“So you going to tell me what’s with you two, or leave me hanging?”
“Leave you hanging,” Chance growled.
Tom Whitefeather was not only a good trainer, he had become a good friend. A licensed physical therapist, he had devoted himself to working with rodeo riders since so many of his friends were in that line of work. Chance had met him through Lonnie, who had used Tom in the off-season to improve his balance when he was on a crazy bull. Chance had started using him two years ago to improve his staying power on a horse. It was Tom who had suggested meditation to help with Chance’s focus. Now he was hoping the guy could perform a miracle and heal his foot sooner rather than later.
“I can always ask her, because this sounds like it’s going to be some story.”
Chance rolled his eyes as he slowly propped up on his elbows and waited for the rib pain. None came. Well, at least something wasn’t aching.
“We were married for two days when we were younger. Her father found out. Next thing I know, she’s leaving with him, and I get a divorce decree in the mail. End of story.”
“And is this the beginning of another?”
“Hell no.” It couldn’t be. He couldn’t let it be. “She’s getting engaged to someone else.” Something he needed to remember.
“Why is she here then?”
“Beats me.”
“Guilt?”
Chance shrugged. He didn’t want her to be here because of guilt. Petty as it might seem, part of him wanted her to be here because she still had feelings for him. Even if he didn’t return those feelings—which he didn’t.
“You’re a personal trainer, not a shrink, Whitefeather.”
“Sometimes I’m a friend, too.” Tom crossed his arms over his chest.
Chance closed his eyes for a long second. “Then be a friend and lay off this subject. And her.”
“She’s one fine-looking woman, Chance. Nicely curved and angled, and you know I like blondes. But even given all that, she’s not my type.”
“Good thing.”
“She’s the marrying kind. And that makes alarms go off all over the place. Should for you, too.”
Chance snorted. Marrying maybe, but not committing. “Don’t worry—she taught me a lesson I’ve never forgotten and never will.”
“What’s the lesson?”
“Never count on a woman.” Chance lay silent for a moment, watching Tom pack up. “Actually, my mother taught me that one.”
*
Libby had fixed some BLT sandwiches for lunch. She’d actually made coffee, too, following instructions Chance had written down. Too bad he hadn’t had one of those single-serve coffeemakers. She’d thought about buying him one, but given she had no job as of yet, she’d tabled the idea until she was actually making some money.
Carrying the tray of sandwiches and coffee, she toed opened his bedroom door. A surprise visitor greeted her. Billy McShane was sitting next to Chance on the bed, Cowboy stretched between them, as they faced a TV screen where a bronc rider had just taken a tumble.
“If he had marked out, he would have been in rhythm with the horse, and he wouldn’t have lost his balance in the saddle,” Chance was explaining. “What else did he do wrong?”
Something about the way he talked to the boy, something about the idea of Chance handing down wisdom, something about having children and raising them together made her heart swell.
But Billy’s attention had turned to Libby. “I like your cat, Libby.”
“Well, he seems to have taken to you too, Billy,” she noted. “Cowboy usually isn’t so relaxed around strangers.”
“We have a lot of barn cats, but Mom won’t let them in the house with us. Only our dog, Sadie, gets that privilege.”
“I imagine there is a lot to keep those cats busy enough in the barn. Cowboy used to live outside, but he seems happy to be a house cat now.” Libby set the tray on the table. “I’ve brought some sandwiches for Chance, and there’s enough for you too, if you’d like.” Libby would just make another one for herself.
“Thank you, ma’am. I never turn down food.”
She guessed that was true of most thirteen-year-old boys.
“Me neither.” Chance’s grin was so wide she almost felt welcomed. “Much obliged, only I expect Billy here might need more than one sandwich.”
Billy’s face reddened, but he didn’t disagree.
“No trouble at all.” And it wasn’t. She’d made these because they were simple. “Would you like me to get you some milk, Billy?”
Billy’s thank you echoed in the air as the two bronc riders turned back to the TV. Billy said something about the rope having slack in it. For a tiny split second, she felt at home. But this would never be her home. Not unless she took matters into her own hands.
*