Second Hope

by J. B. McDonald

It was then that she realized she’d been watching him. She looked away quickly, heat warming her face. “Nothing, sorry. Just thinking.”

  “Those must have been some pretty serious thoughts. Wanna share them?”

  Not really. Her gaze slid toward him and away again. “I should go check on the others, since you seem to have things covered here.” She pushed up, bracing on the wall behind her. After sitting for so long her back was stiff, her feet slightly achy. It would walk off. Always did.

  She didn’t look back until she was outside the stall again, some distance between her and the man within. “Do you want me to get you something? Water? Or a book?”

  “Nah, thanks, we’re good,” Cole said with a friendly smile, eyes twinkling with a teasing light. “Me and Emma here have titillating conversation.”

  Nat snorted. “A man who likes to talk. Color me surprised.” She turned and headed out of the barn to the smooth undertones of Cole’s chuckle.

  ***

  He’d seen that she didn’t eat breakfast, and he’d seen her version of lunch. It wasn’t all that surprising in people who worked with horses. Seemed like most of them skipped the majority of meals, and made up for it with dinner.

  He wasn’t the greatest cook in the world, but he had plenty of time on his hands—hand—and could certainly fry steak. That would have been perfect if he’d thought to ask if Nat had steak.

  He could barbeque chicken, too. Except the chicken was frozen solid, and he didn’t know where her barbeque was—or if she even had one.

  Salad was easy enough, and she had a bag of lettuce. But a bowl of greens with some dressing on top didn’t make a meal, if you asked him. In the end he dug through her pantry until he found a package of Hamburger Helper and, cringing, he followed the directions. The hamburger was frozen, too, but it thawed quickly enough in a pan of warm water.

  He surveyed the mess he’d left in the kitchen afterward, glad that she hadn’t come back when he’d expected. Cooking—as pathetic as this attempt was—had taken twice as long as he’d thought it would with one arm in a sling. He picked up as much as he could, all too aware that washing dishes was beyond him. She had a dishwasher, and it even looked new, but he wasn’t sure how much filth it could handle.

  He was still eyeing it all when the screen door opened with a creak, and Nat walked in. Cole looked at his efforts and smiled sheepishly, lifting one hand to ruffle it through his hair. “I, uh, made dinner.”

  An ocean-colored gaze drifted over the kitchen, black eyebrows rising over pearly white skin. “So I see.”

  This was most certainly not the way to impress a woman. He looked at the mess and didn’t sigh, then offered another smile. “'Least there’s food.”

  For a moment, he didn’t think that would matter. Then amusement softened that beautiful face, and she huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m going to grab a shower. Will dinner hold for twenty minutes?”

  Cole flashed her his best lady-killer grin, though it didn’t seem to make much impact. “Sure will.” They could always re-heat it, anyway. It wasn’t like Hamburger Helper was the classiest of meals. Microwaving could only improve it. He watched as she turned and headed toward the back of the house, moving with the loose sort of grace natural athletes had. Her hair had come free from its braid, curls of it straying across her back, pressing against her thin tank top. Then she was gone, down the hall and through her doorway.

  He took a deep breath, laden with tomato sauce and frying meat, and released it slowly. There had been times, earlier, when he’d been certain she was watching him like he watched her—appreciatively at the very least, hopefully interested. She was smart and sexy, and filled with compassion.

  For the horses, anyway.

  He wondered what it would take to get her to pay as much attention to him as she did to her charges. Two more legs and a tail. The thought didn’t really upset him, though. They barely knew each other, and women were pickier about who they chose to spend their time with. That was fine; it was worth the effort.

  The shower started. He considered turning on the television or the radio, anything to block out the sound of running water and the accompanying image of it splashing over her skin.

  Damn. Being willing to wait for a woman to make up her mind might just be the death of him.

  In the end he put a lid over the pan of Hamburger Helper and got down two plates. Dropping a handful of salad on each of them—if lettuce could be termed salad—he wondered if maybe he should have showered, too. He’d just sat all day, but he’d sat in the barn and probably smelled like shavings and horse. He sniffed his shirt, but couldn’t tell if it was rank or not.

  Maybe he’d just change real quick—

  The door at the end of the hall opened and Nat walked out. He looked up, feeling a smile tugged from him at the sight of her. She wasn’t dolled up, didn’t look fancy. She wore flannel pants and a T-shirt, and shouldn’t have been sexy in the slightest. Black hair, heavy with moisture, dripped loose down her back and soaked her shirt.

  Suddenly, he was glad he stood behind the counter. “Dinner?” he offered quietly. With his one hand he plucked the lid off the pan, watching billows of steam rise and disperse.

  “I’d love some, thanks.” She stood a short distance from the barstools, lifting one arm to rub at the long tendons at the back of her neck. Her T-shirt shifted and slid, shadows pooling in the folds under her breasts, cloth caressing skin.

  Cole tore his gaze away and stared sightlessly at the pan of pasta and meat for a long moment. Then he remembered what he was supposed to be doing. He picked up the metal spoon he’d been using and scooped some onto a plate, offering it to her across the counter.

  She stepped forward, the toned muscles in her arm giving her shape even in that small movement. She didn’t seem to notice his watchful gaze, taking her plate and the fork he then handed her and moving off toward the main area, toward the big leather furniture. He watched, surprised when she folded one leg under her on the sofa, settling into the corner, and the couch didn’t swallow her. She fit there, her own presence strong enough not to be overwhelmed.

  He portioned out food for himself before picking up his plate and a fork and heading around the counter, joining her on the sofa. He sprawled at the other end, close enough to touch if he reached, but not so close that she was crowded. You had to be careful not to press women, he’d learned. They got twitchy, sometimes, if it was unwanted. He started to put one foot on the coffee table and stopped, placing it slowly back on the floor and crossing his legs at the ankles.

  Beside him, Nat chuckled. “You can put your feet up. No shoes, but feet are all right.”

  He flashed her a quick grin, propping his heels back up on the wood. “My father used to tell us that we had to be extra careful with ladies’ things, especially since we were missing out on how particular they could be, with our mother gone.”

  She slanted a laughing look at him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been referred to as a lady before.” She glanced around the room, her gaze lighting here and there. “And I’m sure my decorating has never been called ladylike.”

  “I didn’t say lady-like.” Cole smiled. “I said they were ladies’ things, and since you are female, and they’re your things…”

  She settled deeper into the couch, resting her plate on the arm. “I think lady is more than just female though. It implies a certain air, a certain station in life.”

  “All right.” He grinned, lifting his good hand in defeat. “You win. You’re not a lady.”

  Her eyebrows drew down even as the corners of her mouth tipped up. “I think there’s something wrong with that victory.” To punctuate her sentence, she took a big bite of pasta and hamburger.

  The screen door banged open, making Cole jump and turn quickly. Nat, he noticed, didn’t react at all.

  “Just Beth,” she murmured in an annoyed undertone.

  Sure enough, the younger woman practically bounced into the house, tracking dust and shavings across
the floor. “Everyone’s bedded down for the night. The new mare’s still not eating.”

  “I know that.” Nat let her head fall back along the couch, looking up as if she could see right through the top of her skull to the other woman. “Anything else?”

  Cole tensed slightly when Beth looked at him, her expression turning syrupy sweet. She coiled a lock of tightly spiraling hair around her finger, then tucked it back behind the shell of her ear.

  “Some of us are having beers around the fire pit, if you want to join us…?”

  He sensed the stillness in Nat, the great care she took in selecting her next bite of food, and realized that even if she were comfortable with the others drinking—and he wasn’t sure she was—his answer would mean a great deal.

  He really didn’t care that much about beer, and he definitely wasn’t interested in giving Beth the wrong impression. He shook his head slightly, offering a polite smile and nothing more. “Thanks, but I think I’m good for the night. Maybe some other time.”

  Her expression fell a little, and she dropped her hand away from her face. “Oh. Sure. Well, I’ll see you guys tomorrow then.” Green eyes darted from Nat to Cole and back again, assessing.

  Cole held himself still under the scrutiny. “Tomorrow.”

  Nat lifted a slim hand.

  Beth gave him one last, brief smile, then turned and headed out of the house. He flinched when the screen door banged closed again.

  “Knock next time!” Nat shouted as footsteps hammered down the stairs.

  “Yeah, yeah,” floated back dismissively.

  Cole straightened out, shifting slightly to try and get more comfortable. A surreptitious look toward Nat showed him that she’d relaxed, focused on her dinner. It wasn’t gourmet, but he was glad to see her eating rapidly. It was edible, and it was food she hadn’t had to make after a long day working with horses. There were few things in the world he appreciated more than a meal he didn’t have to put together when he was muscle sore and covered in sweat.

  “Beth is my cousin.” She didn’t look up as she spoke. “I hired her on here mostly to get her away from her jackass father. Don’t get me wrong—she’s a good hand, and the horses take well to her. But she’s also family, and privacy isn’t something that’s ever occurred to her.” She looked up, her expression wry. “There is a lock on the door, if you’d rather she not come barging in.”

  Cole chuckled. “Doesn’t bother me. It must be nice to have family nearby.” As soon as he said it he knew it was wrong. Her mouth twisted downward sharply, the muscles in her shoulders knotting. He remembered their brief discussion in the barn earlier, her one-word responses to any mention of her parents, and wondered how badly he’d just put his foot in it. A deep breath cleared his thoughts, and he said cautiously, “Of course, not all families get along.”

  Her gaze cut toward him, as hard and sharp as stained glass. “No, not all families get along. Still, Beth and I do all right.” She hadn’t relaxed, hadn’t unwound, and didn’t look at him again.

  Cole poked at his food and wondered how he could make this better. He could change the subject. If he did so, he’d have to continue any conversation carefully, worried that the next thing he said might hurt her. He didn’t want to hurt her. He couldn’t imagine anyone so rotten that they’d been able to wound her in the first place, but obviously someone had. Someone in her family. Children were fragile things, even when they had the ability to grow up into powerful adults. He debated a moment, then finally spoke without looking over. “Do you have any other cousins?”

  “A few,” she said after a long moment. “None that I get along with as well as Beth, though.”

  “Big family?” His questions were just a little wary, feeling out what she didn’t want to talk about, what were sore spots, and what was a safe topic.

  “Not huge, no. A few aunts and uncles, my parents, half a dozen cousins. That’s about it.” She took a bite, then glanced over. “What about you? Anyone other than your dad and brother?”

  He couldn’t decide if she was changing the topic or genuinely curious. “My dad remarried, and Mary has two kids, both grown. My grandparents on my mother’s side are still alive, but the rest of my relatives are fairly distant, and pretty scattered. I didn’t particularly know them growing up. They’re my parents’ cousins, that sort of thing.”

  Nat nodded idly.

  They sat in silence for a while, each occupied with their dinner. Finally, he took a breath and asked, “Do you not get along with your parents?”

  Her mouth tightened down. “No, not really.”

  He wanted to ask if it had to do with why she didn’t appreciate drinking, either, but in the end he had some discretion. The question chewed at him, though, while he picked at his food and tried not to think about it.

  He was surprised when she spoke, but he didn’t look up. Her words were halting, her voice strained. Sometimes it was easier to talk about things when you didn’t have to look at the person.

  “My father was a plastic surgeon, and my mother…really enjoyed his money.” The wry note to her tone was almost painful. “My grandmother paid for my riding lessons and my horse. My mother felt that the jumping, at least, was an appropriate sport for the wealthy. When I opened this place, my grandmother helped with the loan. She died seven years ago.”

  Cole looked up, but Nat wasn’t looking at him. “I’m sorry.”

  The smile she gave him was bittersweet. “She was old. It was time.”

  “It’s still hard.”

  She only shrugged, unwilling to take the sympathy. He accepted that and tried not to push. Some people couldn’t deal with it. Other people just didn’t want it. He hoped that when they knew each other better, she might allow him to share that pain. In the meantime, that she’d told him this much was, he suspected, highly unusual.

  When she took a breath to speak, he expected her to change the topic, and he wasn’t disappointed. “Is there something on television you’d like to watch? A game or something?”

  He chuckled. “The only sports I keep up with are the four-legged, whinnying kind. They don’t usually get broadcast.”

  “Point,” she said wryly. “I mostly gave up on TV when I stopped being able to keep track of what was on when. I figured it was a sign.”

  Cole laughed and nodded agreeably. “Seems running a place like this, you wouldn’t have much time for anything other than horses.”

  “Seems right.” She cleaned up the last of her pasta-hamburger combo, crunched the last bite of salad and leaned her head back against the sofa with a sigh and a grimace. She lifted her hand once more, kneading the muscles at the back of her neck.

  “I could help you with that,” Cole suggested after a moment.

  She slanted a look at him, purely feminine and highly annoyed. He sometimes wondered if girls traded secrets in high school. How to convey an entire monologue without actually speaking, for instance. “Do you have any more clichéd lines?” she asked. “I’d love to hear them.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “No, no line.” Cole lifted his hand harmlessly. “You’ve just been on your feet and working all day, and I know what that’s like. I’ll keep my hands on your spine, I swear. I’m not trying to pick you up.” Unless she was amenable to it, in which case things could always change—but at her pace, and on her say so.

  She looked at him warily for a long time, as if judging how truthful he was being, or maybe whether or not he was worthy of trust. Then she nodded once, a tiny movement, and shifted her plate to the table, moving around so her back was to him.

  There was something highly appealing about the line of her spine, which just went to show how very desperate Cole was feeling. He put his plate next to hers on the table, bringing one leg up across the couch to sit sidelong. Her long-fingered hands swept her hair to one side, over her shoulder, exposing the pale skin at the nape of her neck. He had a second to remember the way she’d felt before, when she’d put her hand against his waist,
urging him aside so she could open the trailer. The heat of her then, the way she had been a solid presence against his side, strong and slim all at once.

  He tried to push that memory from his mind and only partially succeeded. With his arm in a sling he could only use one hand, but he could still span the slim column of her neck with his fingers. He began to rub, digging into knots, trying not to notice how warm she was, or how very perfectly her flesh lay over her body. The T-shirt helped. It mostly covered her, kept his skin from actually touching hers, separated them with a thin sheath of cloth. It was old, obviously well worn, the material soft with age. It moved as he did, new folds giving him a fleeting glimpse of the line of her back, the side of her rib cage, her narrow waist.

  He tried not to notice that, either, and focused instead on working the snarls of tension from her muscles. Slowly, she began to relax. Her shoulders dropped lower, the cords of sinew along her spine easing until they were invisible beneath her T-shirt.

  She turned slightly, bringing the delicate edge of her jaw into view, eyelashes thick and dark along her cheekbone. “You’re good at that.”

  Cole chuckled. “I dated a masseuse at one point. She felt everyone should know how to help their partner.”

  The corner of her mouth tipped up. “I bet there’s a veritable bevy of women who’ve taught you things.”

  Her gaze was still down, eyes hidden by lid and lash so he couldn’t see what was lurking there. Without stopping what he was doing, he eyed her with amusement. That couldn’t possibly be jealousy. Information-seeking? Maybe she was interested.

  “Not a bevy. Not many at all, really. Maybe four or five over the years.” He didn’t race through relationships; they took time, and he had only a little to spare, so it always took him a while to figure out if it would work or not. Then he replayed their exchange, and added, in case she thought he was implying that women weren’t good enough to teach him, “So, nearly every woman I’ve ever dealt with, but sadly that’s not many.”

  Her gaze rose, eyebrows arching upward. She didn’t say anything, though, just dropped her chin slightly to give him better access to her neck.