Second Hope

by J. B. McDonald

  Cole shifted, his good shoulder like a buffer between her and everyone else, providing them with the illusion of privacy in the middle of a party. “Tell me about it. Heck, I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck and Fleet’s back along with it. But then, I’ve always had good luck.”

  The breeze picked up again, carrying the smell of roasting meat and, under that, heavily watered pasture and horses. It tossed Cole’s hair, and that lock slid back into his eyes. He tipped his head, then shook it. The lock remained.

  Nat began to laugh. “Yeah, really good luck. I see it now.”

  His grin was good-natured, his eyes amused. “Okay, aside from hair…” He lifted the hand holding his plastic cup carefully, extending one finger to slide along his forehead and brush his hair aside. His eyes nearly crossed, watching what he was doing.

  Her laugh grew only more entertained when hair fell back into his face and he began the process all over. “I bet Beth has some clips. We could pin it back.” Nat’s grin was wicked no matter how she tried to make it innocent.

  “Oh, yeah, you’re a riot. Maybe something with butterflies?”

  “Or flowers!” Her breath hiccupped out around her grin, and she finally took pity on him. “Here, stop.” She set her Pepsi down on the rock wall and turned back to face Cole, waiting for him to drop his hand. Hair fell, and he closed one eye to keep it out, his whole face twisting up in distaste.

  It almost sent Nat into laughter once more, but she managed to contain it enough to reach up, taking the lock carefully and sliding it back. His hair was soft, silky against her fingers. She tried not to think about it, to just focus on settling the hair away where it would balance.

  “I need a haircut.” His voice was husky, rumbling down her spine like a fur blanket on a cold winter night.

  For a moment she hesitated, all laughter gone, braced for him to push again. To try something—she should never have touched him. Never have offered to help. But he didn’t try anything, and after a long moment she found a smile and offered it up, bringing her hands down now that his hair seemed to be staying in place. “Yeah. You do.”

  His chuckle was rueful, though she didn’t think the wrinkle in his expression had to do with his hair. He was looking at her too intently, too warmly, seeing too much.

  And then he took a breath and looked away, back at the party. “People sure seem to be enjoying themselves.”

  Nat relaxed slightly, picking her cup up again and turning to look at the dancing crowd through the dubious shelter of the oak tree. “It’s nice to see.”

  He looked at her, grinning his crooked grin, and asked, “Know how to tell if a guy’s had too much to drink?”

  “How?”

  “His arms get over his head when he dances.” Cole tipped his cup, pointing toward Shumway and Beth, both of whom were flailing wildly.

  Nat snorted, the rest of her tension easing away with the return to the familiar, with the easy banter. “It would be him.”

  “You wanna dance?”

  It wasn’t even a question, as far as Nat was concerned. “Sorry. I haven’t had nearly enough to drink.” It was an answer that always put men off, after a few minutes of trying to convince her to have a beer.

  Cole looked contemplative, eyeing her until she gave in and turned to eye him back. “How much caffeine do you need?”

  She paused, startled, and barked a laugh. “At least another can.”

  His grin was devilish. “Well, then, drink up! I can afford another can of Pepsi.”

  Appropriate responses washed through her mind, making it as far as the tip of her tongue. Things that would turn him off, take her words back. And then she just smiled and sipped her pop.

  “Yes, Shumway. I know.”

  Nat watched with great amusement as Cole caught the smaller man by the elbow, turning him toward the doorway and propelling him gently outside once more.

  It was the first time in three years that Nat hadn’t had to perform the little ritual herself, and it was nice. She hadn’t even instigated it. Cole had been watching Shumway with an eagle eye after the beer fight that left three partiers soaked with foam and one woman understandably grumpy over sticky clothes. Though, in his defense, Shumway hadn’t started the fight until much later in the night than he usually did, and his obnoxious behavior wasn’t as bad as it could've been.

  “Well, Nat, congratulations on your mare.” Bob’s voice carried, perennially too loud, as he hefted his cooler up and started toward the door. “Another success story to add to the books, right?”

  Jeannie leaned on one of her grown sons, hair frazzling all over her face in a bleached blonde cloud. “Good job, Nat! Hope you have another good job soon. These get-togethers are always such fun.” Her smile was broad, her gaze slightly unfocussed.

  “I’m sure she saves horses for the parties, Mom.” The son—there were five of them, and Nat couldn’t ever tell one from the other—grimaced and headed toward the door, dragging Jeannie with him.

  They were the last to go, though Beth had fallen asleep on the couch, curled into a small pink and cream ball. Nat got a blanket from the linen closet and spread it over her younger cousin.

  The screen door whined as it opened, and then sighed closed as Cole came in. “Shumway’s safely tucked into the bunkhouse.” He bent to pull his boots off one-handed, setting them carefully on one of the shelves of the tiny shoe cupboard in the corner by the door.

  Nat smiled and leaned against the back of the sofa, bracing her hands on either side of her and letting her shoulders wing up. Music still played outside, dulled by the now-closed doors. “Thanks for doing that. You really didn’t have to.”

  Cole snorted and padded in stockinged feet across the room, circling around the couch to turn the entertainment system off. “It was either take him home or watch him and that Pasley boy come to blows. Taking him home seemed easier than prying them apart.” He turned a knob and the music shut off suddenly, quiet dropping around them like a cloak. For a moment, Nat heard nothing. Then the sound of a ticking clock slowly entered her consciousness. The refrigerator hummed to life. Outside, an owl hooted.

  Footsteps shushed across the wooden floor, past her and into the kitchen. The soft yellow glow of overhead lights shone on Cole’s hair, turning it the color of sunkissed honey. Without looking at her he started gathering used cups, tossing them in the trash with paper plates and empty soda bottles.

  Nat pushed away from the couch, leaving Beth sleeping contentedly behind, and wandered toward the kitchen. She gathered the items that couldn’t be thrown out, sliding them into the sink and turning the water on low.

  “That was a good party.” Cole smiled softly, the tips of his mouth turning up, his eyes faraway. “Good job.”

  Nat angled a teasing smile at him. “Yeah. But you really can’t dance.”

  He laughed, looking up in surprise. A thick lock of hair slid down his forehead again, tickling the bridge of his nose. “I warned you of that, and you decided to dance with me anyway. The fault is completely yours.”

  She chuckled, rinsing the worst of the food off the cups and utensils before putting them in the dishwasher. “I did. But I had no idea when you said you couldn’t dance what you meant. That was traumatizing.”

  “Usually, I hide my lack of dancing skills with alcohol, but somehow the caffeine just didn’t work the same…”

  She laughed again, some part of her surprised that the comment didn’t make her tense. “Lucky for you, I have a hardy disposition. I don’t think your traumatizing dancing will really scar me for life.”

  As she bent to put the last dish in the dishwasher, she glanced at him. He was relaxed, warm eyes framed by laugh lines. Even together in the kitchen, she didn’t feel pressed or crowded. He kept his space, gave her hers, just as he had all night. Even dancing had been a fun affair, rather than the sexual parade so many wanted it to be. They’d had a good time, teasing and playing, without the pressure of sex behind it.

  And now she wan
ted more. Nat looked away, aware that she’d been staring, and he’d been watching right back. For a moment, she thought maybe he’d move closer. Maybe he’d step in, and put a hand on her jaw, and lean down the few inches needed… She didn’t know if she wanted that. Part of her wanted nothing more, and the other part remembered how men could be.

  If he kissed her, and she said no, what then? Would he rage? Push harder? Go cold and distant?

  But if she never took that chance, then she would never know. Nat braced herself and looked up.

  He’d stepped away. Leaned back against the counter, watching a bottlecap skip between his fingers with tiny little movements of hands that were heavily callused, and yet terribly gentle.

  He wouldn’t push. She knew it, and was almost disappointed. He wouldn’t push, wouldn’t put that hand on her jaw and lift her mouth to his. She’d made her point much too clearly. They both lingered in the kitchen, silent except for the buzz of the lights and the hum of the appliances. Neither of them were ready to leave.

  “I had fun tonight.” He spoke without looking away from his fingers.

  Nat’s smile was hesitant. “Isn’t that the girl’s line?”

  His eyes crinkled, teeth flashing as his lips curled up. “Well, I suppose it is at that.”

  Another silence fell, this one filling with discomfort. The knowledge that someone needed to say something grew. Something to put them back at a friendship level or move them up into the next. Nat fussed with the dishcloth. “You want to go riding tomorrow? We have a horse you can use. I can take Jasmine. It’d be a mellow ride around the fields…boring, probably…” Her words wound down into an uncertain mumble, her fingers fidgeting more.

  “I’d love to go for a ride.” Just that, and nothing more, but it gave Nat a sense of relief. She smiled up at him again to find him smiling down at her.

  “I should head to bed,” she said finally, glancing at the clock. “I have to be up in five hours.” She couldn’t decide if it was sad that their party was over by one a.m., or simply another sign that they were all ranchers.

  “Yeah.” Cole nodded. The bottle cap flipped through his fingers, across each knuckle.

  Neither of them moved.

  Nat could feel the heat from him, his sheer presence, though she knew she was far enough away that it had to be an illusion. It didn’t feel predatory. It didn’t feel pushy. It was more like curling up in front of a fire with another human being, snuggled in close with a blanket surrounding them. Warm and safe, cradled in strength.

  “I should go to bed,” Cole said softly. He didn’t look at her. She could see tension lining his shoulders, even under the white swath of his sling. He set the bottle cap down and started to turn, movements slow and careful.

  “Cole?”

  He whipped around as if pulled, whiskey eyes catching hers and holding her gaze, as if she were tangled in a net of silk.

  She didn’t know what she’d wanted to say. She’d spent the last few days convincing him she wasn’t interested. Convincing herself. And then tonight, she hadn’t had to convince anyone, just enjoy his company, inhale his scent, relax and open up.

  Something had changed. She didn’t want to go back to pushing him away. She wanted to pull him closer.

  As if that realization was all she’d needed, she took a step toward him, another step into his space, so close that his body heat prickled around her, sweeping over her skin. Her hand came to rest carefully on his biceps, feeling the hard swell of muscle under the thin, soft material of his T-shirt. It was almost nothing at all to lift her face, to slide her arm over his broad shoulder, up the back of his neck to tug him downward.

  He murmured something, but she didn’t catch what. Just felt the whisper of air across her lips in the moment before they met. Cole’s mouth on hers brushed gently, his fingertips only grazing the edge of her jaw.

  Not holding. Not pushing. As patient with her as he’d been with the injured mare. She pressed into him, deepening the kiss, tightening her hold against the back of his neck. Little hairs tickled her fingers there, soft and silky. The muscles threading up under her fingers were like cords, hard in contrast to the smoothness of his flesh.

  His mouth moved against hers, and he kissed as if afraid too sudden a move might spook her. Nat parted her lips, tongue flicking out briefly to entice him closer. He tasted sweet, like leftover Pepsi and something underneath that, warm like the heat of a fire, intoxicating like scotch. She shivered when his mouth opened and his tongue ran over hers, slick and supple. The fingers on her jaw spread, sliding back through her hair, cradling the base of her skull.

  She caught her breath, opening her mouth wider to feel his tongue slide in. He brushed along her teeth, rubbed hot and wet against the roof of her mouth, and slowly withdrew. She followed him, licking along the careful sweep of his lower lip, changing angles to suck on it. That drew a groan, soft and almost unheard between them. His hand ran down her spine, pressing her near, and she shifted her footing to get closer—

  Nat paused when she felt his arm caught between them, trapped by his sling. She chuckled, hearing his echoing breath of laughter. For a moment, the mood teetered on the edge of collapse. In that second she could see clearly that if she stepped away now, he’d let her go. She could disengage and be done for the night.

  Her body tingled with the taste of him, the way he felt against her, lips on hers. She stepped close again, and felt his arm come around her waist, enveloping her. It wasn’t unwelcome. She shifted a leg, moved it against his, his heavy thigh muscles from long hours in the saddle flexing under rough denim. His mouth brushed hers, sending heat curling through her body, connecting with the hand pressed against the small of her back. His tongue edged slowly inside her. Soft and strong, careful but thorough, sweeping across the inside of her mouth. She pulled away, teasing him to follow. When he did, when he tasted her again, she sucked on his tongue.

  Nat pulled him closer as muscles tightened in her abdomen. Fingers flared down her back, brushing across the swell of her hips, sliding lower to pull them in against him.

  His arm was still in the way, but this time it didn’t seem to matter much. She could feel the ridge of his arousal against her pelvis, realized that all it would take to fit them perfectly was to rise slightly on her toes. He didn’t grab, didn’t encourage that upward movement. His tongue thrust slowly into her mouth. Teeth grasped her bottom lip, pulling it out to suck on it before letting it slide free.

  She groaned, spreading her legs to catch her balance, feeling him rub against her when she moved. It drew a long tremble from her, and an answering response shuddered through his taut muscles. Cole broke the kiss, breathing heavily. His pupils were dilated, a tiny edge of gold around black pools. He looked at her for a long moment and she wondered what he saw. Whatever it was, the corners of his mouth tipped up in a smile. His hand rose, fingers threading through her hair and brushing it away from her face.

  Nat took a breath and released it, looking away from him before she did something foolish—like throw caution to the wind and take him to bed. She leaned against him, resting her temple on his shoulder, looking across the room to the couch where Beth still slept peacefully.

  The girl snorted, turned, and began to snore.

  Nat tried to suppress a giggle, but was only partially successful. She felt an answering rumble in Cole’s chest, the shake of unsteady breath. His heartbeat pounded through his body, like a pulse where she touched him. It was volatile, aggressive. His hand settled on her shoulder, stroked slowly down her back, and did it again. Soothing, calming both of them.

  As the heat running through her body eased, Nat relaxed. “I should really go to bed,” she murmured, and felt his chuckle.

  “Yeah.”

  For a moment she paused, wondering if he was planning on going to her bed. That wasn’t what she’d meant. While her body might be ready and thrumming for something more, her mind wasn’t.

  But the silence lengthened, marked by the slow st
roking of his hand down the length of her spine, and neither of them tried to start anything.

  And then, if she hadn’t been sure already, he pressed a kiss against the top of her head and asked into her hair, “Will it bother you if I run the shower?”

  Nat smiled, sleepy and relaxed. “Not at all.” She slid her hand over the cap of muscle on his shoulder and down, over lats and biceps, feeling the strength so adroitly sheathed. Lips pressed against her again, his arm tightening ever so subtly across her ribs and back, holding her in place for just a moment, surrounding her in strength. Then he let go and she pulled herself away, feeling the moment changing. His hand rose, cupping her face, thumb running over her cheekbone. He tipped her chin up and placed a careful kiss, a press of lips against lips, on her mouth.

  “Sleep well.” He ran his thumb over the arch of her cheekbone one more time, and stepped away. “I’m gonna grab a shower and then crash, myself. We still on for riding tomorrow?”

  Nat nodded.

  He smiled briefly. “All right. Then I’ll see you in the morning.” The clock ticked on as he turned, padding quietly across the room, pausing once to check on Beth before continuing down the hall.

  Nat took a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm her still-racing heart, trying to make her muscles stop trembling. She was only mildly successful.

  Chapter Five

  The morning dawned clear and bright, much to the upset of people who’d imbibed a little too much the night before. Even those who hadn’t were working on significantly less sleep than usual, and the cheery sun helped or hindered by turns. Hal staggered out of the bunkhouse at noon, thanking Nat for her hospitality with red eyes and a hoarse voice before packing up his things and heading away.

  As if to balance out the success of Beauty the day before, Emma refused to rise. They cleaned around her, unsuccessfully trying to coax her into eating some grain.

  The day was made perfect when Fleet kicked Cole in the shin, determined not to take another swim in the pool. Cole’s cursing echoed throughout the barnyard. It was at that moment that Nat realized she could take all of this one of two ways: she could let her mood run foul, or she could laugh. She chose to laugh, which wasn’t much comfort to Cole as he came limping up to the main barn, still muttering obscenities under his breath.