Page 36 of Ride Me Cowboy

“Oh, Beth,” I say on a rough sigh, not even knowing where to start and what to say. “I wish you would’ve told me.”

She flinches again at the criticism. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. I don’t mean…I just wish I’d known.”

“I didn’t want to talk about it.” She looks away, her face awash with feelings. “I didn’t want to talk about him.”

I grind my teeth. That’s understandable. Three months ago, she buried some poor guy she was head over heels in love with. Not exactly the sort of thing you announce when you start a new job.

All this time, I’ve been wondering why a twenty-five-year-old woman from New York would move out here, cutting herself off from everything familiar, but now it makes sense.

She’s running away from the grief of her old life, trying to heal. Maybe she thought the wild, rugged plains of the ranch would be the spot for that, I sure as hell don’t know. But I do know she’s all kinds of messed up, and hurting, and that she didn’t do anything wrong after all.

“Listen,” I say, glad my voice sounds calm and relaxed. “It was just a kiss,” I lie. “It didn’t mean anything. We can draw a line under it, let it go. Never speak of it again.” I swallow down the horrible sense of regret, the bitter ache of loneliness spreading through me. “From now on, you’re just someone who works here.”

Her eyes drop to the ground and there’s such a crestfallen expression on her face that I could kick myself, frankly. I don’t know what she wanted me to say, but I don’t think it was that.

“Thank you,” she whispers, though.

“But if you change your mind and ever wanna talk, I’m here,” I say, knowing that’s all this can ever be. A friendship. She’s missing her husband and I’m not going to be some guy who takes advantage of that. I’m not the kind of man who preys on the broken heart of a woman he’s just met. “I mean, as a friend,” I clarify. “If you want.”

I swear I hear her stifle a sob, but she nods a little uncertainly. “I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything?—,”

“You didn’t owe me an explanation,” I repeat. “It’s your life. Your grief. Your journey. But while you’re here, if you need anything, you just let me know, okay?”

Beth

I didn’t actually think I could hate Christopher more than I already did. I mean, this guy ruined my life and made me live in fear for a long, long time. I despised him with every fiber of my being.

But now, having him so deep in my head that he’s screwed with something new, something with Cole…I am enraged. With him, with myself, with Cole for listening to me and for being such a gentleman.

If you need anything, you just let me know, okay?

I try to imagine tiptoeing to his bedroom now, in the middle of the night, and saying, ‘Actually, I do need something, would you mind doing whatever it is you wanted to do outside earlier?’.

But I know Cole, and I know he’ll never touch me again. Not while he thinks I’m all torn up about Christopher. And of course that’s what he thinks. That I’m a grieving widow, rather than a monumentally confused woman who’s come out of a relationship pocked with violence. My husband might be dead, but the shadows of his abuse live on in me. Memories of him, fears that he drummed into me, over and over again.

I don’t know if I’ll ever truly escape.

I turn onto my side and stare at the French doors that lead to the courtyard. I lie here, wondering about Cole. Is he still awake? Is he thinking about me?

I fall asleep, really hoping that he is. That we’re both just as tormented by what could have happened this evening as each other. Because I don’t want to suffer this alone.

Chapter Twelve

Cole

IT’S BEEN A FAIR few months since I was the first one out and about on the ranch. Usually Caleb beats me to it, heading out to the stables and saddling up, inspecting the herd just before first light. But after tossing and turning all night, I give up on even trying to sleep and head out, knowing that the early morning light will clear my mind, just like it always does. Ain’t nothing I can count on quite so much as that.

I know it about myself, almost as sure as I know how to put one foot in front of the other—these stars, at dawn, have magic all right, and when I look at them and ask for answers, they never fail to give it to me.

Like after mom died, when I couldn’t get the pictures out of my mind.

The feeling of failure, because I’d been the one with her, and couldn’t help. I mean, I tried. I tried everything, but it wasuseless. She hit her head when she fell, and there was just no waking her up again.

I wasn’t enough.

Every lesson my dad had taught me about being strong and helping others had lain before me, but I couldn’t grab at one. I couldn’t save her.

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