Love Somebody Like You (8 page)

The woman fascinated him. She always had, but back then the fascination had been superficial.
He
had been superficial, a cocky wannabe rodeo cowboy. She'd been the queen, the glittery flame that drew all the moths. Now, the fire in her was banked down so far that he barely glimpsed a glowing ember every now and then. Damn it, he wanted to see her come to life again. He wanted to see her fire, her warmth, her passion. But if he poked too hard, he might scare her.

“Look,” he said, “you like efficiency, right? We need to talk about ground rules. And we need to prepare dinner and eat. You do salad, I do burgers, dinner's prepared in half the time. We talk while we eat, so we're multitasking. And you get to share my fudge brownies.” And maybe she'd share her smile with him.

Well, damned if it didn't work.

She actually gave him a grin. “You always were persuasive, Ben Traynor.”

“Hah. The most I could persuade you into was a dance now and then.”

“You were too young for me.”

He chuckled. “Maybe. But you put a major dent in my ego when you pointed it out.”

She snorted. “Someone had to. You had enough cowgirls and buckle bunnies after you. If your ego'd gotten any more swollen, it would've burst.” She studied his face, for once not looking guarded but curious. “You seem different now. Confident, but not so cocky.”

“It's been a lot of years. I did some growing up.”

“Not all rodeo cowboys do. What with the buckle bunnies and all,” she drawled.

“Yeah, well. Different guys want different things. When you can't remember the name of the woman you wake up next to, seems to me there's something wrong.”

“You think?” she said drily. “So are you in a serious relationship now?”

He shook his head, pleased that she was interested enough to ask. “Winter before last, after the rodeo season ended and I was back home, I dated a woman I'd gone to high school with. We got along pretty well, but she was looking to settle down and start a family. Didn't want to do that with a guy who spent most of the year driving from rodeo to rodeo.”

“No, I can imagine not. And for you, life's all about the rodeo?”

“Yeah.” That was the short, easy answer.

She nodded, apparently willing to accept that. A private person, respecting his privacy.

Damn it, that wasn't how he wanted things to be between them. So he went on, speaking slowly as he sorted out his thoughts. “For now. But that doesn't mean I haven't thought about settling down at some point. I can see the appeal, some years down the road, of being with one woman, of raising kids and teaching them to ride.”

“Yeah.” Something glinted in her green eyes, maybe a hint of yearning. “What kind of work would you do? Ranching?”

A lot of rodeo cowboys were into ranching, often because their families owned a spread. “Maybe, if I make enough money to buy a ranch. My folks sold theirs a while back. It was grinding them down. Or I could train horses, maybe buy into a partnership with the guy I've been working for. Do some weekend rodeo and keep my hand in. It would be okay, I guess.”

“Too bad the timing was off for you and your ex-girlfriend.”

“It wasn't just the timing,” he admitted. “I couldn't see doing all that stuff with her. The kids; building a life.”

Sally's eyes urged him to go on.

“Jana was great. We were pretty compatible, but there was something missing.” For him, anyhow. “I liked her a lot, but it didn't go deeper than that.” They sure hadn't had that “you're my one and only” thing that Sally'd had with Pete. Not that Ben was about to mention her husband and get her all depressed again.

Jana had made him wary about getting into another serious relationship. She'd been hurt when they broke up, even though he'd never been anything but honest. Seemed like she got some expectations into her head, and maybe felt more for him than he did for her. “The one-night stand thing's worn thin, but I'm nowhere near ready to settle down. When I do date someone, I'm real clear that it's just for fun, and I make sure she's of the same mind.”

“Seems like the best approach.” Sally smiled a little. “I always thought women were crazy if they figured they could rope a cowboy before he was good and ready. But I guess some of them just don't understand how rodeo can get into your blood.”

“That's for sure. It's one hell of a way to try to make a living, but once it's in your blood it's hard to give up.” He straightened, wincing as his shoulder twinged. “I'll get my portable barbecue out, get going on those burgers.”

She raised her forearms from the fence rail she'd been leaning on and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “If you're going to stay,” she said slowly, “you can move your trailer to a better location. Down where my truck and horse trailer are parked.” She gestured. “You'll find some flat ground and you'll have a pretty view.” Then, as if she didn't want him to think she was being too nice, she added gruffly, “And you won't clog up my parking lot.”

Ben suppressed a laugh. “Thanks. I'll do that.”

“There's a water tap, if you want to run a hose to it. The closest electric outlet's by the barn door, but maybe we could patch some extension cords together.”

Yes, Sally knew all about life on the road. “I'll take the water, but don't worry about power. I can run my generator every now and then. Hopefully, I'd be far enough away that the noise wouldn't bother you or the horses.”

“That should be fine.” She cast a final look at the pregnant mare, who was grazing. “I'll go pick salad veggies.”

“Before I forget, give me your cell number. In case I run into any other prospective clients.”

She did, and he input it into his phone and gave her his in exchange, and then they went their separate ways. She was so prickly nowadays, he mused. Softening every now and then, but mostly trying to keep him at a distance. Her body language was like that too: those guarded expressions, the arms crossed over her chest. Even her clothing was different. Either she'd lost weight recently, or she bought her clothes a size too large. Always a shirt over her tee, and a long-sleeved one at that. She didn't even roll up her sleeves on a hot July afternoon. The only flesh that was visible was her work-roughened hands, her unmade-up face, the stretch of her neck, and a small curve of freckled skin not covered by the high necklines of her tee and shirt. It was almost like she wanted to disappear inside her clothes.

Seven years ago, she'd been a vibrant, confident woman, a rodeo queen at the top of her game, passionately in love with the man of her dreams. Had Pete's death changed her so dramatically? Or had something else happened to create this wary, closed-in woman?

One day, she would talk to him. From what the physiotherapist had said, it would be a couple of weeks at least before he could think of rejoining Dusty. Why not spend it here? Ben knew how to be patient, although he had more experience doing it with horses than with women. Eventually, the animal trusted you. It'd be the same with Sally.

He was smart enough to realize that he might be no more successful at hooking up with her than he'd been seven years ago, but before he left Caribou Crossing, he'd get her to smile and laugh again.

Chapter Six

Ben was more subtle these days, Sally reflected as she picked leaf lettuce from the garden. More effective, because he wormed his way around her defenses with logic and teasing—as well as with those warm brown eyes and flashing white smile. He was a hard man to resist.

So had Pete been, when he'd set out to court her. She couldn't let her guard down.

She pulled green onions from the soil, the tender green stalks and white bulbs so fresh and appealing. Baby radishes, their red and white outsides hinting at the crisp, zippy taste inside. Carrots, vivid orange with those feathery green tops. This garden gave her an amazing amount of pleasure, on top of the fact that fresh-picked produce was almost free and tasted much better than grocery-delivered. If Ben stayed, as he seemed set on doing, she might have time to keep up with the garden. Maybe even figure out a way to deal with the deer and rabbits.

She should e-mail Corrie and tell her how the garden was doing. And ask if things were okay with whatever personal situation had led her to quit a job she'd seemed happy with.

Ben had pretty much come out and accused Sally of being uncaring. It wasn't true, but with Pete she'd learned to keep her life private. That meant not asking other people about their personal lives, because they might ask questions back.

Sally straightened and pressed a hand to her lower back. It ached a little, but wasn't as sore as it had been before Ben started helping out.

She took her basket of pretty vegetables into the kitchen and turned on the radio. George Strait—a rodeo cowboy himself—was singing “Check Yes or No.” She hummed along as she started putting together a salad. All she had in the fridge was ranch dressing, so hopefully Ben would be fine with that.

The salad looked so fresh and colorful, it inspired her to make a dessert one too, cutting up an apple, an orange, and a banana. Something healthy to go along with the brownies.

When she went outside to put the vegetable salad on the table, Ben was walking toward the house. The straps of a recyclable bag were hooked over his right forearm, and in his right hand he carried two stacked plates with three hamburgers on top. He really was adept with just one good arm.

Adept . . . A hum of awareness rippled through her. Damn the man for having this effect on her.

He came up the steps. “Salad looks great. It must be nice having your own garden.”

“Or at least as much of it as the deer and rabbits are willing to share.” She relieved him of the plates, and put one of the burgers on the bottom one. “These look delicious.” Big patties of seared meat rested inside whole wheat kaiser buns. “What's in the bag?”

“Didn't know what you liked.” He took out a package of cheddar cheese, a tomato, an onion, and bottles of ketchup, mustard, and pickles. “I figured we could fix our own.”

Considerate. As he so often was. When he wasn't poking into her private business or stirring up her long-dormant sexuality.

She went into the kitchen to get a cutting board and a couple of knives. Through the screened window, she called, “Want a beer?”

“You bet.”

She took a bottle from the fridge and paused, her hand hovering beside a second one. Decisively, she closed her fingers around it. Nothing went as well with burgers as a cold beer.

Once she and Ben were both seated, they doctored their burgers, dished out salad, and dug in. Through the screen door and window, the radio provided easy background listening, so low that she recognized songs but didn't really hear the words.

“Do you like Monique?” she asked.

“Yeah, she's great. Totally gets what it's like for a professional athlete. She was a figure skater. She and her pairs partner made the Olympic team.”

Sally had never met Monique, only spoken to her over the phone. The woman always sounded competent and upbeat, and she spoke English with a charming French Canadian accent. Now, hearing about the physiotherapist's skating career, Sally imagined an impossibly fit, beautiful, graceful, strong, determined, pretty much perfect woman. “Impressive.”

“I know. That was back in the early nineties. They didn't medal but she said the experience was incredible. Her partner wanted to retire afterward. Rather than start all over with a new guy, she retired, too. Found a new career.”

So the woman was likely to be fortyish. Probably married, with kids. There was absolutely no reason Sally should find that fact reassuring.

Ben told her more about his appointment, then asked her about her day. She told him about the trail ride with Wenda and her kids, and discussed a problem one of her barrel racing students was having. He asked good questions, listened to her, and offered suggestions but no criticism. With Pete, conversation had sometimes felt like she was being grilled or lectured, but this was . . . nice. There was a back and forth, a give and take.

Why had she and Corrie never done this? Neither of them had sought it out, the way Ben had tonight. Sally knew her reasons. Now she wondered about Corrie's.

When Sally had made it three-quarters of the way through her giant burger, she shoved the plate aside. “That was delicious, but I can't eat a bite more. Want to finish it?”

“You're trying to fill me up so you'll get all the brownies.” He slid the meat and tomato from her burger, but left the bun.

“You're on to me.”

Ben teased and joked a lot. He pushed sometimes, but was willing to back off. He didn't set traps with his words or his actions. She could actually relax with him.

She checked her beer bottle. It was still well more than half full. Yes, her relaxation had to do with Ben, not with getting drunk and silly.

Finished eating, he stacked the two dirty plates. From his tote bag, he pulled out a bakery box. The ketchup and other condiments went back in the bag.

She stood and held out her hand. “I'll put that stuff in the fridge. Want some coffee?”

“Sounds good.”

She went in to turn on the coffeemaker and fetch the fruit salad and a couple of bowls. When she put the salad on the table, he said, “Nice. I love fruit. Thanks, Sally.”

“You're welcome. I'll get the coffee.” How about that? A man thanking her for something as simple as tossing three kinds of fruit into a salad, rather than expecting her to produce a fancy meal. Ben was about as different from Pete as she could imagine, she mused as she poured coffee into two mugs.

Except for the fact that, as with Pete in the beginning, she found him handsome and appealing. Magnetically appealing. Sexually appealing. Not that she'd ever let Ben know that, she thought as she sat down across from him. Sex did
not
have a place in her life.

Chocolate hadn't had a place for a while either, but tonight it did. She happily took a brownie as well as a serving of fruit salad. She was so caught up in savoring the rich fudginess that she didn't notice, until she finished, that Ben hadn't taken the other treat. “No brownie? Did I succeed in filling you up?”

“I watch my carbs. Help yourself. Or save it to have with your lunch tomorrow.”

When she thought about protesting, he said, “Take it and say thank you.”

This was one battle she'd happily let him win. “Thank you, Ben.” She took the bakery box to the kitchen and put it in the fridge, then came back and lit citronella candles.

When she sat down again, she said, “We need to discuss ground rules.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thought you'd forgotten.”

“I was waiting until you were mellowed out on cholesterol and alcohol.” Actually, she almost had forgotten, she'd been so caught up in enjoying the company and food.

“Do I need to get a notebook and take notes?”

“Not unless you've been concussed so many times you have no memory.”

When he rolled his eyes, she said, “Okay, rule number one. Your health comes first. Don't do anything that strains your shoulder. Take whatever time you need for physio appointments and exercise.”

“Agreed.”

That was easier than she'd expected. She opened her mouth to state rule two, but he spoke first. “My turn. My first rule is—”

“Wait a minute. You don't get to make rules.”

“Sure I do,” he said easily. “It's not a dictatorship. And my first rule is, your health's important, too. Don't lift anything too heavy; ask me for help. Don't work too hard without taking a break.”

His rule surprised a smile out of her. “Today's been my easiest day since Corrie left,” she admitted. “In fact it's been the nicest day since—” She stopped herself, then finished, “In quite a while.” What she'd almost said was that it was the nicest day she'd had since the beginning of her marriage.

Now that was a disconcerting thought.

 

 

Her nicest day in quite a while? Damn, that sounded good to his ears. Ben wished he could give Sally a big hug, but was pretty sure that'd make her back off. So he settled for saying, “I'm glad. Now, what's your second rule?”

“You're not my employee. You don't have to work regular hours. Chauncey's Pride needs exercise and you need to keep training. Take off whenever you need to. Or want to, like to go into town or take a ride in the country.”

He gave her a slow smile. “Okay. On the condition that you agree to my rule two. You gotta take some time off, too.” It'd be pushing his luck to suggest she come into town for a drink and some dancing, so he said, “And come for a ride with me.”

“I can't just take off and go riding.”

“Then I'll pay you for a guided trail ride.”

“Ben! I won't let you pay me.”

“Then agree with my rule two, or I won't agree with yours.”

She shook her head, but her eyes danced. “You're determined to get your own way, aren't you?”

“Pretty much.” At least when it came to giving her brownies and getting her to take some R&R. He studied her face, wishing he could smooth that curl of red-gold hair off her cheek and caress her skin. “You done with the rules now?”

Her lips twisted like a grin was struggling to escape. “Rule three. Don't eat chicken; don't even talk about eating chicken. If you want fried chicken, go into town.”

He chuckled. “That one I can live with. That it?”

“For now.” She cocked a brow. “You?”

“Me, too.” He rose and stacked plates and bowls. Last night, he'd given her space and gone to do barn chores. Tonight, he cast out a feeler. “Want me to give you a hand with these?”

“No,” she said quickly, grabbing the stack. “Thanks. You can get started in the barn.”

Damn it, he wanted to know the truth, and to find some way of helping her. How could he convince her to trust him? Quietly, he asked, “What man scared you, Sally?”

“No one!” The dishes rattled in her grip. “I told you that.”

He rescued the dishes before she dropped them, and set them back on the table. “I don't think you told me the truth. Either you think I'm a real jerk—”

“I don't.”

“I figured, or you wouldn't be here with me. So it seems you're wary of men in general.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, so tightly that her fingers bit into her upper arms. “It's sensible to be cautious.”

“Sure it is. But with you it's more than that.” Studying her taut, closed face, her tightly wound arms, he sighed. No way was this woman ready to open up to him. “I get that you don't want to talk about it. But I need to know if he's still a threat.”

After a very long moment, she slowly shook her head.

“Okay. Good. If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. And you need to know, I'm not like him. I will never hurt you.”

“All right.” She said the words, but without conviction, and her eyes were skeptical.

He had to be patient and show her he was a man she could trust. “I'll be in the barn.”

As Ben turned and walked away, he pondered her behavior. One threatening incident wouldn't have made her so mistrusting. Something really awful— like rape—might have. But Sally acted like a wounded creature who'd sustained long-term harm....

His long stride hitched. Not Pete. It couldn't have been Pete, the man who was so madly in love with her.

Madly. Obsessively. Possessively.

Crap. Had it been Pete? If the man who'd swept her off her feet, romanced her, made her fall passionately in love had abused her over the course of their marriage ...

But no. How could that have happened? Sally had been strong, independent, feisty. She'd never have let a man do that to her.

He shook his head, realizing that he was oversimplifying. The whole spousal abuse thing sickened him and made no sense. Yet he'd seen enough articles, even heard one or two stories, to know that the dynamic was anything but simple. It was wrong to blame the victim for not escaping the situation. Often, the victim was no more capable of running away than was an abused horse confined in a locked stall.

In the barn, he got to work cleaning the day's tack. Likely, his imagination was acting up on him. There must be some other explanation for the dramatic change in Sally's personality.

He heard her bring a couple of horses into the barn. She did that with boarded horses that required grooming and tacking up first thing in the morning.

She murmured to the horses as she settled them, and then she came to lean against the frame of the tack room door. “I checked on Sunshine Song. She's restless, pacing. There's wax on her teats. She may be going into labor. I'm going to bandage her tail and clean her.”