusty cocked his head. “What the hell? You're not thinking about quitting rodeo?”

“I dunno.” Was he? “Maybe.”

“Well, shit. I don't know what to say.”

Ben rubbed a hand over his jaw and hunted for words. “There's only one reason I'd quit after this year. And shit, yeah, I'd feel bad about breaking up our partnership, leaving you in the lurch. But the thing is . . . it's about Sally.”

For a long moment, Dusty didn't react. “Oh, man.” He hooted, then whacked a hand against Ben's shoulder. Luckily, he was sitting on Ben's right side, so it was the shoulder he hadn't injured. “I knew you were more than friends. You've gone and fallen for her.”

“I guess I have.”

Dusty was grinning so widely he could barely speak. “You wanna do all that white picket fence stuff.”

“Well, more like a split rail, but I guess I kind of do.” In fact, he couldn't think of anything much better than life with Sally, raising a couple of kids, working with horses, and living on that pretty piece of land she owned. And there it was: the big hitch. He groaned. “But I don't really see it working.”

“No? Hey, she could do worse than you. Not a lot worse, mind you, but—”

Ben shut him up with a light punch to the biceps. “Thanks for that.”

“You don't think she has feelings for you?”

“Friendly ones.” And sexy ones, a thought that tightened his groin. “She needs a different kind of guy. She's gonna start dating someone else—”

“She isn't dating? That says something.”

“Maybe.” Ben hadn't told Dusty about Sally's reasons for being wary of relationships.

“What kind of guy you figure she needs?”

“She owns this big chunk of land, runs a business. She's successful. She needs—”

“Hey, you're successful. You've won saddle bronc at the CFR a couple times, and you could do it again this year. Not to mention, we got a chance at team roping.”

“Yeah, but I'm not exactly getting rich. Sally needs, oh, more like a doctor or lawyer or someone who owns his own business.”

“Huh.” A pause. “She say that?”

“Uh, no.” Ben's lips twitched. “She wants a guy who's good with a hoof pick.”

“There you go.”

“But seriously, I don't have much to offer. Yeah, I've saved up some money, but not a lot. If I do well at the CFR, I might have enough to buy some horses and set up a rodeo school—on her land, if that was okay with her.”

“So this is about macho pride? Needing to be the one who owns more property and makes more money? Dude, I know we're cowboys, but it's the twenty-first century. Didn't anyone ever tell you that women are equals?”

“Hell, yeah. I just want to be an equal, too.”

“And equality's about money? That what Sally thinks?”

“Uh . . . I don't know,” he admitted.

“Then you gotta ask.” Dusty had a swallow of beer, then grinned. “And you knew that all along, right? That's why you started talking about rodeo school.”

Ben hadn't consciously known it. But now he realized that, ever since the day he'd driven away from Sally's place, his heart had been doing its damnedest to lead him back.

Tomorrow, he'd make some more calls to folks who ran rodeo schools. This weekend, he'd draft a business plan.

And as soon as this rodeo wound up, he was going to follow his heart all the way back to Caribou Crossing.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Corrie,” Sally said, “how do you feel about being left in charge Saturday and part of Sunday if Heather comes in to help?” It was Thursday evening and they were in the office reviewing the schedule for Friday and the Labour Day weekend. “The classes and private lessons that are scheduled are all beginner ones.” Because it was the last long weekend of summer, a lot of people were out of town or occupied with family stuff, so the schedule for Saturday, Sunday, and Monday was lighter than usual.

“Sure. Heather and I can manage fine.”

“Great. I'll call her to confirm.” The teen had already offered to help out this weekend.

“So you're taking a little holiday?”

“It's the weekend of the Interior Provincial Exhibition and Stampede in Armstrong. I thought I'd drive there and see part of the rodeo.”

“Cool. But why don't you stay over Sunday? Take the whole long weekend?”

“Hmm.” Worrying her lips together, Sally mulled it over. She didn't plan to tell Ben she was coming. That way, she could scope out the situation and decide how and when—or if—to approach him. She might spend an hour at the rodeo and come straight back without ever letting him know she'd gone. Or . . . she might talk to him, find that he returned her feelings—

Oh, Lord, what was she thinking? Was such a thing the least bit likely?

“Sally, I can handle it. Have confidence in me.”

It wasn't Corrie she lacked confidence in; it was herself. And that, damn it, was Pete's doing. She hadn't had a flashback since the altercation at the Wild Rose, but she was still letting Pete influence her behavior. She knew better than that, thanks to her therapy sessions. “I do have confidence,” she said strongly. “Let's call Heather and set it up.”

After they did, Corrie went up to her apartment to run a bubble bath and read before bed. Sally did an Internet search for motels in Armstrong, made a few calls, and found that every place was booked up because of the IPE. Damn, so much for her brave idea. Maybe this was a sign that she shouldn't chase after Ben.

Yeah, right. Amanda hadn't taken the loss of a leg as a sign that she should curtail her full life. Jayden wasn't letting cerebral palsy stop him from growing stronger. The lack of motel rooms wasn't a sign Sally should quit; it was a test of her resolve.

She called Cassidy. “I was hoping to get to the rodeo in Armstrong this weekend.”

“Cool! You'll see Ben? Say hi from Dave, Robin, and me.” Cassidy might have suspected the truth about Sally's relationship with Ben, but she'd never pried.

“I just found out that all the motels are booked. Do you have any ideas?” Who better to ask than the assistant manager of a hotel?

“Leave it to me. You want Friday, Saturday, and Sunday?”

“Just Saturday and Sunday. If you find me something, I'll be forever in your debt.”

“Don't be silly. That's what friends are for.”

Feeling more hopeful, Sally left the barn and made her nightly visit to her hens. On the way back to the house, her cell rang and she grabbed it out of her pocket.

“You're all set, at a nice little hotel,” Cassidy said. “I'll e-mail you the confirmation.”

“Thank you so much!” If she were to believe in signs, this had to be an excellent one.

 

 

Sally's Friday passed in a busy, blurry daze, capped by a phone call from Ben to say that he and Dusty'd done well in team roping and qualified for the short round on Sunday. She had congratulated him, but cut the call short, uncomfortable about her secret.

And then it was Saturday morning and she was saying good-bye to her hens and asking them to wish her luck. She spent a few minutes with Corrie and Heather, going over details they'd already discussed three or four times, and then finally drove away.

She kept the radio on all the way, determinedly singing along rather than letting herself think. Too bad that so many country songs were of the lost love variety.

When she located the hotel Cassidy had booked, she let out a whistle. It was charming with its green paint, white trim, and window boxes full of late-summer flowers. She'd expected a run-down motel along the highway, given the bargain basement price quoted on the confirmation. Obviously one person in the hospitality industry had extended a courtesy to another, and Sally was the beneficiary.

After checking in, she took a quick shower. She'd made the drive in loose-fitting jeans and a tee. Now she put on good jeans and boots and her best Western shirt, pale yellow with green stitching on the yoke and pearly snap-buttons. A few weeks ago she'd had her ears re-pierced and she wore the etched silver feathers from her rodeo days. And of course her lucky horseshoe pendant. She completed the outfit with a pretty straw Resistol hat with a vented brim, a treasure recently acquired from Days of Your, which she wore only on special occasions.

All decked out in her finest, driving to the IPE grounds in the early afternoon, she could no longer resist the “what if's.” What if Ben was with another woman? But how likely was that, given that he talked to her most nights at bedtime? Even if he wasn't, what if Sally declared her undying love and saw a look of stunned horror on his face?

She took a deep breath and tried to calm her frantic nerves. This was way different from her rodeo days, when the nerves had been an exciting thrill of anticipation combined with the hope that she and Autumn Mist would have a good race.

The memory, and the familiar happy energy of a big country fair as she paid and went through the admission gate, lifted her spirits. This felt like coming home, though she'd almost never gone to a rodeo as a mere attendee rather than as a competitor.

She could probably talk her way into going back into the contestants' area—some of the older folks would likely remember Sally Pantages—but she didn't want to distract Ben. Competitors had their prep routine, and she wouldn't interfere. It was simply being considerate, not that she was a coward.

After purchasing a hot dog and a soda, she found a spot in the rapidly filling bleachers. One end of the arena had the bucking chutes for the broncs and bulls. The other end was where the timed events—roping and steer wrestling—would originate. She of course chose the end by the bucking chutes.

Listening to country music on the loudspeaker and eagerly drawing in the familiar scents of dust, cattle, horses, and concession food, she ate her meal. Around her, hundreds of fans, many dressed in Western gear, settled in the bleachers and chatted about the day's events.

She checked the program. Dusty'd be competing in the first event: tie-down roping. Ben would ride in saddle bronc roughly an hour after that.

Then she turned to the “Top Cowboys” pages and found Ben's handsome, smiling image. She skimmed the information provided. As she knew from their conversations, he'd won saddle bronc at the CFR twice. Last year he'd finished third and, with Dusty, ninth in team roping. He wasn't making a fortune at rodeo, especially not when you took into account all the expenses like entry fees, gas, and maintenance of the rig. Still, he was ending up well into the black, which was better than most competitors did.

She flipped to the “Ladies Barrel Racing” pages and studied the photos. Four of the dozen women featured had been around back in her day. It was a career that could last for decades. Just like roping, Ben and Dusty's event. Saddle bronc riders could go a fairly long spell, too; the wear and tear on the body was harsh, but not as bad as with bull riding.

Was there any way that Ben might consider retiring early, or at least cutting back considerably on the number of rodeos he attended? If not, could she imagine them being a couple, yet spending more than half the year apart? She sighed. It sure wouldn't be ideal, but better that than to give him up, or to ask him to prematurely quit the career he loved.

But she was getting ahead of herself. There was a good chance Ben couldn't imagine ever loving her as more than a close friend.

On the loudspeaker, Vince Gill was rocking “Ridin' the Rodeo,” firing up the crowd. When the song ended, the announcer's voice boomed out, “Everyone ready for some rodeo?”

As the audience yelled and whistled a raucous affirmative, a buzz of adrenaline surged through Sally's blood. It didn't feel right to be out here in the stands, rather than back in the readying area with Autumn Mist.

The rodeo had opened earlier in the week, so today there was no introductory Grand Parade. After introductions and announcements, it was right down to business with tie-down roping.

Taking deep breaths, she watched the first competitors. Dusty would ride fourth. When his turn came, she recognized the lanky guy with dusty brown hair and an easy smile. He and his horse, Paddy, a powerful chestnut, pulled in an excellent time and nailed down a slot in the short round.

She watched the next event, bareback bronc, then a trick rider who took her breath away. After that, it was steer wrestling. Saddle bronc was scheduled next. Ben would be putting on his chaps, checking over his saddle and bronc rein one final time, doing his stretches. Talking to the other contestants, exchanging tips about the animals each had drawn.

Finally, steer wrestling ended and the broncs were loaded into the chutes. The cowboys' adrenaline would be pumping, and her heart raced just as fast.

Ben would ride sixth and he'd drawn an animal named Sidewinder. The fencing of the chutes made it hard for her to see inside, but the black horse reared up, trying to climb or batter its way out. She crossed her fingers that Sidewinder was as rank as it looked, so Ben had a chance at a good score.
If
he held on for eight seconds and rode with all his skill.

The event started and she paid little heed to the first competitors, except to note the scores of the three who made it to eight seconds. Instead, she kept an eye on Sidewinder's chute.

And then there was Ben, climbing the side of the chute. Her heart jerked to a dead stop. She sucked in air and stared hungrily. He looked so healthy and fit, so handsome in his sky-blue shirt, protective vest, and fringed chaps. It didn't seem that he'd had a haircut since she last saw him and her fingers itched to twine through the dark locks that curled past his collar below his hat. He looked completely in his element as he and Dusty, who was perched on the other side of Sidewinder's chute, carefully saddled the restless horse.

How could a man who rode broncs ever be content with the uneventful routine at Ryland Riding? And yet she loved that routine as much or more than she'd loved barrel racing....

The fifth bronc burst out of captivity, the rider stayed aboard for five seconds before tumbling over the horse's head, and then it was finally Ben's turn.

“Please, please, please,” she whispered under her breath. Make the animal a good bucker; help Ben ride well; keep him safe.

Even at this distance, she could see his look of intense concentration as he measured the braided rein, got a firm grip on it with his right hand, and said something to the bronc. Slowly, he lowered himself, sliding onto the saddle and into the stirrups as the animal twitched and jerked.

She held her breath.

With his left hand, Ben tugged his hat down low, then he gave a quick nod. The gate swung open, and Sidewinder exploded into the arena.

As required, Ben's boots stayed over the break of the horse's shoulders until the animal completed its first jump out of the chute. The bronc bucked forward and back, twisted sideways, and Ben matched its rhythm. His form was perfect. His bad shoulder didn't seem to give him any problems as he held his left arm up for balance. He spurred down from the neck in a long, seemingly easy swing. Sidewinder leaped up, all four feet a yard or more off the ground, and came down twisting. Ben's hat flew off, but he stuck on.

Eight seconds could feel like forever. If they did for her, she could only imagine how they felt for Ben. “Hang on, hang on,” she muttered. The bronc reared, so high that she feared it would go over backward. But it didn't; it plunged down again, its front feet hitting the ground with a bone-jarring jerk. But Ben was still there, the burr on its hide that it just couldn't shake.

The buzzer sounded. Eight seconds. The crowd cheered, whistled, and applauded, Sally right along with them. He'd done it; he'd ridden one of the ranker broncs she'd ever seen.

But it wasn't over yet. Ben still had to get off safely.

Sidewinder hadn't stopped bucking, but he'd settled down a little as if he knew his job was almost done. Ben lowered his left hand to the rope, pulled his feet from the stirrups, and vaulted off the horse to land bent-kneed and on his feet. Grinning widely, he waved to acknowledge the audience's applause while the pickup riders guided the bronc out of the arena.

As Ben collected his hat, his score came up. It was 91, which elicited another grin, along with more cheering from the audience. It was an exceptionally good score, and well deserved. No question he'd be in tomorrow's short round.

Ecstatic for him and proud as all get-out, she realized her view of his departing back was blurred by tears. Blinking to clear her eyes, Sally pulled out her phone and texted him.

When she'd driven here, she hadn't been positive she'd actually contact him. Now, whatever the outcome, she had to see him.

His phone would be in his trailer. He'd take his saddle back there, but would he check for messages? Even if he did, what if he didn't call back until later tonight? Should she have said she was in the arena? If she didn't hear from him in a couple of hours, she might text or call again.