Another Chance (9 page)

The horse had barely come to a stop when Wade stepped forward.

"Why is your blouse torn?"  She had a large tear at her elbow and there was some blood.  A crazy fury swept through him.

"I lost a wheel on my buckboard."  She shoved some hair behind her ear.  "I know to check the wheels, make sure they aren't loose.  But with everything that happened this morning…"

A sweet flush rose up her neck, tinted her cheeks.  Damn, he thought, it was one thing to fight desire.  But fighting it knowing she felt the same?  He wiped his upper lip.  Shit.

She slapped a hand over her skirt, sending out a poof of dust.  "Anyhow if I'd checked, I wouldn't have taken a tumble."

Knowing she hadn't been manhandled didn't ease his tension.  Losing a wheel unexpectedly often threw a driver and spooked the horse.  It wasn't uncommon to be knocked to the ground by the unexpected jar, then trampled by the wagon when a frightened horse took off.  It was the reminder he needed to cool his blood.  A woman like Jillian would constantly be in harm's way.  And those who were foolish enough to care for her would always worry, would always be at risk of losing her.

"Front or back?"

"Back, luckily.  I was knocked out, took a fall. Some of my supplies were tossed about, but it didn't hurt Hope or spook her as much as it could have."

"You were lucky."

"I know.  And I can see you're busy..."

Her eyes slid over him and for a day that was already sweltering, the temperature suddenly shot up another ten degrees. He felt a bead of sweat skip down his chest and roll over his belly.  He nearly swallowed his tongue when her eyes tracked it to the waistband of his pants.  Her throat rose and fell as she swallowed.  Blood roared in his ears.  He went thick and hard.

Her face now more of a burn than a flush, she said, "I know I'm imposing, clearly you were hard at work, but I can't get the wheel on by myself and coming here was closer than going back to town."

Hell, with the way his body was reacting, being alone with her wasn't a good idea.  But neither could he refuse her help.  It was the same dilemma he'd had the night he'd met her.  He was damned if he did, and damned if he didn't.

"All right," he sighed.  "Just let me get a drink and a clean shirt."  He turned and had to do some fancy footwork to keep from knocking his daughter to the ground.

"Annabelle!"

"Papa.  Can I come?"

"What?"

"Can I go with you?  It won't take me long to get Peanut ready and-"

"Whoa, Button," Wade said, kneeling before his daughter and cupping her chin in his hand.  "Did you finish your chores?"

Her little shoulders drooped as she realized she'd lost her chance.  "No."

"Sorry, Button.  But we had a bargain, remember?  If you finish your chores like Grandma asked, after supper I'll take you to catch frogs."

Blue eyes so like Amy's it never failed to break his heart, filled with tears.  "But I wanna come."

"Well, if you come with me now, then you'll have to finish your chores later and we won't have time for frog catching.  So, you can choose.  Come with me now, which is nothing but fixing a boring old wheel, or do as you were asked and we'll have all sorts of fun later."

"And you'll let me keep one like you promised?"

"Yes."  Though he feared for the poor critter's life.  He knew by her smile which choice she'd made.

"All right, Papa.  I'll go finish my chores right now!"

"Wait!" he called before she bolted away.  "What do you say to Miss Matthews?"

"Hello, Miss Matthews," Annabelle said hurriedly before bolting away.

Wade watched his daughter skip behind the barn.  He heard the chickens cluck and squawk as she burst into the henhouse.

Jillian giggled.  The sound captivated him, as did the warmth that filled her eyes when she smiled.

"She must keep you hopping."

Wade shook his head.  "You have no idea."

***

Wade secured Whiskey to a nearby tree and grabbed the fallen wheel.  It wasn't broken, which meant he'd be bringing back the spare he'd brought along.

He passed her the wheel.  "I'll push up the corner, you slip the wheel on."

She nodded and within moments the wheel was in place and secured.  Silently they worked to load the spilled supplies back into the buckboard.  Despite her protest that she could do it, he re-harnessed Hope to the wagon.  Wiping his hands on his thighs, he faced her.

"That should do it."

Her green eyes met his and she stepped forward, her hand outstretched.  "Thank you.  I couldn't do this alone and you saved me from having to go all the way back to town.  I know I'm likely the last person you'd want to help and I appreciate that you did it anyway."

Her hand was small and delicate within his.  Soft.  Silky soft.  It conjured up all sorts of thoughts he shouldn't be having.

But they bombarded him mercilessly.  Flickers of images filled his mind.  The way she'd looked at his naked chest.  The way her cheeks had flushed.  The way she'd made him feel as she looked at him.  The way she was making him feel again.

He pulled his hand away but it burned as though branded.  Damn.  He hadn't looked twice at any woman since Amy died.  Certainly she was pretty, but there were a lot of pretty women around Cedar Springs, take Silver for example.  Maybe it was the combination of Jillian's green eyes with that reddish-gold hair that he wanted to touch so badly his fingers twitched with need.

He knew by looking he could span her waist with his hands, could fill those same hands with her breasts.  Knowing it, wanting it, drove him to distraction.  He had to physically drag all the reasons she was wrong for him back to the forefront of his mind, where reason, not lust, reigned.

"Wade?  Everything all right?"

"Yeah, sorry."  He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.  "Heat must be getting to me."

Despite knowing better, he helped her into the buckboard.  His fingers sank into the soft flesh at her waist.  How long had it been since he'd felt the give of a woman's flesh?

Not the right woman, his mind repeated.

Yet he stood there, aroused and overheated, until Jillian rode out of sight.

***

For hours he stared at the ledgers, scratching out numbers and shuffling them around.  All he had to show for it was a crick in his neck, a thumping headache and acid twisting in his belly like a tornado ripping across the plains.  Nothing he did erased the fact that he remained deeply in debt and the dream of a horse ranch was as far away as ever.

Goddammit.

He slammed the books shut, pressed his fingers over his eyes.  It would take a miracle to turn the ranch around.  And miracles were in damn short supply around the Triple P.  The only thing he could be thankful for was the deal he'd made with Liam, who owned a spread not far from Wade's ranch.  In much the same predicament Wade was in, they'd agreed to trade bulls.  It would breathe new blood into each of their herds without the expense of buying a new bull.

There was also Chancy, the yearling colt he and Scott were working on.  He was a smart horse, a fast learner and showed excellent potential to be a damn good cow pony.  They'd thought to keep him, add him to their small herd of working horses, but maybe they should sell him instead.  Since Scott had come to the Triple P he'd garnered a reputation as a solid horseman and more than a few men had come to him for advice for difficult horses.  If they put Chancy up for sale, let folks know Scott did most of the training…

From the open window he heard the porch swing creak.  He dropped his hands.  He'd forgotten his ma had gone out after making him coffee.  He looked at the empty cup, wondered how long ago that had been.

"Long enough," he muttered, coming to his feet.  He knew his ma and she wouldn't go to bed until he did.  And though she hadn't spent the last few hours stewing over the ledgers, he didn't doubt she worried about them as much as he did.

The porch swing dipped with his weight as he settled next to her.

"Make any progress?" she asked.

"The numbers haven't changed."  There wasn't any point in lying to her since she was smart enough to see what surrounded her on a daily basis.  "But I do have a few ideas up my sleeve."

Her hand found his, held on.  "Let James help, Wade.  He wants to."

Before the words had fully left her lips he was shaking his head.  "Ma, I've already had this discussion with James.  I won't take his money.  He should be using it to build you a house, or saving it in case something happens to him the way it did Pa, not lending-" he hung his head, unable to say the rest.  He'd loved his pa, but the man had left them a mess.  Still, it somehow felt disrespectful to say it aloud.

She squeezed his hand.  "I think we all learned your father's lesson.  If James is offering to help, he's doing it within his means."

"I won't have you penniless, not again."

"Much as I loved your father, he and James are very different men.  James saw what your father did, Wade.  He saw what it did, what it's still doing to us.  He's promised me he won't make that same mistake."

Wade wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaned back in the swing.  With his heel, he set it in motion.  Frogs sang, the crickets played a soothing melody.  The moon hung plump and bright and the stars were out in droves.

"Let him help you, Wade.  Even a little."

"He already did when he helped me pay Jillian's bill.  I won't accept more than that.  You deserve to be taken care of, to not have to worry about money any more.  Tell James to build you a house if he's got some to spare.  I've tried telling him but he won't listen to me."

"We don't need a house, Wade."

Same argument, different person, Wade thought with a sigh.  "Ma, it don't feel right having you two live in his bunkhouse after the wedding."

"What do I need a house for?  It'll just be me and James in it.  Besides, we'll still do our meals together here, same as always.  The bunkhouse suits us, Wade."

"It's not very big."

"What do we need big for?  We have a table to sit and have coffee, we have a bed to-"

Wade held up his hand.  "Ma, please."

Chuckling, she snuggled into his side.  "You know what I mean.  This house is yours now.  Yours, Annabelle's.  Your future wife's," she added with a smile in her voice.  "I hear Jillian called on you earlier."

"I knew it was only a matter of time," he sighed.  Knowing he couldn't stop it, that if she didn't get this out tonight she'd only corner him another time, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

"I like her.  She's smart.  She's beautiful with all that fiery gold hair, those eyes green as a spring meadow."  She nudged him.  "I know you're not blind."

"No, Ma, I'm not blind."  Even without Jillian there he could see her, hear her voice.  Feel her softness.

"You know she could have gone to town, it's not that much further.  But she came here.  To you."

"She didn't come to me," he said, looking her in the eye.  "It could have as easily been Scott or James who was in the yard."

"But it wasn't.  It was you.  It was meant to be."

"Meant to be" were three of her favorite words.  It wasn't that she didn't get angry, sad or frustrated with life.  She'd cried and mourned for her husband.  But in the end, telling herself it was meant to be is what had allowed her to accept his death and move on.  In that instance he'd been glad for those words, as it had been harder than hell to watch her in such pain.

He wasn't nearly so glad when she used those words on him.

"Ma, it just happened.  It wasn't God's will."

"You hired her, didn't you?"

"Because I thought she was a man."

"But she's not.  The best qualified person turns out to be a woman.  Then it rains and she has to sleep in your bed."

"Because you told her to!"  And, though the sheets had been washed, he could still smell Jillian in his room.  Not that he'd tell his mother that.

"Then," she continued as though she hadn't heard him, "her wheel breaks and she needs help.  Of all the days you're working the range, today you were in the yard.  At the exact moment she came calling."

"It's not fate, Ma," he argued.  It was someone's idea of a cruel joke.  If he thought it was possible that they could have arranged it, he'd blame Scott and James.

"How do you know?  Amy was sweet on Steven Garvey until the day she got a cramp swimming and you jumped in the pond to save her.  From that day on she had eyes only for you."

He remembered it well.  School had let out for the day.  The older kids had decided to go swimming in the pond behind the feed mill--Garvey's pond.  Steven and his friends were at one end, diving and showing off for the girls.  Wade and Shane had been on the bank, talking about and staring at those same girls.  He'd been watching Amy at the time; fate, as his ma would call it.  She'd been swimming along with her friends, taunting Steven and his group when she'd suddenly grimaced and begun to sink.

At first Wade had thought it was a game to get Steven's attention.  Heck, he'd seen Steven feign injury often enough to get Amy to come running and figured she was doing the same thing.  It soon became apparent she wasn't.  Amy thrashed; her head dipped below the surface.  He was tugging off his boots when her friends yelled for help.