Second Hope

by J. B. McDonald

  He murmured a soft curse and inched back, grabbing his jeans up and yanking out a condom. He slid it on and was over her again, hands under her knees lifting and spreading her legs. She moved with him, almost shaking with need as he lined up his erection and pressed into her.

  Nat gasped, closing her eyes to feel the stretch as he filled her, as he began to thrust with sure, hard strokes. Her body tightened around him, a wash of heat rising higher and higher with each penetration. She pressed in, opening to him while sensation built and crested, dragging her into a whirl of pulsing muscles and too-bright pleasure she thought she might drown in.

  She yelled, felt him shudder, and dropped into the abyss.

  She felt relaxed and boneless as they headed back to the ranch, her stomach pleasantly full, muscles loose. The sun was still beating down, hot against her dark hair. Cole rode beside her, Stetson pulled firmly over his head, shading his face. Every so often he edged Fleet close, reaching out to brush his fingers against her knee or shoulder, or to thread them through her hair. Once they’d kissed, laughing about it as the movement from the horses made it less than romantic. They’d bumped noses, and a misstep from Jasmine had sent Nat’s face right into Cole’s chin.

  The ranch wasn’t far. They walked around the back of Nat’s house and past the big pastures that stretched far behind them. Horses whinnied as they rode by, and Fleet perked up until Cole set the stallion back to work.

  In the heat of the afternoon most of the animals slept, and the majority of the workers were either waiting for it to cool off again, or busy in the shade.

  The main barn was empty when they rode up. The horses were all in their turn outs under their shelters, or off in the near pastures under trees. Even Emma had left her stall for what breezes she could get outside, dozing under a wooden roof.

  Aaron followed them in, holding Jasmine and petting her nose while Nat dismounted. “Cole,” he began, “you got a couple of phone calls. Business stuff.”

  Nat didn’t wince, though her mood turned suddenly dour. He’d been getting more and more calls, lately. More summons from home. His normal life drawing him back. She wondered if that was what this picnic had been about; a final goodbye before he had to leave.

  Shrimp cocktail and chicken salad sat heavy in her gut. She felt his eyes on her, but didn’t turn around as she took Jasmine and started away.

  “Nat…”

  “I know.” She paused, looking at him over the barrier of her shoulder, and smiled. “It was always temporary. We both knew that. Fleet’s doing well. Time to go home.” If she’d hoped that saying it before he could would make it hurt less, she’d been mistaken. It still felt like her heart had just been wrenched out of her chest and crushed on the rubber mats of the barn floor.

  She turned and walked away before he could say anything else. They’d always known it would be this way. There was no use pretending otherwise.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sweat ran freely down Nat’s back as the fall breeze played, whispering promises of cooler weather soon. Not soon enough; muscles bunched and flexed as she tossed another bale of hay into the feed shelter, cursing the heat and the delivery guy who’d failed to show up with a partner. They paid extra for the feed store to stack this. She shouldn’t have to do it herself.

  Those words remained unspoken, though. The feed guy already knew how she felt, and it wasn’t his fault his partner had called in sick. He worked alongside her as quickly as possible, stripped to the waist, tanned skin sliding over hard sinew.

  Somehow, she just didn’t find him attractive. Not even viscerally. She’d always been able to at least appreciate the male form before. Every time she looked at men now, though, she compared them to Cole.

  None of them even came close.

  It had been six weeks since he’d left, heading off just two days after their picnic in the oasis. They hadn’t spoken about it beforehand. Cole had tried a few times. Even again brought up trying things long distance. Each time Nat had shot him down or changed the subject. She was a realist, and realistically she knew that even if he was exactly what she wanted—what she needed—in a partner, the time and place were all wrong.

  She told herself that every evening, going to bed alone. Every morning, staring at her empty kitchen. Daily, walking into the barn and not hearing his soft murmur, the soothing comfort that had filled the air.

  She’d lived for years without believing there were men in the world she could trust on an emotionally intimate level. Men who didn’t scream or hit, who could make a point without getting angry, who could allow and support a woman in being her own person. Friends could do that, but she’d believed that things changed when people became more than just buddies. Cole had changed all that. She couldn’t go back to old beliefs, now, and she couldn’t believe she’d find another man like Cole. But surely she could return to living alone and being happy. Her work was important, and nothing would take her away from it.

  But recently, it hadn’t been enough to fill the void.

  “Sign here?”

  With some surprise, she realized they’d finished stacking hay. She’d been standing there for who knew how long while the delivery guy, dripping sweat, held out a clipboard. She took it, glancing over the details and the bill, then crossed off the section where they’d tried to charge her for stacking it and signed for the adjusted amount.

  The delivery guy didn’t even argue. “See you next month,” he offered absently, then climbed back into the semi and rumbled out of the ranch.

  Aaron waited just on the other side of the hay shed, watching her with the single-mindedness of a very annoyed ranch hand. She knew what he wanted to say. Purposefully, Nat headed away from him, toward the main barn.

  He was too persistent for that to work. He followed. “Cole called.”

  Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “Oh?” It wasn’t really surprising. He’d been calling. Daily, at first. Then every few days. Then twice a week. Now once a week. She kept avoiding him. It would only hurt worse to hear his voice, and she suspected he’d try to convince her they could make it work.

  They couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. It was better this way, to cut everything off cold turkey.

  “He’s in some reining qualifying thing tonight with a new colt. Gonna be on RFDTV.” Aaron tucked his thumbs in his front pockets, sauntering alongside.

  “That’s neat. I’ll have to record it.” She’d never watch it. “Do you have an update on Emma?”

  The disapproval radiating from him was almost palpable. “She’s off her hay, but she ate some A&M. Getting more skittish by the day, though.” His gaze slid toward her. “Like she finally found someone to trust, but is too stupid to stay with them.”

  A muscle jumped in Nat’s jaw. “Aaron…”

  “Just saying.” His stride lengthened and he outpaced her, peeling away to go check troughs and the automatic waterers.

  Nat continued on.

  She hadn’t meant to be inside by eight p.m., or to look up what time and channel Cole was going to be on. She certainly hadn’t meant to slide back the entertainment center doors so she could see the television. Somehow, though, all of those things happened and she found herself sitting on the edge of the couch, dinner forgotten.

  Nat didn’t know enough about reining to understand it. It was fast and flashy, with horses doing spins and stops that they’d been bred and trained specifically for. Their riders stuck with them as if it were all carefully rehearsed, as if they were one creature. No one lost their balance. No one wavered. It was a showcase of the best, and they knew what they were doing.

  Then Cole came on, and they were all overshadowed. His colt had talent, even Nat could see that. She could barely see the weight shift that had the horse tucking its hips down, back legs coming underneath it as it almost sat in the soft dirt from a dead run, front legs moving to keep it sliding forward as long as possible. Cole rode it easily, not even momentum upsetting his seat, moving with his colt as if it were
the most natural thing in the world. When it came to a stop, breathing hard and muscles quivering, he took a moment to soothe it. She saw his lips move, fingers reach out to stroke the bay’s neck. It stilled, ears flicking back to listen to his voice.

  She knew that voice, knew the tone he would use even if she couldn’t hear it. Her heart pounded. The colt calmed. Gracefully, Cole lifted his hand and shifted his leg a bare fraction. The horse twisted into a spin, one back leg planted as the creature’s body whirled around. It wasn’t perfect. The colt was still learning; he took a step, but even at those speeds Cole responded, giving it the support needed to catch its balance and continue on.

  For three minutes and thirty-two seconds Nat watched him on television, her heart in her throat and her hands shaking. She wanted to touch him. To reach out and wrap her arms around his neck, feel his lips on hers, hear his voice.

  None of that was possible. She’d known better than to watch. Known it would hurt all over again. She watched anyway, drinking in the sight of him through a camera too far from the arena to see clearly. She watched through the next three riders, hoping for another glimpse of Cole on the sidelines, for another brief look at how he was doing, at the way he moved.

  He didn’t come back into sight. Eventually, she turned off the television and stared at the blank screen, trying not to think. It didn’t work so well. Her mind kept replaying what she’d seen. Muscles under a long-sleeved show shirt, the brilliant white of his Stetson hiding a slightly crooked smile. Broad hands, as gentle on the reins of his horse as they’d been moving across her skin, coaxing her into trusting again.

  She shouldn’t have watched. She couldn’t stop.

  ***

  “How is she?” The words, even quietly spoken, echoed through the main barn.

  Aaron looked up at the question, wiping his hands off on a rag. “She’s…” He shook his head, lips twisting. “I started an IV. Maybe some fluids will help.”

  Nat scrubbed her hands over her face, frustration boiling under her skin. “What did Dr. Reeds say?”

  “Says she’s fine. Nothing’s wrong. No sign of pain.” He tossed the rag into Emma’s grooming bucket with more force than necessary.

  “Horses don’t just starve themselves for no reason!” Nat’s voice rang with frustration. Emma had come so far, done so much.

  “He didn’t say there was no reason. He just said there was no pain,” Aaron said softly.

  Nat turned, leaning on the half door, looking at the sorrel within. “So how do we fix it?”

  He didn’t answer.

  ***

  Cole stood frowning as one of his ranch hands trotted the colt out, running alongside it with the lead slack in his fingers. There—again. The little bay was lame. It was almost nothing, but in the high reaches of the reining world “almost nothing” was still something. Almost nothing could turn into a quarter crack or a canon bone split, and either of those would set them back for months.

  “All right,” he called. “Enough. Put him in the barn, keep him on stall rest for a few days. Give him some bute and we’ll check him again on Wednesday.” He had high hopes for this little horse, though he’d never be another Fleet. Fleet had come back from his rest with flying colors. Cole expected they’d make the championships next year, and hoped they’d win. The competition was tough, but it always was.

  Maybe if he worked hard enough, he’d forget the lady who occupied his every thought. He wished he would. He was trying. After two months of nothing, he had to admit that it was over. She wasn’t going to call him. It wasn’t going to work out. She wouldn’t even talk to him.

  He’d finally found a woman he could spend the rest of his life with, and she was avoiding him. Even throwing himself into training hadn’t eased the ache in his chest.

  For the last two weeks he’d tried to forget her. Every day started with a list of reasons as to why he was glad to be here, without distractions. They were always lies. With enough repetition, though, he hoped he could start to believe them.

  “Hey, boss-man!”

  He turned as he walked, already on his way to the arena for his next horse.

  “Someone just pulled up with a loaded trailer. Looking for you.”

  Cole’s eyebrows rose. He glanced toward the wall of the barn, as if he could see straight through it to the little office beyond. “We’re not expecting anyone in for training.”

  “I know. And I told her we didn’t have any more room. She says the mare’s not in for training. She’s a donation.” The man shrugged. “I figured you could explain to her that we don’t take donations, either.”

  “Christ,” he muttered. Another thing to take care of that he didn’t have the time—or patience—for. This was worse than people asking if he could give to charity. At least those folks were trying to do good. For a moment, he debated riding his next horse and letting the woman wait—but a horse in a trailer would get hot, despite the shade trees planted all around. The animal didn’t deserve to suffer just because it had an idiot owner. “Go tell Joanne that I’ll get to the arena shortly, would you?” he asked, veering off at the end of the barn to head toward the office.

  “Sure thing, boss-man!”

  The office was the crappiest building on the property. People rarely were in it. Cole took his work to the house at the end of the day, so no one had ever bothered to get the office fixed up neatly. The building itself was little more than a wooden shed crouched under a cottonwood tree. It had only one window and no air-conditioning, just a fan that only worked half the time. If the woman was waiting inside, he figured she’d be miserable.

  He saw the rig first, parked nearby, pulled by an old steel Ford. The truck was run down, but the trailer was new, an aluminum slant load with loading doors in both the back and the side. It hitched in the middle of the truck bed rather than at the bumper, and had a small living area at the front.

  Expensive.

  The barred windows that let air in to the horse had netting over them to keep rocks from flying in and hurting sensitive flesh. In the darkened interior he saw movement; a slim head with big, soft eyes. The creature saw him and whinnied.

  Cole paused. It was silly to say he knew the sound of a horse’s voice, but…he knew the sound of that horse’s voice. It raised its muzzle, air blowing hard out of distended nostrils. The netting billowed. Faintly, he saw the line of a long scar near the base of its jaw, stretching across velvet fur.

  “Emma?” He started toward her, stepping onto the fender of the trailer and grasping the window bars to pull himself up. Her nicker was quiet and soothing, as if she were reassuring him as he’d once reassured her.

  She was skin and bones, white fur coming in across parts of her neck and belly where the worst of the injuries had been. He’d expected her to look better than that, after another two months of Nat’s care.

  “What happened, baby?”

  “She misses you.”

  He jumped at the voice, whipping around to see a woman leaning in the office doorway. A woman he hadn’t expected to see again. Hope beat in his chest. He crushed it. He’d tried, over and over, to convince her they could make this work. She’d refused. Hadn’t answered his calls. Hadn’t given him any reason to believe she’d change her mind.

  Nat pushed away from the jamb, tucking her hands in her back pockets as she walked closer. “She stopped eating. For a while she’d eat grain, but…” Narrow shoulders rose and fell. “She stopped completely a few days ago. We’ve tried everything. Now we’re trying this.”

  The horse. Naturally. Cole turned back to the trailer, dragging a gaze that wanted to linger over the woman back to the animal. “What do you expect me to do?” he asked finally, at a loss as to how to make a horse eat. Everything he knew, Nat knew. He certainly didn’t have the setup here for IVs or constant care.

  “Just…be yourself. She just misses you. I was hoping she could stay.”

  He should say no. He didn’t have the equipment Emma needed for the kind of c
are that was necessary. Instead, he found himself nodding.

  He should be angry. Should refuse any requests Nat made. She’d avoided him completely, had dodged his phone calls. There hadn’t been a word from her for two months, and now she arrived and asked him to take on a horse he didn’t have the time or resources for—

  But he’d do almost anything for her. The knowledge made him sick. Loving her was worthless if she wouldn’t see him. It didn’t matter, though. He would keep Emma, and it would be one tie to Nat, unbreakable until Emma died.

  The horse nickered again. He reached up, brushing the soft nose despite the net between them. “Let’s unload her. She’ll have to go out to pasture.”

  Beside him, he felt Nat release a quiet breath. “Thank you.”

  Nat hadn’t stayed for long. She’d thought she could see him, just for a few hours, and then walk away and resume the life she’d become accustomed to. She hadn’t thought it would hurt so much, all over again.

  She was wrong.

  She sat on the edge of the hotel room bed, desolate and alone. Deep breaths kept her from crying, though she couldn’t see through unshed tears. The logical part of her knew that it was better this way. That if she left her ranch and came here, she’d resent him in a few years and that if he left his work and went to her, the same would happen in reverse. The logical part of her knew that.

  Her heart, however, was breaking.

  ***

  “I wouldn’t have loved him this much,” Beth murmured, watching Nat lean on a corral fence and stare blankly into a paddock. In the weeks since her cousin had come back from giving Emma to Cole, she hadn’t gotten better. Beth had waited and waited for the woman she’d known all her life to come back, to no avail.

  Nat wandered around doing her job and nothing more. When pressed, she joined them for Friday night baseball, but she didn’t seem to have any fun. She often stopped working, staring out at nothing, and once Beth had found her crying.