by Susan Fox
“By the way, Sally,” Brooke said, “I had a client at the salon today whose seven-year-old daughter is interested in taking riding lessons. I suggested she call you.”
“Thanks. That’s nice of you.” Brooke worked at a salon called Beauty is You, and was kind enough to not make snide comments about Sally’s do-it-herself haircut.
“Something I’ve learned about Caribou Crossing,” Brooke said, “is that if you’re a decent person and you try hard, folks are more than willing to help you out.”
“Very true,” Jess said. She turned to Ben. “I want to hear about the rodeo. That’s a career I thought about when I was a girl.”
“One of the many careers you thought about,” Evan teased. “If it involved horses, you considered it.”
She made a loose fist and popped her husband lightly on the arm. “Says the man who thought he wanted to be a hot-shot investment counselor in New York. Now here you are, back in Caribou Crossing, advising people on how to plan for their retirement.”
“What can I say?” he said easily, reaching for her hand and weaving his fingers through hers. “In the end, it was all about a woman.”
“It’s always about a woman,” Jake Brannon said with a wink at his wife.
“Or a man,” Cassidy put in with a wink of her own at Dave.
That was how it had been for Sally. She’d moved to Caribou Crossing because Pete had found the spread here. And, she now guessed, because he’d wanted to separate her from her family and her old life.
“Not that Caribou Crossing isn’t worth falling in love with all by itself,” Cassidy said. “It gets into your blood.”
“True,” Sally agreed. Even though her marriage hadn’t worked out, and she now regretted being estranged from her family, she did love the splendid countryside.
“It does seem like a terrific place,” Ben said.
But, Sally thought.
Sure enough, he went on. “But what’s in my blood is rodeo. It’ll be a few years before I’m ready to give it up and put down roots.”
Sally toyed with a tortilla chip. For some people it was a place, for others it was a person, and for some, like Ben, it was away of life. She’d enjoy this short time with him, then wish him well when he returned to the circuit. After he’d gone she’d check his standings now and then, and see if there were any new videos on the Internet. Maybe they’d e-mail occasionally.
She really would miss him. As a friend. Only a friend. A male friend who sent tingles of sensuality through her, awakening her female, sexual side. Not that she was convinced she wanted that side to stir to life. Sexuality, love, those things led to relationships. She’d been there, done that, had the scars to prove it. Being alone was safer.
Yet since Ben had re-entered her life, safety was seeming a little dull....
The waitress came to clear the table. “What else can I bring you?”
Ben said, “One more beer, but that’s my limit. Sally?”
To her surprise, her beer bottle was almost empty. “A glass of ginger ale, please.”
When the waitress had gone, other patrons of the bar drifted by the table, saying hi to the people there and getting introduced to Ben, and often to Sally as well. It was embarrassing that she’d lived here seven years yet knew so few people. Still, they did seem friendly, and three even said they’d be in touch regarding lessons or boarding.
After the third, Sally said to her friends, “I’ve run ads in the Caribou Crossing Gazette and online. People should already know about Ryland Riding.”
“People like to do business with someone they’ve met,” Jess said. “Hang out at the Wild Rose every now and then, and you’ll get more clients for sure. Get your hair done by Brooke at Beauty is You and chat with the other customers.”
“Come to Days of Your with me,” Cassidy chimed in.
Fortunately, someone else came by the table, which saved Sally from having to respond. She reached for her beer bottle and took one final sip. Become part of the community? Could she do that? She was so out of practice. Could she be friendly, yet still portray a professional image?
Even tonight, what were people thinking, seeing her here with Ben? He was her old friend, her volunteer assistant; the two of them knew that’s all there was to it. But were people speculating, gossiping? She had to be careful of her reputation, as Pete had always told her.
Her heartbeat speeded with anxiety. She’d been enjoying herself, but now she felt overwhelmed again.
Ben leaned close. “You’re overthinking again. Go to the thrift shop with Cassidy. Get yourself a couple of pretty shirts. What can it hurt?”
Watching the stress lines ease from around Sally’s eyes, Ben smiled. “There you go. Relax and take it one step at a time.”
Though hanging out with friends on Sunday night was a totally normal thing for Ben, he knew that for Sally it was a big step. A step away from her hermitlike existence. He hoped no one pushed her too hard, or she’d retreat back into her shell.
On the subject of pushing too hard, he wondered how she’d react if he suggested a dance. Several couples had been dancing the two-step and slow dancing to music playing on the jukebox. Right now, Kenny Chesney was singing the tug-the-heartstrings song, “Come Over.”
Making sure his gesture caught Sally’s eye, Ben started to undo the wrist cuff of his sling.
“No,” she cried. “Ben, you can’t take off the sling!”
He stopped. “I’ll leave it on if you dance with me.”
“I don’t want to dance.” Her eyes belied her words, flicking a yearning glance toward the dance floor.
“Then I guess I’ll have to take off the sling and find someone else to dance with.”
Her lips pressed together in a tight line. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding someone. And if you want to take off the sling and delay your return to the circuit, then far be it from me to stop you.”
A chuckle burst from his lips. “Not that you give a damn about any of that.”
“Of course I don’t.” She said it huffily, but a moment later her lips twitched with humor.
“Well, I do. I want to heal as fast as I can.” He paused. “And I don’t want to dance with anyone but you.” He stood and held out his right hand. When she didn’t take it, he said, “Aw, come on, Sally, this is embarrassing, being rejected in front of all these people.”
By now, most of the others at the table were listening. Cassidy chipped in with, “Poor Ben, that is pretty humiliating. Sally, why not take pity on the guy and give him one dance?”
The Kenny Chesney song ended and a catchy rhythm started up.
“Oh!” Sally’s eyes lit. “Keith Urban. ‘Somebody Like You.’ I love this song.”
“Me, too,” Jess said, leaping to her feet. “C’mon, Ev, let’s dance.”
“Keith Urban,” Cassidy said, “is seriously hot. You ever seen that guy play the guitar? Dave, dance with me.”
Jake stood up and said to Brooke, “Let’s go, babe.”
Ben said, “Sally?”
Finally, she reached out and put her hand in his, and let him tug her to her feet. This felt so good, having her small, strong hand with its calluses and work-roughened skin grasped firmly in his. It felt good that she’d voluntarily taken his hand and that she’d opted into the physical closeness of a dance—even if there would be an awkward sling between their bodies.
On the dance floor, he released her hand and gently put his right arm around her upper back, just under her arm.
She was stiff, yet her left hand crept up to rest light as cottonwood fluff on his shoulder. “How do we do this?” She gestured with her right hand.
Because of the sling, he couldn’t hold her hand, so he suggested, “You could hook your fingers in my belt loop.” He’d rather she reached around and slipped her hand into the back pocket of his jeans, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Gingerly, she curled her fingers into the belt loop, not letting her hand rest on his waist.
Music like this, your feet just had to move, so he set their bodies in motion. After a first couple of stumbling steps, old habits and her natural athleticism took over and Sally was right there with him. The quick steps didn’t bother his shoulder much, though he’d best not try line dancing.
His left arm, sandwiched between them, prevented their chests or hips from touching. It was one hell of an unsatisfying way to dance, but she’d probably be more at ease than if their bodies brushed and pressed the way he’d have liked. Ben also figured that the catchy beat was more comfortable for her than a clutch-and-shuffle tune.
Not that this one wasn’t romantic, with those lyrics about the guy wanting to love someone like his special woman. Romantic didn’t have to mean candlelight and champagne, especially for country folk. Sunshine and that new wind blowing, like Keith Urban sang, worked fine if a man was with the right woman. And so did the sparkling green lights in Sally’s eyes, the flush on her cheeks, and the flash of her smile.
The song ended all too soon, but another tune promptly followed. Kenny Rogers with “The Gambler.” Ben didn’t stop, didn’t ask, just kept dancing and Sally stayed with him. Under his hand, her back was supple, her muscles flexing as she moved fluidly. He wished he could yank off the damn sling and pull her snug up against him so their hips brushed with each step.
Her curls weren’t tangled tonight as they so often were, and they gleamed golden under the light. He caught an occasional whiff of a fresh, outdoorsy scent. Not flowery and sweet, more like sunshine on August hay. The perfect scent for Sally.
When Kenny Rogers hit the famous chorus, voices rang out as most of the people in the bar sang along. Ben joined in, and a moment later so did Sally.
When the song ended, she laughed and shook her head, sending her curls tossing gently. “I’d forgotten how much fun this was.”
The sight of her so happy, the feel of her slender body under his hand . . . Something panged in his chest. With the words of the song echoing in his head, about knowing what to throw away and knowing what to keep, a bizarre instinct told him that this was a decision point in his life. He cared about Sally’s happiness. He cared about Sally Ryland.
Maybe he cared a lot about her, and could care more. But she was a woman with issues and boundaries. She was also a woman with a settled life and a business she’d worked hard to establish. He might fit in here for a little while, but soon their lives would go their separate ways.
The next song started. Lady Antebellum’s “Just a Kiss,” a slower number.
Someone slammed into his bad shoulder. “Shit!” He bit out the curse.
Sally’s eyes widened in dismay. “Ben, are you—”
A harsh voice cut across her words, a man saying, “Katy, cut it out. You’ve had too much to drink and—”
Sally jerked away from Ben and he swung around to see one of the miniskirted girls, fists planted on her hips, confronting a tall, broad-shouldered guy. Shrilly, she cried, “I haven’t! I’m having fun!”
The man grabbed her by the shoulders. “You’re making a fool of yourself. And a fool of me. We’re going.”
“I don’t want to!” Flushed-cheeked, she tried to pull away but he didn’t let go.
“Hey, folks,” Ben said in a low, even tone. “Maybe you both need to cool down a little. Why don’t you—”
“You stay out of it, asshole.” The guy let go of the girl and squared off against Ben.
The other dancers had stopped moving and were watching, and the bar had gone silent.
Suddenly, Dave was at Ben’s side. “Toby, Katy,” he said calmly, “you’re disturbing my patrons. Like the man said, you need to cool down. Katy, you go wash your face and I’ll get you a big mug of coffee. Toby, take a walk around the block, then take another. When you can be civil to Katy, you can come back.”
The guy glared at Dave for a long moment, and Ben was aware of a collective breath-holding. Then Toby cursed under his breath and stalked out. A brown-haired woman in jeans came to put an arm around Katy and steer her away.
Dave called out, “Okay, folks. Is everyone ready for some line dancing? What d’you say we get Jimmy B and Bets up to call it out?”
A collective cheer was his answer.
Ben said, “I’m afraid that lets me out.” Especially after that blow to his shoulder, which had left him aching. “But Sally, you go ahead if you want to.”
She shook her head. “I want to go home.”
“Aw, it’s early. Don’t let those two spoil the fun. Let’s watch the dancing and—”
“I really want to go home. Please, Ben.” Her voice was strained, pleading.
He took a closer look, seeing that her rosy cheeks had gone white, her shoulders were hunched, and she’d wrapped her arms across her chest.
A light clicked on for him. He had seen a squabble between a boyfriend and girlfriend who’d had too much to drink. Something that could have escalated if no one had intervened. But he’d bet his Canadian Finals Rodeo buckles that for Sally there was a more personal resonance.
“Sure. I’ll take you home now.” He desperately wanted to put his arm around her, to tuck her into the sheltering curve of his body.
But he suspected that would be exactly the wrong thing to do right now.
Chapter Thirteen
Monday morning, Sally gave up on the hope of getting any more sleep, and rose earlier than usual. She turned on the coffeemaker and waited impatiently, needing that hit of caffeine after a night spent rehashing her evening at the Wild Rose.
She’d been doing okay, hanging out in the pub. At times she’d felt overwhelmed, but she’d followed Ben’s advice and tried to think in terms of one step at a time, and then she’d relaxed again and had a good time. Especially when she’d danced with Ben. Even though the sling had been in the way, she’d been physically closer to him than she’d been to a man since Pete died.
She’d felt the flex of his powerful shoulder muscles beneath his shirt and the warm firmness of his arm around her. She hadn’t felt confined, threatened, or intimidated. His touch, while confident, had been gentle. He had guided her in directions her body naturally wanted to move, so it felt like the two of them were in sync. She’d had to exercise self-control to keep her fingers curled into his belt loop and not release them to rest on his hip or lower back.
She’d been thinking that it wasn’t such a bad thing to feel like a woman and to be attracted to a man. That maybe it was time to stop playing it so safe, to stop letting Pete have so much influence over her.
Her mellow mood had been shattered when that Toby jerk accused his girlfriend of making a fool out of both of them, and grabbed her. Sally had flashed back to being with Pete. She’d frozen, unable to breathe, afraid she was going to faint.
Later, as she’d lain in bed listening to the gentle patter of rain and smelling the scent of cool drops hitting dusty earth, she’d thought that maybe the flashback had been inevitable. But she was mad that she’d let it get to her the way it had. She had been taking steps toward the normal life and the new Sally she’d decided to pursue when she put on her lucky pendant. And then she’d let Pete chase her back to her safe cocoon.
Sally poured steaming coffee and sipped gingerly, then went through the mudroom to stand at the railing on the back deck, her mug beside her. The first rays of sunlight glinted off drops of water left by last night’s shower, and the world smelled fresh.
A fresh day, a fresh chance to be the woman she wanted to be. For some reason, she thought of her student, Amanda, with the prosthetic leg. Ben had commented that she was a gutsy girl, and it was true. Amanda wouldn’t let pain or fear hold her back from living a full life.
Sally only hoped she had the same courage. And she wished she had a better picture of what a full life would look like, for her.
She’d learned one thing from last night: she wanted a life that included friends and an occasional trip into town. But what about men? A special man? Her marriage had been messed up
, but how much of that had been Pete and how much had been her? Even if he was an abuser, she’d let him do it. How could she prevent the same thing from happening again? It wasn’t like he’d hit her when they were dating. He’d courted her, flattered her, been romantic. Seemed like a nice guy, and she’d taken his tendency toward possessiveness as a compliment. She’d been attracted to him and he’d swept her off her feet.
She was attracted to Ben, and he seemed like a nice guy. Pete had, as it turned out, wanted to transform the confident rodeo star into an obedient wife—and she’d let him. Ben wanted to transform the introverted businesswoman back into the old Sally Pantages. Or did he? She sensed that with Ben, it wasn’t about him; he wanted her to have a richer, more confident life. But since when could she trust her own judgment when it came to men?
Coffee finished, she took the mug into the kitchen. Why was she even thinking this way? The most she could ever have with Ben would be a very short-term fling, and she wasn’t that kind of woman. Was she? She certainly didn’t want the townspeople of Caribou Crossing thinking that she was.
How had life gotten to be so confusing?
Her hens wouldn’t have answers, but at least they’d offer comfort. She went to the coop and exchanged morning greetings with her flock. After going through the regular routine and collecting five eggs, she sank down on the step of the shed. Cordelia, a Buff Orpington, clambered onto her lap and settled as Sally stroked her lovely apricot-colored feathers. A couple of the others pecked busily around Sally’s booted feet.
“I may not know what I want to do about Ben,” Sally told them, “but there’s one thing I do know.” She slid her phone from her shirt pocket, took a deep breath, and placed the call.
It was only an hour later in Alberta. She hoped her sister was still an early riser.
After two rings, a female voice said, “Hello.” A cheery voice, familiar but older.
“Penny? This is Sally.”
“Sally . . .” There was a pause, as if she was trying to place the name. Then an ear-splitting squeal. “Sally? Sally! Oh my God, it’s you!”