Last Second Chance

by Caisey Quinn

  His brows lifted as did one corner of his mouth. “Which word offended you, darlin’? Orgasm?”

  She couldn’t help but smile in spite of herself. “Not that I don’t appreciate the witty banter and all, but what exactly did you come down here for, Mr. Ransom?”

  For a split second, his overconfident expression faltered. He cleared his throat and reached into the back of his jeans. Producing a white folder she’d dropped on her rush to escape the situation in his room, he grinned.

  “You dropped this.”

  Oh. Right. Taking it from him, she glanced at the label. Her name in bold then below it, smaller, her title. Because she worked here.

  Van Ransom was messing with her head, toying with her for whatever reason. Probably because he was bored without all of his groupies around. Talking about riding crops, making her imagine the umpteen levels of inappropriate she’d like to get with him. But the folder snapped her back to reality.

  “Thank you for bringing this, Mr. Ransom. Have a good evening.” She forced a tight smile and faked him out, dodging left and then stepping right around him. Walking as fast as possible back to her bungalow, she tried to shake the look he’d given her. Hurt. Confused.

  Too bad. He’d have to find someone else to toy with. She couldn’t play this game with him or anyone at SCR. Ever.

  She’d just shut down on him and walked away. Pretty damn quickly, too. He’d watched every step. Something about the way she walked had caught his eye. Either he was finally stroking out from all the drugs, or she had a slight limp.

  Why in God’s name would a twenty-two-year-old, obviously healthy woman have a limp? If that asshole doctor had hurt her in some way, he didn’t even want to think about what he’d do.

  While he walked back toward the facility where he currently resided, an idea struck him. One that would put him in close proximity with Stella Jo Chandler on a regular basis.

  Once he made it to his room, he smiled to himself. He’d affected her. Somehow all the tattoos and piercings hadn’t mattered to her. Or if they did, she liked them. Because the cold stare she’d been aiming at Dr. Dickhead at lunch said that she wasn’t interested. Loud and clear. So loud, that Van had heard it from across the room. But the look she’d given him in the barn when he’d lost control of his mouth and told her what he wanted to do to her? That look had said that she was definitely interested.

  So she could shut down and stomp off or whatever she wanted. But he had ninety days—well, close to it—to make her admit it to herself. To him. Suddenly the mandatory stay that had seemed like a lifetime felt entirely too short.

  For the first time in years, he drifted into sleep peacefully. No unwelcome memories. No booze. No pills. Just the image of her in that sexy cowgirl outfit, begging him to be a better man so he’d be worthy of her.

  “I overheard some staff members talking about how they need help with the animals. I’d like to volunteer. It’d give me something to keep my mind off…things. Too much time doing nothing drives me nuts,” Van informed his therapist.

  Dr. Miranda McLendon furrowed her brow and stared at him as if she could tell that his motives for volunteering were a little less than honorable. Surely she couldn’t know about his infatuation with a certain sexy employee. This was his third counseling session with the good doctor, and it hadn’t gone much better than the first two. Yet, he no longer felt the need to carve a countdown into his arm with a rusty knife. But that had less to do with the actual treatment and more to do with the woman he’d dreamt of the previous night.

  “I can check with Dr. Ramirez and see if we can make that happen. Meanwhile, we’ll sign you up for the riding lessons and animal care classes so that you can get familiar with the horses.”

  Van swallowed hard. “Uh, no thanks. I’ll pass on the riding lessons.”

  Dr. McLendon tilted her head to the side. “But you just said—”

  “Look, I want to help out in the stables. Clean up. Fill feed bins. Stack straw bales. I’ll shovel shit or whatever. But getting up on one of those enormous creatures from Hell? I’ll take a pass on that if it’s all the same to you, Doc.”

  “I see,” was all she said in response. But the look in her eye was a knowing one, as if he’d shown his cards without realizing it.

  He hated how doctors did that. Said two words that meant nothing but made you feel like they knew everything. No one really knew shit about him. And he intended to keep it that way.

  Well, for the most part. There was a certain brunette employee he wanted to show a few things about himself. Mainly how hard he could make a woman come if he put his full effort into it. Which he would. Because if he ever got a shot with the mysterious goddess that was Stella Jo Chandler, he’d give her everything he had and then some.

  “Have you invited anyone to next week’s family session?” The doctor adjusted her glasses. He wondered if she was piercing his brain with her x-ray doctor vision.

  “No, I haven’t.” He could’ve added that he hadn’t because there really wasn’t much family left to invite. His sister had been dead for going on ten years, his mom had crawled off into some gutter and hopefully died, and his dad had never been in the picture. He was pretty sure his mom had never even known who he was. But this woman was a professional. If she wanted to know all this shit, then she’d have to use her skills to pull it out of him. No sense in volunteering all the dark shit the voices in his head constantly told him.

  “Do you intend to? Is there someone we could contact for you?” She perched on the edge of her seat. Her legs were long and smooth, and he was a man. He noticed. If he’d met her somewhere else—a coffee shop, a bar, wherever—he probably would’ve been a bit more charming. Worked his broody musician angle to get her likely pink—the same shade of her lipstick—panties off. But here, in this place, even his dick was downtrodden.

  “No. And no, thank you.”

  She raised her brows and sighed. “Mr. Ransom, it’s my understanding that your career is dependent upon the effectiveness of this treatment program. But I want to be perfectly honest with you.” She paused to slide her thin silver-framed glasses off and rub beneath her eyes. “It’s only as effective as you’ll allow it to be. So if you just shut off or shut down every time I ask about your family, your past, and so on, I don’t think we’ll be making much progress at all.”

  Van nodded. “I get that. It’s just… It’s complicated.” He rubbed a hand roughly across the back of his neck. “There’s no right place where I can start. No beginning and no clear-cut ending. There’s no ah-ha moment, Doc. No point where I can just shine the spotlight and say, ‘Here it is, the place where everything went to shit.’” He shrugged. “Sorry.”

  Her forehead wrinkled and her lips pressed into a thin line. “There usually isn’t, in my experience.”

  “Your professional experience or your personal experience?”

  One corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “Both.”

  “Well, then. You see my dilemma.”

  “You want to know what I actually see?”

  Well this was new. In all of his previous encounters with head shrinkers, he’d never had one volunteer to share their actual opinion of him. Usually he just assumed they thought he was a lost cause while they answered questions with questions.

  “Sure. What do you see, Doc?”

  She pulled in a deep breath and looked at him. Really looked at him. Long and hard. If he were younger and gave a shit, her penetrating stare would’ve made him squirm. But he’d looked the devil and all his demons straight in the face on multiple occasions. A pretty Ph.D. wasn’t about to rattle him.

  “I see a man.”

  He let out a sarcastic snort. But she continued.

  “One who carries things with him that weigh him down. That taunt and torture him. I see walls, thick steel ones, meant to keep everyone from seeing the vulnerable part of him. From slipping into that tiny crevice where someone might actually get in. For fear they might start to mean som
ething to him. And then he’d really be in trouble. Because the man I see has lost everything, is in danger of losing the small semblance of a life he has left, and will do whatever it takes—drinking, drugs, sex, whatever—to keep from feeling the fear and the pain and the loss that he carries.”

  Van cleared his throat. “Not bad. You forgot to mention that you have no fucking clue what I’ve lost or stand to lose. And that I should keep a journal to get in touch with my feelings.”

  “I take it you’ve heard something similar before?”

  “I have.” Maybe not in such exquisite detail, but close.

  She set her notebook and pen on a small table beside her chair and sighed. “Let me be clear, Mr. Ransom. This isn’t every other facility you’ve been in. It’s not the traditional twelve-step structure you might have encountered in the past. And if other doctors have failed you, well that’s unfortunate. But we can’t get to know each other until you let go of that, rid yourself of that chip on your shoulder, and be straight with me.”

  “So no journaling then?”

  She smirked. He kind of liked her. For a doctor, anyways. She was honest, straightforward, and she didn’t give him the impression she’d be writing out her grocery list when and if he actually decided to tell her what had led him here.

  “Sorry. It’s really not that type of place. Second Chance Ranch is more about facing the reality of what tempts you, triggers your addictions, and finding ways to build up a resistance to them.”

  “I see.” He did his best to mimic her knowing confidence. “And you think you can do all that in ninety days or less?”

  “No,” she said, surprising him. “In ninety days or less I think you can do that.”

  Mucking horse stalls was done by some of the teenage volunteers, thank goodness. Though they didn’t always clean up as well as they could have. Stella Jo peeked into the stables and saw that it could still use some straightening. But she’d have to change clothes first.

  After a long day of learning the layout at SCR, where the copy room, breakroom, and bathrooms were, she was exhausted. But she looked forward to the end of her shift for more reasons than just because she was dead on her feet. No matter how her feet ached from traipsing around the facility in four-inch heels, she looked forward to checking in on the horses every evening.

  Dr. Ramirez’s son, Jesse, was around her age, and had just finished veterinary school at the University of Texas. He handled a great deal of the animal care. Stella waved goodbye to him as she walked the path to her bungalow. He grinned and waved back.

  “They’re good for tonight, Ms. Chandler. See you next week.”

  “Thanks, Jesse,” she called out as she unlocked her door. Even if the horses had been fed and exercised, she knew she’d still head over to them after she’d changed. Something about them calmed her. Allowed her to decompress from her stressful first days at her new job.

  There was one she felt the need to see each night especially. He was black, solid black, with eyes like a midnight sky. Shadowdancer, the board next to his stall proclaimed. He was beautiful, a retired racer—like her.

  The other three were sweet, chuffing at her when she entered each evening and allowing her to pat their noses. But Shadowdancer despised everyone. He wouldn’t even let Jesse get close enough to do anything besides refill his trough. It was him who’d drawn Stella Jo in like a moth to a flame. She felt the pull to him like she felt a pull to a certain client she’d been trying her damnedest not to let run across her mind.

  Shadowdancer had darkness in him, much like Van Ransom. Secrets. A past. Something that haunted him.

  She always approached him slowly, one small step at a time, not making eye contact until she was close. As if she didn’t notice him and then was pleasantly surprised to see the thousand-pound animal in her midst.

  He was so beautiful, so majestic, that he almost seemed unreal. As if he were some ethereal equine figment of her imagination. Sometimes she feared he’d up and disappear, fly off into the night and return to whatever magical world he’d come from. But after she’d exchanged her shift dress for cutoff shorts and a T-shirt, slipped off her Manolos and slid on her riding boots, she made her way to the barn, where Shadowdancer still stood. As usual, he backed into his stall when she entered, hiding from her.

  Stella took her time petting and loving on the other three, waiting for him to peek his head out to see what the fuss was about.

  When his black snout appeared at the edge of his stall, she took her first step. Softly, so as not to startle him with creaking wooden floorboards. Another step and she could feel his steady breathing as if it were her own. Two more gentle steps and she was beside his stall. A loud huff told her that he knew she was there. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but it sounded like acceptance, so she turned to face him.

  Making eye contact had to happen at just the right moment. If she tried too soon, he’d retreat and that would be it for the night. If she waited too long, he’d get impatient, and ignore her completely.

  Her heart pounded in her ears as she turned slowly, praying silently that she’d got it right, read him correctly. Glancing over to him, she saw him eyeing her from under thick dark lashes. He exhaled slowly, seemingly thankful that she hadn’t screwed it up this time.

  “Hey there, sweet boy,” she said softly. “Want a snack?”

  She opened her palm to reveal the apple slices she’d brought. Not breaking eye contact, Shadowdancer angled his head toward her hand and gingerly took the slices. Her heart ached to reach out to him, to tell him that despite whatever, or whomever, had hurt him in his past—he could trust her. But there was no need to rush into things. He clearly needed her to respect his need for space. So she would.

  “You know, I had a horse like you once,” she practically whispered as he chewed loudly. “Angel’s Breath.”

  The memories of her childhood, of spending every waking second possible in the barn on her parents’ ranch with her horse, came flooding back.

  The house she’d grown up in was always cold. Sterile. Her mother was harsh, demanding, and had never been particularly loving or affectionate that Stella Jo could remember. It wasn’t like she’d been abusive or anything. Just driven about Stella Jo’s riding and winning and priming her to take over her family’s ranch one day. Set in old-fashioned ways that often felt like being dressed up like a doll and played with only to be cast aside.

  The ranch where her parents lived had been in her mother’s family since the early 1900s and Candace was the first female to take ownership. But since they’d never had a son, she wouldn’t be the last. Her father was avoidant. A man of few words, Hugh Chandler hardly looked at her. A few nods and grunts at the dinner table and messages passed on from her mother were about all he’d ever offered.

  The barn had been the complete opposite. It was warm, welcoming, and full of life. Angel’s Breath was her best friend. The one she’d turned to when her parents had nothing to give. No interest in listening to her stories about her day or her dreams. She’d always felt more communicative with horses than with people. People saw with their eyes. Horses saw with their souls.

  I am seriously fucked up. The thought flickered across her mind and she shook her head.

  A loud breath caused her to jump as Shadowdancer retreated.

  “Aw. I’m sorry, buddy. I got lost in my own head for a minute.”

  A high-pitched whining sound erupted from him as he reared back. Stella Jo took a step back as well, unsure as to what had upset him. Surely he wasn’t this spooked because she’d shaken her head.

  “I think it’s me he’s pissed at,” a deep male voice informed her.

  This time, she was the one who nearly reared back as she whirled around. “What are you doing down here?”

  “Taking a walk. It’s allowed. Just have to sign out first.”

  Van Ransom stood there watching her unapologetically. She was strangely irritated with his unexpected presence. He’d pretty much undone the last t
wenty minutes of carefully calculated interaction with Shadowdancer, and he’d nearly caused her to pee herself.

  “Okay. Well I’m pretty sure there are eighty acres or so of land that belong to this place. Feel free to keep on walking.”

  “Ouch. If I had feelings, you would’ve hurt them.” He placed a hand over his heart. Her eyes landed on a small black cross inked just under his thumb. That was odd. He didn’t seem like the religious cross-bearing type. She mentally scolded herself for making the kind of snap judgment her mother would have.

  “You don’t have feelings?” Keeping her tone light, she made her way over to the storage stall and began tidying it up in order to relocate her attention elsewhere.

  “Nah. Waste of time and energy if you ask me.”

  Had she asked him? She wasn’t sure. Being around him sent her thoughts scattering. After stacking the last of the folded riding blankets atop a stack in the corner, she stepped out of the stall.

  “If you say so.”

  “What about you, beautiful? You have feelings? For something other than horses, I mean.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “My feelings are none of your business, Mr. Ransom.”

  He took a step closer and her eyes drank in his broad masculine build. A dark hooded sweatshirt hid his muscles from her, but his jeans were tight enough that she could see powerful thighs straining against the denim. For a brief moment, she wondered what they would feel like against her thighs.

  “Bet I could make you feel some things, cowgirl,” he said as if he could read her mind.

  She stifled a shiver, but he hadn’t missed it.

  “Cold? Here,” he said before she could answer, making quick work of unzipping his sweatshirt and holding it out for her to step into.

  She eyed him for several seconds, knowing it would get awkward if she didn’t give in and accept his attempt at chivalry.

  “Thanks. Um, it was warmer when I first came out.” She slid her arms through his too long sleeves.