Love Somebody Like You (4 page)

A pang hit Sally's heart. Her little sister, going to have a baby. She was envious, but mostly regretful that she wouldn't be there by Penny's side admiring the sonogram images, teasing her about her food cravings and constant need to pee, throwing her a baby shower. “I'm going to be an aunt,” she marveled. One who might never see her niece or nephew.

Brushing that pain aside, she asked, “Who did she marry? Anyone I'd know?”

“You knew she was teaching elementary school?”

“She planned to get her teaching degree.” She'd always believed that her sister, who loved kids as much as Sally did, would make a great teacher.

“One of her students had a single-parent mom whose brother helped out a lot. Penny and the brother fell for each other. He's a lawyer.”

“Really? Bet our dad wasn't thrilled about that. He never had much time for lawyers.”

“I dunno. Penny said your mom and dad are looking forward to being grandparents.”

“What else did she say about them?” she asked, greedy for information.

“We only had a minute to chat. She said everyone was well, and that they missed you.”

She bit her lip. Was that true? The only time she'd heard from them in years was months after Pete died, when she got a sympathy card. She hadn't notified them of his death, not seeing the point, but obviously word had reached them. The card had a printed message reading, “Our thoughts and prayers are with you.” Below it, her mother had written: “They really are, Sally. Love, Mom, Dad, and Penny.”

She'd felt a tug at her heart, and a crazy wish to be enfolded in the arms of her family, to have her sister sympathize and her parents make everything better. But she'd known it couldn't happen. They were being polite. They didn't want to see her, much less deal with her problems. Besides, how could she face them when she was such a mess of shame and guilt? She hadn't responded to the card, and they hadn't contacted her again.

“Sally?”

“Hmm?” She realized she'd been peeling away the label on her beer bottle. “What did Penny say when she asked you to look me up?”

“Something about maybe enough time has gone by.” He studied her. “Time for what? She didn't say.”

“I don't know,” she said quietly. Enough time for her parents to forgive her for marrying Pete and moving away? Or enough time for her to admit that she'd made a mistake and they'd been right all along? Could she do that without spilling the whole nasty story and making herself look like a total loser? “When you see her again, maybe you could ask.”

“If I do see her, what'll I tell her about you?”

Considering, she took another sip of beer. “That I'm well. That I love working with horses and teaching children. That the business is doing fine.” Would Penny tell their parents?

He frowned slightly but said only, “Okay,” then began to eat again.

She did the same. The meat loaf wasn't quite as good as her mom's, or maybe that was her memory playing tricks on her.

“Do you handle this place all on your own?” Ben asked. “One of the owners who came to ride this afternoon asked me if I was your new assistant.”

“Sorry about that.” To mistake a rodeo cowboy for a barn assistant was an insult.

“It's okay. I just wondered if you'd had an assistant, and he'd quit.”

She gazed at his striking brown-skinned face, noted the way the fading sun gleamed off the hints of chestnut in his hair, and saw concern in those beautiful brown eyes. “I did have one. She had to leave because of a personal issue.”

“So you're hiring?”

Embarrassment and the habit of privacy kept her from sharing her financial woes. “I haven't found anyone suitable yet. It has to be the right person, because they need to live here.”

“Here? You mean they share the house?”

She shook her head. It was tough to let anyone, even Corrie or Dave's family, cross the doorstep of her house. No way could she have someone else living in it. “There's a little apartment in the loft of the barn. My assistant gets a free room and utilities.” Because Sally couldn't afford to pay more than minimum wage, she needed someone who was willing to accept a free room as part of the compensation package. Now, though, unless she got some new business soon, she couldn't even manage minimum wage.

“Sounds like a decent arrangement. For the right person.”

“Corrie liked it. And she was perfect. She loved horses and riding. She's a hard worker, quick to learn, strong, and never complains. Her previous job was at a plant nursery, and this spring she put in the vegetable garden.” Which, sadly, Sally wouldn't have the time to keep up.

“She does sound ideal.”

“Hard to replace.” Perhaps best of all, Corrie had been private and self-sufficient, like Sally. So much so that Sally didn't even know the nature of the personal matter that had called the younger woman away. It wasn't that Sally didn't care, but you couldn't start a personal conversation without being expected to reciprocate. And talking about herself was something she didn't—couldn't—do.

“You been dating?” Ben asked. “Have some guy to help you out sometimes?”

“Dating? No, not at all.” Nor would she. Ever. “I do have a couple of friends who come by from time to time, but they're away right now.”

“Makes it tough.”

“I manage.”

“Feel like managing some pie?”

“Most definitely.” In her weekly orders from the grocery store, Sally bought whichever fruit was cheapest. Apples, bananas, oranges, typically. One or two a day, that was her dessert allotment. “Want some coffee with it?” He'd only drunk the one beer, and she hoped he didn't move on to a second. As for her, she'd had a third of her bottle and, though she'd have loved to drain it, she would pour the rest down the sink.

“Coffee sounds great.”

When she rose and took their plates and forks, he stacked the now-empty takeout containers and got up, too. “I'll give you a hand.”

“No!” Realizing how abrupt that had sounded, she added, “Sit and enjoy the view.”

 

 

A high-pitched whine and a sting on his right forearm had Ben slapping at a mosquito, an unthinking response that sent pain radiating to his broken shoulder. Wincing, he sank back into his chair and watched Sally pile the stacked containers on top of the dirty plates. As she'd instructed, he turned his gaze toward the view where a doe and an adolescent fawn grazed, illuminated by rosy light as the sun dropped toward the hills.

Was he imagining things, or did Sally not want him going into her house? Maybe she'd been too busy to do housework and was embarrassed. Women got like that.

Or maybe she just wanted a few moments' privacy. Talking about her family had clearly upset her. Ben sure wished he knew what was going on there. Sally'd always been such a friendly, outgoing person and he'd assumed she came from a loving, supportive family.

She returned with several metal cans, which she stacked around the railing of the deck. Then she took a match to each, and he realized they were candles. Well, how about that. Had she decided on a little romance?

A pungent, lemony scent hit his nostrils. “Citronella candles? Mosquito repellant?”

“I make them myself,” she confirmed.

So much for romance.

When she went inside again, he stretched as far back as he could, trying to ease the ache in his injured shoulder. It probably wouldn't have hurt so much if he could support his arm, but he didn't want the broken bones shifting into the wrong position. Following the doctor's instructions, he flexed his fingers and wrist. Two or three weeks to heal enough that he could at least get back to roping, if not bronc riding. The doc had said more, but he wasn't a sports medicine doctor and Ben would prove him wrong.

When he'd learned he had to be out of action for a while, Ben had planned to drive back to Alberta. Now, gazing out at scrubby grassland rolling in a sweet curve like a woman's hip, the sun sinking toward the hills in soothing shades of purple and pink, another idea took root. It'd sure be no hardship staying here awhile, making himself useful.

Sally came outside again, this time placing plates, small forks, and two mugs of coffee on the table. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.”

“So do I.” She sat down, then dished out the two slices of pie. “Sorry, I don't have ice cream. But this looks wonderful just as it is. Thanks again, Ben.”

When she gazed at him, he realized that it was one of the few times she'd looked him directly in the eyes and held the gaze when he looked back at her. Did he make her nervous for some reason?

Her eyes sure were pretty, despite the signs of tiredness and strain around them. They'd always been special, the greens and grays changing with her mood. He'd seen them with green sparkles like sunlight on gemstones, but tonight they were a sultry gray tinged with moss green. Deep and unreadable. Drawing him in. Making him want to understand what was going on behind them. Yeah, he could see hanging around here for a while.

She glanced away, picked up her fork, and ate a bite of pie. An expression of pleasure brightened her face. That was how Sally should look. Relaxed, happy, in the moment.

“How did you end up doing team roping?” she asked. “You used to only compete in saddle bronc.”

“I grew up on a ranch and I've always roped, but not competitively. Then this trainer I work for had such a great roping horse—Chauncey's Pride—I couldn't resist buying him. Dusty and I'd always got along; his heeler had quit; we tried it out together and it stuck.” He dug into his own pie.

“And now you have to travel by road, hauling a trailer with a horse.”

“Yeah. Takes longer to get to events, and gas can cost near as much as flying. Dusty and his old heeler had the Ram dually and the rig, so I bought a half share. Saves on motels. And on meals. We don't eat out as much, and it's easier to stick to a decent diet.” He chuckled. “And I don't run the risk of a baggage handler deciding he doesn't like dealing with saddles and leaving mine on the tarmac.” It was a liability of riding saddle bronc rather than bareback bronc, needing to tote your saddle along with you. Still, he'd found out early in his rodeo days that he competed more successfully in saddle bronc, so he'd stuck with it.

She nodded. “Really sucks when they do that. Yeah, there are lots of advantages to driving yourself.”

He nodded, sipped coffee, and said, “I like to drive. Like to see the country. So does Dusty. We get along pretty well.”

“I enjoyed seeing the country, too. Splitting the driving would have been nice. I always traveled on my own, with Autumn Mist.”

“I remember. You had the same kind of trailer as I'm hauling, one you could live in.” He finished off his pie, thinking that he could happily eat a dinner like this every day. Eating it across from Sally made it especially good.

“A smaller version, yes. My home away from home.” She gave a soft laugh. “Actually, that was our real home. Misty and I were in that trailer more than we were at my parents' ranch.” At the mention of her parents, her mouth tightened.

He was about to ask her what had happened to that great horse of hers, but she spoke first. “How're you doing this season? D'you figure you'll make it to the CFR?”

“Damn right. I've been doing well on earnings, and even if the injury costs me and I don't qualify based on money, there's a good chance of finishing first or second in one of the last ten rodeos.” The Canadian Finals Rodeo qualifiers were the ten top money winners in each event for the past season, as well as those who finished first or second in the final ten rodeos. “Both for me in saddle bronc and for Dusty and me in team roping.” Assuming Dusty didn't decide to finish the season with the new guy. Ben touched his right hand to his bad shoulder. “I just need to get back at it.”

“How about the NFR?” The National Finals Rodeo in the States decided the world championships. Qualification was based on total earnings.

“You haven't been following rodeo, have you?” he said, surprised.

She shook her head. “Giving it up was hard. I went cold turkey. What's going on?”

“In the past few years, only one Canadian has qualified for the NFR each year.”

“It's tougher for Canadians, isn't it? Rodeo has to be your entire life. You have to be on the circuit constantly, hit a bunch of U.S. events, do multiple events in a weekend. It's crazy.”

“You did it, at least for a couple of years. Even finished second one time.”

Green lights danced in her eyes. “No one ever said I wasn't crazy.”

Hoping she wouldn't call
him
crazy, Ben shared the idea he'd come up with when he was watching that doe and fawn. An idea that, he now realized, had probably been percolating ever since he arrived at Ryland Riding and saw Sally. “I was thinking, how about I stay here until my shoulder heals?”

“What?” The frown was back, creasing fine lines into her forehead.

That sure wasn't the reaction he'd been going for. “I could help you out.” Her frown had intensified rather than eased, so he went on. “You'd give me a place to park my rig and keep Chaunce. And I could borrow your spare ring when it's not booked, and keep up with training. Seems it could be good for both of us.” Best of all would be spending time with her.

“Don't you want to go back home to Alberta?”

“Not really. I kind of minimized the shoulder thing when I talked to my folks on Sunday. If Mom sees me wearing a sling, she'll fuss and drive me nuts. And the horse trainer I work for when I'm not rodeoing already hired someone for the summer. As for being useful around here”—he shrugged his good shoulder—“sure, there's some things I can't do, what with this damned fracture, but there's a lot that I can.”