Love Somebody Like You (7 page)

Dave talked about her stubborn pride. He didn't understand that Pete had whipped every ounce of pride out of her. What was crucial to Sally now was that she not depend on others.

Sally shivered despite the warm water running over her hands. If you depended on someone, you gave them power over you.

She dried Ben's plates and took them out to the trailer. His old Ram dually was gone.

Resisting the temptation to step into the trailer and explore, she put the plates down on a step, and then brought in the horses for the family trail ride. With ten minutes to spare, she checked e-mail. There were no students nor any boarding requests. Ryland Riding was hanging on by its fingernails. She had a website—marginal, but functional—and she'd placed ads in the local paper and online. What more could she do to generate business?

Giving in to temptation, she searched online for this year's Canadian rodeo standings. Ben was running fourth in saddle bronc, and he and his partner Dusty were sixth in team roping. They were nicely positioned to make the CFR—if Ben could get back to competing soon. Out of curiosity, she checked for videos of Ben riding, and found several.

She was viewing the second, admiring his power and ease as he seemed to read the mind of a bronc called Hurricane Force, when a female voice called, “Sally?”

Oh my gosh, she'd forgotten all about the trail ride! “Coming!” She hurried out to greet Wenda and her two kids, and they all readied their horses and got going.

Sally rode one of the boarded horses, Moonshot. The black gelding's owner was away for a couple of weeks and Sally had promised to ride the horse occasionally, to give him exercise and attention. He had a long, smooth stride, Wenda and her children were good company, and the scenery was, as always, a delight. Yet Sally's mind kept returning to the videos. Ben had matured into one hell of a competitor, and he looked mighty fine on the back of a bucking bronc.

Of course, he looked mighty fine whatever he was doing....

After the ride, a couple of owners came, and then she taught a children's class. Midway through the afternoon, Ben returned and calmly lent a hand. Sally realized that she was getting used to having him around.

It wasn't until they'd turned out the last horses into the paddock that there was a spare moment to talk. She and Ben leaned side by side on the top fence rail, watching the horses graze. His right forearm rested on the rail, but his left arm hung down in the sling so his shoulder would heal correctly. “What did Monique say?” she asked.

“She gave me some light exercises. Said to do my normal leg and core exercises and stretches, but hold off on running for a couple more days.”

Into her head flashed an image of Ben in running shorts and a tank top, the thin garments plastered to his body with sweat. “You run?” Knowing her cheeks had flushed, she didn't turn her head to look at him.

“And do weights, crunches, chin-ups, isometrics, stretches. As much as I can fit in when I'm traveling. Anyhow, she said the shoulder's coming along fine.” He turned his head and she felt his gaze.

Determinedly, she stared out at the horses as Moonshot had himself a fine old roll and came up shaking off dust.

“See, you've got no reason to get rid of me,” Ben said. “The work's not hurting me.”

Maybe not, but it was making her think about all manner of things that disconcerted her. Now she did turn toward him. “Ben, I won't be beholden to you.” She forced herself to stare straight into his eyes, even though confronting a man pretty much terrified her.

“Jesus, Sally. You'd be giving me a place to park my trailer, look after my horse, and get some exercise, rather than spend the next couple days on the road. But it seems to me, it shouldn't be about who's beholden to who. Whom. Whatever. When friends help each other out, no one should be keeping score.”

“But I can handle things on my own. You have no idea how important that is to me.”

He gave a puzzled frown. “No, I guess I don't. I mean, you've been handling things since long before I first met you. You made it to the top of the heap as a barrel racer. I figured you could do anything you set your mind to. And do it well.”

“You did?” He saw her that way, as strong and capable?

“And now I see what you've built here.” He gestured around.

“That was Pete,” she said automatically. Her husband had made it clear to her that she was nothing without him. He'd obtained the mortgage, persuading a business connection at a credit union to take a chance on a young couple, and he'd handled the finances. He had fixed up the old barn, built the indoor arena, and done the repairs and maintenance. All she'd done was occasionally provide a second pair of hands.

Pete could do everything, as he'd repeatedly pointed out. All she could do, aside from try to be a good wife, was ride and take care of horses. She hadn't even known how to teach; she'd figured that out as she went along.

Ben said, “Maybe it was Pete who built some of it, but the core of the operation is horses, and they're your expertise. He was never more than a weekend rider, right?”

“A weekend rider who worked in construction as a site manager.” A rodeo fan who, as Pete had told her, lost his heart to her the first time he saw her ride.

Oh yes, Pete had been poetic when he was courting her. And every now and then after that, too. Enough to keep her confused. To make her think that he really did love her, even though his way of expressing it—of reinforcing that she was
his
after their marriage—was as often through high expectations, demeaning comments, and hard fists as through flattery and flowers.

“I'd bet,” Ben went on, “that you've always been the heart and soul of Ryland Riding. Not only that, but for the past three years you've run the whole show yourself.”

She'd taught herself the bookkeeping program, learned about the relevant laws and regulations, and figured out how to do the taxes. She did most of the maintenance work herself, grateful for what she'd learned by assisting Pete.

He'd always said that the two of them, together, ought to be able to do anything. They didn't need anyone interfering in their business. Driving a wedge between them. Not her family; not the residents of Caribou Crossing. He had staked a claim on her, built a fence around her, and wouldn't let anyone near. What was wrong with her that she had let him do it?

Pete would be so pissed off to see her here leaning side by side against the fence with Ben, their elbows almost touching. For her, it felt surprisingly natural. Surprisingly right.

And that kind of thinking was purely dangerous. Abruptly, she pushed away from the fence. “I'm going to check on Sunshine Song, the pregnant mare.”

 

 

Sally hadn't told him not to come along, so Ben followed slowly, thinking about the thin lines that had creased her forehead. It seemed that something would trigger a memory, and she'd go off inside her head somewhere. Somewhere that made her unhappy.

Yeah, it was obvious she'd loved Pete like crazy and Ben figured she was missing him like crazy, too. But Pete was gone. That was the cold, hard truth. And Sally still had a whole lot of life ahead of her. Ben's grandma had pulled out of the sorrow, and she'd been in her seventies. Sally, barely more than thirty, should have smile lines, not ones of tension and sadness. If there was anything he could do to put them there, he wanted to do it.

Tucked away behind the barn was a small foaling paddock. Ben hung back as Sally went over to the fence, tugging a carrot from her pocket. A very pregnant palomino ambled over to take it from her hand. “How's it going, Song?” Sally murmured.

The horse ducked her head, munched, then wandered off toward a grove of cottonwoods.

“Hmm,” Sally said. “Usually she stays to be stroked. I think she's getting near her time.”

Ben moved up slowly beside her. “You're keeping her outside, not putting her in a stall?”

Still watching the horse, Sally said, “My vet recommends it. It's more natural and healthier, with less risk of infection.”

“The trainer I work for does it that way, too. It makes sense. Let a horse do it the natural way.” He glanced at her profile. “You moved her to the foaling paddock awhile ago?” The mare needed time to build up antibodies against that environment in her colostrum. That first milk would contain immune cells essential to her foal's health.

Sally turned to him with a smile. “Yes. I have an excellent vet, Ben.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Sorry, I don't mean to sound like I'm telling you how to do your job.” And that reminded him . . . “On that subject.” He pulled a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket. “I don't know if you're taking new students.”

“Absolutely.”

“I met this guy in the physio's waiting room. He'd like to talk to you. I realized I didn't have your phone number to give him.”

“About lessons for his son or daughter?” She unfolded the paper.

“No, him. He's—”

“I don't usually teach men. Just kids and women.”

Because she didn't feel safe alone with a man? “He seems like a nice guy. Used to be big into running, but now he needs to avoid high-impact exercise. He and his husband are both interested in riding lessons.”

“He's gay? Married?”

“That a problem for you?” He wouldn't have taken Sally for a homophobe.

“No, not at all. That's actually better. I mean . . .” She shook her head, apparently unwilling to explain further.

Ben guessed that a gay couple was less of a threat than a single heterosexual man. He sure wanted to get his hands on whatever jerk had made her so nervous.

“Are they both beginners?” she asked.

“Andrew, the guy I met, is. His husband used to ride a bit as a kid. They've moved here recently and his husband says they should get into riding. That's how Andrew and I got talking, when he asked how I'd hurt my shoulder. Anyhow, I told him about Ryland Riding. He says they both want to take lessons, and if it works out they'd be looking for advice on buying horses. Then they'd want to board the horses.”

“That could be some nice business. Thanks, Ben.”

“No sweat.” Now that she'd relaxed, he figured he could tease her a bit. “But knowing how you hate to be beholden to anyone, I guess I should give you a chance to pay me back.”

Her expression turned guarded. “What did you have in mind?” she asked coolly.

So much for teasing. “How about you put together a salad with some of those veggies growing in your garden, and I'll barbecue burgers? I picked up some ground beef at the butcher in town, and fresh buns at the bakery. Fudge brownies as well.”

When he said “fudge brownies,” her eyes gleamed. Still, she said, “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I'm still not comfortable with you being here,” she said stiffly. “Not that I don't appreciate the help. But if you stay, we need to work out some ground rules.”

“Fair enough. Let's do that over dinner.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, then straightened. “When Corrie was here, we worked really well together, but when the work was done we went our separate ways. She was a private person like me. We didn't get into each other's business.”

He cocked his head. “You lived side by side, worked together all day, but didn't socialize? You each cooked and ate your meals by yourselves?” That sounded pretty strange and awfully lonely. And not at all like the Sally he used to know.

She nodded. “Neither of us are very social.”

“You used to be social. On the rodeo circuit, you were the life of the party in the bars where the cowboys and cowgirls hung out.”

A slight, reminiscent smile warmed her face. It died quickly. “I drank too much.”

She'd said something like that before, about alcohol making her do stupid things. He searched his memories of seven years back, and shook his head. “Not that I recall. You had fun. And I don't just mean partying. You had friends; you cared about people and helped them out.”

A sad, almost bleak expression darkened her pretty eyes. “I was a different person then. I can't find my way back to being her again.”

That wasn't just sad, but wrong. “Sure you can. But you gotta want to. Like that little girl Amanda, determined to find a way back to being the girl she was before she lost a leg.”

Sally's lips opened, but no words came out. Was she mad at him? Did she want to say that losing a husband didn't compare to losing the lower part of a leg? To his mind, loss was loss. Of course it changed you, but it didn't have to turn you into a different person.

Or was there something more going on with Sally, tying into her wariness around men?