The Rancher's Second Chance

by Victoria James

  “I hung up my clothes by the fire. You should probably do the same,” he said, cocking his head toward the hearth. Melanie tried to swallow the piece of jerky lodged in her throat; she should have never looked at the navy boxers and jeans and shirt. She wasn’t going to hang her clothes there. What, her pink-lace bra and underwear dangling from the mantel? They’d sit and stare at her lingerie while eating jerky all night?

  “You can use those cans of fruit to hang them from.”

  “I’m sure they’ll dry if I just place them over here,” she said walking over to the fire and placing them in a heap on the floor in front of the fire.

  “Nah, they’ll never dry like that. Trust me. Want me to do it?”

  “What? No, no, I’ll do it,” she mumbled, snatching up the clothes. Her gaze darted back and forth between half-naked Cole and her clothes. “I guess we should have taken Mrs. Harris’s picnic lunch,” she said while unfolding her clothes.

  “Yeah, I’ll never hear the end of that one.”

  “Anymore jerky?” Maybe that would distract him and make him stop watching her. His face lit up. He seemed very happy about her appreciation for the jerky.

  “You bet.” He grabbed a handful of wrapped jerky, the whiskey, and the one glass and sat down on the couch. Then he stretched out his long legs on the coffee table and watched her like a television.

  She frowned when there wasn’t even a hint of fat from his stomach when he was seated. Not even a roll. She needed something that would make him less appealing. Maybe he’d belch. She turned around.

  “You should have some more whiskey,” she said over her shoulder as she unfolded her jeans.

  “Are you sewing a whole new set of clothes over there?”

  Melanie jumped. Hang up the clothes, you ninny. She placed one of the heavy cans on top of her jeans to hold it in place and then moved onto her shirt. She tilted her head, looking at the display. Then she moved the cans together, giving the appearance of a cinched waist on the jeans. Perfect. That was easy enough. Just the bra and underwear. Cole’s loud sigh reeked of impatience. She glanced over at the fireplace accessories stand. Maybe she could just loop the strap on one of those? It would be obscure. She looped one bra strap over the top of the poker, and the underwear through the top of the tongs, and then she turned the stand so that her lingerie pieces were at the back. Perfect.

  “Why are you rearranging furniture?”

  She ignored him. She was actually quite pleased with herself when she sat down on the other end of the couch.

  “You want the bottle or the glass?” he asked, turning to look at her.

  She swallowed hard. “The bottle. Definitely the bottle.”

  “Impressive.” He smiled, an adorable smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and a dimple appear on one cheek. It made her toes curl and sent ribbons of pleasure through her body. He leaned back into the cushions, his smile falling slightly. She looked at him, from the handsome face to the bare, perfectly sculpted torso to the narrow waist and long, lean legs. She wasn’t going to lick her lips, like the man was a part of an all-you-can-eat dinner buffet, but then he leaned forward to pick up his glass from the coffee table and a ripple effect of muscles over his abs sent a ripple-effect through her body. Why, oh why, did Cori have a brother like this?

  Her insides liquefied, and she grabbed the bottle, downing a large swig. She didn’t even cough as the liquid burned a path down her throat.

  “I hope I’m not going to have to pick you up off the floor,” he said, again that smile still on his face. She’d never seen him smile so much. He must have downed a hell of a lot of whiskey while she was in the washroom.

  “Relax, cowboy, I can handle myself.” Then she cursed herself. She was flirting. Relax, cowboy? It was like she was repeating lines from a movie. And then he actually chuckled. More like a smooth, rolling laugh that reverberated through every inch of her body. She tucked her uninjured leg under her and smoothed the long shirt over herself carefully.

  “Oh my God,” he yelled, leaning over her.

  She backed up into the cushions. “What?”

  He was looking at her foot. “Your ankle is huge.”

  She wanted to die. “No, it’s not. I don’t have huge ankles.”

  “It’s the size of a freaking cow hoof. Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was raspy and tender at the same time. Before she could process the cow-hoof remark, he wrapped his strong hand around her injured ankle.

  She flinched and gasped out loud.

  His head snapped up. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were this hurt?”

  She was trying to concentrate, but Cole, up close like this, with his hand on her bare skin was highly distracting. She almost forgot the hoof reference. “I didn’t want to complain.”

  “This ankle warrants complaining. You need ice,” he said, gently lowering her leg to the cushion. He stood, walked over to the freezer, and pulled out an ice tray. He grabbed a dish towel from the drawer and dropped a handful of ice into it and sat back down beside her. He held her ankle and gently raised it so that it rested on his thigh. Cole slowly positioned the cold pack on her ankle and then looked up at her. “Better?”

  She nodded, forcing the emotion to remain deep inside. She had never witnessed or experienced a man that was so obviously powerful, be so gentle. And so sweet.

  “I wish I had some painkillers or something. You really should have told me, you know.”

  “I didn’t want to be that woman…”

  “What woman?”

  She waved her hand around, trying to concentrate while he adjusted the ice pack on her ankle. And tried not to think about how hard and warm his thigh felt beneath her leg. “You know, the one in the movie that gets hurt during a big action scene.”

  The corner of his lip turned upward. “Well, I wouldn’t have held it against you. I would have helped you. You actually made me feel like an ass, thinking you were walking around like this.” Melanie didn’t say anything for a moment, caught somewhere between the reality of Cole and the memory of her father.

  “It’s okay. I’m fine, really. It doesn’t feel horrible now that I’m sitting. Besides, we have jerky and whiskey, right?”

  He grinned, holding out a piece of jerky. “Absolutely. Hope this snow blows through during the night and we can get out of here tomorrow morning.”

  She accepted it, biting off a piece, listening as the wind rattled against the windows. The cabin was getting much toastier, thanks to the whiskey, the fire, and the cowboy on the couch beside her. “You think it’ll be over by then?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I need to get back to town. I have an important client coming in tomorrow at noon.” She needed every single high-end client that came her way, especially during the winter months. “And I’ve probably just lost two potential clients because I wasn’t able to call them to reschedule today’s appointments.”

  “Ouch. Well, chances are because of the blizzard they wouldn’t have come to the studio anyway. I’m sure if you explain to them you were caught in the storm without cell-phone service, they’d understand.”

  Melanie nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m sure. Who would be going out in this weather anyway?”

  Melanie tilted her head. Bridezillas, that’s who.

  “How is business?”

  She shrugged. “Not bad, but new business takes a while to really turn a profit. I mean, even though I’m bringing in money, I’m servicing debt, and I’m running out of time to pay it all off.”

  “Daddy doesn’t help with that?”

  There it was. That chip on his shoulder. The assumption that she was a certain type of person because of her family. She had let him think what he wanted, because if she had to clarify, it would mean letting him in on her past, something she never wanted to do. She didn’t want sympathy or pity, and she certainly didn’t want judgment, because maybe he’d think what she did was wrong. That would be unbearable,
because there were many nights she’d lie awake at night thinking she’d made the biggest mistake. Maybe she’d been the wimp, not her mother and her sister. Maybe they were stronger for staying. She’d spent so many times alone, while Meredith and her mother were together.

  “No, Daddy doesn’t help. This is my business. Built by myself, for myself. I wanted to know I could stand on my own two feet,” she said with a fervor she couldn’t hide as she stared into the flames. The fire crackled, sparked as a log fell forward, the only sound in the cabin. She knew Cole’s eyes were on her, but she stared straight ahead. He removed the ice pack, his warm fingers pressing slightly on her ankle. “That’s admirable,” he said, his voice low and tinged with something that sounded like respect.

  She exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “Not a big deal.”

  He was silent for a moment. “It is a big deal.”

  She shrugged again, uncomfortable with where this conversation was going. She didn’t want him to start probing. She needed to talk about something else. “My ankle is feeling much better.” She pulled it off his leg and curled her legs on the couch.

  He stood and walked over to the fridge, placing the ice pack back in the freezer. “I’ll reapply that in twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  He gave her a short nod, and she forced herself to maintain eye contact as he stood in front of her looking like some magazine centerfold. Only there was a personality to him and heart. A heck of a lot of heart.

  “I bet the view from that window is gorgeous during the day.”

  He gave a short nod and sat back down beside her. “It is. I picked that spot for it because of the view of the mountains.”

  “It’s very…private.”

  Silence again. “I wanted a place of my own. I never had a problem living at the ranch, but after Sarah died everyone would watch me twenty-four-seven and I got tired of pretending I was fine. Here I could just be myself.”

  Her stomach dropped, and she turned to look at him. He was staring at the fire, his profile all he offered. She stared at the lean, well-defined lines of his face. She didn’t know what to say. He finished off the whiskey in his glass and her mouth went dry as she watched him swallow. He motioned for the bottle. She handed it over, and maybe she was imagining things, but it felt like his fingers lingered for a moment on hers. But when she looked over at him, he wasn’t looking at her at all. He poured himself another glass and handed her the bottle. She took a long swig and cursed her overactive imagination. Of course his fingers didn’t linger on her hand. Why would they?

  “Well, it’s very mountain-mannish,” she said, trying to sound neutral.

  His deep laughter brought a smile to her face. “Not your style?”

  “It does have sort of a rustic charm…”

  His bark of laughter cut her off, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye.

  “It’s a guy place. No shaving, cooking, showering.”

  “Ew.”

  “Right. Exactly. I just eat jerky and drink whiskey.”

  “No.” She closed her eyes. He was ruining all her fantasies about him.

  “Yup. And I don’t have to worry about smiling at anyone.”

  She gave him a pointed look. “You smile?”

  Again that laugh, and this time he even tilted his head back on the back of the sofa. Good God, why had she mentioned smiling? She had never seen him really laugh. She looked over at him and then turned away hastily. He was paying her no attention. The laughter seemed to transform him. Rippling muscle moved, lines around his eyes creased, and she was on the side of the damn dimple that had resurfaced. It was like watching the summer sky come alive with fireworks.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his laughter subsiding.

  “N-nothing,” she lied, shooting him a glance.

  “Your face is blotchy.”

  She sighed and leaned her head back against the cushions again. The admiration obviously wasn’t mutual. “It’s amazing I’m not shunned by society as I walk down the street with my stubby, short legs and blotchy skin. Oh and I guess now I can add a limp like Igor.”

  His shout of laughter interrupted her and she waited to continue. He looked over at her. “What?”

  She had to quell the auto-drool that threatened as she took in the expanse of taught, bare skin. Weren’t their clothes dry yet? “I’m just not used to you laughing. I think I’m in shock.”

  “I do smile, on occasion. It took me a while, after Sarah,” he said gruffly.

  Melanie looked down at the bottle in her lap. “I can’t even imagine. She was a wonderful woman,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around the bottle.

  “She was my best friend,” he said in a voice she’d never heard. He stretched his long legs, propping them on the small coffee table. She held her breath, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t. He motioned for the bottle and she poured him another glass. They both drank in silence, and Melanie watched Cole from the corner of her eye.

  She wondered if he was going to speak at all anymore, or if she was irritating him. The last thing he wanted to do was have chitchat with his little sister’s friend, but she didn’t do silence well. Silence was the precursor to yelling. Silence was always expected at the dinner table. Silence was what her father demanded of her. Silence was the obvious gauge that she should make herself scarce.

  Melanie drew a long breath and stood. She was going to make herself scarce. But Cole’s deep voice broke the silence and she sat down, relieved for so many different reasons, the most prominent being that he was not dismissing her. “Sarah and I met in high school and just clicked. First we were just friends. Our families knew each other; both of us came from hard-working ranching families. She practically grew up in the saddle, just like me and Cori. Then after high school, we’d spend most our weekends riding, hanging out. Neither of us thought twice about getting married. It was obvious for both of us.”

  Cole took a long drink, finishing the contents of his glass before continuing. “As you already know, my parents died shortly after we were married, and Sarah helped me and Cori through it. She was a rock for both of us. We moved into the ranch and spent the best years of my life. I ran the ranch and she was out there every day by my side. Weekends we’d camp out under the stars, both of us hooked on the outdoors. She was amazing, one of those people that had boundless energy. Most mornings she woke even before I did, cooking or planning out the day.” He glanced over at her, a slight smile on his lips as he spoke of Sarah.

  “She sounds like she was the perfect woman for you,” she said, meeting his eyes for a moment and then looking down at the bottle of whiskey.

  “She was,” he said with a small shrug. “We always assumed we would have decades in front of us. Kids, everything. When she got sick, it came out of left field.” He rose abruptly from his sofa and walked to the only kitchen cupboard that had anything in it.

  “More jerky?” he asked his back still to her.

  “Uh, no thanks. “ It felt odd having him talk to her and open up to her. She couldn’t believe he was telling her this. About Sarah. Cori had told her he never spoke of Sarah. Come to think of it, Cole didn’t really speak. One-liners here and there. Maybe it was the whiskey.

  He didn’t sit back down again; instead, he stood by the fire. She took a rather large gulp of whiskey, since his back was to her, desperate for something to numb the ache that was weighing her heart. Her eyes roamed him freely, knowing he couldn’t see her. She took in the dark, mussed-up hair, the wide breadth of his shoulders that tapered to the narrow waist and lean frame in the low-slung jeans. She scrambled for something to say. She needed to break the silence again. “May I have a glass of water? I’m kind of thinking all this whiskey on an empty stomach might be a bad idea.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Yeah, except this is the only glass I have.”

  “Oh. Right.” She chewed her lower lip while she deliberated how to offer advice without offending him.
“Maybe Mrs. H will let you bring some extra glasses and dinnerware.”

  He gave a brief chuckle. “I did it on purpose. If I only had one of everything, it would be a quick way for me to remember Sarah was gone. It was just me up here. Only needed one glass, one plate, one fork and knife,” he said with a shrug, looking into the fire.

  Melanie rubbed her arms, the goose bumps pricking the palms of her hands. Cole had always been sweet to Cori, and she knew he and Sarah had been in love, but she hadn’t counted on the depth. It was in every word that he spoke about her. The pain he felt, the loneliness he felt, it was palpable. She could never compare her life to his or her loss to his, but she could understand the loneliness.

  “That must have been so hard,” she whispered. He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. She frowned when he downed another glass. It appeared that Cole became a talker when he was drinking. If she wanted to, she could entertain the idea that maybe it was something about her that caused him to open up like this.

  “How’s your ankle?”

  Ankle? Good God, as if she was thinking about her ankle now. “It’s fine. I think whiskey might even be better than ibuprofen.”

  He had already retrieved the cold pack from the freezer and sat down beside her again. “Well, let’s just be safe anyway. Give me your ankle.” Of course, she did as he asked and inwardly cursed her sorry state. She was pathetic, especially when she almost sighed out loud when he grasped her bare skin again and settled her leg on his thigh. He motioned for the bottle and she refilled his glass, concentrating on making her hand steady.

  Melanie took another long drink herself and struggled to find something to say. “Cori always told me how much she loved Sarah like a sister. It wasn’t fair, what happened to her.” She didn’t know if her sympathy or words would be appreciated.

  “Sarah was, uh, too young. Too young to go that fast. You know you’re living your life, taking for granted that you’ll see tomorrow. She was fine one day, and the next we were getting a cancer diagnosis at the hospital. And she fought because she was tough. A fighter. She wasn’t one of those women who was afraid to get dirty, to get a chipped nail or care that her hair was out of place. Designer clothes and manicures and all that crap meant nothing to her. But even she wasn’t strong enough to fight this. And I used to look at her and think why couldn’t some asshole be the one to die? Some murderer or rapist in jail? Why her? She was a good person.” Melanie closed her eyes against the emotion in his voice and when she opened them again Cole was staring at her.