Love Somebody Like You (16 page)

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!”

“Hey there.”

“I'm so glad you called!” She was still at high volume. “How are you?”

“Aside from deaf in one ear? I'm fine.” And near tears at hearing Penny's voice and the pleasure in it.

“You saw Ben Traynor? He told you we'd talked?”

“Yes, and he told me you're married and expecting. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” There was a pause, then she went on, subdued now. “This is weird. The last time I saw you I wasn't even twenty-one. So much has happened since then.”

“I know.”

“I don't know what all happened between you and our parents, but Sally, was it really so bad that you never wanted to talk to us again? Even when Pete died?”

She sighed. She had wanted to, but been too embarrassed, guilty, and messed up. Settling for a partial truth, she said, “I didn't know if you wanted to talk to me. I know none of you were happy about me marrying Pete.”

“It happened so quickly, the two of you meeting and then getting married, and you giving up rodeo. Yeah, it was super-romantic, but I thought Mom and Dad were right that you should've taken more time to be sure. About Pete and about your career, after all the work and passion you'd put into it.”

Of course they'd been right.

Penny went on. “And no one understood why you guys couldn't start Ryland Riding closer to home. Folks knew you, and they'd have been happy to do business with you.”

“Pete found this great spread at a reasonable price. I know it was hard, me moving so far away. But if they'd tried to understand rather than criticizing and then cutting us off—”

“Oh, come on, Sally. They tried. I tried. We called, e-mailed, wrote. For a year.”

“What?” Her sister was reinventing history. Sally's family had cut off contact a few months after she and Pete had taken possession of this place.

One of the Barred Rocks, Lucille, was apparently tired of not getting attention. She flew up to settle on Sally's shoulder. Sally leaned her head gently against the black-and-white body.

Penny said, “But after the first few weeks, you stopped answering. You didn't return our calls and Pete sure wasn't friendly to us. He finally told us you didn't want us in your life. And you never so much as sent a birthday or Christmas card.”

“No,” Sally whispered disbelievingly. The mail came to and went from a bank of boxes a mile down the road. Pete had always dealt with it. They'd had only one phone, a cell, and he'd hung on to it because he handled the business end of their operation. For the same reason, he had controlled the computer. She'd let him. He'd had firm ideas about his responsibilities and hers, and she'd gone along—after learning that to do otherwise had painful consequences.

She hooked a finger into the silver chain around her neck, pulled the horseshoe free of her T-shirt, and held it gently. She'd come to suspect that Pete had wanted to separate her from her old life, but had he deliberately cut her off from her family? And lied when he'd said it was the other way around? “Penny, I have to go. I . . .” Need to think, to try and sort this out. “I have students coming. But I'll call again.”

“Please call Mom and Dad, too,” her sister said. “They're getting older and it broke their hearts what happened with you. And think about your niece, who'll arrive in a month and a half. What am I going to tell her about her aunt? Whatever the hell went wrong with this family, we need to fix it, Sally.”

Her sister's words and the emotion in her voice sent a ray of hope into Sally's heart. Penny seemed to believe the situation was fixable. Sally might find her way back to her family.

“I'll think about it, Penny. Give me a little time.”

“Okay.” She put on a school-teacherish tone. “But if I don't hear from you in a few days, I'm calling you back.” Her voice softened when she added, “Bye for now. I love you, Sally.”

Before Sally could respond, Penny had hung up. “I love you, too,” she whispered, and Lucille clucked in response.

Overwhelmed, Sally gently removed Lucille and Cordelia from their comfy spots. She'd love to tell Ben about the call, yet she was so embarrassed about last night, so confused by her feelings for him, that she couldn't face him yet.

She stalled by going back to the house for breakfast. She scrambled two fresh-from-the-bird eggs and ate them with toast and strawberry jam. Then, having only postponed the inevitable, she turned her steps to the barn.

Ben was grooming Madeleine's horse, Star of Egypt. He glanced up with a warm smile. “Morning, Sally.”

“Morning.” Diving right in, she said, “I'm sorry about dragging you away so early last night.” And for barely speaking on the way home, then hurrying off with a quick good night, not even a thank you. “It was a nice evening but it got to be too much for me. I'm sorry if I spoiled it for you.”

He was usually so easygoing, and she hoped he'd say something like, “No problem.” Instead, as he moved around to the palomino's other side, he said, “You can make it up to me.”

Warily, she asked, “How?”

“Come for dinner tonight. At my place.”

“Your place? You mean your trailer?” She stroked Star's glossy neck and breathed in the comforting aroma of horse, considering the offer. The idea of sharing that confined space with Ben made her uneasy. So far, he hadn't done anything to make her mistrust him, but nor had Pete until after they were married—or, at least, she'd been too in love to recognize the warning signs. Besides, there was the disconcerting effect Ben had on female instincts and urges she'd thought had died long ago. Sitting at that little dinette, their knees would bump. His presence would be too much. Too physical, too . . . Okay, too sexy.

Apparently oblivious to her turmoil, he had bent to run a soft brush down Star's legs. “The trailer's cramped,” he said. “I thought we'd sit outside. I've got folding chairs and a table, and a million-dollar view.”

She couldn't help but smile. It was indeed a million-dollar view. Too bad that her equity in it was so tiny. Musing on his offer, she thought that the picture he'd painted was appealing, but why would he put himself out to fix—or buy—a meal for her? What did he want? “Why?”

“Jesus, woman. D'you have to make everything so damned complicated?” He straightened and scowled at her over the horse's back. “I thought it'd be nice. That's why. Stop thinking about it and say yes. Okay?”

She actually liked that he expressed his annoyance so openly. It reassured her that he was neither setting a trap nor about to hit her. She was coming to believe that with Ben, what you saw was what you got.

She wanted to accept his invitation. Eating a meal she hadn't lifted a finger to prepare was such a treat. But more than that, she enjoyed his company. She'd tell him about her phone call with Penny and see what he thought. He could be pretty perceptive.

“Yes. With thanks, Ben.”

 

 

Ben helped Sally ready horses for her new clients, who were coming at nine, then hung around to greet them. He shook hands with Andrew, the guy he'd met at the physiotherapist's office, and introduced him to Sally. Andrew, stocky and redheaded, introduced his husband, Terry, who was Asian and more slender. Both men were around Ben's age, in decent shape, and clad in jeans and boots.

Leaving them to get on with the lesson, Ben did the exercises and stretches Monique Labelle had given him, along with some of his regular strength and flexibility training. He'd gone for a run earlier, before the day began to warm. His shoulder still ached, but it was improving. As a right-handed roper, surely he'd be in shape to compete with Dusty this coming weekend.

Monique, whom he'd seen twice, had warned of dire consequences if he went back too soon, and it was hard to discount the opinion of a former Olympic athlete. He'd see what she said on his next visit, and if he had to, then he'd just bite the bullet and wait another week. Not that it was any hardship spending more time with Sally.

When the lesson ended, he went to help out. The two guys were enthusiastic and wanted to learn how to take off the saddles and bridles and groom the horses.

Sally worked with Terry, and Ben instructed Andrew. As he showed him how to undo the cinch, he asked, “What brought you two to Caribou Crossing?” Ben spoke loudly enough that Terry could hear as well.

“We came for my granny's wedding,” Andrew said, “and fell in love with the place.”

“Your grandmother's wedding?” Sally said. “That must have been fun.”

“Especially since she was marrying the love of her life, a woman she hadn't seen in almost sixty years,” Andrew said, clumsily removing the saddle and dragging the pad off with it.

One-handedly, Ben caught the pad before it hit the ground.