Second Hope

by J. B. McDonald

  The crowd cheered encouragement—for who, it was impossible to tell—as the runner rounded first base and headed toward second. The pitcher fumbled the ball, caught it and threw it toward the second baseman.

  “Safe!” the ref called, and there was a chorus of cheers and groans. A small group at the other end of the tiny stands stood and sat and stood again, arms flailing as they tried to start a wave.

  “C’mon, Shumway.” Beth whacked his arm and stood, throwing her hands in the air before sitting again. Good-naturedly, Shumway followed suit.

  “You ever think about joining something like this?” Cole asked with a nod toward the field. “Something outside the horses?”

  Nat gave him a mildly disbelieving look. “With all that time leftover after I’ve finished dealing with ranch stuff?”

  “Maybe you could cut back on the number of horses you take. You have to make time for a life outside work.”

  She watched him, his sharp eyes on the game, cataloguing every motion, every step. The evening light made his hair gold, softening the hard planes of his face. “Do you ever think about joining something like this?”

  He snorted. “Hell no. I don’t have the—” He stopped just short of saying “time”, giving her a devilish look. “Point taken.”

  She inclined her head and looked out at the players. The outfielder, who hadn’t done anything for the last several hours, was plucking at the stitching on his glove. Cole’s words rattled around in her head, gaining momentum as they went. If he had no time, and she had no time…

  She’d been holding some foolish hopes that they could make this work even after he left. People these days had long-distance romances all the time—they could do it, too. They were only a state apart, only about four hours by car. But if neither of them could find the time for something as simple as a game of baseball, how were they supposed to find the days necessary for each other?

  “What are we doing?” She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until Cole looked at her.

  “What do you mean?”

  There wasn’t an answer. Not one she’d be happy with. Nat ran through the options in her head, but everything came back the same: this wasn’t a long-term possibility. She gave him a tight smile. “Nothing.” She already knew the answer to the question she’d asked. They were ignoring reality. Reality was that they’d have a good fling, they’d enjoy each other immensely, and when the time came they’d make promises to try and work it out—maybe. And then they’d drift apart.

  Better to enjoy what they had now, and cut it off cleanly when he left.

  “Nat?” His gaze was concerned, searching.

  “Nothing,” she repeated. “Do you want some water? I have bottles in the car.”

  Still looking cautious, he nodded. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

  She stood and stepped over his long legs, heading toward the end of the bleachers and the stairs. “I’ll be right back.” She could do this. She’d found someone, she’d learned to let someone in, and now she had to learn to let someone go. It was possible. She’d find someone else. Where there was one, there had to be another—and better circumstances for them to stay together.

  Nat clung to that thought like a lifeline. Sometimes, you just met the right person at the wrong time. She didn’t think about how much she’d been enjoying him. She didn’t think about being able to see him with her for the rest of her life. It was just idle thinking. She probably shouldn’t have done so many things with him; it only made her more attached.

  But no matter how attached she was, it wasn’t going to work. They’d have to break it off.

  The grass crunched under her feet as she headed toward the truck. There wasn’t a parking lot, exactly. Simply an empty dirt lot, where people parked. She threaded her way through cactus and squirrel holes, reaching the ranch truck covered in dust and mud and pulling open the hatch to the built-in storage container in the back. Bottles of water sat in one corner, a six-pack of beer in the other. She assumed Shumway had brought that, and made a mental note to be sure it was out of the truck before morning. Cans had a disturbing habit of exploding in the heat.

  She pulled free two bottles of water and slammed the lid shut. Her cell phone was in the front seat. She opened the driver’s side door and plucked it up, checking to be sure no one had called.

  There were six missed calls and three messages. With a frown she flipped her phone up and dialed the voicemail. There was no mistaking the head maintenance man. Manuel’s words spilled out in a rush, clipped and urgent.

  “Señora, Buddha is hurt. I will be here.” The other two messages were similar.

  Her mind raced as she hurried back toward the bleachers, trying to think of possibilities. He could have colicked again. His stitches had been healing well, but maybe there had been internal infection. Maybe the muscle wall had burst. Maybe he’d gone gallivanting off and torn them.

  “Hey,” she said, slamming hard against the railing of the benches. “Something’s wrong at the ranch. You can all fit in Greg’s SUV, right?”

  “Yeah,” Greg said, sitting up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Something with Buddha.”

  Faces turned to look, wearing almost identical expressions of concern.

  “You want us to go back with you?” Beth asked, already packing up her caramel corn.

  For a moment, Nat almost said yes. Then she shook her head; Manuel was there, and though he wasn’t a handler he had a natural way with the horses. They liked and trusted him. And if something was really wrong, it wouldn’t matter how many people were there. The vet was all that would matter. “Stay here. Enjoy the game. If I need help, I’ll call.”

  In the back of the group, Cole stood and started picking his way clear.

  “Stay. I can handle it. More people won’t help.” Nat turned and started off, only to hear a thump behind her. She whipped around to see Cole had avoided the stairs altogether and jumped down. He strode after her.

  “I know more people won’t help,” he said gruffly. “But I’d like to go, anyway.”

  She nodded and kept walking.

  The trip to the ranch took twenty minutes, and it was twenty minutes too long. The truck skidded on dirt roads, kicking up clouds of dust for miles behind it. Coyotes watched them pass with glowing yellow eyes. Nat ignored all of it, focused on handling the giant steel beast and getting them back as quickly as possible.

  The motion-sensor lights in the courtyard came to life as they pulled up. She kept driving, going between the barns and to the back pasture where Buddha lived, finally turned out after two weeks on stall rest.

  One of the ATVs sat by the pasture fence. Nat made for that, guessing it was the closest point to Buddha. She stopped with a crunch of tires on dirt, throwing the car into park and leaping out. A hundred feet away she could see a horse, lying on its side, Manuel crouched over its head. She flung herself over the fence, trying desperately to believe it was nothing, just Manuel over-reacting to a belly ache or a nick.

  As she drew closer, though, she could see it was something more than that. Blood smeared his back legs, his stomach torn and shredded. Bile rose in Nat’s throat and she looked away before she could identify what the uneven lumps were. Manuel looked up at her, his face stricken.

  “I called the vet,” he said when she was within hearing distance. “I called him five times. I left messages, but…”

  “What happened?” She slowed, creeping up to keep from alarming the horse. His head twisted around anyway, nostrils flaring before he laid back down. More blood eased out of his abdomen, sinking into the grass. Something shiny looped out of his stomach, and she almost vomited. He’d been torn open.

  “I thought they were playing. Running. Then something jumped and… I came as fast as I could.”

  Manuel had been crying. Somehow, it was easier to focus on that then what she was seeing. Easier to see that than the shattered front legs or the shredded flesh. Buddha lay still, but not
dead.

  “Jesus,” Cole breathed. “Puma.”

  Nat shook her head, dumbfounded. “They don’t prey on horses. They wouldn’t—”

  He pointed, arm reaching behind her and striking out in the deepening twilight. A tawny gold body lay thirty feet away, all bones and sleek skin. Half of its rib cage was missing.

  “I got out here as fast as I could,” Manuel repeated quietly. One hand brushed Buddha’s forelock from his face, the other holding the horse’s head down to keep him still. A rifle lay near at hand.

  Nat took a breath, trying to pull everything together. The cat was dead. They couldn’t do anything about it now. Buddha lay on the ground, body torn open, front legs snapped. She walked around him to his head, bringing his spine into view. Great long tears ran down his back and ribs, testament to his fight with the puma.

  A fight he’d lost.

  Black, glazed eyes looked up at her, clouded with pain, filled with trust.

  “Call the vet again.” Her voice was steady, sure. It should have been trembling. The likelihood that Dr. Reeds would be able to do anything…

  Manuel dialed while Nat sat in the field. It was damp underneath her. She couldn’t sit still. She dug out a handful of grass, tossing it aside. She dug out another. Then still another until she reached the dirt underneath. Dark mud, heavy with moisture. It painted her fingers black, burrowing under her nails. Her hands were steady. Her heart was breaking.

  “No answer.” Manuel hung up the phone.

  She nodded. “Call the knacker.” With one mud-smeared finger she reached out, smiling at Buddha. “Hey, handsome. It’ll be all right.” She drew a line, barely a shadow on his face, from the base of his ear to the corner of the opposite eye. Then another, marking an X across his forehead. She stroked his cheek, his neck, knowing she was prolonging his pain but unable to let go until she’d done it.

  When she reached for the rifle, Cole’s hand stopped her. “Nat.”

  She looked at him, her expression dead in the half light. “I’m not going to sit here and wait for him to die. He’s hurting.”

  Cole shook his head minutely. “Let me do this.”

  Her fingers wrapped around the gun and she dragged it free, breaking his grip. “You’ve said yourself you can’t shoot.” Before he could argue she brought the barrel around, fitting the butt against her shoulder and lining the muzzle up where the mud bisected Buddha’s forehead.

  The crack was deafening. It rattled against the distant mountains.

  Buddha was dead before it echoed back. Faster and less painful than anesthesia, he’d felt nothing before he was gone. The light didn’t fade from his eyes: it was snuffed out too quick. Blood continued to soak into the grass.

  The gun dropped from Nat’s fingers. It landed with a double thump. Buddha was dead. It was over. She turned, walking toward the fence. Cole followed. Some distant part of her knew that. The rest didn’t care.

  She climbed between the fence rails. Didn’t protest when he opened the passenger door of the truck and helped her in.

  The shot echoed in her ears. Branding itself into memory. The truck began to roll. The shocks needed to be replaced. The sun set behind the mountains. Darkness painted the landscape. Headlights flicked on, illuminating the dirt road. It should be re-graded.

  She didn’t know how long they’d been stopped when the door beside her opened. A strong hand took hers. A voice wound through the darkness. “Come on, Nat.”

  She turned. Slid out of the seat. Stared at the flowerbeds lining her porch. They needed to be mulched. “Come on,” that voice said again, quiet and insistent. Nat followed him up the stairs, inside. Had to take her shoes off. No shoes in the house. They would track mud in, and then she’d have to clean up.

  She took them off and then just stared, seeing rows upon rows of footwear stacked neatly on her little shelves. Flip-flops and sneakers. Boots and riding shoes. Some that were patently too big for her feet. Mud boots. There was a scuff on one of them, turning the dark leather light. She stared at it.

  “Come on.”

  She was beginning to think that voice was never going to leave her alone. Hands pressed her down into the couch. She sat and watched the coffee table.

  Whorls of wood. Rings from glasses and cups. There, the varnish chipped.

  “Nat? You’re worrying me.”

  Her gaze dropped. Her hands lay in her lap. The mud under her nails was black.

  The crack of a gun. Two suddenly lifeless eyes. She should have been there sooner. “Oh, God.” Her voice was no more than a whisper, but it shattered something inside of her. She curled, bringing her hands up to her face, feeling the sob tear out of her chest.

  And then there were arms around her, pulling her close, cradling her in the warm strength of someone else, someone who could do the looking after for a while. She twisted, crying wretchedly into Cole’s chest, shaking and sick. Images flashed before her, things she’d seen and things she hadn’t, things she could only imagine. She should have been there sooner.

  “It’s all right,” Cole murmured, hands stroking her head, down her back. “You did what you could. You couldn’t have known. It’s all right, love.”

  She cried harder, her hands tightening into fists in his shirt. She didn’t know how long she sat there, held against his body, sobbing in a way she never had before. For every self-recrimination she could think up he had a response, reminding her above all that she was human, and had done more than most humans ever would.

  It helped, but not enough. She cried until her throat was hoarse, until she couldn’t breathe properly, until her eyes were red and raw from the tears. A few times she became aware that there were people around, that Cole was talking to someone other than her. None of it mattered.

  Eventually, the tears tapered off. The gunshot still echoed in her ears, but she thought it would for days—maybe forever. The arms around her were comforting, soothing. She caught her breath, face feeling swollen, cheek pressed against Cole’s shirt. One hand rubbed up and down her upper arm, the other settled against her waist, holding her close.

  She let herself be held, let the tensions and distance she’d always kept between herself and others wash away. Exhaustion crept in, the sort of weary numbness that came after emotional upheaval. Her hand smoothed down his chest, feeling muscle under the cloth of his shirt. “Where’s your sling?” she asked softly.

  A kiss pressed into the top of her head. “I’m due to see the doctor tomorrow. He’ll tell me my shoulder’s fine, so tonight won’t hurt it.”

  She nodded, focusing on the coffee table again. The room was dark.

  “Is it always this hard?” His grip tightened slightly, his cheek resting against her head. “Every time?”

  She thought about it, letting the question percolate through her mind before answering. “It’s not usually this sudden. Or this violent.” The image of Buddha rose, torso shredded—

  She shoved it away, turning her face into Cole, drawing from his strength. Before, she’d had only her own to rely on, and she’d felt brittle, breakable, but had always held it together. Now she had his, and the strength was in being able to shatter, and knowing someone was there to help her put the pieces back together. More tears slid from under her eyelids, absorbing into his shirt.

  “I don’t know how you do this.”

  She didn’t have an answer, so she said nothing.

  ***

  The morning, Cole thought with some annoyance, was perfect. Bright and clear, neither too hot nor too cold. It wasn’t appropriate somehow, after the night before. A part of him resented it.

  Manuel and the knacker had gotten rid of Buddha’s corpse. The grass had been hosed down, removing all traces of blood, and that pasture closed in case there were any other pumas with similar ideas. All the horses farther out had been brought near, sharing smaller paddocks for the time being.

  Cole didn’t know who’d arranged all that. It wasn’t Nat. They’d sat up together for most of the n
ight, speaking only in quiet reassurances, letting the shock and pain wash through.

  Aaron came to the door at ten thirty, hat in his hands, the brim crunched under his nervous fingers. His eyes were as red as Nat’s had been the night before.

  “How is she?”

  Cole rubbed his face and glanced toward the hall. “I heard the shower running. Last night was rough.”

  Aaron nodded. “I can imagine, though I’d rather not. Look, I’ve got everything handled. Maybe you can convince her to take the day off? She’ll just dive into work, otherwise. Make everyone miserable, including herself.”

  Cole nodded, already trying to figure out what he could do or say to convince her that this was a good idea.

  The other man headed out the door, down the steps, his bloodshot eyes shaded by his cowboy hat.

  “Aaron. Thanks.”

  He turned and waved.

  Cole watched him go, remembering what Nat had said: her right hand man. He could see why, and wondered when Aaron would get the time off to deal with his grief. Wondered if any of them who hadn’t actually pulled the trigger ever would.

  “Who was that?”

  He turned to see Nat coming down the hall, her face drawn and slightly swollen, circles dark under her eyes. Her voice was rough, her hair still wet. She was a far cry from the beauty he’d seen the first time she’d come down that hall toward him, and yet she was more enthralling than she’d been even then. Every day he spent with her he fell a little harder, and he already knew that hitting bottom was going to hurt. “Aaron. He thought you might want to take the day off.”

  He could see the argument even before she spoke, and cut in with, “Why don’t you come into town with me? I have that doctor’s appointment in an hour. We could go get some lunch. Take the day off. Get out of here.”

  Her argument didn’t look lessened.

  “I’ll buy you dark glasses,” he offered, and tried to smile.

  Her eyes filled with tears almost instantly. She ducked her head, cursing under her breath, and wiped at them.

  It only took a few strides to cross the room, to pull her into his chest and cradle her head against his neck. He wanted to take her away, wrap her somewhere safe where she’d never be hurt again. Never have to see or do something so terrible as she’d seen and done last night. He didn’t know if it was possible, but he’d happily spend the rest of his life trying.