Second Hope

by J. B. McDonald

  He followed the wordless request, fingers playing along her nape, up against her skull, threading through still-damp hair. It was heavy and silky against the backs of his hands, sliding between his fingers like gossamer.

  Her lips parted as he hit a knot just under the curve of her skull, forcing it to release. A soft sigh escaped, one he doubted she was aware of. Heat tightened in his gut, a visceral reaction to the picture she made. The urge to press, to lean in and brush his mouth across the soft resilience of her neck, to let his tongue slide over flesh, was powerful. He took a breath and sat back, allowing his hand to slide away from her. Better than pushing for something she hadn’t asked for, and might not want.

  Women were like foals; if you pushed they ran, but if you backed off and let them inspect you, they usually decided you were trustworthy.

  Her eyes opened, her spine straightening just a bit as she watched him over her shoulder, checking what he was doing as warily as any wild animal might. When she saw he’d just leaned back she relaxed again, shifting around until she sat properly on the couch.

  “Thanks.” She stretched her neck one way and then the other, clear relief crossing her features. “I think I like this girlfriend of yours.”

  “Ex,” Cole reminded. Then he grinned. “Fleet is currently the closest thing I have to a life partner.”

  She laughed, low and husky and warming the air between them. “He, at least, will never complain about you going out for beers with the guys.”

  Settling back against the arm of the couch, Cole smiled and nodded. “Though, to be honest, that’s not a problem I’ve ever had. I’m sure you know how it is—you spend a fourteen-hour day in the sun and the heat, working and riding until every bone in your body aches. Personally, I’m more interested in collapsing by the end of the day than going out and getting hammered.”

  He didn’t know which part of that she didn’t believe, but her look was plainly skeptical. “Most of the staff here don’t seem to have that problem,” she said cautiously.

  He shrugged. “Maybe I’m unusual. In fact, I know I am.” He smiled self-consciously. “But then, I’m on the reining circuit a lot. When I’m at my own place, I’m a bit of a homebody.”

  She continued to eye him.

  He laughed at her disbelief, sprawling one arm along the back of the couch and bracing his head on his palm. “What, you think you’re the only one? Way out here, I’m sure you don’t go out and party nightly.”

  Her snort was more natural than lady-like. He enjoyed it. “I go out,” she said slowly. “There’s a local baseball team that plays on the weekends, and I go see them a bit. Some of the staff go, too. And town really isn’t that far away.”

  “So, in other words, you’re a homebody.” For a moment, he thought she was going to protest—and then he was going to have to laugh at her denial.

  Then her lips pursed. She looked at him, the picture of annoyance. And she smiled. “Yeah, yeah, okay fine. I’m a homebody. Are you happy? You’ve shattered my illusions of being a party animal. I’ll never be the same again.”

  He laughed, tipping his head back and relaxing farther into the couch. “I’ve probably ruined your life.”

  Cheer lit her face, animated her expression even as she tried to remain deadpan. “You probably have. Now I’ll become a true hermit and never leave the ranch. Send other people out to do the grocery shopping.”

  “Oh, no,” Cole pretended to gasp, eyes wide in mock horror. “Well, the horses will be happy to have constant companionship. I’ll just say I did it for them.”

  Nat’s laugh was bright, like a brisk wind on a hot day, sudden and welcome. Cole felt himself ease into it, letting it swirl around him.

  It was a good sound. One he could definitely get used to.

  Chapter Four

  Morning light melted through the big windows in the barn office, drifting lazily over the battered desk and the ancient computer. File cabinets were pressed up against one wall, and a rickety chair shared floor space with a couple of broken-down saddles. Pieces of bridles, rusted bits, along with the odd hardware you collected in any barn—nuts, bolts, screws, a beat-up toolcase—littered shelves that were no more than ply-board slabs held up with T-brackets. A film of dust comprised of sawdust and horse hair lay across everything and drifted through the air, catching the light and making the room sparkle like a group of fairies had gone dancing through, leaving fool's gold in their wake.

  Nat looked out the window that faced the pastures and her house, watching General and his miniature horse cavort in the tall sprinklers that sprayed water above their ears. It was a good day: General didn’t seem to mind the leg that barely worked, lumbering around and tossing his head, spinning on the calcified joint before lunging off in a new direction. The mini bucked and leaped, kicking up heels that at their highest only came to the large horse’s belly. Jasmine stood half the pasture away from them, blind eyes seeming to watch, ears pricked to pick up the sound of their pounding hooves. When they got close enough she waited for them to pass, then flung her mane from side to side with a great head toss and turned to trot after them, a little more slowly, a little more cautiously, but still joyful.

  Nat was beginning to have a glimmer of how that could feel, how it could be to enjoy yourself without worrying about the people around you.

  The realization in and of itself was a bit scary.

  Cole had been sleeping when she’d gotten up. He’d come out as she was putting her boots on, a tired smile dancing around his eyes as soon as his gaze lit on her. She’d smiled back without even being aware of what she was doing. Startled at her own reaction, she’d left the house quickly.

  The previous evening had been nice. Nice wasn’t a word she’d ever attributed to anything done with men, before. She had some male friends—most of them worked here—and she enjoyed doing things with them. She’d been serious when she’d mentioned the baseball team; the Walruses weren’t anything to get excited about, but they were still fun. But fun and nice were two different words entirely. The night before had been nice. Relaxing and comfortable in a way Nat didn’t think men could be. Even when given the chance, he hadn’t pressed her for anything more than conversation, despite the fact that she knew he’d been watching her over the last few days in the way that men did. She discouraged it as much as she could, wearing sweatpants and T-shirts in the house, rather than anything formfitting. Still, he looked.

  He just didn’t invade.

  Which brought her right back to that word: nice.

  The office door, left open six inches, pushed open a little more. “You wanted to see me?” Matt called, the tone in his voice leaving no doubt that he had some idea what this meeting was about.

  Reluctantly, Nat turned away from the fields and regarded the man in front of her. In his mid-forties, Matt’s hair was shot through with gray, wrinkles around his eyes proclaiming him an outdoorsman. He was pleasant, a little slow-moving to Nat’s standards, but then most people were. He was a heck of a rider, and good with the young colts.

  Sadly, they didn’t have many riding horses here, and virtually no young colts. They had injured horses that he constantly bandaged wrong, even after several months learning how to do it. A badly bandaged horse was one that didn’t always heal well, and the horses they had here were already difficult cases.

  To make things worse, he’d fallen asleep on his shift with Beauty the day before. A mistake like that could have a horse euthanized; had she tried to walk or lay down and those stitches had torn, all their careful work would have been for nothing.

  “Matt,” Nat said carefully. “Have a seat.”

  He stepped inside and closed the door, leaning against it. “No, ma’am, thank you. I think I know what this is about, and my brother’s offered to let me go stay with him until I find a new place. Maybe somewhere a little less involved with healing horses, and a little more involved with breeding cattle.”

  Nat chuckled, nodding. “That sounds like a better fit,
” she agreed. “When are you heading to your brother’s?”

  He hesitated, and she braced for bad news. “He’s coming by this way tomorrow afternoon, if you don’t mind me going that quick.”

  It would leave her short-staffed until she found someone new. She nodded anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Besides, Matt didn’t have a vehicle; if his brother didn’t come get him, they were looking at sparing someone to drive him to the bus stop in town. This would probably work better all around.

  They exchanged a few more pleasantries, well wishing and hopes for good luck, and Matt headed off to work his shift before he packed up his things.

  Nat left the office, pattering down the stairs and stepping out into the barn. A horse nickered, and another answered. She wandered down the aisle between the stalls, clear to the end where their newest arrival stood.

  Emma still wasn’t eating, though she was at least on her feet. Her head hung, dejected. The IV still came down from the ceiling into a catheter in her neck, and fluids kept her from dehydrating. They’d added electrolytes and a nutrient mix to try and give her some calories, but all of that would only work for so long.

  “Emma?”

  She didn’t respond to Nat’s voice, not even to glance over. Her nostrils flared as she breathed, and her ribs scratched out against her dull coat. You could count the knobs of her vertebrae all down her spine, and there were smears of neon green where someone had put salve on her injuries earlier.

  “What’s the verdict?”

  Nat jumped at the new voice, whipping around to see Cole striding through the barn. A green T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, his hair damp from a shower and almost auburn in the shade. It fell in his eyes, shadowing them from amber to oak, and tickled against his broad cheekbones. The white of his sling was softened with dust now, having spent a day in the stall with their broken-down mare.

  She tore her eyes away from strong legs encased in denim, turning back to the horse. Even without looking at him, though, she was overly aware as he drew near, finally stopping to lean beside her on the half door.

  The wariness that was her defense didn’t rise. Nat moved over a little anyway, not sure how she felt about his presence, large but soothing rather than threatening. It didn’t make her cautious, and that in itself was disturbing. At least, she thought she should be disturbed; somehow, she didn’t manage it.

  “She’s still not eating.” Nat gestured to the bucket hanging nearby, grain untouched. Someone had broken up carrots and put those in too, and they remained uneaten.

  “Not a good sign, is it?” There was a frown in Cole’s voice, an unhappy note that she wished she could remove.

  “No. It’s not a good sign.”

  “Hey,” Beth called, the word echoing. “How’s the new mare doing?”

  “Emma,” Cole said.

  “Emma?” Beth walked up, and Nat turned to see Hal in tow.

  “You still here?” she asked curiously.

  He flushed to the roots of his blond hair, one hand lifting to tug on a lock as if in lieu of a hat he had to do something. “Yes, ma’am.”

  The second time she’d been ma’amed that day; she was starting to believe Beth—maybe she was getting old.

  Hal continued, his voice a sweet molasses drawl. “I was hoping she’d eat before I left, that maybe I could take some good news back with me. But as generous as y’all have been, I need to head home.”

  “He could stay, couldn’t he?” Beth pled.

  The look he shot over the girl’s head almost made Nat laugh. Obviously, he and Beth were of two distinct minds on the subject. “I’m sure he has work he needs to get done,” Nat said, and had to look away before her straight face broke at the look of gratitude he gave her.

  Even turned away, she could feel the glare her cousin sent. It didn’t need a response. Nat changed the subject. “We do have some good news—not for this mare, but as long as we have people around…” She glanced over the little crowd, noting Shumway’s cropped head of hair poking out of Beauty’s stall. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, catching on.

  “Beauty’s off standing time. Shall we let her free?” Free was certainly an overstatement. She’d have to be monitored, and she couldn’t leave the barn, yet. Still, the mare would be allowed to lie down and sleep, and to walk the confines of her heavily padded stall.

  Beth whooped, and the new mare flinched slightly before settling back into her droop-headed pose. With a final look at her, Nat turned and walked to the other side of the barn, feeling a bit like a tour guide with everyone following.

  She checked Beauty’s stitches one last time, and, as certain as she could be that the muscle wouldn’t tear open, she unclipped the mare from her tie.

  Hal stepped in, and together he and Shumway pulled out the recliner her twenty-four-hour surveillance crew had been using. Beauty stood and watched complacently through all of it, likely unaware she was loose. When the chair was out and the stall door was closed, Nat took the mare’s halter and tugged gently.

  Dark, liquid eyes gave a slow blink. Weight shifted, and her muscle-damaged leg picked up out of the shavings, taking her first step. Sinew rippled leanly under her glossy black coat, then bulged as she shifted down onto the injured shoulder. The mare’s head bobbed as she took a quick hobble on her good side to catch herself. The vet had said to expect a limp at first. As long as the stitches held internally, as long as she didn’t drop, she should mend all right.

  The stall was quiet as Beauty stood still, as if she could tell that the next few moments were of great consequence. Nat waited, giving the mare all the time she needed. When Beauty moved again they walked together. Muscle slid and shifted, one short step to one longer one.

  Her shoulder rolled, bunched—and held.

  Nat exhaled as Beauty outpaced her, ambling easily, if slowly, around her stall. She was cautious, and after only half a lap she stopped, easing her weight off the injury. But it didn’t collapse.

  Nat’s grin nearly split her face from ear to ear, and when she turned around her smile was mirrored in the small group standing there.

  “Yes!” Beth went dancing across the aisleway, letting her excitement spill into movement. Shumway laughed and leaned on the half door, his gaze only for Beauty. Hal’s twinkling gaze was torn between the horse and the ecstatic girl.

  It was Cole that caught Nat’s attention, though. His eyes were trained on her, and his smile was soft. There was happiness there, and pride—not for Beauty, though he was clearly glad for her, but for Nat’s accomplishment.

  She laughed self-consciously, something warming under her breastbone, and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Fireflies seemed to batter against her chest, wings of happiness and anticipation combining. She smiled back at Cole, unable to contain it.

  As if at a loss to explain human behavior, Beauty snorted.

  The arrival of their next gelding and the information that Matt was leaving couldn’t dull the excitement among the staff. They congregated that night, appearing one by one until Nat’s backyard was full of noise and life. Someone had started the barbeque, and Aaron was staffing the bar in the main room. She opened up the den and laughed when Shumway and Beth made a beeline for the pool table, despite the fact that it was well-known that pool wasn’t Beth’s strong suit.

  Someone figured out her stereo system—she had no idea who—and soon music leapt through the air.

  Nat sat on the short wall that circled the oak tree outside, sheltered under its branches, enjoying the atmosphere.

  “I had no idea you had so many people working here,” Cole said.

  She smiled up at him, squinting against the early evening sun. “Well, there’s the maintenance staff who keep the equipment running and fences repaired and painted, and then there’s the under-staff who start out feeding and mucking, and eventually either move on or work their way up to handlers.” She paused. “And then there’s the handlers. I th
ink Beth also invited the nearby vet clinic and everyone from the surrounding properties,” she added with a laugh, as someone called a greeting from inside and a general cheer went up.

  “So, how many of these folks are yours?”

  She glanced around, mentally tallying. “Two maintenance staff, two muckers, four handlers, and me. I’d like to hire a full-time vet, and we’ve almost got the budget to afford one. Maybe this summer.” It’d be good to have someone on hand for when new cases came in, or old cases suddenly went bad.

  “Hey! Nat!” Matt poked his head around the door, shadowed by Hal—who’d been persuaded to stay one more day to celebrate Beauty’s success. “Where’s your skeeball table?”

  “Should be in the den. Check the big walk-in closet.”

  “Who wants margaritas?” Aaron bellowed from inside. He was answered by a chorus of “I do!”s and more masculine guffaws.

  Cole had wandered back to the barbeque—she watched him flip chicken and burgers one-handed—but ambled over again shortly.

  Her eyes flashed over him, slightly surprised to realize that he carried neither beer nor liquor. “No margaritas for you?”

  “No, thanks.” Cole laughed the words, as if the thought itself was amusing. “But if you’d like, I can go get you one.”

  Nat shook her head briefly. “There’s beer in there. Budweiser, Coors and Corona are staples. It sounds like the neighbors just arrived, and they always bring Guinness.” The noise level had increased far enough that she was certain someone had arrived, and God knew the Pasleys made enough noise for a whole mob.

  He gave her a look that was one part amused, and one part bemused. “You can’t tell me you like it when people drink, and yet here you are encouraging me to go do so?”

  Nat laughed, acknowledging the backwardness of it. “It’s a party. People drink at parties.” She shrugged. “It’s not like you’d be doing anything different from the rest of the crowd, and I’m not annoyed with them.” In point of fact, she had no doubt she’d be annoyed with some of them before the night was over—like Shumway, who she usually ended up sending back to the bunkhouse when he started to get loud and obnoxious.