Second Hope Read online

A small basket with grooming supplies hung outside each door. He watched her go to Jasmine’s, take a curry and slip back inside. Idly, he wandered to the nearest stall.

  “Well, hello there,” he said softly to the occupant.

  The horse turned a big roman nose on him, liquid eyes blinking sleepily. It ambled over, one back leg dragging through the shavings, making furrows and taking half of his bedding along. Even at the shoulder the horse was taller than Cole, a giant of an equine with a blade of a spine. The rest of his body seemed to hang off his backbone, rib cage pulling his skin taut. His head loomed over the half door, nostrils widening as he snuffled toward jean pockets hopefully.

  “A treat monster, are you?” Cole chuckled, running one hand down the large brown face. He reached up to straighten the horse’s thick black forelock, then traced the whirl and eddy of a cowlick in the center of his blaze. “And what are you here for? Something to do with that leg, I’d bet.”

  The horse didn’t tell him, content to let him wonder without the need to explain.

  There was a fine patina of dust over the gelding’s big, dark body, shavings in his mane and thoroughly ensconced in his tail. Signs that he’d been laying down to sleep, an indication in and of itself that he was happy here.

  “General has bad back legs.”

  Cole didn’t jump at the voice behind him, just stepped around the big head to give Nat room. She closed Jasmine’s stall door and tucked her fingers in her pockets, wandering closer.

  “He was shipped from Germany, but within a few months after arriving here his owner discovered his ligaments were degenerating. They tighten up, dragging at his heels until he walks on his toes. The only way to fix it was to cut the lesser ligaments and let the foot drop down again. It worked okay with his left leg, but not with the right. They cut the major tendons, which meant he could walk again once everything had calcified, but it looks a bit like a flipper.” She smiled, her eyes on the horse, and shook her head with a combination of laughter and sadness. “He’s happy and not usually in pain. On bad days we give him meds and on really good days he can give small kids pony rides. Overall, he seems content, still. He just lives here.” She reached up, offering a bit of carrot she pulled out of a pocket.

  General left Cole instantly, big lips flopping to pick up the treat. “I feel abandoned. Thrown over,” Cole said with a grin, reaching up again to rub General’s neck.

  It drew a real smile from Nat, blue green eyes looking at him with something other than business on her face. “Horses’ll do that. Can’t trust ’em.” Then she turned back to the gelding, wiping off dust. “His owner retired him here. He’s part of our old guard—him and half a dozen other horses. He’s good with Jasmine and the mini—”

  “Mini?”

  She pointed to a corner of the stall, where a horse no bigger than a large dog was curled in the shadows, one eye cracked open to glare at them all.

  Cole would have been afraid General would crush it, but Nat seemed to have no such concern. “That’s…amazing.” It wasn’t really the right word—insane might have been better—but it was a tactful one.

  Nat laughed as if she’d known exactly what he wanted to say, as if she’d heard it all before. The sound danced through the barn, light and cheerful. “That’s what most people say. But they work well together. Get sad if you separate them.” With a grin and a wink, she gave General a last pat and headed toward the night beyond the barn doors. “Ready to check on your horse and head inside for the evening? They ought to have him unloaded by now.”

  “Fleet’s a prince,” Cole assured her, following. “If they don’t have him unloaded, tucked in and fed, I’d be stunned.”

  Nat could have predicted Fleet’s reaction to Cole coming to check on him: he didn’t care one whit. He was in a comfortable stall with a bucket of feed and two flakes of hay. He had much better things to do than pay attention to the humans who visited.

  Much to Nat’s amusement, though, Cole refused to leave until he’d gone in and checked the horse’s legs. All four had been unwrapped, then the front ones re-wrapped for support. One broad hand slid over fur-covered muscle, checking for heat or soreness.

  Fleet was typical of a high-quality reining horse. He was a Quarter Horse, not as large as Jasmine, built for speed and agility rather than height like the bigger-boned jumping horses. His legs were straight, the sinew over his chest and shoulders well developed, not overshadowed by the heavy muscle on his hips and rump like she had seen with some of the other reiners. His coat was a glossy red, his mane and tail flaxen, with a star on his forehead and a strip down his face. One rear leg sported a high white sock, but the rest were solid.

  Once Cole had assured himself that the little stallion was well settled, they got his things from the stall they’d converted into a tack room just for him and headed toward the house.

  She was more aware than she liked of the man walking beside her, his stride long and loose even with his left arm in a sling. It made her nervous, antsy. She didn’t want to like him.

  Letting him stay had been a mistake. Her thoughts tangled and snarled into a mess of annoyance at the idea of playing nurse to a man. She dealt with horses, not humans. Equines were less frustrating.

  Her steps banged up the stairs to the veranda as she sped, venting recently born anger on the stained wood. The porch light came on automatically. It nearly blinded her. Nat ignored it and pushed into the house through the screen door, turning to hold it open. She stared at Cole’s boots, the scuffed toes peeking out from the tattered hems of well-worn jeans. Working boots, boots he used often. The edges of the soles were rounded, the leather scratched. Nat hated cowboys. She reminded herself of that firmly as his scent drifted around her, sage and apples and soap mixed with the faint edge of sweat.

  He’d stopped moving. Her gaze inched up, catching on the duffel bag he held in one strong hand. One knuckle was swollen, slightly crooked. Her chest clenched, remembering her father’s swollen knuckles, how they’d twisted after he’d broken them on the bar-room wall. Suddenly, Cole’s scent wasn’t so appealing.

  Nat lifted her head, expression steady and cool, marking honey brown hair and cider brown eyes and filing them away so she didn’t have to pay attention again. “Make yourself at home. Living room.” She gestured to the open, airy space around them, then to the counter that was all that separated the common area from the kitchen. “Kitchen. Fridge is stocked. If you use the last of something, add it to the list. Or if you want something.” She shrugged. “Whoever goes into town will get supplies.” She let the door close as he stepped farther into her house. “The sliding glass door takes you out to the back.” A glance across the room showed blackness beyond the glass, but she knew there was a small courtyard framed by her house, covered in flagstone with an oak tree in the middle. The architect had recommended moving the tree, saying that in another thirty years it would begin to tear up the foundation. She’d told him that in thirty years, she’d be ready for something new, anyway, and the tree had remained as the centerpiece.

  Nat turned on one heel to look around, pointing to the hall just beyond the kitchen. “There’s a bathroom there, my office, and the den.” A playroom, more accurately, with a pool table and beaten-up couches and chairs, various games tucked in various closets. Then she turned the other way, to face the other wing of the single-story house. “Bedrooms are down there. Yours is the first one on your right, and the bathroom is just around the corner.” The only other room was hers, and if he ended up in there she had no compunction about showing him out, possibly minus a few body parts. “The door across from yours is the linen closet. If you need anything extra, it’s probably in there.”

  “You have a great place.”

  There he went, with his smooth voice and his almost-drawl, as if working around cowboys had given him the beginnings of a Texas accent. She refused to hear the compliment, her gaze flickering around her house. She knew it was nice; she’d worked hard to make it someplace she enjoyed c
oming back to. The furniture was leather and wood, the floors oak. Her rarely used but still state-of-the-art entertainment system was against the far wall, hidden behind doors, and the bar that curled around the corner was rich with greens and burgundies. It was more masculine than most women would like, but she enjoyed it. It made her feel safe, warm, while the openness of the layout kept it from being cave-like and the windows across most of the walls let in plenty of light. The back wall of the main area was almost solid glass, either sliding doors or big windows, looking out onto her oak tree and the flowerbeds.

  Her place was perfect, and she didn’t need him to tell her that. Using that thought as a buffer, she glanced at Cole and kept the compliment from taking root. He was handsome and smelled good—men like that were to be trusted even less than normal males. “If you want to put your things in your room, I need to go clean up. Feel free to use the shower down the hall.”

  He smiled warmly. “Sure thing. Thanks.”

  Nat gave him a mildly suspicious look and headed toward her bedroom.

  The guest room was bigger than most were, done in dark colors to match the rest of the house. Cole focused on the heavy mahogany dresser and tried to pay attention to the scrollwork on it rather than the sound of running water and the image of Nat under the spray.

  He certainly wasn’t thinking about black hair slicked to her body, or the way water might run down her skin and pool at her feet. Definitely not long legs or high, firm breasts, or imagining whether or not she shaved…

  Cole sighed and sat on the queen-sized bed. All right. So maybe he was thinking about all those things. He couldn’t help it. She was gorgeous. Apparently more interested in his horse than in him, but gorgeous nonetheless. And if she was more appealing because she wasn’t falling at his feet, well, he obviously had a streak of masochism to work on. With a groan he got up and fought the zipper on his duffel one-handed, wincing as his shoulder flared with pain. Now that he stopped to think about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken his meds for his torn rotator cuff. Pain killers should definitely be next on the list of things to do.

  As soon as he got his damned duffle bag open.

  He tugged the zipper gently. He tried yanking. He splayed his fingers to hold the cloth in place while attempting to inch the zipper down with his thumb. None of it worked. He was just debating planting a foot on the duffle and seeing if he could tear it open when a voice spoke from the doorway.

  “Need a hand?”

  Cole nearly leapt out of his skin, spinning to see who’d snuck up on him. It was Nat, of course, and he doubted she’d snuck at all. It was her house.

  Wet curls clung to her neck, the soft T-shirt she wore flowing around her delicate curves. He couldn’t imagine that she was aware of how good she looked, skin damp and flushed from a hot shower, hair pulled back haphazardly, leaving dark spots on her shirt. He dragged his mind back to her question, summoning a brilliant smile in the hopes that it might dazzle her. “Well, I do only have one.” He laughed ruefully, motioning to the arm in the sling.

  She didn’t seem dazzled by his smile. One eyebrow twitched briefly, the tip of her mouth curling up but gone so fast he wasn’t sure he’d seen it. He stepped away from the bag to give her room, something about her stance suggesting she wasn’t going to come in until he did.

  He’d read right. As soon as he’d moved she walked in, all feline grace and no-nonsense horsewoman. It was sexy as hell, though he didn’t say as much. He wasn’t interested in hounding a woman until he got his way. He’d rather wait, give them time, let them warm up, and if they still weren’t interested…well, he could take a hint.

  Women, his father had told him, were like foals. Often a little skittish, wary of being manhandled, but if you gave them space and respect, then stepped back when they drew near, before long they’d have taken your measure and be ready to curl up and relax with you. Then you could see what was truly inside them.

  Cole could barely remember his parents together. His mother had died when he was only five. But the few women his father had taken up with as he’d gotten older had all been lovely people, joining his father for the companionship rather than out of fear of being unattached. His father was married again, and he enjoyed his current wife as much as he’d enjoyed his other relationships.

  Cole wanted something like that, and though he hadn’t had time for much—working his horses, other peoples’ horses, making a name for himself in the reining world and beyond had taken every free minute he had and poured him into bed at night exhausted—he had nothing but time now.

  Nat seemed like the perfect person to make time for. There was strength there, in the way she handled herself, the way she handled the animals. Compassion too, plain to see. An independence that was important, all wrapped up in a body that couldn’t be prettier. She was definitely worth the time.

  Graceful, long-fingered hands opened his duffle swiftly, tossing the flap back and stepping away. “I haven’t had dinner yet. Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

  All thoughts of women and relationships fled as Cole rummaged through his sack, looking for his pain meds. “Either would be great.” He pulled the little bottle out with a rattle, popping the lid off one-handed. By the time he dry-swallowed two pills and looked around, Nat was gone. He capped the bottle and tossed it onto his bed, considered the clothes he should probably unpack—he’d be here long enough—and decided it could wait until morning. Besides checking on Fleet, he really wasn’t sure what else he would do. He’d have plenty of time for putting his things in the dresser.

  There were female voices drifting down the hall as he left the room and walked the short distance to the common area. Nat’s he recognized, slightly rough, as if she’d just finished a night of mind-blowing sex. His stomach tightened, and he firmly ordered his libido to calm down.

  It only listened a little.

  Both women were at the other end of the room, Nat in the kitchen and the little redhead from before—he’d already forgotten her name—sitting at one of the barstools that framed the counter. She swiveled as he padded easily across the floor.

  “Hey!” She smiled, turning a lock of hair behind one ear. “Fleet’s all tucked in for the night. I was just telling Nat that he’s already finished his bucket, and made it halfway through his hay. We gave him another half-flake, just to make sure he was happy.” She smiled, popping a cherry tomato into a rosebud mouth.

  “Thanks.” It was good to hear they were caring for his horse, but he couldn’t quite stop from wondering how much extra training was going to be needed to get the weight off his Hoover before Fleet was in top shape again.

  The sound of a knife snicking through carrots reached him, and he glanced over to see the ripple of light on steel, strong hands wielding the blade quickly and efficiently. “You cook?” he asked with some surprise.

  Nat shot him a look caught somewhere between amusement and a warning. “Occasionally. Don’t get too used to it.”

  Cole laughed, holding his hand up in surrender. “Hey, I’ll appreciate what I get and not complain when that’s nothing. I make a mean Domino’s Pizza.”

  The redhead, at least, giggled. He watched Nat, pleased when she grinned and kept chopping. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said dryly. “Hope you tip well; the delivery guys don’t come this far out.”

  He smiled playfully. “Really? I’d imagine the two of you are plenty incentive.”

  The redhead dimpled and sipped her glass of water, color rising to her cheeks. Nat quirked one eyebrow up and glanced at him sidelong, expression wry. Her blade continued to whip through vegetables. “There’s water in the fridge. Beth, would you grab him a glass? Juice, too. Pop in the game room.”

  “Beer?” Cole asked hopefully, trying to put the other woman’s name into memory. Beth. Beth wasn’t a hard name to remember.

  “You can add it to the list.” A frown touched the edges of Nat’s mouth.

  “Not that important.” His words
were rapid. It was an easy thing to give up, if it would put him in her better graces.

  She shrugged, an upward sweep of narrow shoulders. Cloth ran over her skin, shifting and falling into new folds around the swell of her hips. “Doesn’t bother me.”

  Except it had, despite the bar in the corner. Cole didn’t point that out, just filed it away as something to keep in mind, and nodded when Beth suggested water. She set his glass down and cocked a hip up onto her vacated stool. “When we do things here, the boys bring their own alcohol, and Aaron plays bartender. Nat keeps all the glasses and stuff on hand, but she doesn’t drink, so…”

  “So, I’m standing right here,” Nat pointed out dryly, scooping carrots up and tossing them into a ceramic bowl. “You could not talk about me like I wasn’t.”

  Beth continued as if the other woman hadn’t spoken. “Nat really doesn’t mind if you drink though, do you, Nat?”

  “I believe I just said that.” She tossed lettuce and carrots together, bits of other things added earlier making an appearance before falling below the rim. There was tension in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before, a drawn look to her face Cole wanted to smooth away. He glanced between the two women, wondering if he was missing something. Probably, but he didn’t know what.

  “You know, Cole’s probably beat from his drive.” Nat gave Beth a pointed look.

  “Huh? Oh. Oh, sure,” Beth said finally, setting her glass down. “Don’t forget that rescue’s coming in tomorrow.”

  Nat gave her a filthy look, and Cole wondered suddenly if—even as different as they were—they were sisters. “I’m the one who reminded you earlier, remember? Just have Aaron and Matt ready.”

  Beth waved a hand dismissively, as if she had it all under control, and stood. Her chin tipped upward, and she dimpled at Cole again. “Nice to see you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

  “I’m sure,” he said politely, and stood to open the door as she headed for it.

  She looked at him, startled, and then smiled and left.