Leave It to Chance (16 page)

She looked away. She was
way
out of her comfort zone. “Okay, I’ll just pretend I’m holding Braden’s hand.”

He rubbed one smooth-shaved cheek. “And, um, horses can sense fear, so just try to relax.”

Chapter 16

Ross pulled the bandage off Traitor’s chest. The wound didn’t look as angry as it had yesterday, and he dabbed it with ointment the vet had given him. Traitor tried to seesaw his body away from the pain.

“Ross?” Panic flooded Sierra’s voice.

“Whoa, Traitor.” Ross put a hand on Traitor’s side, trying to soothe him. “I’m hurrying. Just talk to him. He can’t get loose.” Ross quickly set the new gauze over his knee and cut it to fit the wound. Stupid! Why hadn’t he shaped it before he brought Sierra into the stall?

Sierra spoke to the horse, holding the halter despite being jerked back and forth as Traitor grew more agitated, tossing his head as much as the short rope allowed. “It’s okay, boy. It’s okay.” The words turned to pleading. “Stop please, Traitor. It’s okay.”

“Almost done.”

Sierra was silent. The only sound was her shoes scraping against the floor with Traitor’s movements.

Ross pressed the tape to the quivering horseflesh and smoothed the fresh bandage into place. He picked up the scraps and stood.

Sierra was paper white, her eyes huge pools of terror. Ross gripped her arm and propelled her out of the stall, then stepped back in to untie Traitor. Once he’d latched the stall door shut, she bent—hands covering her face—and heaved loud sobs.

He tugged her gently to him and her face slipped right into the hollow of his shoulder, her nose pressed against his neck. She didn’t hold on to him, but she wasn’t slugging him either. Ross wrapped his other arm around her shoulder and rocked her softly, resting his chin in her hair that was silky soft and smelled sweeter than his mother’s honeysuckle.

She relaxed into him, one hand cupping his waist right above his cell phone. Her tears stopped and still she rested against him. He didn’t move. Didn’t want her to leave his arms. Didn’t analyze why.

A soft flutter of laughter tickled his neck. “Um, I need a tissue.”

He steadied her as he grabbed the grimy roll of paper towels Sid kept beside the sink. Awkwardly he unrolled a length using both hands behind her back and handed her the wad. Cold air chilled the dampness on his neck for a moment as she raised her head before she wiped his skin dry.

She backed up, lifting her eyes to him. Amazing, brilliant eyes. And a smile bloomed beneath her red nose. “What a way to start the day.” One edge of her mouth crumpled a bit.

“Do you want some coffee? I’ve got a full pot brewing back at the house.”

She nodded with a self-conscious smile. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her to his pickup.

Sierra couldn’t believe she had bawled all over Ross and now was standing in his kitchen, which was filled with the rich smell of coffee, while he pulled down two mugs from the cupboard next to the stove.

She wrapped her arms around her waist and turned. “Your kitchen is lovely. Did you remodel?” Red-and-tan checkered curtains framed the window above the kitchen table. Stainless-steel appliances shone beneath creamy cupboards. A red ceramic pot held an array of spatulas on the beige tiled counter.

He handed her the steaming mug, and she settled into the wooden chair at the kitchen table.

“Yeah. Last summer.” Ross opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs, some mushrooms, and what looked like a package of ham while he searched for something else. He stood up and waved a small red bottle. “Like Tabasco sauce?”

She nodded. He set the food on the counter and lifted a skillet from the rack over the island. His gaze caught on hers and grew soft. “You doing okay?”

“Yes.” She felt her face heat and she glanced away, picking at a string that hung at the bottom of her old sweatshirt.

The pan clattered as he set it on the stove and then cracked the eggs, liberally applied pepper, and whisked them together with a sure hand. Dots of Tabasco followed mushrooms into the bowl.

A few minutes later he set two steaming omelets on the table with glasses of orange juice. He lathered the top of his with salsa and sour cream. He caught her staring and grinned, holding out the salsa. “Wanna try it?”

She dropped her fork and grabbed the bottle. What the heck. She heaped a spoonful of it and the sour cream onto her omelet and dug in. Or started to. Her fork stilled halfway to her mouth.

That half grin of his formed a shallow dimple in his right cheek. “Mind if I pray?”

She hesitated, wanting desperately to taste the oozing bite of egg, but politely set her fork down. “Go ahead.”

His prayer was brief, thanking the Lord for the food and the company, and asking a blessing on both.

His prayers were like Elise’s—conversation with a friend.

The hot, cheesy confection delighted her taste buds.

“It’s a Mexican omelet.”

“I’ve never had anything like it.”

His fork paused.

She grinned at him around another bite. “I love it.”

Satisfaction eased the lines on his face. “Good.”

She’d expected the questions to start the minute he sat down. But he acted as if it were perfectly normal to share his breakfast table with her.

“You want another one?”

Her fork paused as she cut into the last third of her meal. “I want one, but I’d probably explode.”

He laughed and crossed his arms, leaning them on the table. “These are one of my mom’s specialties.” He tilted his head, his eyes growing soft. “That was really brave of you to help me this morning. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how hard it was for you. I never would have asked if I’d known, Sierra.”

She glanced down at the tablecloth. “You deserve an explanation.”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

Suddenly she did. She wanted him to understand, not think she was the kind of woman who would freak at the sight of a mouse.

She twirled her fork and stared at her plate. “When I was eight, my friend Molly invited me to go horseback riding with her brother and his girlfriend.” She dissected a chunk of mushroom into tiny fragments. “After our trail ride, Molly’s brother and his girlfriend went into the house, but Molly wanted to go to the car and play with her dog. She had a cute little Jack Russell terrier named Bandit that went everywhere with them.”

She took a sip of orange juice and hazarded a look at Ross. He sat quietly, eyes focused on her. “When Molly opened the car door, her dog jumped out and took off, straight for the horses. We ran after him, but he got under the fence into the corral.” Her hand curled tight around her fork. “He was barking like crazy and trying to bite at their legs. I think he was playing, but it freaked one horse especially.”

The scene lived in electric clarity, igniting the nerve endings in the back of her neck. “Molly kept screaming for Bandit, but he wouldn’t come, just kept chasing this horse who tried to paw and bite at him. The horse kicked him once and he rolled a couple times, but he got back up and went after the horse again. Molly jumped the fence and started chasing Bandit, trying to keep away from the horse.”

“She almost caught him, but he slipped out of her hands and ran behind the horse. Molly reached for him again and the horse kicked. His hoof caught her on the temple.”

She stared at her plate. “She just lay there, with Bandit dancing around her, not getting up.” She rubbed her thumb against the side of the fork. “She died a week later.”

“I’m sorry.” The table creaked as he leaned forward. Compassion emanated from him, enfolding her in the softness of his eyes.

“I don’t want that to happen to my kids. Can you understand that?”

The pause was long, but his eyes were kind. “I can understand that.”

There was a
but
behind the words and it irritated her. “What?”

The tilt of his head, the steadiness of his brown eyes asked her to listen, but warned that she wouldn’t like what he had to say. His voice was gentle. “It was a freak accident, Sierra. It could have just as easily been a car wreck or a fall from a bicycle that killed your friend.”

Her words breathed steam. “So it was just her time to go? It wouldn’t have mattered what we were doing that day, she would have died?”

He touched her hand, but she pulled away.

His voice was gentle. “Freak accidents have probability factors. People aren’t killed every day because of horses. There are greater risks to driving your car and being hit by a drunk than being killed by a horse. Especially with caring adult supervision, which your children have.”

“I would rather my children be in situations where I can control all the factors.”

A brief smile crossed his mouth. “Is that realistic?”

“A bicycle is not unpredictable.”

“But the children that ride them are.”

She looked away.

“Sierra, you can’t control everything. It was an accident that killed your friend. She jumped into the middle of a dangerous situation.” He leaned forward, his face intent. “Let your kids experience life without trying to make every aspect of it perfectly safe.”

Her eyes held his. “It’s my job to keep them safe.”

He took a deep breath. “I’m not saying let them throw Frisbees from the roof. But you couldn’t own a safer horse than Chance. Let the kids truly experience him.”

The fluttery wings of fear brushed against her. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

“What every kid wants to do with their horse. Brush him, ride him. Lay on his back while he grazes under the apple tree.”

Sierra could feel the blood drain from her face, making her skin cold. “That’s foolish.”

“That’s what your memories are telling you, Sierra. But they’re lying.”

“And how would I know that? Next you’ll tell me that Sid’s accident was just another bizarre catastrophe in the horse business? Just a freak accident that shouldn’t have happened?”

His thumb stilled on the coffee mug. “Sierra—”

“Don’t! I am the one who will have to live with the consequences of any tragedies.” The words were strong, but fear encapsulated each one that discharged between them.

She watched him stare across the kitchen; his jaw was firm, eyes determined. “Ross—”

He swiveled his head toward her.

Her thumbnail found a drop of dried egg on the edge of her plate. “I think it would be better if Braden didn’t work for you.”

A puzzled frown creased his forehead. “I don’t mind. He’s a fun kid.”

Her eyes dropped to the table as she tried to form the words.

His voice grew flat. “That’s not what you meant.”

She shook her head, then raised her eyes. “He’s at such an impressionable age. I just think—”

The hurt showed in his face and a thread of anger laced the words. “You don’t think I’m the best role model for him.”

She remained silent.

“Because I think he should be able to enjoy his horse? Or is there something else.”

She cleared her throat. “I don’t want him pulled between us. He looks up to you so much—”

He leaned back and finished. “And you think I’m going to undermine you.” His eyes were direct. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

She gave a small nod and clenched her hands tightly in her lap.

“Then you don’t understand who I am.”

Ross drove her back to Sid’s. She stared out the side window until he pulled up next to her van and shut off the engine. She reached for the door, but his words stopped her. “Braden told me what’s going on with his dad. He needs someone to talk to and I like being there for him. Who else does he have?”

She looked fragile and unsure, the dark snapping eyes from breakfast now deep pools of uncertainty. Her confidence had gone soft, like cardboard planter boxes after a soaking rain.

He didn’t want her to misunderstand. “Sierra, he needs you, but he’s trying to fill the man-sized shoes his dad left behind. His instinct is to protect you.”

She looked away and quickly swiped at her nose, as if she’d had an itch instead of an urge to cry. He braced his arms across the steering wheel. “Sierra, look at me.”

Those eyes nearly knocked him back. Cinnamon-tea colored, wet and lost. “You’ve done a great job of raising Braden. But you are only one person. You aren’t designed to be everything he needs. When a boy looks to his mom for every answer, he won’t learn how to be a man.”

That comment straightened her back. She gave him a scowl of disagreement. “He’s not a mama’s boy.”

“Not yet.”

She started to argue but broke eye contact and looked through the windshield instead, the starch deserting her expression.

He touched her arm. “It doesn’t mean he won’t need you.”

“I know that.” She moved her arm away.

He opened the truck door and got out to check on Traitor. She shut the passenger door and walked toward her van. “What are you going to do when Sid comes home?” she asked.

The thought hadn’t left him since Sid went into surgery. “I’ll figure it out.”

Tuesday afternoon, Sierra unlocked the front door, then grabbed two of her Mom’s suitcases and pushed the door wider with her foot. Braden ran up and squeezed in past her.

He turned the TV on and flopped on the couch.

“Honey, go help Grandma with her bags.

He scowled and dragged himself off the couch. “Geez. You make me do everything.”

Her mom followed her up the stairs where she set the luggage on the floor, her back to Sierra. “Braden and Emory sure don’t seem very happy to see their grandma.”