Chapter Nine
“What in blazes were you doing?” Buck lowered Cheyenne’s feet, none too gently, to the sawdust-strewn concrete floor. “That stallion could’ve killed you—and don’t think for a minute the gate would have stopped him! What got into your head?”
Turning to face him, Cheyenne found her voice. “I was checking Roper’s horse, and Fire Dance was so quiet in his stall, I was afraid something was wrong—”
“Well, you found out, didn’t you? You should have called somebody if you were worried. You work with horses. You know how dangerous they can be.”
She glowered up at him. “Don’t scold me, Buck. I’m not a child.”
“Aren’t you? Hell, girl, you’re not even legal to drink.” His eyes were in shadow, but Cheyenne could almost feel his gaze boring through her.
Behind the gate, the red stallion snorted and slammed his body against the rear of the stall.
Cheyenne turned her attention back to the horse.
“What’s really wrong with him?” she asked.
“I mean, I know what happened to him, and I know that he was high-strung even before the accident. But it’s like he has PTSD. Can’t something be done for him?”
“That decision will be up to your friend, Hayden. And right now he’s busy celebrating.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I was hoping you’d win.”
He shrugged. “There’ll be other competitions.”
“But we were talking about Fire Dance. What do you think is wrong with him?”
Buck fell silent for a moment. “He doesn’t appear to have any visible injuries—although we can’t rule out brain damage.
That aside, he seems terrified. And he can’t understand why.
When somebody tries to approach him, he sees them as the thing that could be coming to hurt him again.
So he lashes out. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. He’s innocent, like a child,” Cheyenne murmured, as if speaking to herself.
“He doesn’t understand. He only feels. And that wreck, with the trailer slamming him to one side, hurting him in ways we can only imagine, destroyed his trust in the people who were supposed to keep him safe.
All he’s ever done was obey, like a good horse.
And now he’s suffering for it. Oh, Buck, why does life have to be so unfair? ”
“That’s a question for the ages, Cheyenne.
” His fingertip traced the moist path of a tear down her cheek, then paused to lift her chin, tilting her face to the light.
As if drawn by his touch, she strained upward.
A muted groan rose in his throat as he lowered his head and claimed her mouth with his.
He smelled of horses and man-sweat, and his lips tasted faintly of beer.
But the warmth that crept through Cheyenne’s body was so powerful that it almost shattered her.
As his arms clasped her, she melted against him.
Her mouth softened and parted to let him in.
She tasted his tongue, felt the gentle hunger in its probing.
In the depths of her body a pulsing current woke and stirred, shimmering upward.
As the kiss became more urgent, she gave herself to the powerful sensation.
Her fingers raked the back of his hair. Her hips curled against his.
She thought of her empty room upstairs in the hotel, and his room next door.
It could happen. Heaven help her, did she want it to happen?
But she should have known better. Like a killing frost on a spring morning, the terror crept in. Her body tensed. Panic, driven by her pounding heart, surged through her limbs. Instinctively, she began to struggle. “No—don’t—”
“Whoa, girl.” He released her and stepped back. “Are you all right? Was it something I did?”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. I’m sorry, Buck. It wasn’t you. It was me.” A shudder passed through her body. “I was wrong to let things go this far.”
In the faint light, emotions flickered over his rugged features—bitter amusement, wounded pride, a touch of concern.
“I won’t stop you from leaving, Cheyenne,” he said. “But that was a damned good kiss, and you liked it. I can tell when a woman is faking—and you weren’t faking. What happened? Is there someone else? Like Hayden? Say the word. I’ll understand.”
Cheyenne hesitated. She barely knew Buck Tolson. Their shared kiss had shown her a hidden side of this tough, taciturn man. But did that entitle him to know her secret? Something in her wanted to trust him. But what if she was wrong?
Buck was waiting. In his calm patience, she found her answer.
The first painful words had to be forced. Then the story spilled out of her.
“When I was eighteen, I was raped—violently—by a man I thought was a friend. I was a virgin. It was my first time. I was so hurt and scared, I wanted to die. Since then, I haven’t been able to … be intimate with a man. The memory comes back, and I freeze. All I want is to get away.”
She forced herself to go on. “He took me home afterward as if nothing had happened. I never reported him—the shame would have killed my family. My brothers don’t even know about it.”
“Why the shame?” His voice was gentle. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Wasn’t it? I was there. I was alone with him, in his hotel room. Isn’t it always the woman’s fault?” Cheyenne turned away from him, suddenly cautious. Had she said too much?
“I can imagine what you’re thinking,” he said. “You’ve trusted me with something very personal. I promise to honor that. Your secret will be safe with me.”
“Thanks.” She arranged her face into a smile. “I’m still wondering whether I just made a fool of myself.”
“Hear this, Cheyenne,” he said. “I had a sister, a bit younger than you. She’s gone now.
That’s a story for another time. But I wish I’d told her what I’m telling you now.
Someday you’ll meet the person who’ll make everything all right, and you’ll know it was worth the wait.
He won’t be some down-at-the-heels cowboy like me.
He’ll be worthy of you. And when it happens, maybe in your head, you’ll hear me saying, I told you so. Remember that, all right?”
“All right.” There were tears in Cheyenne’s voice. She battled the urge to fling herself into his arms again, if only for comfort. But that wasn’t going to happen.
The tension was broken by a voice calling her name. Hayden was striding down the row of stalls toward them.
“Hey, there you are, pretty lady.” Hayden reached her side. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back to the party.”
He’d been drinking when she left, but he appeared sober enough now. “I wasn’t sure you wanted me to come back,” she said. “You seemed to be having a great time without me.”
“Hey, it was my party. I owed it to the presenters to kick up my heels. But I missed you enough to leave and come looking for you. How long does it take to check on a couple of horses, anyway? I’d begun to wonder if you had company.”
Cheyenne was grateful for the dim light, which hid the rush of heat to her face. “I did. Buck was here. I was asking him about Fire Dance.”
“Well, I don’t see him now. Maybe he’s off licking his wounds. I finally beat him, Cheyenne, fair and square!”
Cheyenne glanced around. Buck had indeed made a discreet exit.
“About Fire Dance,” she said, “he’s your horse, Hayden. He won’t be allowed to stay here past the weekend. You’ve got to decide what to do with him.”
Frowning, Hayden gazed toward the stall, where Fire Dance had finally settled into silence. “What would you do if he was your horse?” he asked Cheyenne. “Would you try to load him and haul him home or save yourself the trouble and put him down right here?”
The question triggered a chill. “That isn’t my decision,” Cheyenne said. “He’s a beautiful horse, and he doesn’t deserve what happened to him. If there’s any way to save him—”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“But I did. I said it wasn’t my decision. So what will you do with him?”
Hayden’s expression hardened. “It’s a no-brainer.
That damned hundred-thousand-dollar horse is worthless the way he is.
And even if he can eventually be handled, he’ll never compete again.
When I get home, I’ll have my father’s funeral to arrange and a ranch to take over, to say nothing of the legal issues I’ll be dealing with.
I won’t have time to waste on a useless horse.
Tomorrow I’ll arrange with the vet to put him out of his misery. ”
“No! What if he can still be saved? What if he just needs time, and maybe some therapy?”
“I won’t have time or patience—or money to pay some so-called horse whisperer to work with him. The vet here is paid by the arena. He’ll euthanize the horse for free and call somebody to haul away the carcass.”
“But that would be such a waste,” Cheyenne argued. “And to do it before you even know what’s wrong with him—”
Hayden cut her off with an impatient gesture.
“You say you want to save the damned horse? Fine. Have it your way. Fire Dance is yours. I’ll have my lawyer fax his pedigree and ownership papers, dated from tonight, to the hotel in the morning.
You can do whatever the hell you want with him. Just leave me out of it.”
Cheyenne stared at him. “You’re joking. You can’t just give him to me.”
“I certainly can. And if you don’t accept him, he’ll be euthanized tomorrow. It’s your choice. Make it now.”
“But what would I do with him? How would I even get him home? He can’t ride back in the trailer with One in a Million.”
“That, sweetheart, is your problem. If you can’t figure out what to do, you can always have him put down—but it’ll be your decision, not mine.”
Cheyenne glared up at his sardonic grin. She was trapped, and Hayden was enjoying his victory. His gift, which she couldn’t refuse without sentencing Fire Dance to death, had relieved him of all responsibility.