by Anne Carrole
Admitting that you’d been beaten, and beaten by someone who was supposed to love you, wasn’t an easy thing for anyone, but it had been particularly difficult for the chip-on-the-shoulder teenager that he’d been. He’d never told anyone, because he didn’t want sympathy or pity. He’d finally told Libby because he wanted her understanding. And she had given that to him.
He still remembered her embracing him and holding him so tight he could barely breathe. He remembered her soft voice telling him that he was her hero for enduring it all and not coming out the wrong end. He remembered the whispered words of love that had soothed the pain-filled memories. And he remembered feeling again—good feelings—free from the emotional yoke that had pinned him down for so long.
Now that she was back it was like those things were yammering for release, telling him that he wanted to feel something good again. Like happiness. With her. His resistance was crumbling—and he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t risk the heartache. Not again. Not when he’d climbed out of that pit of despair twice now—once after his mother left. Once after Libby’s departure. He didn’t have it in him to do it a third time.
Chance had seen the doctor right after her father’s visit, and his prognosis for recovery was encouraging, even if it still wasn’t on a satisfactory timeline. From Chance’s standpoint, his ribs were better and his foot was good enough. So he’d decided to follow his own timeline so that rodeo could save him by taking him away from her. Because when she was near, he couldn’t resist her. Didn’t want to.
“Here you are.” Libby’s voice wafted through the air accompanied by the sound of the closing kitchen door.
“Here I am,” he said without turning around.
She came and stood behind him, wrapping her thin arms around his waist and squeezing tight enough he could feel the comforting pressure of her body against his. The rose-tinged scent of her perfume, flowery with a little spice, just like Libby, teased his senses. He would miss that scent. Hell, he’d miss her. More than even the first time because now he knew how good life could be with her. Soon he’d be off to rodeo, but the night was still theirs.
“Do you remember when we used to go skinny dipping in your pool?” he asked.
“I remember. I used to be so nervous my father would catch us.”
He turned, reached for her, and she nestled into his embrace. Her skin was cool. He rubbed her arms. “I never noticed you were nervous. I thought the possibility of getting caught added to the excitement.”
She looked up, her eyes dark and shadowed, but the smile on her face was wide and welcoming.
“Oh, it did. Didn’t mean I wasn’t nervous though.”
“Pool’s heated.” He cocked his head.
She bit on her lip as if considering. “I guess there’s no one to catch us here.”
“No reason to be nervous, maybe.” He cupped her chin with his hands. “But I intend to give you plenty of reasons to be excited.”
“And what about your foot, your ribs?”
He snorted. “Doctor said I was doing okay, and I’m feeling real good, all mended. Speaking of which, Lonnie’s coming down probably early tomorrow to crash for a day or two. He’s got a rodeo coming up this weekend, nearby in Utah.”
“You wouldn’t go though, would you? Not yet. The doctor said it would still be another two weeks or so.”
“I’m falling in the standings. I’ve got to get back in before the drop becomes irreversible.”
She took a long breath before she nodded in agreement, as if resigned to the fact there was nothing she could do about it. And there wasn’t.
“Now about that skinny dip,” he continued, eyeing the pool of water that glistened under the lights. It had been a while since he’d done something just for the hell of it.
She giggled, a sweet feminine sound. He realized he hadn’t heard her laugh or giggle since she’d arrived. They used to laugh all the time with eyes only for each other.
They shucked their clothes like the kids they once were, pulling and tossing until they both stood naked as the day they were born. Well, maybe not quite like the day they were born.
Light spilled over her bared body, highlighting the parts that hadn’t been kissed by the sun—her cream-colored breasts, the curve of her hips, the flat plane of her belly. Only to fade into a thin line of darkness at the apex of her legs. Desire pulled strong and deep.
He scooped her up in his arms. She giggled again, that sweet tinkling sound that jingled through his body. The air touched and teased his skin. It felt cooler without the barrier of clothes.
She cocked her head. “Be careful. You’ll hurt your ribs. And put too much pressure on your foot.”
“Hush now. Too much worrying, Libby. Tonight, let’s just have fun. Nothing else.”
When he bent and pressed a kiss to her warm lips, she relaxed against his chest, her hands wrapping around his neck. He leaned back and sent her a smile promising mischief, for he had no intention of keeping her in his arms. He stepped toward the edge of the pool, ignoring the sharp twinge in his foot.
“Chance—”
She didn’t get to finish. He threw her in. The water plumed, swallowing her. Her head bobbed up. With a jerk, she whipped the hair off her face.
“Come in here. I dare you. I’ll get you back, Chance Cochran.”
How many times had she goaded him like that when they used to do this? She knew he couldn’t refuse a dare. She knew he didn’t want to.
“Look out, honey. Here I come.”
The water felt warm and sensuous as it enveloped his body in welcoming waves. She’d already taken off toward the far end of the pool. He could hear the splash of her hands, see the kick of her feet as she fled from him.
He dove under the water. He could swim faster that way. The bulbs around the sides of the pool didn’t cast much light, but he could hear her. He surfaced just long enough to get her in his sight and then dove under again. This time he lunged far enough to land beside her. She shrieked.
Rising up, he grabbed for her ankle. She shrieked again before she went under. Her arms beat the water as he pulled her to him. She came up, yelling and laughing and never looking more beautiful. Rivulets of water trickled over and between the pearly skin of her breasts. Droplets clung to her lashes and her long, dampened hair. He wanted to kiss and lick every bit of water from her as he grabbed her waist and pulled her close, wet skin to wet skin. The smell of chlorine mingled with her rose scent, but it couldn’t hide it.
“You’re beautiful, Libby,” he said and meant it with every fiber of his being. He ran his hands down her slick flesh, enjoying the cool, smooth feel of her skin before he bent and tasted her. Her lips opened for him like a flower opens for the sun, and his tongue slipped inside, exploring. He sipped from her lips the sweet taste of wine they’d had at dinner, covering her mouth, deepening the kiss. With satisfaction, he felt the weight of her arms around his neck, the press of her hips against his arousal.
When she wrapped her legs around his hips, he hardened.
God, how he wanted her. Now.
He tugged to pull her onto him. Except at that moment she resisted, kicked her legs, and lunged away from him, laughing. She charged toward the far end of the pool.
Nothing to do but follow. He chuckled, amazed she thought she could outswim him. Not a chance.
Diving in, long deliberate strokes pulled him ever closer to her. She climbed the ladder before he reached her, but he arrived in time to nab her leg. She tried to shake him off, swinging her hair and shrieking between the laughter.
But he wasn’t the least bit worried. He simply wrapped his arm around her slim thighs and pulled her back. She toppled into the water, submerged for a moment before he tugged her up. With her back against his stomach, he nipped her damp neck. “Thought you’d get away, did you?”
“Yes,” she confessed, her smile as wide open as her eyes.
He palmed her bosom and sucked on her neck. She leaned to give him better
access, and he feasted there as he massaged her pillow-soft breasts. When she moaned, a blast of testosterone shot right to his groin.
“I want you. Now,” he growled.
“Not in the water.”
“Out then.”
She scrambled up the ladder. He was slower getting out, favoring his foot as he did so, but no less eager. He’d pay for all this activity tomorrow, but no matter.
She bounced on the cushioned lounge chair, hugging the plush towel that, a moment ago, had lain across it, a remnant from an earlier dip.
He jerked the towel from her grasp. “My job.”
He sat at the end of the lounge and rubbed the towel over her feet before bending and placing a single kiss on each perfectly manicured, pink-polished toe.
Then he patted the soft cloth along her calves amid her sighs as she stretched out. He found the thin line of hair that marked the spot. He took his time caressing that most private area, rubbing lush fabric against her sensitive parts.
She shifted, squirmed. “You’re torturing me,” she sighed.
“And you love it. You always did.”
She raised her arms up and tucked them under her head as if in surrender. He stretched to wipe the droplets from her abdomen, then covered her breasts with the terry cloth and suckled the hard nipples through the towel.
“I’m so ready, Chance.”
He chuckled at her eagerness. “On your belly, woman.”
“No. This time, Chance, I want you on your back.”
* * *
Chance’s arms and body along with the luxuriously plush towel he’d rubbed all over her formed a heated cocoon around Libby. Despite her damp skin and the coolness of the night air, she was warm.
She loved cuddling against him as he slept, his broad, bare chest rising and falling in measured breaths. This felt so right, where she should be, where she was meant to be. If only Chance felt the same way.
He’d have to forgive her for that to happen. And trust her again.
Despite great sex and even better everything else, he’d given no indication he wanted anything beyond the moment.
And then there was her father to consider. He’d called every day since he left to make sure she was okay. She’d noted the worry in his voice, but she wasn’t sure if it was about her or the business, or both.
She’d studied the folder of ad campaigns he’d left behind, which were boring at best, as well as the figures on the Casper dealership he’d included. She’d e-mailed her suggestions on the ad campaign, which included more emphasis on service and an idea for comparing cars to horses that she thought might appeal to the Wyoming buyer. As for the business, clearly there was too much invested in inventory, considering the sales rate. She’d called Doug in hopes they could move the cars around, but they were already doing that. She feared it meant closing one of the venues.
She’d enjoyed doing this behind-the-scene work for her father. But not enough to make a career of it. If only she could stay here with Chance, make a life with him on this ranch, and work at the stock show. If only she could break down the barriers he’d set up to keep her at bay.
She heard a sound. A rustle. A footfall. Her heart pounded.
“Chance,” she whispered as she pushed against his shoulder. “Wake up. Someone is out there.”
“What?” His head lifted off the pillow, and he was awake in a heartbeat, his body ready and poised for action. He guided her behind him, shielding her. “Who’s there?”
“Don’t shoot. It’s Lonnie.”
She could feel the tension in Chance’s body ease for a second before he tensed again as he realized the situation. They were both still naked.
“Go back around to the front, man.” But as the words left his lips, Lonnie appeared, walking toward them both, eyes squinted.
Instinctively, Libby pulled the towel over her body—and away from Chance’s. He met his friend bare-assed naked—in all his glory.
“Whoa,” Lonnie said, hands going up as if they could shield him from the sight. “Sorry.” He pivoted around, his back to them both. “I saw the light, thought you might be taking a late-night swim, Chance. Was thinking of joining you. Thinking better of it now.”
“Try going in the house instead,” Chance growled.
“Yup.” She could hear the grin in Lonnie’s voice. “I’ll do just that. Head right to my room too. See you both in the morning.”
Chuckling, he walked away, the shadows swallowing him up as he headed through the kitchen doorway.
“Our secret is out,” Chance said, looking back at her, his eyebrows waggling.
She smiled. “I wasn’t keeping it secret. Were you?”
“No reason to.”
Yes, she thought. There probably was no reason to keep it from anyone if it wasn’t serious.
Chapter 16
“Do you like being alone?” Libby asked as they lay in bed after another round of lovemaking. Chance just could not get enough of her, and that scared him along with the question she was asking.
Truth was, he didn’t like to be alone. It was why he traveled with Lonnie and gave the man a key to his house. Hell, he’d even contemplated getting a dog and taking it on the road with him, but he figured it wouldn’t be fair to the dog—but it would relieve the loneliness that swamped him at the oddest moments, the knowledge that no one in the world cared a fig about him.
Oh, there were rodeo fans who asked for an autograph and wanted to pose with you for a picture. But that connection was fleeting and based on your accomplishments, not who you were deep inside. No one knew who he was deep inside. Libby had come closer than anyone once and decided not to stay around. He’d changed some since then, but he was basically that same scared kid who wondered if he’d live another day and if anyone would care if he didn’t.
But he no longer carried anger inside him at the hand he’d been dealt—money had a way of easing that. He no longer cared what others thought of him. Again, money helped to cure that. But deep, deep inside he still wondered what was so lacking in him that no one could love him. Really love him. Not the infatuation that Libby professed then and now, an infatuation that seemed to have more to do with rebelling against her father than with him.
Did he like being alone? Hell no.
“It has its benefits.” Like no one asking that question.
“Guess you get to do whatever you want, whenever you want.” She shifted in the bed and laid her head on his shoulder, her silky hair sliding across his skin. “No one to answer to.”
“That’s one of them.”
“I hate being alone. I think it has to do with losing my mother. Having people around reassures me that I’m not going to lose anyone. Like when there’s a big snow forecasted, I’m on pins and needles until Doug and my dad are home, and then I could care less if it snowed and snowed, as long as they are there, safe with me.”
“Losing your mom was tough, I know.” Of course, he’d never had a mother to lose because he didn’t count the woman who birthed him and then stayed drunk most of her waking hours. A woman he had to take care of more than she ever took care of him.
“Do you wonder about your mother?” She nestled her body closer to his, but no amount of warmth would relieve the coldness he felt at that question.
“No.” Especially after she’d tried to contact him once he’d acquired some money on the rodeo circuit. Made him regret not changing his name.
“I didn’t realize that my mother and your mother went to school together.”
He had. Their mothers were the same age and grew up in their hometown. Of course it was likely they had known each other. But Libby wouldn’t have known how old his mother was because he had never told her. “How did you figure that out?”
“My daddy told me. He knows her. I think he may know where she is.”
Chance’s heart rate sped up. He sat up, shifting Libby away from his body. “Well, he can just keep that knowledge to himself. She tried to contact me once. No doubt needing
some money. I’m not interested in renewing acquaintance with a woman who walked out on her ten-year-old son and left him to a man who had no right to be called a father.”
“Chance, I—”
Chance could feel the old anger swelling in his belly. “I’m going to get some air.”
* * *
Libby set the plate of griddle cakes down in front of the two men—who were yammering away about rodeo stats, good rides, and whom they had to beat—and Billy, who had stopped in to chat with his favorite rodeo riders.
She’d never seen Chance so animated as when he was talking rodeo. This was what he loved. Not a person—a sport. Maybe because the sport had been truer to him than any person had.
Libby wasn’t all that hungry, so she leaned against the counter and watched them dig into the griddle cakes, all three barely missing a beat between mouthfuls.
She’d been wrong to bring up Chance’s mother last night. His whole mood had changed, and not for the better. Some things cut deep, and this, she figured, cut the deepest. She should have realized how acutely his mother’s abandonment still hurt, given how she had struggled, still struggled, with accepting the death of her mother. Even though her mother had died of cancer, Libby’s young mind had blamed her mother for leaving her. Shouldn’t her mother have seen the symptoms sooner? Couldn’t she have gone for some type of experimental treatment? Shouldn’t she have taken better care of herself? It wasn’t rational, and as Libby grew older, she’d understood her mother hadn’t had a choice.
What drove a mother to abandon her son, though? From all she knew, which wasn’t much, Chance’s father had been a brutal man prone to beating both mother and son. So much so that when his mother left, Chance had to go into foster care after a trip to the hospital. How could a mother have abandoned her son to face that? Maybe Chance was right. Maybe Deidre Cochran had only wanted money when she tried to reconnect with him. That must have just driven the knife into Chance all the deeper.