Ropin' Trouble (Cowboys of Nirvana Book 2) (4 page)

The vacation wouldn’t be a complete loss.

Everything was taken care of at her shop. Cleo could manage the place blindfolded, unless she handled it like she did Cara’s plane ticket. Although, she had a feeling her friend did it on purpose. When Cara had told Cleo about Nirvana, she had mentioned that she hoped Cara didn’t back out. It was true she’d debated canceling the trip, not only once, but daily since she received her packet through email. But once she stuck the check in the mail, her fate was written in stone.

In the end, no one would miss her at home.

Her throat constricted. Her life had very little meaning. James had stripped her of everything and taken away every strand of her individuality. She was a cold, blank canvas, wishing for an artist’s touch.

She was a weak, scared woman. Finding her backbone would offer her an open book to write a new story. And her first step was Nirvana Ranch. To have a fresh outlook. A life skills coach was on staff who, by what Cara read on the website, would help organize this new change.

And if by chance she found her old self at Nirvana, by the miracle of fresh air, she wouldn’t allow another man to ever come along and take her independence again.

How had she allowed James to rid her of so much? People questioned why she hadn’t left him sooner, when she realized he was an abuser, as if somehow she was at fault. She guessed there were many reasons. None that many people would understand.

Opening her eyes, she stared through the window into the clouds and the pale blue sky. There was a peace here in the sky, away from the world, and she wasn’t as scared as she thought she would be.

James had been a respected citizen in their community. He rubbed elbows with the popular and influential socialites, and there were a lot of doubting people, even after he was arrested.

Her husband had always been good at manipulation. He had known exactly where to hit her so no sign of injury would be visible—a skill he’d learned from his father who’d beaten his wife almost daily. If there happened to be bruising in an exposed place, like Cara’s face or arms, she’d stay inside the house and James would come up with an excuse for her absence.

None of their friends—his friends—had ever known about the abuse within the walls of the nice house in the pleasant part of town. Cleo had been Cara’s one and only confidant.

Thinking back, Cara did wish she’d left him sooner. In all truth, she’d known from as far back as their honeymoon in Fiji that there was something disturbing about him.

She’d saved herself for marriage and had notions of how lovely and quixotic the first time would be. The actual moment was the complete opposite of what she’d expected, or would have ever wanted.

James had gotten drunk at the sand bar and came stumbling back to their hut along the beach. What should have been a night of candles, romance, and sensuality, turned out with him roughly removing her lace, satin gown and taking her virginity in three harsh pumps.

The hope was still alive for her though, even after they’d arrived home. She’d blamed his rough and careless actions on their honeymoon on his drunken stupor , and held out optimism that the next time would be different. But nothing changed, not really. It had only become more daunting.

Sober, James didn’t have an appetite for sex. Drunk, he liked it raw and controlling. If they tried to have ‘normal’ sex, he couldn’t get hard.  He needed to pull her hair, sometimes too hard, or bind her wrists to complete their lovemaking. If she’d felt loved and cared for, she wouldn’t have minded exploring in the bedroom, but the only completion was on his side. When she started refusing him, that’s when his character took a turn for the worse.

The first time he became enraged had been a summer evening, right after their first year of marriage. They’d returned home from a social gathering with neighbors and she’d asked him why he’d flirted all evening with his secretary. He had drank too muchand, of course, he denied his flirtation. They’d gone to bed and he wanted to tie her up with a thick, coarse rope he’d found in the garage. She wasn’t in the mood and told him she was going to sleep. In slurred speech, he’d called her a few names and told her it was her fault that he couldn’t manage an erection under normal circumstances. From that evening on, he pointed out that sad fact to her every chance he got.

When she would try touching him, with no physical reaction in his body, he’d laugh at her. He delighted in verbal abuse, telling her she was too skinny or too fat.  Too ugly or too pale. Too stupid or too smart. She was never good enough, no matter what she did.

During their marriage, not once did they use contraception and Cara had wondered why she didn’t become pregnant. Was it a strike of luck? Was James shooting blanks? Or was that another failure on her part, as he’d often blamed her. He told Cara she was a waste of vagina and tits.

She’d wanted a child with all her being, but not with James. She couldn’t have brought a child into a home where a man ruled like a tyrant and flew off the handle with the slightest provocation.

Cara realized early on James’s reputable status as an attorney had a lot of people in town bamboozled, and gave him superiority. She believed he’d had affairs with several women over the course of their marriage, but at some point Cara had stopped caring.

James had been a good-looking man. Dark hair that he kept perfectly slicked back and a clean-shaven face, even if that meant he had to shave twice a day. He went to the gym daily, often working out hours at a time. He had a sleek, toned body that spoke of his love of lifting weights and dressing in quality suits that accentuated his physical assets. The better looking he became, the homelier Cara was, exactly the way he wanted things.

When he started working late hours, probably with his lover, Cara would indulge herself in the peace and quiet. She’d design and sew outfits, none that she’d ever wear. She was always good at helping others dress nice, but never herself. She’d try her hand at new recipes and watch movies that James would never take the time for. He called them chick flicks and he thought it lessened his manhood by watching them.

She wasn’t sure how she’d ended up with a man like James. Looking back, she knew she’d been attracted to his outgoing character, opposite her passive nature. Growing up with loving and kind parents in a small town in Ohio, she lived in a bubble. Her father was in law enforcement and had died at age forty from a heart attack. Her mom had taken odd jobs to add to Cara’s father’s pension and, although they weren’t rich, they were happy.  James had appeared, swept Cara off her feet and she had no clue what was to come. He was ten years older, suave, and bought her nice gifts.

After they married, he moved her to Texas and Cara had only seen her mother two more times before she’d died.

Cara touched the cold glass of the window. She lived with many regrets.

Deidre’s words came to her, “Think of this as an adventure. You never know where it’ll lead you.”

****

Ben skimmed the room from his seat at the bar. He brought the long neck to his lips and guzzled half the beer. Maverick and Dodge were on the dance floor, each with women who hung out at Mosley’s on a nightly basis. The rest of the guys were at the pool table, and Ben wasn’t in the mood. Finishing his bottle, he set it down with a
thud
and slid off the stool.

Pulling his keys from his front pocket, he held them up, motioning to Dade. “I’m leaving,” Ben gave him a quick wave then stepped outside, taking a deep breath. He shouldn’t have come. Instead of relaxing, he felt on edge. He just couldn’t get his mind to rest.

He walked toward his truck and heard a jangling sound coming from the hotel across the parking lot. In the dimly lit vending area, he spotted a woman dropping coins into one of the machines. He continued his pace, hit the unlock button on his key pad, and opened the door.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” The woman was pounding on the machine and then gave it a good kick with her foot.
Must have eaten her coins
.  Ben chuckled and shook his head.

The shadows shifted and he adjusted his eyes, narrowing in on movement along the dark side of the hotel’s walkway. A man stepped into the lighted area close to the woman who was focused on abusing the machine. From the man’s swaying amble, Ben guessed the stranger had left the bar and was looking for his room. The woman was completely unaware that she was no longer alone.

Ben waited and watched. He knew the area wasn’t high in crime, but it wasn’t safe for a woman to be out alone at this hour.

The woman’s head came up just as the wobbling man approached her. She backed up, pressed her body against the machine and in the overhead light he could see her wide-eyed expression. Ben’s protective instincts slammed into gear and he managed to cross the parking lot in three paces.

“Is there a problem here?” Ben asked as he stepped into the light.

The woman didn’t acknowledge him, but the drunk turned his head toward Ben. The smell of whiskey was strong and sour. “Just chekin’ to see if the lady needs a hand,” the man slurred.

The lady in reference, still holding the machine like a lifeline, looked at Ben and his chest tightened. It was her! Cara…from the bio he’d read earlier. He’d know the eyes anywhere—and the pouty lips and pale skin that looked pasty under the bad lighting.  But what was she doing here?  She wasn’t due at Nirvana until tomorrow. She looked as vulnerable as a baby kitten facing a wolf. “I don’t think the lady wants your help, partner.”

“Let the lady speak fir herself, paaartner.” The man leaned in and started to go down, but he caught his balance.

“I-I don’t need any help. Thank you, anyway.” There was a quiver to her small voice.

“Well, there you have it. The lady has spoken. Now walk on.” Ben took a step closer, so close the stench of stale liquor singed his nostrils.

The stranger lifted his chin, attempting to make eye contact with Ben, who was over a head taller, and at least fifty pounds heavier. “I’m just aimin’ to help. I ain’t gonna hurt the sweet thing.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have clean intentions here, pal, but you’re one sip away from face-planting the sidewalk. Call it a night, ya hear?” Ben infused more force to his voice this time. He’d hate to have to ‘help’ the man to his room.

Realizing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Cara or Ben, the man pushed off the vending machine and stumbled up the sidewalk. Once he was gone from sight, Ben turned to Cara and offered her a smile. “You can peel yourself off the soda machine now, ma’am.” He tilted his hat in greeting.

Some of the worry left her expression. She moved to the side, but crossed her arms over her chest as if she still was in danger. Ben took a step back, allowing her space. If only this woman could understand that he’d never hurt her, and that he’d done nothing but think of her since he saw her picture. No, he couldn’t tell her that. She’d think he was as creepy as the man who’d just disappeared into the shadows.

“Th-thank you. I wasn’t expecting that.” Her voice still trembled.

“I’m glad I could be of assistance. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll wait with you just in case he decides to come back.”

She blinked. “I’ll be fine.”

He smiled. “I bet so, but it appears you’re having some issue with the machine.”

“I can let the office know—“

“Sorry, ma’am, but I know the attendant in the office and I do believe I just saw him over at the bar cozying with a tall glass of beer. ‘Fraid he won’t be of any help. Let me try.” Ben moved and Cara took a huge step back. He didn’t blame her for being cautious. He gave the machine a hard shake and pounded the side. A rattling sound was followed by a bottle dropping. “Sometimes these machines can be a little testy.” He winked.

“I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

“No worries.”

“I should be on my way.” She moistened her bottom lip and turned on her heel.

Ben reached in through the slot and retrieved her drink. “Don’t forget this. After all, it was the cause for a lot of trouble for you.”

She turned back, took the bottle and the tips of their fingers brushed. Sparks flew up his arm, a sigh slipped from her lips and their gazes met and held. Seconds ticked by like hours while his heart pounded in his chest, sweat beading on his forehead. Her mouth tightened. And just as quickly the moment faded. She nervously pulled the bottle close to her chest, wringing the neck with her hands and an image shot through his brain—her hands were on him, touching him, pumping his co—

“Bye.” Before he could say a word, she had vanished with a flash of long, dark hair flowing in the light breeze and a trail of her cotton candy scent tantalizing his desire. His body was hard in all of the wrong places, and his brain was as good as a bowl of mush.

Ben stood there for an excruciating moment.
What the hell just happened?

****

Cara stepped into her room, slammed the door, bolted the lock, and slid the chain home.

It took her a good minute to recover. Her eardrums were no longer throbbing and her nipples stopped aching. She’d just met Adonis wearing a hat, plaid shirt, and worn jeans.

She popped the top off of the Coke bottle, the lid dropping to the floor and rolling somewhere. She brought the drink to her lips and sucked it down until her eyeballs burned. Lowering the bottle, she breathed heavily and blinked the stinging from her lids. A drop of pop had escaped her lips and she wiped the wetness with the back of her hand.