Second Hope

by J. B. McDonald

  “Well,” he said quietly, “we can enjoy what we have now, and take it one step at a time later.”

  She hesitated, then nodded, dropping her gaze. It lingered on the contours of his throat, tendons and Adam’s apple, the dip between his collarbones.

  “In the meantime,” Cole continued, stepping back and reaching over the stall door to unhook the latch, “would you like to join me?”

  There were a million and one things to be done, still. Horses to check on, medications to send out, animals to exercise, stores to replenish, and lunch was coming up soon. All of these ran through her mind in the moments before she stepped inside the stall. They would all wait a few more minutes. These things would always have to be done, and her time with Cole was severely limited.

  The stall door closed behind her, and she re-latched it. Emma continued to eat quietly in the corner, uncaring of what the humans did in the other end of her space.

  Cole pulled Nat close, drawing her near before leading her toward the horse, running a hand over a smooth flank. “She’s doing better. You do amazing work.”

  Nat curled into his side, content for the moment be there, relaxing against him. “So do you. I doubt she’d be like this if you hadn’t been here to baby her along.”

  His head turned, lips brushing over her hair. “Maybe.”

  Nat pressed closer, reaching her own hand out to settle her palm against the mare’s warm flesh. There was no maybe about it, but she wouldn’t argue with Cole. Some people didn’t know they were healers.

  She hoped Emma remained healed when he left.

  Chapter Ten

  It was a week—a week of easy smiles and great sex and breakfasts interrupted by staff—when Cole found himself sitting in Nat’s bathroom in the morning, holding her against his chest as she cried out her grief. There wasn’t anything he could do except keep her close, stroking her hair and back, waiting for the torrent to subside. There were moments like this, moments when she grieved over her lost horse and what she’d done, though they were fewer and ended sooner. She was healing, even if it was sometimes hard.

  When the tears were done he got a damp rag and smoothed it over her face, brushing his callused thumb across her cheek. He supposed he should be glad; she wasn’t hiding this from him, and he could see for himself that it wouldn’t be long before she’d worked through the worst of her mourning. Buddha would always be with her, of course, but the heart-wrenching sickness of his death would wear down, little by little. And Cole could leave, reasonably certain she would be all right.

  He didn’t want to leave. He’d started riding Fleet, and turning him out. The vet had returned and said everything had knit well. He just needed some slow workouts to get him back in shape, and he was ready to go home. Take it easy at first, the vet had told them.

  They could go now. He knew how to take it easy on a recuperating horse. He could work Fleet out in the soft sand of the arena at his own ranch. But Cole wasn’t ready to go. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever be ready to go.

  “I was thinking about us,” he said quietly. “About trying this out long distance.” He could feel her tense, and ran his hand soothingly over her back. She didn’t relax. He’d brought this topic up before, and it had always ended the same way: Nat insisting it wouldn’t work. The last time he’d come as close as he ever did to losing his temper, and had finally walked away. She’d watched him warily that evening, but he’d passed her own internal test. They’d been all right again by morning.

  “I don’t want a lover who’s never here,” she said firmly.

  He’d already argued this out. It wasn’t getting better, and he didn’t want to fight. Still, Cole tried once more. “If we worked at it, we might be able to actually see each other.”

  “No.”

  That was about as definite as she could get. He debated arguing, but decided now was the wrong time. He had no idea when the right time was. They sat in silence, and slowly she relaxed again.

  He smoothed his palm gently over Nat’s face, and smiled when she looked up. “What would you think about going riding today?”

  She nodded. “I have to get some work done, first—”

  Cole interrupted with a chuckle, leaning in to feather a kiss over her skin. “You always have to get some work done first, I know. Maybe around lunchtime?”

  He felt her nod, still too close to see her expression.

  “Wonderful.” His thumb rubbed over her jawline, slow and careful. Reluctantly, he moved away. He would have time with her later.

  ***

  Nat didn’t really have enough time to go inside and clean up, but she did so anyway. There was a pressure against her ribs, the knowledge that Cole would be gone soon haunting the back of her thoughts. It pushed her into making things better. So she took the extra time she didn’t have to go inside and splash some water over her face, wash her hands and arms, change her shirt and rebraid her hair. Just that was enough to remove the worst of the sweat and grime, leaving her refreshed and feeling a bit human.

  When she got back out into the courtyard, Cole was walking toward the barn with Jasmine in tow. The mare moved cautiously, ebony head low to the ground, checking each step before she took it. Cole didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t push her to walk faster, as some people had after they’d seen how rapidly she followed Nat. He didn’t look annoyed at the time the mare was taking, or like he wanted to hurry her along.

  With a smile, Nat trotted down the stairs and strode across to where man and horse were moseying toward the barn, calling Jasmine’s name so she would know who was approaching. The triangular black head rose, sightless eyes turning toward Nat.

  “Thanks,” Nat said as she took the rope from Cole.

  He smiled and stepped away, tucking his thumbs in his belt loops. “No problem.”

  She was surprised to see Fleet when they walked into the aisle, tied toward the end, all tacked up and ready to ride. Saddlebags hung off the saddle, bulging with supplies. A blanket had been rolled up and tied to the back, cinched under the cantle. The stallion flicked an ear toward Jasmine, but other than that remained where he was; head resting, one leg crooked, dozing.

  She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Cole had been riding him for the last week. Short rides, low impact, with no skidding stops or high-speed pivots. A trail ride was exactly the sort of thing that would be good for the stud, and he was Cole’s horse.

  Somehow, though, it made her realize just how healthy the animal was. How much he didn’t need to be there anymore. She tried not to think about it.

  Within minutes Jasmine was groomed and bridled. Nat led her outside, then took two fistfuls of mane and leaped, stomach and arm muscles bunching, hips swinging high enough to slide over the mare’s spine. She settled into place easily. Jasmine’s head lifted, ears pricking up and nostrils flaring when Cole brought Fleet out. The horse stood quietly while Cole mounted, though the soft nose stretched ever so slowly toward Nat’s mare.

  With knee pressure she asked Jasmine to take a step away from him, just as she saw Cole give the stud a wiggle of reins and a nudge with his heel.

  “Stop womanizing,” he muttered. Settling a tan cowboy hat firmly over his eyes, he glanced at Nat. “Ready?”

  She smiled, enjoying the look of him—black T-shirt tucked into well-cut blue jeans that exposed the tips of his boots. He sat comfortably on a strong sorrel carrying all of the traditional western gear. The sunglasses gave it a modern touch; a current-day cowboy riding off into the sunset. Silver pieces on both bridle and saddle caught the light, sparkling here and there in a battered and worn sort of way.

  Lifting her reins, Nat shifted her weight so that Jasmine walked off. It took a bit for the mare to stop turning to sniff, interested in this new arrival. Fleet kept his manners very well, not behaving in the slightest like some studs she knew. As they passed out of the opening in the back and began to ride along the pastures, horses and riders all relaxed. Strides lengthened, postures swayed. The sun came
down hot and bright, warming the desert and beating heat into the ground.

  Nat turned her face upward, soaking in the peace and the warmth. She put all thoughts of Cole leaving out of her mind, focusing instead on the steady clop of hooves and the way muscle and fur shifted under her body.

  “You look happy.”

  She smiled at his words, turning to look at him. The sunglasses were gone, hooked onto a strap around his saddle horn. He was taller than she was, but the height difference in their horses meant she looked him in the eye. “At this moment, I am,” she said at last.

  “At this moment?” A brown eyebrow rose, hiding under the brim of his hat.

  Nat shrugged. She didn’t want to say what had been in the back of her mind: at this moment, she was happy. But sometime in the next moments they had together, he would leave.

  Cole let the subject drop. “I was thinking we could stop in one of the back fields. Maybe have some lunch.”

  “Is that what’s in those saddlebags? Sandwiches and sodas?” She eyed them again, trying to make sense of the dips and bulges in the weatherproof cloth.

  He chuckled. “Nope. There’s food, but no sandwiches or sodas, sorry. You’ll have to make do with something else for lunch.”

  Curiosity piqued, Nat eyed them again, as if looking hard enough might trigger X-ray vision so she could see through to the food inside. “Something else like what?”

  “Edible things, for the most part.” His eyes twinkled at her laughingly.

  “Well, that’s good.” Nat’s tone was dry. “I hate it when I get inedible things for lunch.”

  He seemed to think about that for a moment, and when he responded his voice was completely serious. “My brother ate wax fruit for breakfast once. Got right down to the center of the apple—which had no seeds—before he realized it wasn’t real.”

  It took her a second to really assimilate that statement. Then she started to laugh.

  The day was perfect for a picnic; not too hot, though summer had overtaken them. There was a nice breeze that carried a mist from the sprinklers in a distant pasture. They rode comfortably, chatting about everything and nothing, about new horses and old cases. Nat told him about her theories on why Chip constantly came back, and they discussed Kahaia’s future racing options. Nat thought the little filly would be just fine. She was already fully recovered, though they were keeping her on stall rest for another week to be sure.

  The farrier and the vet had arrived together a few days before just for General. He’d been knocked out, his flipper foot trimmed, and woken up with no problems.

  “We had a horse we had to knock out whenever we trimmed him,” Cole said. He steered Fleet forward and around, coming to one of the gates that led into the big pasture and opening it.

  Nat watched with unsurprised appreciation as Fleet moved perfectly, horse and rider one seamless unit as they unlatched and pulled the gate open, held it while she walked Jasmine in, and then closed and latched it again. “Why was that?” she asked.

  “He’d had a bad experience—before he came to my ranch—and tried to take the head off anyone who’d get near him with trimmers. I suggested the owner call one of those specialists who can fix problem behaviors, but they weren’t interested. I ended up doing some work with him myself. I don’t know if it stuck, though.”

  The horses ambled across the pasture, Fleet’s head lifting to see the herd the next pasture over. This field was currently empty. They’d shifted all the horses closer, so the herd had been moved farther in. Nat knew it was a silly precaution. The cougar was dead, and it had attacked in a closer pasture anyway. They still moved the horses. It made her feel better.

  She smiled when she recognized the pile of boulders and trees Cole was heading for. They were just as pretty now as they’d been the first time she’d brought him out here, when he’d ridden Taylor and his arm had been in a sling. His arm wasn’t in a sling now, and he rode his own horse—both of them healing rapidly.

  He angled Fleet between the rocks and Nat followed, stepping carefully down into the oasis. Moving into the shade gave her goose bumps. Overheated skin registered the milder heat as cold. It was nearly a ten degree difference from one to the other, and her body couldn’t keep up.

  It was a nice change, though, and she gloried in the few moments she had before her skin would adapt and this would seem warm, too.

  Jasmine came to a halt with an easy backward shift of Nat’s weight. Nat grabbed a fistful of mane and swung her leg over the mare’s well-muscled hip, landing lightly on her feet. Off to one side, Fleet stood quietly while Cole dismounted and unloaded the saddlebags. He let the reins drop to the ground, and with a soft touch on the stallion’s neck sent him off to graze.

  Nat unbridled Jasmine, rubbed her face and itched away the sweat behind her ears, then watched as her mare began to graze as well. “Don’t you worry about him stepping on a rein?” she asked. The long strips of leather slid through the grass and fallen leaves, tickling around hard hooves.

  “Nah. If he does, he just steps off them again. Watch.”

  She did, wincing every time a hoof missed a strap by inches. Then, finally, the horse did land on one of them, pinning his face to the ground. Fleet felt the pull and simply stepped back, shifting his foot to a different spot and moving on.

  Reluctantly, she nodded. “What happens if he spooks?” She glanced toward Cole, who was laying out the blanket that had been tied to the back of his saddle. Light dappled across flexing muscles under his T-shirt, shadowing the indentation of his spine.

  “That horse never spooks. Grab the other corner, would you? And if he does, he’ll pick his head up. The reins aren’t long enough for him to step on them while it’s up. They could get caught around something, I suppose, but I’m not too worried about it.”

  Oak and cottonwood leaves crunched as she walked to the blanket. The cloth was already warm from the ride. Taking the corner that refused to lay out nicely, she tugged until it was flat. Red, orange, black, white and teal stripes colored it just short of garish. “Where’d you get this?” She was positive she didn’t have anything like it at home.

  “Bought it in town the other day. I didn’t want to spread one of your blankets on the ground.” Strong hands reached into the leather saddlebags, pulling out sealed Tupperware and utensils wrapped in napkins.

  If he’d bought the blanket in town, then he’d been planning this trip for at least a few days. Nat found herself smiling slightly, the corner of her mouth tipped up. It didn’t surprise her that he’d put extra thought into this. It was simply something he’d do, another way in which he showed he cared for people. She laughed when he opened one Tupperware and there were shrimp inside. A second revealed red sauce.

  “Shrimp cocktail? Not exactly your typical picnic food.” But she couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face, the warmth that wound through her chest.

  Cole smiled in kind, settling down on the blanket and opening the other pouch. “Maybe this isn’t your typical picnic.” He pulled out bread rolls and butter, then chicken salad with big chunks of chicken and walnut quarters, celery in pieces large enough to bite into, all of it covered with mayonnaise and pepper.

  Nat folded her legs, wary for a moment when a bottle and two champagne flutes came out of the bags. Then she realized it was sparkling cider, and chuckled. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”

  “I tried. There’s strawberries and cream for dessert.”

  “But nothing for the horses?” Turquoise eyes twinkled.

  Smiling, Cole pulled out several large, red apples. “But don’t tell them. They have to eat their grass, first.”

  On impulse, Nat leaned in and pressed a kiss against Cole’s lips. It was supposed to be quick, no more than an expression of life and happiness. Somehow, though, it deepened instantly, touching a wildfire to existence inside her. His hand curled up around the base of her skull, then drifted down her braid to tug the band out of the end. Calluses caught on indi
vidual strands as he slowly loosened it, letting it spill over her back and shoulders in thick waves.

  She shivered, opening her mouth to taste him, the wild oat and leather scent, apples and something indefinable that was him and only him. Her heart pounded against her ribs, almost painful in its intensity. He responded as if he could feel her quickening heartbeat, the hand tightening in her hair to pull her head back. He licked down the pulse point of her throat, drawing a moan. Nat unbuttoned his shirt, wanting to feel skin.

  He rocked back to strip, reaching forward to drag her shirt off as well. Her bra went next, the air cool on her breasts in the moment before they were covered by tongue and mouth and hands. Nat arched into his touch, heat splintering down her body as he pressed her back. She hit the blanket still squirming against the stroke of his tongue over her nipple, teasing it into a peak.

  Hands slid down her body, fingers tucking under the waistband of her jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling them off. He sucked carefully on her breast. She lifted her hips, toeing off her boots, shuddering as denim skimmed down her legs.

  She watched as he sat back, pulling off the rest of his clothing, exposing a body hard with years of work. He leaned over her, stooping to lick her nipple again before letting the moisture cool and making her skin peak further.

  “Awful tease,” Nat nearly whimpered, shifting to try and get closer to him.

  He chuckled and kissed her stomach, hands pulling her underwear off. Fingertips drifted back up her legs, sliding to the inside of her thighs. His tongue blazed a line up the center of her body. He stopped at her throat, urging her head back, nipping at her jugular and the delicate tendons in her neck.

  His hand moved over her, brushing against pubic hair before sliding a finger inside. She lifted one leg, arching to increase the friction, and felt him groan against her before sliding another finger in, thrusting.

  “Cole—” It was somewhere between demand and plea, feeling teeth and breath on her neck, his strong body above her, hand stroking within and without but not quite enough.