Chapter 4 Chance
Chance
I'm drowning in guilt and desire, and it's only eight in the morning.
Last night I almost kissed Anita. Came so close I could feel the heat radiating off her skin, see the way her pupils dilated with want. Then I pulled back and ran like a coward, even though I saw the disappointment flashing across her face.
I hate myself for it. But I hate the wanting more.
Because if I let myself really want her, not just the physical ache that's been plaguing me since she arrived, I'm opening myself up to the same devastation Jane left me with. And I can't survive that again. Mel can't survive that again.
So I throw myself into work, riding out to check the fence line in the north pasture even though I checked it three days ago. Anything to distance myself from the woman turning my world upside down.
It doesn't work. She's in my head, under my skin and wrapped around my thoughts.
I'm hammering in a fence post when I hear the ATV (all-terrain vehicle) rumbling toward me. I know before I look up that it's her. Something in me recognizes her presence, like my body has tuned itself to her frequency.
Anita pulls up beside me, and my mouth goes dry. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and there's a smudge of dirt on her cheek.
I want to kiss that smudge, then peel the flannel shirt and jeans off her body and lay her down in the grass.
"What are you doing out here?" I ask instead, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.
"Came to help." She hops off the ATV, and I notice she's brought water and sandwiches. "It's almost noon. Thought you might be hungry."
I am. But not for food.
"Thanks." I take the water bottle she offers, careful not to let our fingers touch. I'm not sure I can handle touching her right now.
She surveys the fence line, then picks up the other post hole digger without asking. "Where do you want the next post?"
"Anita, you don't have to."
"I know. But I want to." She meets my eyes, and there's a challenge there. "Or do you not trust me to do it right?"
That gets my hackles up. "I trust your work just fine."
"Then show me where you want it."
We work in silence for a while, falling into a rhythm. She's stronger than she looks, and she doesn't complain about the hard labor.
She belongs here. The thought comes unbidden, unwelcome. Yet she fits on this land, working with me.
"Storm's coming." I stare towards the dark clouds building over the mountains. "Weather report said it might hit the high country tonight."
"How bad?"
"Could be bad. Snow and ice. We've got cattle up there that need to be moved to lower pasture."
She wipes sweat from her forehead. "How many hands do you need?"
"It's a two-person job at minimum." I pause. "But the casual ranch hands are all dealing with their own properties. Storm's hitting everyone."
"Then I'll help."
"Anita—"
"I can ride. I know cattle. And you need someone." She plants her hands on her hips. "Unless you're planning to do it alone and risk getting hurt."
She's right, and I hate it. Pride wants me to say I can handle it myself. Common sense knows that's stupid.
"We leave in an hour. I'll leave a note for Mel, let her know we might be late getting back."
"I'll pack supplies. Just in case."
Just in case we get stuck up there overnight. My body responds to that thought in ways it shouldn't, and I turn away before she can see it written all over my face.
An hour later, we're riding out. I'm on Duke, she's on Honey - one of my gentler mares - and we're pushing toward the high country where I left a small herd grazing.
Watching her ride does things to me. She sits on the horse like she was born to it, moving with Honey's gait, completely at ease.
Her body is fluid, confident, and I can't stop stealing glances at the grip of her thighs on the saddle, the curve of her back, the way the setting sun catches in her dark hair.
We find the cattle and start moving them down. It takes hours. The herd doesn’t want to leave good grazing. But Anita knows what she's doing. She positions herself perfectly, reads the herd's movement, works in sync with me like we've been doing this together for years.
The storm builds faster than I expected. One minute the sky is gray; the next it's opening up with snow and sleet. Visibility drops to almost nothing.
"We need to take shelter!" I shout over the wind.
She nods, pulling her coat tighter. We guide the horses toward the old line shack, a small cabin my father built decades ago for situations exactly like this. It's bare-bones, but it's shelter.
By the time we get there, we're both soaked and shaking. I get the horses into the lean-to attached to the cabin, making sure they're secure with feed and water. Anita's already inside getting the wood stove going.
The cabin is tiny. One room with a stove and a narrow bunk bed. Barely big enough for two people to stand up in without bumping into each other.
We're going to be stuck here all night.
"We need to get out of these wet clothes," Anita says, her teeth chattering. "Or we'll get hypothermia."
She's right, but the thought of her undressing sends heat straight to my groin. I turn my back, give her privacy, and strip off my own soaked shirt and jeans. There are old blankets in the cupboard, musty but dry. I wrap one around myself and hear her doing the same behind me.
When I turn around, she's wrapped in a blanket, her wet hair dripping down her shoulders. Even bedraggled and cold, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"I'll see what supplies we have," I mutter, needing to do something with my hands.
There are cans of soup, some crackers, and coffee that's probably stale. Enough to get us through the night. I heat the soup on the wood stove while Anita spreads our wet clothes to dry.
We eat in silence, sitting on the floor by the fire because there's nowhere else to sit. The storm rages outside, rattling the windows, but in here it's warm. Almost cozy.
"Mel will be okay," Anita says softly. "She knows what to do in situations like this. She's a ranch kid."
"I know." But I'm still worried. Can't help it. "She's more capable than I give her credit for."
"You've done a great job with her."
The compliment blindsides me. When was the last time someone told me I was doing a good job as a father? "I've done my best. But she needs more."
"A mother?" Anita's voice is gentle. "She told me about Jane. About Christmas."
I tense up. "What did she say?"
"That Jane left right before Christmas. That you haven't celebrated it properly since." She shifts closer, and I feel the warmth of her through the blankets.
I don't talk about this. Don't let people get in close enough to talk about this. But something about the storm, the isolation, the way she's looking at me with understanding instead of pity cracks something open inside me.
"She cheated on me." The words come out harsh. "Said ranch life wasn't what she expected and caring for a baby was too hard. She felt trapped." I laugh bitterly.
Anita's hand finds mine under the blanket. "Some women would do a lot to share this ranch and Mel with you."
I turn to look at her. She's so close I see the gold flecks in her dark brown eyes, feel her breath on my face. "How can you be sure? You don't even know me."
"I know enough." She reaches up with her free hand, touches my face gently. "I know you're a good father. I know you work yourself to the bone for this ranch. You’re the faithful, staying kind, no matter how hard it gets. That kind of man isn’t easy to find."
"Anita." I'm drowning in her eyes, the warmth of her touch and the impossible hope that she might be right.
She leans in slowly. I should pull away, protect what's left of my shattered heart.
But I don't.
Our lips meet, soft at first. Then she sighs against my mouth, and I'm lost. I pull her closer, my hand tangling in her damp hair, and kiss her harder.
She tastes like soup and coffee and something sweet that's just her. Her hands slide up my chest, pushing the blanket aside, and I groan when her fingers find bare skin.
"We shouldn't," I say against her mouth, even as my hands find her waist.
"I know." She kisses me again, deeper. "But I want to."
"If we do this," I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, "I don't know if I can stop."
"Then don't stop."
Something in me snaps. I kiss her desperately, claiming her. She meets me stroke for stroke; her blanket falling away, her body pressing against mine.
We're both breathing hard when we pull apart. Her lips are swollen, eyes dark with want. "The bunk," she whispers.
It's narrow, barely wide enough for one person, let alone two. But I don't care. I lift her. Elation soars through me when she gasps and wraps her legs around my waist. I carry her the three steps to the bed.
I lay her down carefully. She's in nothing but her bra and underwear, all those curves on display, and I have to stop and just look at her. Memorize this moment because part of me still can't believe it's real.
"Chance." She reaches for me. "Please."
I strip off my underwear and join her on the narrow bunk. We're pressed together, skin to skin, and it's the most incredible thing I've felt in years. Maybe ever.
I kiss her again, slower this time. Her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. She arches into me, her fingers digging into my shoulders, little gasps escaping her throat that drive me wild.
"You're beautiful. Perfect."
"Not perfect. But yours. If you'll have me."
The words hit me square in the chest. Mine. She wants to be mine. And God help me, I want her to be.
I unhook her bra, toss it aside. She helps me remove her underwear, and then there's nothing between us. Just skin and heat and need.
I touch her everywhere, learning what makes her gasp and moan my name. Her hands rove down my back, squeezing my ass. When they wrap around my cock, I nearly lose it.
"Condom," I grit out. "I don't have one."
"I'm on birth control." She pulls me closer.
“I haven’t been with anyone in the past twelve years.”
"I trust you."
The faith in her eyes undoes me. I position myself at her entrance, and we lock eyes as I push in slowly. She's tight and wet. The sensation is overwhelming.
We both freeze, just breathing, adjusting. Then she rocks her hips and I'm lost. I move with her, finding our rhythm. It takes every ounce of strength in me to wait for her pleasure.
"I love you," she whispers against my ear.
I want to say it back. Want to tell her she's everything I've been afraid to want. But the words stick in my throat, tangled up with fear and old pain.
Instead, I show her with my body. With every touch, every kiss, every thrust. I pour everything I can't say into the way I make love to her, and when she comes apart in my arms, crying my name, I follow her over the edge.
Afterward, we lie tangled together on the narrow bunk, sweaty and spent. She traces patterns on my chest, and I hold her close, breathing in the scent of her.
"What if you get bored with ranch life?”
She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at me with fierce determination.
"I’ve lived in a big city and travelled a bit, at first with my parents and later with friends.
But I always longed for the joy I felt herding and tending cattle those summer breaks before I finished high school, even though I earned a pittance.
I fell in lust with you when I saw your photo on your profile.
That, Mel’s cute picture and how well tended the ranch looked made me decide to come. "
I want to believe her so badly it hurts.
But the fear is still there, a cold stone in my chest.
She kisses me, silencing the spiral of thoughts. "Stop thinking so much, just feel."
I pull her close and let myself feel her warmth, softness and the way she fits perfectly against me.
Outside, the storm rages on. But in here, wrapped in her arms, I feel something I haven't felt in over a decade.
Loved.