“I’ll go to the other side of the arena then.”
Teddy knew the drill. There was hardly any need to prompt the horse into a run. The wind felt good against Chance’s face. He wished he could still keep running instead of leaning left, holding out a hand then pulling her up behind him.
There it went again.
His pulse. His breathing. His very sanity. The moment she touched him it was all he could do not to lean away from her.
“I think we’re good,” he said, pulling Teddy up.
“I should probably try to stand.”
She smelled like honeysuckle. And that damn fabric softener. “Maybe we should try that when it’s daylight.”
“Just put him back into a run. It’ll take a sec.”
If he protested again he’d look like a wimp, and a wimp he definitely was not. So he clucked Teddy forward, the horse completely at ease carrying them around in the dead of night with nothing but bats and owls for an audience. He felt her shirt, the press of her palms against his shoulder. It was a new form of torture, but only because out of nowhere came the image of her touching him elsewhere, and it caused him to stiffen and her to cry out. Before he could help steady her, she’d begun to fall. He couldn’t believe it. He’d practiced the move a hundred times with the other girls.
“Caro—”
He was so discombobulated he couldn’t quite catch her, and this time she fell on her side, her gasp of pain enough to make him jerk on the rope and stop Teddy.
His heart thundered as he slid off Teddy. “Caro! Are you okay?”
She clutched her ankle. “I’m still sore from falling off the other day.”
When James had tried to kill her. Well, maybe not kill her, but certainly ruin her practice session. “Where does it hurt?”
“My ankle.”
“Let me see,” he said. “Lean back.”
“I’ll be okay.” She tried to push his hands away.
“Just relax. I’m trained for this.”
He was also trained to keep his cool while under fire, not fall apart when a woman touched him. He wouldn’t dwell on that, though. He needed to remove her boot, a tricky task. He looked into her eyes, and he could tell she tried to hide how much pain she was in.
“Can you take it off?”
He watched her eyes, big and blue, in the moonlight. Her blond hair was mussed, and her lips strained to keep from quivering. He hated seeing her in pain, just as he’d hated seeing the fear in her eyes when James had confronted her.
“I’ll be gentle.”
He slipped off her boot. She grimaced, but didn’t move. He chuckled when he saw her socks. They were black. With smiley faces.
“Happy socks,” she explained.
Happy socks. Because she needed something to smile about.
“I like them,” he said. “And your ankle doesn’t feel swollen.”
“I think it’s just sprained.”
“Let’s get you up.” He would have to touch her again. “Here.” He bent down and slipped an arm behind her.
Shampoo.
He tried not to breathe too deeply as he helped her to her feet. She leaned against him, and his body reacted to how good she felt. It’d been so long...
“I’ll help you to your apartment,” he said.
“I can walk by myself.”
“And hurt your ankle even more? No. I’ll wrap it for you once we get to your place. And you should probably stay off it for the rest of the week. Here. Let me turn Teddy loose. Can you stand for a second?”
“Yes.”
Sweet relief. That’s what he experienced when he stepped away.
Teddy seemed only too happy to be set free in the arena. Chance tossed the halter toward the rail. He’d come back for the horse later. With a deep breath, he headed back to Caro, silently reciting the list of reasons for nipping this damn physical attraction in the bud.
“Ready?” he asked, not wanting to touch her, yet knowing he’d have to slip an arm around her again.
“Ready.” She didn’t like being a burden. He could see it in her eyes. He spotted something else, too. A shyness that seemed to make it hard for her to look at him. She couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a second.
She felt it, too.
It was like discovering the monster under your bed was really a soft, fuzzy toy. A cute little unicorn. Something that could be taken out and played with. He looked away, at the ground.
She wanted him. He wanted her, too.
Life just got a whole helluva lot more complicated.
Chapter Thirteen
He knew.
The thought repeated in her head, the words keeping time with every painful step.
He knew...he knew...he knew.
She’d tried to hide her stupid teenage-like crush from him all week. She knew how dumb it was that she had feelings for him, had been hoping they would fade. And now look at her. Her experiment to prove to herself that touching Chance wouldn’t be a problem had completely backfired and nearly broken both of their necks.
Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Those were the next words to keep time with her hops. She felt every hard, sinewy muscle as he helped support her steps. He smelled good. Like talc and pine trees with a hint of cedar.
“Almost there,” he said.
Thank God.
They entered the barn, their path barely lit by the light that illuminated the parking area. Horses stirred. Heads popped up. One of them even nickered softly.
“I hope we don’t wake up Natalie and Colt.”
“We won’t,” he said, his arm snug around her. “I know for a fact my brother sleeps like the dead.”
Why couldn’t James have been more like Chance? Chance was the type of man who would do everything in his power to help the weak and infirm. And to protect those he loved. He had integrity, strength and kindness, and she doubted she’d ever meet another man like him.
And he would be gone in a short time.
She knew that. Accepted that. And yet...
Chance paused at the base of the stairway that led to the apartment.
“I can make it from here,” she said.
“Up those stairs?” She couldn’t see his face all that well, but she could hear the determination in his voice. “Not a chance.”
He urged her forward, and together they took the steps one at a time. Caro was relieved once she stood in front of her door. “Okay, thanks. I’m good.” She tried to disengage from his arms.
“No. I’m going to take a look at your ankle in the light, get you some ice. Wrap it for you.”
Of course he would. He was a man who would take care of a woman, see to her needs. Not abuse her and give her bruises.
When she opened the door, Inga barked. Loudly.
“It’s okay, Inga,” Carolina said, flipping on the light. Inga wagged her tail, a canine grin on her face. Caro wondered if the dog sensed the kindness of the man at her door.
“Kitchen,” Chance said. She hobbled over to the small table and chairs...and it was over. He no longer touched her. She no longer had to smell him and marvel at his strength and otherwise react like a sixteen-year-old girl.
“Ice first,” he said. “Set your foot on this chair.” He pulled one out for her, and she did as he suggested. “Let me see.”
His fingers brushed her ankle and she gasped, but not because of pain. A bolt of pleasure had zipped through her.
“Sorry,” he said.
She slumped in her chair. Her crush on him had gotten worse. She couldn’t look him in the eyes. With his dark brows and five o’clock shadow, he was too handsome for his own good.
“It doesn’t look too bad.” He gently turned her ankle. “Definitely swollen, though. You
did something to it. Best to stay off it for now.”
He carefully set down her foot and headed for the fridge. This was worse. With his back to her, all she could think about was how wide his shoulders were beneath his black shirt. And when he bent to retrieve the tray of ice from the freezer, she noticed how tight his jeans were. By the time he’d finished making her an ice pack, she was as red as the bottle of ketchup in the fridge.
“Here.”
“Thanks.”
Just leave. She couldn’t take humiliating herself anymore. He obviously knew how he affected her, and yet he simply stood over her, staring.
“You going to be okay by yourself?”
No. She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted him to be with her, but that was crazy and stupid and ridiculous. Not to mention, never going to happen. Men like him weren’t attracted to women like her. They dated smart, beautiful women who ran triathlons and held down six-figure jobs. She was a lowly rodeo trick rider with a messed-up personal life and no family to speak of. Definitely not his type.
“I’ll be fine.” She forced herself to look into his green eyes. “Thanks.”
He frowned, and she wondered if he knew how hard she fought not to grab his hand and pull him down toward her. She tried to hide her thoughts behind an impersonal smile.
“If you need anything,” he said, “let me know.”
“I will.”
He backed away, slowly at first, and then quickly, slipping through the door as if he could read every thought in her mind and as a result couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He left her with Inga and her thoughts and a nearly overwhelming ache of pent-up frustration that had her leaning forward and covering her face with her hands.
She moaned.
This sucked.
* * *
HE SENT NATALIE to check on her the next day. Why? Because he was a chicken. A big lily-livered, ridiculous chicken who didn’t want to face the soft plea in her eyes.
“She’s okay,” Natalie said, a big smile on her face as she waddled into the kitchen. “A little sore, she said, but she’s walking on it this morning. She told me to tell you she’ll be good for this weekend’s rodeo.”
The rodeo.
Never before had he dreaded something as much as he did his solo performance at the Jacksonville rodeo. Another long drive and a longer night spent keeping an eye on Caro.
“You okay?” Natalie asked, settling down behind the table, no mean feat given her size. Up until a few weeks ago, she’d hid her baby bump well. But she’d suddenly sprouted, the doctor grounding her from all riding activity, which was why she was in the house on a weekday morning, when normally she’d be outside getting the horses ready for a day’s worth of riding lessons. His brother and Laney had taken over that task. His sister-in-law was officially on maternity leave.
“I’m fine.” He scrubbed a face over his hand. “Long night.”
She cocked a bright blond brow, and it occurred to him that she kind of looked like Carolina with her light hair and blue eyes. Carolina was smaller, though, which was good, given her profession.
“Riding at midnight,” Natalie huffed. “What were you thinking?”
He was thinking about privacy. About making an ass of himself without anyone watching. About being able to steer clear of Caro, but that hadn’t worked out too well.
“It’s easier to practice when no one is around.”
“You mean when nobody can watch you fall off.”
He nodded.
She might have teased him further, but Claire sailed through the front door. She carried a wiggling mass of black fur in her arms. Adam, his sister’s son, was right behind her.
“You guys!” Adam yelled. “Youwon’tbelievewhat Ethanwantstodo.”
“Adam, slow down,” said Claire, smiling at them both. “They can’t understand you.”
Adam slid to a halt. And Chance nearly laughed as his nephew slowly straightened, took a deep breath, then said slowly, “You won’t believe what Ethan wants to do.”
“Better,” his sister said, her eyes twinkling.
“What does Ethan want to do?” Chance asked.
“Just a second. I need to set this four-legged maniac down on the ground.” The tiny Belgian Malinois made a beeline for Natalie.
“Bella!”
Natalie squatted and opened her arms. It wasn’t easy for her to bend, but somehow she managed to scoop up the puppy. The excited pup made little snuffling sounds, licking her face and hands and any other available body part.
“I swear that puppy came out of the womb loving you.” Claire pulled out a chair next to Chance. “What’s up, bro?” she asked, the smile on her face stirring emotions in Chance’s heart. He’d never seen her so happy. Not when she’d been married to Marcus, and not before, when she’d been younger. Of course, they’d all had a rough start, but Claire had pulled through. His sister was blissfully in love with Ethan, and it showed.
“Chance is tired,” Natalie answered for him. “He was up at midnight practicing the routine.”
“Midnight?” Claire said, incredulous.
“Carolina fell off. Hurt her ankle.”
“Caro was with you?” Claire asked.
Chance didn’t respond. He didn’t need to, because he said to Adam, “Go on. Tell me your news. I can tell you’re about to burst.”
“They were out there together,” Natalie said in a stage whisper.
“Ethan wants to start a wounded-warrior therapy program,” Adam said, glaring at his aunt, clearly wanting everyone’s undivided attention. The look was so much like his sister’s, right down to the black hair and green eyes, that Chance almost laughed.
Claire ignored her son. “Chance Reynolds. You could have killed that girl practicing in the dark.”
“She’s fine.” He brushed off her concerns with a wave of his hand. “What do you mean, a wounded-warrior therapy program?”
His sister sat up straighter, and it was clear she didn’t want to drop the subject of Carolina, but pride for her husband had won out. She ruffled Adam’s full head of hair. A year ago, during his cancer treatment, he’d been as bald as a baby chicken. These days, it was hard to imagine his six-year-old nephew in the battle of his life.
“Ethan wants to open an equine therapy program for veterans,” Claire said.
“That’s great.” Natalie beamed her approval.
“That is a great idea,” Chance said. He’d heard a lot of positive things about horses and their ability to help PTSD.
“And he said I could help,” his nephew all but sang, green eyes full of pride.
“Which is a good thing, since we all know how I feel about horses.” Claire’s eyes were full of amusement.
Yes, he did know. Their dad had ruined riding for Claire, but at least she’d been mounting up more and more lately thanks to Ethan, who loved riding as much as the rest of family.
“I’ll make some calls,” Chance said. “See if I can’t help him out with funding and whatnot.”
“That’d be wonderful,” Claire said with a wide smile. “If you’re not too busy with Carolina, that is.”
Claire and Natalie exchanged glances, and Chance found himself suddenly uncomfortable. So much so he stood to leave.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” His sister pulled him back down. “We all know you have a thing for her.”
He blushed. Actually blushed. “I don’t have a thing for Carolina.”
“Baloney,” Natalie said. She ruffled the fur on her puppy’s head, smiling at that animal for a second before pinning Chance with a gaze. “We can see it in your eyes.”
“You like Carolina?” said Adam, tipping his head sideways, clearly curious in a you-like-pumpkin-pie kind of way.
“Not like that,” Chance lied, and
then, as a way of changing the subject, asked, “How’s Lady?”
“She’s doing great,” Claire said. “Gonna wean the puppies next week, including that one.” She pointed to Bella. “Now tell us how long you’ve had a thing for Carolina.”
“So you do like Carolina?” his nephew asked, clearly confused.
He backed away. “I’m going to go see if Colt needs help saddling up the horses.”
“He likes her, all right,” Natalie said.
He ignored her, which clearly amused them all, especially when Adam asked, “Do you think he wants to kiss her?” The two of them laughed harder. Damn women.
But as he stepped out on the stoop, he knew he would miss them. He would miss all of this. Miss the mornings when the sun stained the grass the color of lemons. When that same sun lit the tree leaves a bright green. And when the earth smelled of sage, hay and horses. It would be hard to leave.
The realization struck him with the force of a runaway horse.
He’d never wanted to come back to this place. But his brother’s insistence had changed his mind. As he looked around him, he understood that his brother had created something from nothing. The only thing recognizable about Reynolds Ranch these days was the old house behind him and the big red hay barn. Everything else—the arena, the new barn, the pastures—it was all different. Better. New.
A home.
He gulped, his stomach churning. Thankfully, the sound of a car coming up the drive distracted him from his thoughts. One of Natalie’s clients, no doubt. First lesson of the day. She’d probably wander out soon. Her version of maternity leave was sitting in a lawn chair in the center of the arena schooling her clients. But the car didn’t park out in front of the barn. No. It headed straight for the house. Unmarked police car.
His stomach dropped.
He could make out the image of a man inside. He wore a cowboy hat, which made Chance wonder if he were wrong. When the car door popped open and he caught a glimpse of the broad-shouldered man, he knew he’d been right. The man could be a spokesperson for the police officers’ association.
“Is Carolina Cruthers here?” he asked. Late thirties. Brown hair and light-colored eyes. He wore a black polo shirt with a gold star on the front, jeans and cowboy boots.
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