Love Somebody Like You (5 page)

“You should heal, not work.”

He snorted. “Sit back and do nothing? I'd go outta my freaking mind.”

Her lips twitched, but she quickly straightened them and frowned again. “Have you seen a physiotherapist? Do you have exercises to do?”

“Haven't seen one yet, but I will.” During his years in rodeo, he had several times gone to a registered physio—or physical therapist as they were called in the States—to help with rehab after an injury. There was bound to be one in Caribou Crossing.

He'd hoped Sally would leap at his offer. It should relieve some pressure until she could hire a new helper. Instead, she was acting like he'd added another stress to her life. Damned if he could figure out why. “Eat your pie. You can think about my suggestion overnight.”

“Overnight?” She flicked a wary glance at him.

“Sun's set,” he pointed out. “We got chores to do after we finish dessert. I was hoping, after that, you'd let me and Chaunce spend the night.”

Now her eyes flared wide. “What do you mean?”

Man, she was touchy. “That wasn't a proposition,” he clarified. He thought about adding “much as I'd like it to be,” but figured that'd be shooting himself in the foot. “Like I said, I could use a place to park the rig. I have everything I need in the trailer, so I won't have to trouble you for anything. Chaunce sure would like being able to roam around in your paddock rather than be cooped up in his stall in the rig.”

Her lips pressed together so tightly that they disappeared into a single thin line. When she eased them open, tautness remained around her eyes. “A woman living alone has to be careful.”

Suddenly, her wariness made sense. She was scared. Surely not of him? But something had made her nervous. His heart thudded. “Did someone hurt you? Threaten you?”

She sucked in air in a soft gasp. “N-no. But like I said, I have to be careful.”

Only halfway reassured, he said, “Having me here would be like having a watchdog.”

“That's not . . . I mean . . .”

Insulted, he said, “Sally, come on. You can't think you have anything to fear from me. I'd never hurt you.”

“That's easy to say.” The words burst out, then she clamped her lips shut again.

“It's easy to
do,
damn it. I'd never hurt a woman. What kind of sick bastard does that?” Of course he knew there were men like that. He'd punched out a couple who were being rough with women in bars. The idea that Sally might have met someone like that made him want to shove his fist through that guy's face.

“Ben?” she said cautiously. “You look a little, um . . .”

“Sorry.” He rubbed the fingers of his right hand across his tense jaw.

“I didn't mean to upset you.” Her expression was still anxious.

He could kick himself for making her feel that way. “Sorry.
I
didn't mean to upset
you
. The idea of a man abusing a woman, a kid, even a weaker man, it makes me steam.”

“Okay.” She didn't sound convinced.

“It's getting late. Why don't you finish up your pie? There are still chores to tend to.”

She began to eat again, in small bites, casting glances up at him from under her lashes.

Musing, Ben sipped the last of his coffee. Something had happened to Sally to make her wary of men. Couldn't have been Pete; the man had clearly adored her. She'd mentioned a couple of friends who helped her out, probably including that guy Dave who the woman at the diner had mentioned, so it couldn't be them. She hadn't been dating. Maybe one of her clients had harassed her? He wanted to find out what had happened, and make sure that asshole never scared her again. But right now, it seemed she didn't trust him enough to tell him.

“I'm surprised you don't have a dog,” he commented. “For protection and company.”

“Some horses are nervous around dogs. Some children as well.” She spoke without inflection, almost as if she was parroting someone else's words.

Ranches and farms almost always had dogs. Still, he wasn't about to argue. This was her spread, and she clearly knew how she wanted to run it. “I guess.”

She finished her pie and stood, collecting the dirty dishes.

Normally, Ben would have offered to help, but his new understanding of Sally made him say instead, “How about you clear up and I'll get started in the barn?”

“I'm worried about your shoulder. You've had a long day.”

Yeah, it hurt, but that was just how things were going to be until it healed a bit. He rose too and gazed at her across the table. “Sally, I'm not going to be stupid and make the fracture worse. I can handle some barn chores.”

“Okay. But doing my chores, bringing me dinner . . . I don't like to be beholden.”

Nor did he, but folks should help each other out. “You gave my horse a place to stay.” Before she could say anything more, he turned away and took the steps down from the deck. As he strode past the vegetable garden, a light clicked on behind him, helping to illuminate the rough ground. The light outside the barn door glowed, too.

He yawned and wished the pain in his shoulder would ease up. Sure did hope that if he helped Sally out for an hour, she wouldn't make him hitch up the trailer, load his horse, and drive off looking for someplace to park for the night.

Under his breath, he gave a rueful laugh. When he'd driven here, he'd wondered what it'd be like seeing Sally again. Whether he'd still be attracted to her. Now he knew the answer to that: he was, and might well be until the day he died. She was the first and so far the only woman who'd gotten under his skin.

Earlier today, he'd also been optimistic enough to wonder if a friendly visit might wind up with him sharing Sally's bed.

Sure looked like that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

Chapter Four

A chorus of trills and chirps accompanied the pale dawn light that came through Sally's mosquito-screened bedroom window. After Pete's death, when she'd moved from their bedroom to the room she'd once hoped would be their child's, she hadn't bothered to put up a curtain or blinds. She always rose at or before dawn anyhow, and no one could see in the second-floor window at the back of the house.

Lying in bed, the fresh, damp scent coming in the window told her it had rained during the night. She wouldn't have to water the vegetable garden, which would save a few dollars.

Pressing her fingers against tired eyes, she wished she had slept better. The knowledge that Ben Traynor was outside in his trailer, parked in her parking lot, had kept her tossing.

He was in her space. He was in her thoughts. She wasn't used to this.

Dave Cousins had spent a lot of Sunday afternoons at Ryland Riding. He'd eased past the barriers of what he referred to as her stubborn pride, and convinced her to let him help her. He was a kind, gentle man and she'd slowly grown comfortable with him. He respected her boundaries, too; he didn't invade her personal space and he didn't ask about personal subjects.

Ben Traynor was an entirely different thing. Even though she'd sworn off men—and sex—for life, her body was aware of him. It wasn't just that he was handsome to look at. Dave was mighty easy on the eyes, too. With Ben, there was an odd spark. Maybe it was like muscle memory. The fact that she used to find him sexy now sent residual tingles through her blood.

The kind of tingles she hadn't felt in years.

And to be honest, Ben was even more attractive now than he used to be. Behind her closed lids, she thought of his bold features, shadowed jaw, and muscular frame, of the easy confidence in his movements and in those stunning chestnut eyes. And her body tingled. For the grown-up Ben. These weren't residual tingles. And that was bad. She opened her eyes and sat up.

Finding a man attractive and sexy was bad. It could get her into trouble in all sorts of ways. First of all, it was ridiculous: he was young, vital, and distinctly hot, and she was a worn-out, middle-aged woman. He might flirt a little, but that was only habit. If she let herself succumb, she'd make a fool out of herself. And, worse, if she actually fell for him, she would give him power over her. Never would she let another man have that kind of power.

This morning, she would tell Ben to go. She had to.

Yawning, she rose. She'd showered before bed, so now only did a quick face-wash, hair-comb, and tooth-brushing before pulling on clean clothes. Every day she wore the same thing: jeans and a plain T-shirt with a long-sleeved shirt over it, each item a size too large so her body was concealed rather than on display. The knees of the jeans she put on were wearing through. Hopefully, they'd hold out until she acquired a new student or boarder to ease her dire financial situation.

As she went downstairs, the welcome aroma of strong coffee told her that the coffeemaker's timer had done its job. She filled a mug and flicked on the radio, tuned to CXNG. The news never interested her much, but she enjoyed the country music.

Deciding against eggs, she poured a bowl of generic bran flakes, sliced the last banana—overripe, but edible—on top, and added milk. The milk carton was almost empty and so was the fridge, but today was grocery delivery day.

She went through the mudroom and unlocked the outside door, then settled at the deck table with her breakfast. As she ate, she surveyed her domain and sighed with pleasure. Despite her financial worries and the pressure of too much work, life was pretty wonderful. The landscape was both stunning and peaceful. A pale, gentle sun shone in a clear sky, promising a beautiful day.

Her time would be spent with her three pleasures in life: her horses, the children who came for lessons, and her flock of chickens. And her day would be free of fear. There'd be no Pete with his impossibly high standards. No Pete to make her second-guess her every move for fear she'd do something to set him off.

Breakfast finished, she rose. There would be no Ben either, because she'd send him away as soon as he woke up. Maybe she should offer him a cup of coffee first, so she wouldn't seem too rude about rejecting his offer of help. He was being gracious; he was being a cowboy. And she was turning up her nose.

For a moment, she imagined what it might be like to accept his offer. To share the workload. To have time to tend the garden. To look up from whatever activity she was engaged in and see Ben. Ben leading a horse from the barn; Ben cheering after she took Melody around the barrels; Ben on the back of his American Paint.

Stupid. She'd once let herself be seduced by an appealing man, and it had nearly destroyed her.

Briskly, she returned to the kitchen, washed her few dishes, and poured the rest of the contents of the coffeepot into her battered thermos. She always took a second cup to the barn to give her a boost as she did her morning chores. Later, when Ben was up, she'd decide if she wanted to make fresh coffee and offer him some.

In the mudroom, she slipped into her work boots and clapped her straw hat on her head. She started toward the foaling paddock, but when the parking lot came into view she stopped abruptly. Though it wasn't yet six o'clock, Ben sat on a folding chair beside his rig, a mug cradled in his right hand. He smiled and called, “Mornin.'”

Slowly, she walked toward him. “Good morning.”

But for the collar and cuff sling, he looked so relaxed and comfortable. Yesterday, his jeans had been newish, but today's were faded and worn, hugging his muscled thighs. His long-sleeved Western shirt had been replaced by a faded blue short-sleeved one with a frayed collar. Comfy old work clothes, but his were so much more flattering than hers. His damp, freshly combed hair suggested that, unlike her, he'd taken the time to shower.

The shower in that trailer would be small, too small for a man his size, especially when he had a fractured shoulder. Her own old-fashioned bathroom had a tub she rarely had time to use, with a shower at one end. Loads of room for a big man. A big, muscled, naked man. Even for a big man and a slender woman.

Oh, Lord, what was she thinking? Where had these wild imaginings come from?

“I'd offer you a cup of coffee,” he said, “but I'm guessing that's what's in the thermos.”

“Good guess. How's your shoulder this morning?” She gazed more closely at his left arm and grimaced at the deep purple bruise that extended below his shirtsleeve. “Ouch.”

“Looks like I've been rolling in blackberries, doesn't it?”

And now she was thinking of him rolling naked in blackberries. The image should have been ridiculous, but instead was so wildly sensual that it sent hot tingles of arousal through her.

Sensual? In the past years, her only experiences of sensuality came from stroking a sun-warmed horse, cuddling her hens, or crunching into a freshly picked carrot. Generic sensuality, not feminine—much less sexual—sensuality. A cold shudder chased the warm tingles away.

“It's not that bad.” Ben's voice broke into the memory.

“Really.” Ben peered at her and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It's coming along fine.”

She stared at him blankly. What? Oh, his shoulder, of course. She breathed out slowly, and managed to say, “That's great.”

He wasn't supposed to drive. If she sent him packing and he went home to Alberta, he'd be driving for hours. That could be dangerous, and certainly wouldn't help his shoulder.

Not that barn chores would be good for his shoulder either. And that reminded her . . . “I need to get to work. Have you had breakfast? I can give you some eggs.”

“Thanks. I've already eaten, but a fresh egg omelet for lunch sounds mighty good.”

It did. That was fancier than her usual quick meal. But then he had to keep that professional athlete's body in shape.

She'd bet he was in fantastic shape. Ben with his clothes off would be a sight to behold.

No!
There she went again. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she strode away. She'd give him a few eggs as a thank-you and send him on his way. If he had any sense, he wouldn't drive far today, but what he chose to do was his business, not her responsibility.

Decision made, she checked on Sunshine Song. The pregnant palomino still seemed relaxed, not restless or sweating. From the looks of it, she wouldn't foal today. Sally then went to visit her hens. As always, the mere sight of the neatly laid-out coop made her smile.

Her family'd had chickens when she was growing up, and she'd loved them. When she'd suggested to Pete that they get some, he'd said no; they were messy and involved too much work. Last year, she'd bought an insulated storage shed and fitted it out with nesting boxes, roosts, and a workbench. With Dave's help, she had added a large run extending out from the shed, fenced on the sides and on the top to protect from predators. She'd chosen the location so that the run included a few shrubs for shade. Once the coop was complete, she'd found online ads for rescue chickens, and installed her flock.

Her dozen hens were all that she'd hoped for: cheerful and bustling, entertaining, and good company. They were her family, her friends. These early-morning visits with them were always a nice start to her workday.

Her ladies were
not
meat chickens. Even when they were past laying age, she would never slaughter them. She had named them, of course. Now she murmured greetings and stroked feathers as she filled waterers and feed cans and collected eggs. The birds clucked and chirped, keeping up their end of the conversation. She netted six eggs, which she cleaned with a sanding sponge and placed in an old basket. They looked so pretty: medium brown, light brown, and a pale pinkish egg from Lucille, one of the Barred Rocks. Sally would give them to Ben. Eggs had become a staple of her diet—cholesterol be damned—but now that Corrie wasn't around, Sally accumulated more than she could eat. “Thanks, ladies,” she said as she left.

Walking toward the trailer, she saw that Ben and his chair were gone. Tentatively, she went to the door and called, “Hello?”

No response. Probably he'd gone to check on Chauncey's Pride. After putting the egg basket on his doorstep, she turned toward the paddock. As she passed the barn door, whistling came from inside: “King of the Road,” an oldie. She went inside. “Ben?”

“Hey there.” He stuck his head out of the door of her office.

“I thought you'd be checking on your horse.”

“Did that before breakfast. I was taking a look at your schedule.”

She kept a printout tacked on the wall by the desk.

“Those two horses you brought in last night are boarders, right?” he asked.

“Yes, their owners are coming for early rides.”

“Do we need to get their horses ready, or do they do it themselves?”

“I need to do these two. Their owners come out before work and want to maximize their riding time. But you don't have to—”

“I can help with grooming, and muck out stalls.”

She frowned skeptically. “You can't wield a pitchfork or a shovel with one hand.”

“Bet I can. Though not at a blinding pace.”

Wait a minute. Why was she having this conversation? She was supposed to send him on his way. “Ben, I put a basket of eggs on the doorstep of your rig. You should—” She intended to say that he should put the eggs in his fridge, load up his horse, and head away.

But he cut her off, with a smile and a “Much obliged.” Striding toward the barn door, he said, “I'll put those away and be right back.” And he was gone, leaving her with her mouth open.

If she really wanted him to leave, she should run after him and set him straight. So what did it mean that she instead took Rambler out of the stall where he'd spent the night, tied him in cross ties, and began to groom him? And that, when Ben came back, she let him take over the grooming while she went to get Rambler's tack?

As she saddled the horse, Ben got a wheelbarrow and a pitchfork, and stepped into the stall Rambler'd been in. “The other boarder's the dapple gray you brought in?”

“Right.”

“What about the bay gelding? He's been in a stall since I got here.” Ben's voice, along with the sounds of a pitchfork being wielded, came from the open stall.

“Campion's mine. He had a hoof abscess. It's been drained, the vet filled the hole with hoof putty, and the farrier will be out day after tomorrow to replace the shoe.” Sally finished putting Rambler's bridle on. “There you go, pretty boy. You're all ready for a nice morning ride.” She took him out to the yard and tied his reins to a hitching rail.

Returning, she saw that Ben had mucked out the stall and was laying down fresh straw. She took Smoke Signals, the dapple gray, out of her stall and into the cross ties, and got to work.

As she and Ben went about their tasks, they chatted back and forth, with him asking her about the horses and her schedule at Ryland Riding. It was companionable. Kind of like when she'd worked with Corrie, but different because Ben was a man. Because Ben was Ben.

Disturbed, she led Smoke Signals outside and was tightening his cinch when a Jeep drove up with a man and woman inside. They were a twenty-something brother and sister who, together with their parents, owned a natural foods store in Caribou Crossing. After an exchange of greetings, they mounted their horses and rode off.