Second Hope

by J. B. McDonald

  Cole glanced at her, watching her pick up a pen from the jar beside the phone and twirl it between long, slim fingers. “Were you good enough?”

  She just snorted.

  “Why’d you quit?” If he hadn’t been looking, he’d have missed the brief frown that crossed her face. She put the pen down and leaned back, arching her neck to peer out the screen door at the courtyard and barn.

  “Jasmine’s blind. Trailering accident. Allergic reaction to a drug. We didn’t actually know it for several months, and then I rode her out one day.” She shrugged, though Cole wasn’t fooled. Even after all this time, it was still a painful memory. “She jumped when I asked her to, but not high enough. When it happened more than once, we called the vet back out.”

  Cole whistled softly, pulling the frying pan off the stove.

  “After that I decided to open this place, rather than get a new horse and continue jumping. My grandmother donated money, and a few businesses donated more. A lot of people spent a lot of unpaid time here, helping me put it together and get it running. And now…” Her expression brightened, a soft smile drawing up the corners of her mouth. She spread her hands, as if the ranch spoke for itself.

  And it did. Though he really didn’t know what impressed him more: the pull her mare had had to influence Nat in building this place, or the fact that they’d been closely enough connected that, despite blindness, the mare had tried to jump.

  Possibly both.

  He opened cupboards until he found a plate, slid her egg on, and passed it across the counter, still thinking. “You ride her, though?” he asked finally, cracking another egg into the pan. He tossed the shell into the garbage before adding a second, all one-handed.

  “I do. She gets depressed if I leave her alone too long. We even go out on trail occasionally, though we take those rides slow and easy.”

  Cole nodded. If Nat was going to steer a blind horse around every gopher hole and dip in the land, they’d have to go slowly. That the mare would go out at all, he still found amazing. “You must have quite a connection with her.” He flipped his eggs, more interested in the woman across the counter.

  She picked at her food, not so much undesiring of it as obviously not hungry. He appreciated her making the effort. “We do. She hasn’t had anyone but me on her back since she was five, and started jumping.” She smiled then, glancing up at him. “Of course, it’s not really that unusual. I mean, there are other people with bonds like that with their horses.”

  He thought of Fleet, and felt warmth curl in his stomach. Then he laughed. “Somehow, it’s a little different to ask a reining horse to keep reining blind. No posts to leap over, for one.”

  “All right, you may have a point.”

  He chuckled at her obvious amusement, glad to see a twinkle in those turquoise eyes. A comfortable silence danced between them as he found another plate and scooped his eggs onto it, turning the stove off and shuffling the dish to the counter. The dish’s edge nudged up against Nat’s, ceramic ringing in clear, high tones for a moment before it faded. “How do you think our girl’s gonna fare?” He stabbed a mouthful of food onto his fork.

  Her eyebrow quirked again—he was starting to love that twitch—but she answered without explaining why. “It’ll depend on her. Often these kinds of cases can go either way—it just comes down to whether or not the horse wants to get better. Sounds crazy, I know.”

  “No, it sounds like horses.” Cole frowned slightly, a line shadowing between his brows. “It’s amazing how many horses you see that just don’t come back from what should have been a minor injury. Like they’ve lost their heart for it.” He glanced toward the smaller barn, even knowing he couldn’t see it through drywall and plaster. He couldn’t quite stop himself. Fleet had been his companion for almost twelve years now, and it was entirely possible the horse was ready for an early retirement. He wasn’t sure what he’d do without the little stallion, though logically he knew that he’d find another horse—probably one of Fleet’s sons—and continue on. It was still crushing to think about.

  When she spoke, Nat’s voice was soft. “I doubt he’s lost his heart for it.”

  Cole’s gaze landed on her face again. “I’m sorry?”

  There was something there, something in her expression he hadn’t seen before. He’d seen her at work, and he’d seen her cool. He’d seen passionate and caring about the horses, but hadn’t guessed that when that caring landed on him, it would be so powerful.

  “Fleet. I don’t think he’s lost his heart. I think he’ll heal up just fine, and you’ll both go back to being champs.” Then the moment was gone, and she smiled briefly, sliding off the barstool. “And speaking of my various charges, I should get going. Given your shoulder,” she nodded at his sling, “if you’ll leave the dishes in the sink I’ll get to them later. Thanks for breakfast.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help with the new mare?” Cole asked before Nat could duck outside and disappear. “Anything that’ll convince her to heal up?”

  Nat paused in the doorway, outlined by the morning light. It played over her clothes, softening her edges, sliding gracefully over curves. “If you have a spare minute, just say hi to her. Sometimes, that’s all they need.”

  Cole nodded and watched as she went through the door and down the stairs. She was something else. He found himself humming tunelessly, picking up her plate and depositing it into the stainless steel sink before heading back into his room to put on socks. Socks, boots, he’d grab his hat…might as well start his own day.

  Whatever that day was going to be.

  Chapter Three

  It was afternoon before Nat had a chance to breathe. Horses had to be checked on or exercised, bandages changed, some of them re-changed thanks to Matt wrapping them too tightly, gear cleaned, and there simply wasn’t enough staff to do it all. The vet had come out to look at Beauty again before looking at four other horses. He’d been late, though, setting Nat’s whole day back.

  At three o’clock she grabbed a piece of cheese and an apple from her kitchen, noticing Cole’s absence, and headed back down to the barn to see how her newest arrival was doing.

  The big barn was almost empty, the horses out in their pastures enjoying the bright day. Aaron was in Beauty’s stall, and Nat could hear him speaking softly. She suspected he was reading out loud, from the timbre of his voice.

  She smiled and walked across the rubber mats, breathing deeply of shavings and oats. The new mare’s stall was at the end of the barn, in the quietest corner they could manage. As Nat drew closer she could hear someone speaking, someone who wasn’t Aaron. A light tenor rose and fell comfortably, filling the air with soothing noises.

  Nat paused, listening.

  “So Barry jumped up on the back of that horse again—he had to, y’know, with the girl watching—and I’ll be danged if it didn’t throw him right back off. One big buck and twist and he was airborne. Landed on a rock and broke two ribs, too. But I suppose it all worked out. The girl brought him get-well flowers and spent some time with him while he healed up, and they ended up dating for two months before she moved on to Dean. Even that was all right. Barry had decided he was more interested in blondes, anyway.”

  Nat chuckled and leaned on the half door of the stall, looking in and down at the man and mare. The horse had rolled up onto her belly, feet tucked under her, ears flopping to either side of her head as she listened to the gentle voice.

  Cole sat in front of her, braced against the wall with his legs stretched out. There were piles of hay around him, two buckets with different types of grain and a third with pellets. He looked up when Nat chuckled, tipping his cowboy hat back to see her. A bit of straw twirled between his thumb and index finger, whipping around and around again. A smile stretched across his face, as slow as sunshine in a field. “Care to join us?” he asked quietly. “We’re having a picnic.”

  Nat smiled back, unable to stop herself. “Barry sounds fickle.”

  Cole’s
mouth stretched into a grin, his eyes twinkling. “Well, he was fourteen. I suppose you’re allowed to be a little fickle at fourteen. Isn’t that right, Emma?”

  The horse lay watching him, one ear pointing toward Nat.

  “Emma, huh?”

  “I thought she looked like an Emma. You know, a little refined but not quite prissy enough to be a true lady.” He pushed his hat back farther. “You joining us?” he asked again.

  If someone was with the mare—Emma, Nat thought with warmth—she really had no reason to stay. There were a million and one things to get done still, and only so many hours in the day to do them. She found herself unlatching the door anyway, letting it swing open before she stepped inside. “How long have you been in here?” She turned to close it, double-checking the lock.

  “Oh, couple of hours. I went to check on Fleet this morning, hung around to watch them swim him—he didn’t take much of a liking to that—got some lunch and came to see how our lady was faring. Shumway said she still wasn’t eating, so I thought I’d have a go at it.”

  Nat moved carefully through the straw, then lowered herself to sit in a clear spot next to Cole. She couldn’t quite keep the sigh of exhaustion from escaping as she got off her feet for the first time that day. “Any luck?”

  “A nibble here and there. Shumway showed me how to change the fluids, so she’s at least got some nutrients moving into her. She’s stood up a few times to relieve herself, but that’s about all.” He leaned forward, folding his legs under to stretch and run a careful hand down the mare’s face. “But we’re not in any hurry, are we, Emma? Healing takes time, that’s all. We’ll get there.”

  Something inside Nat unwound at his words, releasing a pang through her heart. It was gone almost as quickly as it had arrived, leaving her with a tight throat. She swallowed, then finally took a bite of her nearly forgotten cheese and forced herself to chew and swallow.

  “Is that lunch?” Cole asked on a disbelieving laugh, light brown eyebrows arching up under the brim of his hat.

  “Better than coffee.” Nat smiled and shrugged, then took a bite of her apple. The mare’s nostrils flared, and Nat reached forward to offer the fruit. She could always get another.

  But Emma only sniffed it curiously before pulling her head away again, relaxing into the nest her weight had made.

  “Who’s Barry?” The question was idle, more to pass the time than for anything else.

  “Oh, Barry’s my brother.” He sat back, stretching his legs out once more and crossing them at the ankle. “Just him, me and my dad for most of my life.”

  “Sounds like a lot of testosterone.” The quip gained a chuckle, an easy smile from a face that seemed to fall into those lines readily. She didn’t ask what had happened to his mother; it really wasn’t her business.

  “You have no idea. What about you? Any siblings?”

  “No.” She left it at that, braced for more questions. The silence prickled, Cole’s gaze heavy on her. She ate her apple, her cheese, and didn’t look at him.

  After what seemed like eons, he spoke again, his voice casual. “I couldn’t imagine living without at least one. Your best friend and your worst enemy. I always said I’d rather trade him in for a dog, but that’s not really true. Well…” He tipped his head thoughtfully. “Maybe sometimes.”

  Nat found herself laughing without meaning to, shaking her head. “That’s terrible.”

  “But honest. My dad hired us to paint the roof of the barn one time. So I climbed up there with a paint can and brush, got all the way off the ladder, and that bugger pulled it down. Left me up there, too, laughing the whole time. It wasn’t until our dad got home that someone figured out I was missing. Barry thought it was the funniest thing ever, and Dad wasn’t much help.” He smiled, his gaze caught somewhere in the middle space of a good memory. “I got so sunburned I peeled for days. Still have a scar from it, too.”

  Nat laughed, not sure if she should really believe it or not.

  “I do! Here, look.” He leaned over, good arm twisted awkwardly to pull at the neck of his T-shirt. “You see, there? That mottled skin? Sunburn scarring. Hurt like the damn blazes.”

  She leaned in, eyes traveling over the exposed flesh. Golden from sunlight, if not the bronze his forearms were. It stretched smooth and healthy over the swell of muscle, dipping into shadow above his collarbone. “I don’t see anything. I think you’re lying.”

  “I am not! How can you not see anything? There! Right there!” He pointed with one blunt fingertip, still trying to hold his shirt out of the way.

  The brim of his hat slid against her hair, the smell of him—light and leather and the sweet scent of just-cut hay—surrounding her. His nails were a bit brown from the sugar on the grain, adding a molasses scent to the mix. “I still don’t see anything.” She grinned.

  “Okay, now you’re the liar.” His voice was cheerful, though, not accusing. “You’re just giving me a hard time.”

  She looked up, the corners of her mouth trying to curl. “I might be.” He was closer than she’d expected. The world was hidden from view, a mare on one side and the wall on the other, the brim of his hat blocking out the rest.

  His smile was slow and sultry, growing softer and warmer with every passing moment. The hand on his T-shirt let go, lifted, rough index finger ghosting over the bridge of her nose. “You got some freckles.”

  His touch was like wingbeats against her skin, achingly careful. Calluses rasped, just enough of an edge to make it clear that he was being gentle. Nat jerked away, aware suddenly of how close they’d been. Aware of the green flecks that kept his eyes from being just brown, of the gold rings around his pupils, the way one canine was just a hair crooked, mimicking his smile.

  Her heartbeat thumped in her neck and against her ribs, almost painful in its intensity.

  “Nat?” There was a question there, and it was far more intimate than anything about sun damage or freckles. She stared hard at the mare, at Emma, and watched liquid brown eyes look back at her calmly.

  She’d forgotten her apple. “Everyone has some freckles.” Her voice sounded odd even to her own ears, and she grimaced to imagine how it might sound to Cole. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. She glanced at him sidelong.

  He was watching her, looking too thoughtful. When she didn’t face him he offered a little smile, and she had the distinct impression he was trying to soothe her almost as much as he’d been trying to soothe Emma.

  “Well, sure. They add character, my mom used to say.”

  She fussed with her apple. The cheese had gone soft, melting in her hand. She tossed it toward the manure pile someone had scraped into the corner. “I thought it was just you, your brother and your dad?”

  Cole nodded. He was still watching her in that way he had, seeing more than he should. Nat wished she could stop fidgeting. “My mom died when I was just a kid, but I have some memories. She had red hair, and freckles. Used to say freckles—”

  “Gave you character,” Nat finished for him. She nodded, understanding, but didn’t look up. She should leave. Certainly not stick around and give him reason to believe she was interested. Because she wasn’t. Not at all. Men were trouble; she’d learned that the hard way.

  She didn’t leave, though. Instead, she picked up a long piece of straw and started folding it, feeling the stalk break with little movements of her fingers. “What happened to your mother?”

  “Breast cancer. She was diagnosed when I was five, and died six months later.”

  Nat glanced up, not sure what to say to that. His tone was candid, but death was always a touchy subject. He looked back at her evenly, though, still and calm as if waiting for her to choose what to say next. “I’m sorry.”

  He lifted his good shoulder. “It was a long time ago. What about you? Your parents still alive?”

  She snapped the stalk again, looking back down at her fingers. “Yes.” Still alive, still together. It wasn’t anything she wanted to talk about. “I heard you and Fl
eet were in an accident. Reining?” She gestured to his sling, glancing up and away quickly.

  “This? No.” He paused, then said again, “No, we were out trail riding. Riding along a cliff face and the ground gave out.”

  That caught Nat’s attention. Her head whipped around to look at the sling again, as if it might tell her something. It didn’t, but the man wearing it kept talking.

  “We fell about fifty feet. Amazingly, Fleet landed all right.” He smiled briefly, letting it bloom across his face before it vanished. “I was still on his back at that point. I went to swing off, and the ledge we were on crumbled, too. Only slid another fifteen feet, but halfway off him wasn’t a good place to be.” He shook his head slowly, gaze elsewhere. “Landed on another ledge, but that one held—thank God. Tore my rotator cuff trying to get back on him—and out from under his hooves—while we fell. Cracked his front legs. But other than that…”

  Nat whistled, long and low, the urge to leave forgotten in the telling of his story. “How’d you get out?”

  “We’d been riding with some friends. One of them went galloping back to where we got cell-phone reception and called 9-1-1. They brought a helicopter and lifted us out, one at a time. Fleet was a trooper. It took three hours for the damn thing to find us, and we were stuck on a lip of rock not five feet wide. He just stood there patiently.” His eyes crinkled, mouth arching upward. “But then, he’s something else.”

  Nat lifted a knee and looped her arms around it, watching Cole. She didn’t say what she wanted to—that horses often reflected the care and attention they were given. If Fleet was something else, it was because his caregiver took the time and energy to build that confidence. It was because his caregiver had never offered a reason not to trust that everything would turn out all right.

  Sometimes, the caregiver wasn’t the rider at all, but whoever did the grooming and exercising. In this case, she suspected that Cole was all of those things.

  “What?” he asked without looking at her, chuckling nervously.