Second Hope

by J. B. McDonald

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Second Hope

  Copyright © 2009 by J. B. McDonald

  ISBN: 978-1-60504-472-9

  Edited by Angela James

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2009

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Second Hope

  JB McDonald

  Dedication

  Many thanks to Ki, who helped me with the first draft. If I had tried it without you, I would have ended up in the loony bin!

  And extra thanks to Sheryl Deeds, who diagnosed my SSS, helped me fix it, and made it possible to write without migraines, see without words moving, and discover the wonders of depth perception. Yay!

  Chapter One

  “I just can’t believe you’re gonna let him stay in your house.” Beth folded her arms across the half door of the stall, strawberry blond hair escaping from its braid and curling riotously around her face. “Why not make him live in the bunkhouse?”

  Nat smiled wryly, one corner of her mouth turning up in something just shy of humor. Her feet shifted, easing tired muscles while remaining crouched. Shavings moved over her boots, sending another glitter of sawdust into the air around them. It spun like fool’s gold, drifting lazily through refracted sunlight coming from the open door to the turn-out. “Money, Beth. It’s all about money.” She twisted vetwrap around the gelding’s foreleg one more time, checking to be sure it wasn’t too tight. The tendon needed support, not constriction. It was a fine difference that not all of her hired hands understood. One hand in particular was about to get his ass fired over it.

  “Money lets him stay in your house? I don’t get it.”

  Nat hadn’t really figured she would. Heck, Nat wasn’t sure it made sense, anyway. She cut the vetwrap, pressed the edge to itself until it stuck, and straightened. The bay reached around to nose at her, and she pushed his face firmly away. Chip wasn’t to be trusted; a nose turned into a sweet little nuzzle, which in turn became a fast, hard nip. The bugger was sneaky like that.

  “He has money. We need money. He gets the best and I get to charge him for staying in the guestroom rather than with the staff.” She smiled, shrugging with the knowledge that it was mercenary. If they didn’t get along, he could go stay in the bunkhouse. Heck, at that point they’d be out the cash, anyway—he wasn’t likely to pay to be miserable.

  “I hear he’s dreamy.” Beth gave a blissful sigh, pretty green eyes going vacant.

  Nat chuckled and stretched a companionable arm across Chip’s wide back. She preferred her barn and her horses to a man any day. Give her the smell of oats and hay and sweat, the particular musk that went with fur and hair. Even the less pretty bits: horse snot and manure, mud and sore muscles. Men were fun, sure. Good to pal around with, great for a game of poker or a trip to the baseball field. But horses were where her heart rested.

  Slim fingers brushed a few stray shavings off Chip’s spine. His coat was short, and slightly dusty. It had been two whole days since he’d been groomed; his owner would be appalled. The owner was half his problem, though. There was a reason he spent more time at Nat’s rehab center than in the show ring, and it didn’t have to do with difficult training.

  He turned slowly and ambled off, ducking out the door that led to his turn-out and sunshine. Nat watched him go, then pulled her mind back to the present. “I hear,” she said after considering the love-struck look on Beth’s face, “that he’s a chauvinist.” She’d heard no such thing, but he was a cowboy. There was an even shot of it being true.

  Beth blinked into reality again, frowning. “I haven’t heard that… I’ve heard he’s really nice…” She stepped back as Nat pushed at the stall door, sliding out. “In fact, I heard—” She looked up, pausing.

  Nat lifted one sleek, black eyebrow. A smile danced around her full mouth.

  “You’re just harassing me again, aren’t you?”

  Her laugh spilled out, ringing around the airy barn. Stepping onto the rubber mats that covered the wide center aisle, she closed the stall door behind her and latched it with a thunk. “Sorry, Beth.” She didn’t look it in the slightest. “You’re just so easy.”

  “You’re an evil woman. Has anyone ever told you that? Evil.”

  Nat only laughed again and started down the rows of stalls, glancing in at their occupants. Most of them were in their turn-outs, though a few were too injured to be allowed that freedom. She paused at Beauty’s stall, leaning over to look at the classically black mare tied near her food and water. “How’s she doing?” Nat asked the attendant, her voice dropping low in deference to the dozing horse.

  Aaron looked up from his book, long legs stretched out in the recliner they’d set up in the corner. Pale blue eyes glanced from Nat to Beauty and back again. “She’s good. Tired, same as we all are, but holding up. Her stitches look clean.”

  Nat nodded, vaguely aware that he went back to reading as she turned to peer at the horse. After two days of being forced to remain still and upright, the creature was looking rather pathetic. But the twelve-inch wound across her shoulder, delving through muscle clear down to bone, hadn’t pulled open or started to gape. The stitches were holding. Another twenty-four hours and their constant vigil would be over. Beauty would be able to lie down without everyone worrying that the contracting muscle would tear apart again. If they could manage those hours, she’d live. The vet had predicted it couldn’t be done.

  It looked like they might do it after all.

  Nat resisted the urge to reach out and smooth her fingertips over the velvet-soft muzzle. As tempting as it was, she’d only disturb Beauty, and the horse needed her sleep. With a person in her stall round the clock, she’d been petted and groomed plenty over the last two days—more touching wouldn’t soothe the mare as much as dozing would.

  Pushing away, Nat headed down the aisle again, crossing blocks of sunshine let in by the skylights high overhead.

  “So, you think anything’s gonna happen while he’s here?”

  Her mind had gone so far off the former topic that Nat had no idea what Beth was talking about anymore. She mentally ticked off the horses expected in over the next week: two mares, a stallion, one gelding. She rather hoped nothing happened with any of them. It was bad for business.

  “With Cole Masterson, Nat!” Beth said in exasperation.

  “Oh.” Well, that was better than something happening with one of the horses. In fact, now that an undoubtedly sexual slant had been put on “something happening”, it was a little creepy. Nat wrinkled her nose and gave Beth a foul look.

  “You’re never gonna find a husband if you keep ignoring men, you know. I mean, you’re already old.”

  Most of the time, Nat forgot that Beth was her cousin. Then Beth ruined it by saying something like that. Being accused of getting old she could deal with—though at barely thirty, she didn’t think it applied—but the obsession with finding her a man she could do without.

  Summer air came down warm and clear from the Arizona sky as she ste
pped out of the barn, onto the soft sand of their main courtyard. Sprinklers ratcheted water out into the fields around them, giant shooting bursts of liquid that sailed over grass and horses alike. Straight ahead were more large buildings, including a second barn, several indoor arenas, a shed for equipment, a pool for swimming the horses, the bunkhouse for the hands. ATVs littered the place, ready and waiting for anyone who had to get anywhere in a hurry. Her own house was to her left, with a wide grassy area in front, the house itself circled by a wooden veranda.

  And to think she was going to share it.

  Nat put that thought firmly from her mind, ignored Beth’s earlier comment and headed toward the nearest ATV. “I’m gonna go riding. You want a hitch somewhere?” She swung one long leg over the seat, looking back.

  “Nah. I’m gonna go keep Aaron and Beauty company. Oh, wait, when is Cole due?”

  “Mr. Masterson,” Nat stressed, “won’t be arriving until this evening. With his horse, Fleet.”

  “Oooh, it’ll be so neat to meet him.”

  “The horse, right?” Nat grinned, knowing the answer but unable to keep herself from riling her younger cousin.

  Beth didn’t even deign to respond, just rolled her eyes and turned to head back into the barn.

  Personally, Nat hoped the man was bearable, and the horse was workable. Cracked canon bones weren’t a death sentence anymore, but getting him back into shape for reining was more of a trick. Still, that was what she was here for: taking the horses that needed extra TLC and pouring it on. She was good at that. Horses were easy.

  It was their owners who killed her.

  Nat started the ATV with a roar of its engine and headed out toward the back pastures, where her own half-dozen animals lived. She had a few hours before anyone would need her. Time enough for riding.

  ***

  They’d hoped to arrive at the Second Hope Ranch by five, but Cole hadn’t taken into account his own tendency toward mother hennishness. He made the driver stop the trailer every few hours, going back to check that Fleet wasn’t in any pain, that the shavings were deep and clean, that the sling holding most of the horse’s weight off his feet was neither too loose nor too tight. It wouldn’t do for Fleet to colic because they’d done something wrong. Heck, Cole didn’t even want the horse to be unduly stressed, and while Fleet was used to trailering, he wasn’t used to doing it on cracked bones.

  Cole was torn between guilt at adding time to the trip, and relief that he’d insisted on stopping to let the horse rest. When they pulled up to the rehab ranch—Equine Spa, some of his reining buddies called it with equal parts fondness and derision—it was full dark. The gate opened only after the driver called in and someone came out to clear them. As they drove up, floodlights came on to light their path. The long dirt road ended in a large, lit courtyard, with more lights in several of the buildings: both barns and the indoor arena.

  The truck rolled carefully to a stop, easing ever slower until it finally rocked still. The driver glanced at Cole, now used to him demanding more care with their precious cargo, but even Cole couldn’t fault that halt.

  A girl stepped into the glow pooling from the headlights, lifting one hand in a cheerful wave. She was younger than he’d expected from the woman who ran the place, shorter and curvy with kinky red hair and a softness that he associated with mothers. Cole pushed the truck door open with his good arm, and stepped down onto dirt covered with a layer of sand. Excellent footing for injured horses. He winced as his other arm—carried carefully in a sling—shifted slightly. Then he closed the truck door and walked forward, hand outstretched. “Antoinette Jackson? Cole Masterson.”

  The redhead dimpled—he couldn’t believe people actually did that, but the word applied—and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m not Nat—and you really don’t want to call her Antoinette to her face—but if you take a look that way…”

  He turned in time to see a shape emerge from the lit arena, silhouetted against cream colored boards and pale sand. He couldn’t tell much other than it was a woman on a horse. As she came nearer, stepping from the shadows into the circle of light in the courtyard, he took a good look at her mount. Black, with broad shoulders and strong, straight legs. It walked with the loose-legged stride of a truly relaxed animal, the woman’s legs swinging, unhampered by stirrups or even a saddle. The creature kept its head low, ears flopping contentedly to either side of a broad head. Only when he’d looked his fill at the horse did Cole’s gaze lift to its rider.

  She was tall, leggy, sitting comfortably astride her horse and moving with a grace that spoke both of training and years in the saddle—or on the back, as the case currently was. Black hair fell from a low ponytail down past her rib cage, thick waves of it that matched the night sky. From this distance and with the odd lighting he couldn’t see eye color, other than dark smudges of brow and lashes, but her skin was very pale. Her shoulders were narrow, collarbones stretching out underneath the thin straps of a tank top, breasts small and high above a compact rib cage and a tiny waist.

  It wasn’t until she stopped that he realized he’d been staring. He’d expected someone…older. The redhead had been a surprise, but the woman before him was a devastation. She was beautiful. Suddenly, he was jealous of Fleet.

  “Nat Jackson?” He stepped up to her horse’s shoulder and put a callused palm on the warm coat. The horse shivered, then relaxed again. It sighed.

  She spoke, her voice touched with dry humor, a little husky. “Glad you could make it. We were starting to think you’d died.” Without dismounting she looked up, over Cole’s head as if dismissing him from her thoughts just that easily.

  He knew he wouldn’t be dismissing her without a fight.

  “Aaron!”

  A man stepped out of the barn.

  “Beth! Tell the driver to go around to the far end of the second barn.” She looked back down, still sitting relaxed on her horse. “Does Fleet get along with other horses all right, or do we need to isolate him?”

  Cole smiled his best gentlemanly smile, hoping to at least get a second look from her. “He’s a real social butterfly. Minds his p’s and hooves.” His pun didn’t rate either the second look or the laugh he was hoping for. She looked up at Beth again, all business.

  “Put him in the middle stall, then. The one that leads to the grass paddock, not the sand.” Then, finally, she looked back down at Cole. “Let me get Jasmine put away, and we’ll see your things stored and Fleet settled.”

  Jasmine’s head lifted, nostrils flaring as the truck moved on down the courtyard. Beth hopped up into the passenger seat to direct from there, leaving Cole behind. Fleet whinnied, and Jasmine answered.

  “He’s not in any shape to be playing stud.” The business mask Nat had been wearing slipped away as she spoke to her animal, amusement and love shining through. She twisted, bracing her hands firmly against the wither bone and rocking up. Her leg swung over the mare’s back and she dropped, landing lightly before flipping the reins over Jasmine’s head and starting to walk.

  Cole fell into step on the opposite side of the horse, deciding it would be too obvious to run around and join Nat. Besides which, while he wasn’t the tallest person ever at just six feet, with Jasmine’s head drooping again he could see over it to Nat.

  She didn’t appear to be aware of him, her eyes on the ground in front of her horse as if studying every inch for possible pot holes. Cole would bet that not so much as a pebble stayed out of place for long around here, with a gaze as intent as that.

  He rather wished she’d turn it on him. Now that Fleet was being taken care of, he had little else to think about. With his left arm in a sling and the reining year over—for him and Fleet, at least—there wasn’t much to occupy his mind. Staying home while Fleet healed probably would have been the sensible thing to do, but Cole couldn’t stand the thought of his prize stallion being out of sight—not even for the few months it would take for those bones to mend well, and not even in a place as
reputable for turning out miracles as this one was.

  Besides, he liked to tell himself, he could start getting them both back in shape here, under the careful watch of the barn vets and physical therapists. One of whom, he considered as he looked at the woman over her horse, was standing right here.

  He wouldn’t mind doing much of anything under her careful watch. After all, he had nothing else to keep him busy.

  When she looked up, no doubt in response to his steady contemplation, he smiled slow and soft.

  She didn’t look impressed. “You’re in my way.”

  Well, that wasn’t the best pickup line ever, but he’d worked with worse. “Sorry.” Cole stepped out of the stall doorway after he’d glanced around to see what he was blocking. The woman and horse turned and went past him, into a stall heavily padded with shavings. In the overhead lights he could see that the mare’s whiskers were long, though her ears were neatly trimmed. Nat disappeared from view as she unbridled her horse, quiet words murmuring in the air between them for a moment, too low for Cole to understand.

  He stepped away, looking down the center aisle, at the stall doors with their top halves open. He could still hear her voice, hear the warmth and praise even if he couldn’t make out the words. He tried to give them privacy, studying the rafters and noting the stairs that led up to a glassed-in office above the tack room.

  It was good to see someone who cared about their animals, who took a few extra minutes to soothe and pet. Too many of the people Cole worked with didn’t, even considered him suspect for the way he treated his horses. Though to be honest, he didn’t really know all of the animals at his ranch. Not anymore. Fleet was his, and always would be, but there were so many others in training or boarding to be bred, that his staff knew more about each horse than he did.

  He wondered if Nat knew everything about all the horses here. He bet she did.