The overhead lamp’s soft glow spotlighted the pool, blurring the edges of the inky-black night. As he stood on the stone patio, Chance’s mind churned with memories of the past and worries for the future. Cowboy wove in between his legs. How the hell did Cowboy get out? Chance bent down to pet him and scooped him up, running his hand over the feline’s silky body. He’d come to like the cat, and he had to admit, he admired the animal’s independent spirit.
But Cowboy wasn’t supposed to be outside, much less in the dark. As Chance cradled him, the cat rubbed his head against Chance’s arm. Setting him down inside the French doors of his bedroom, Chance closed the doors. Cowboy meowed behind the glass in protest.
“Take it up with Libby, Cowboy,” Chance said. “If it was up to me, you’d have the run of the place.”
He’d told Libby he was stepping out to get some fresh air after dinner. He’d really stepped out to take a breather from her. It had been over a week since they’d first been intimate, and each day she stayed here, each night they spent together, made it more difficult to keep that ever important distance between them, and particularly after her revelation that she loved him. Or thought she did.
She’d said she loved him once before. It hadn’t stuck then. He’d been too poor to be considered good enough. Yes, she’d explained she walked out because she’d been afraid of her father, of losing her family, and that it had nothing to do with his pocketbook. But he didn’t believe it.
His financial circumstances had improved, maybe giving her that security she needed. But that didn’t mean she loved him. And he’d be damned if he’d be fooled again by a woman who cared more about what was in his pockets than what was in his heart.
Unfortunately, his painful past with Libby hadn’t protected that heart liked he’d hoped.
He thought he could settle for physical intimacy. That he could handle it without feeling anything deeper, certain what happened five years ago would ensure he could walk away. After all, he’d had a lifetime of keeping his emotions in check, locked away with no key to release them. That was until Libby had come into his life that first time and stole that key. In her presence and her presence alone, he’d revealed his real self, his dreams, what he cared about, and what he didn’t. He’d confided in her, told her what his mother had done and what his father had tried to do.
Admitting that you’d been beaten, and beaten by someone who was supposed to love you, wasn’t an easy thing for anyone, but it had been particularly difficult for the chip-on-the-shoulder teenager that he’d been. He’d never told anyone, because he didn’t want sympathy or pity. He’d finally told Libby because he wanted her understanding. And she had given that to him.
He still remembered her embracing him and holding him so tight he could barely breathe. He remembered her soft voice telling him that he was her hero for enduring it all and not coming out the wrong end. He remembered the whispered words of love that had soothed the pain-filled memories. And he remembered feeling again—good feelings—free from the emotional yoke that had pinned him down for so long.
Now that she was back it was like those things were yammering for release, telling him that he wanted to feel something good again. Like happiness. With her. His resistance was crumbling—and he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t risk the heartache. Not again. Not when he’d climbed out of that pit of despair twice now—once after his mother left. Once after Libby’s departure. He didn’t have it in him to do it a third time.
Chance had seen the doctor right after her father’s visit, and his prognosis for recovery was encouraging, even if it still wasn’t on a satisfactory timeline. From Chance’s standpoint, his ribs were better and his foot was good enough. So he’d decided to follow his own timeline so that rodeo could save him by taking him away from her. Because when she was near, he couldn’t resist her. Didn’t want to.
“Here you are.” Libby’s voice wafted through the air accompanied by the sound of the closing kitchen door.
“Here I am,” he said without turning around.
She came and stood behind him, wrapping her thin arms around his waist and squeezing tight enough he could feel the comforting pressure of her body against his. The rose-tinged scent of her perfume, flowery with a little spice, just like Libby, teased his senses. He would miss that scent. Hell, he’d miss her. More than even the first time because now he knew how good life could be with her. Soon he’d be off to rodeo, but the night was still theirs.
“Do you remember when we used to go skinny dipping in your pool?” he asked.