Chapter 14 Hope #2
He grabs another coil and I watch out of the corner of my eye as he snaps it around the next post over. He works faster than me, breaking in four coils in the length of time it takes me to do two, and he started the first one. But it doesn’t take long before all six are hanging on the fence posts.
“What next?” I ask as I pretend my arms aren’t burning from that effort.
“Whenever you’ve got time over the next few days, you can keep working this rope in. Going in the opposite direction, pulling against different things. We’ve got a roping dummy that’s fun to play with, too. But let’s go inside and I’ll show you some knots with softer rope.”
I follow him into the barn.
At the other end, closer to the greenhouses, there’s a tack room. Or it might be better described as a rope room, because the wall is covered in loops of colourful ropes. Nothing like what we just were working with.
He goes to a shelf on the wall and grabs a soft hank of cotton rope. “This is good for lesson number two.”
“What are all those?” I ask, my attention split between his hands, what he’s doing with the rope he’s holding, and the loops of various sizes on the wall.
“Those are for ropin’,” he says. “That’s an advanced lesson. But I like your curiosity.”
“Not beating the city girl rumours, I guess.”
He grins and steps closer, handing me the rope he’s already tied. “This is a bowline. See that poster on the wall?”
As I look for the diagram he’s referring to, he catches my hand and tugs the glove off those fingers.
“Easier with bare hands,” he murmurs.
He takes off his gloves, too, then demonstrates the knot again.
We pass the rope back and forth, electricity arcing every time our fingers brush. Neither of us comment on it, or even outwardly react, but every time we touch, his throat works up and down.
I shouldn’t notice that as keenly as I do.
I should focus on the knots, that are harder than they look.
But he’s patient, and just shows me again and again. He moves my fingers against the rope, showing me how to do what he’s doing. His hands cover mine. They’re rough with callouses, but gentle, and something about the way his touch starts to linger makes my belly pull low and warm.
"Rabbit," he says, and guides my fingers. Slow. "Tree. Hole."
The knot forms perfectly under our joined hands.
"There you go." His voice has dropped, gone a little rough. “Do it yourself while I watch.”
This time, I get it. I gasp in surprise.
“That’s it, you’ve got it.” He sounds so proud. “Again, Hope.”
I scrabble at the rope, untying it, then deftly knotting it again, making a fixed loop.
“Perfect. You’re a natural ranch hand, City Girl.”
We move through a few more, and some of them I get quickly, and some of them I have to try four or five times, and he never once makes me feel stupid about any of it. He just helps me practice, and when I get one right, he heaps praise on me.
Derek taught me things, too, back at the beginning. But every lesson was a test. Every lesson was a setup for the moment I'd fail, and he'd sigh, and he'd say it's okay, I know you're trying, in the voice he used when he meant the opposite.
Zane’s genuine praise is the complete opposite, and it makes my eyes sting to think about, so I shove the comparison away.
"All right," he says, after I've tied a clove hitch three times in a row without help. "Show me what you'd do with it."
I glance at the diagram on the wall, as if that’s going to help me. It’s zero help, so I have to confess to Zane that I don’t know. "What would I do with it?"
“Excellent question.” He spreads his arms, the rope looped loose in one hand. “Pretend you’ve got a horse attached to this. I’m your horse.”
“Oooh, okay.” I grab the loose end of the rope and hitch it around the door knob. “Easy.”
He chuckles. “A natural. And what would you do with a Prusik knot?”
I bite my lip. “Which one’s that?”
“The one that slides up and down the line.”
“Oh!” I swear I’ve seen that one in action over the last two days. I search my memory. “Is that for hanging things from the rafters? Anything you want at a variable height?”
“Exactly.” He opens the door and gestures for me to follow him. “You saw it in Shadow’s stall.”
As we go back to visit my new friend, he tells me about the different ropes that they use in the barn and elsewhere on the ranch.
But the lesson slides to the back burner as soon as I can get my hands on the horse again. She nuzzles me and I press my face into her fur.
“Sorry,” I mumble, but I don’t mean it. I’m not sorry at all about stealing this unexpected joy.
“Don’t be,” Zane murmurs.
I twist my face to the side so I can stay cuddling with Shadow and look at him, too.
He’s staring at me with undisguised affection, so sweet it takes my breath away. So sweet it should feel dangerous, but…it doesn’t.
“You’re very kind to me,” I say.
He looks vaguely amused at that. “It’s easy to be nice to someone who likes my horse this much.”
“I’ve heard of equine therapy, but I didn’t realize it was as simple as just smooshing cheeks together.”
“Do you want to feed her?”
I take a deep breath and nod.
He gets me a bucket of grain and a carrot, and then shows me how to refill her water, too.
“She gets hay throughout the day, too. You don’t need to worry about her chores, but if you ever want to take care of her, you can. It is good therapy. It’s why we bought the ranch. We all needed this.”
The downside of feeding her is then she’s busy eating, and I have no busy work to distract me from the pulsing awareness of Zane being so close—and the two of us being all alone.
I like being alone with him, too.
So much.
I rest my back against the outside of her stall, and he leans against the post next to me. “Am I keeping you from other chores?”
He shakes his head. “Not this afternoon. Do you have to get back to the house?”
I look at the time. Barely an hour has passed. “No message from your mom. I’m good.”
He adjusts his hat and gives me a sideways look. “I have an idea, if you want to try something.”
“What’s that?”
“I told you we don’t judge anyone around here. You and your trauma are safe here, Hope. If you think it would be good to know how to defend yourself, or respond to a threat in some way—like tying up a man, for example—I’m happy to help.”
I shiver.
His brows pull tight. “Too dark? I just want to give you skills that might be useful.”
I shake my head. “Not too dark.”
How many times did I fantasize about overwhelming Derek and escaping? But in the end, I never could. I had to wait until he was gone and took the coward’s way out. “How…would we…?”
“You could start by securing a person. Me.” He lifts one corner of his mouth in a self-deprecating smile. “You want to tie me up?”
I laugh.
I stop laughing.
And then, heart pounding, I nod. “Maybe.”
He nods, too. “Good. Okay. Stay here.”
I watch Shadow eat as Zane saunters down to the rope room. When he comes back, he has a loop of brown rope in one hand, and he’s also carrying a wooden chair, which he sets in the middle of the aisle.
I take the rope from him. “How do I…?”
“However you want. This is just practice, to get you used to the idea that you can do it.”
My pulse is in my ears. In my throat. In my wrists.
My fists clench around the rope as he sits down. His long legs sprawl out in front of him. His forearms rest on his knees, and he is so much man, even sitting down, that I have to remind my lungs how to do their job.
“You’re a very agreeable prisoner,” I mutter.
“Let’s assume I’m being forced to hold still for you, or maybe inebriated.” He rolls his shoulders and holds his arms out.
"Are you sure?"
"Completely."
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"You know four knots you didn't know an hour ago."
"Zane, I'm—" My hands are shaking. "I've never—"
"I know." His voice is very quiet now. Very steady. "But you can. That’s important to know, to have that confidence. This is just practice. To let you know what it feels like to hold all the cards for a minute.”
My eyes burn again. "Why would you do this?"
"Because you deserve to know you have this power."
I walk around him, looking at his big body and the spindly chair. Tying him to that doesn’t feel like the smartest thing to do. He could crack it against the ground, or even use his own body strength maybe to pull against it and get to his feet.
“If I were going to tie you up, it might be inside a stall,” I say, my voice shaking. “Seems more secure.”
He nods. “Good instinct.”
I circle around to stand in front of him.
He looks up at me. “Tell me to get up, City Girl.”
“Get up, Cowboy.”
He stands and looms over me.
But his gaze stays locked on my face.
I actually do feel like I’m in charge.
“You have to do what I say?” I ask.
He nods.
“Into that empty stall, then.” I make him back up until he’s in a stall with thick metal bars.
Then, pulse racing, I grab one of his wrists and lash it to the bars, whipping the rope around in a figure eight.
“Is this too tight?” I ask breathlessly as I work.
“I’m an asshole you’re tying up until someone in charge can take me away for a very long time,” he says dryly. “Don’t worry about too tight.”
“But you’re actually a friend who is helping me get over my fears,” I whisper as I pull the rope behind his head and grab his other hand.
His palm is broad and rough and warm, and there's a callus at the base of his thumb. I trace it with my finger, and he exhales slow through his nose.
“You see me as a friend?” He turns his head and looks at me as I secure his wrist. “That’s nice.”
“I have a terrible track record of thinking people are on my side, though,” I tell him, braver now that he’s actually tied up.
I step back and look at my work. The knots could be better. They’re lumpy and crooked.
But he’s tied to the stall, and I don’t think he could get out of it.
“You just let me tie you up, huh?”
He nods. “Tell me about trusting the wrong people.”
“I told you some of it.” I scuff my boot against the stall floor. “Being pregnant makes a girl desperate.”
“Don’t ever apologize for that mama bear protective instinct. We love that in this family.” He wiggles his fingers. “This is good and tight. But uh, since I’m not actually a bad guy, do you think…”
I gasp and surge forward, undoing the knot quickly. He just watches me from under his lashes, his eyes dark and soft. The loop around his wrists tightens gently before it loosens, as I tug, and his breath catches, just a little.
I feel that hitch ripple through my belly.
Ducking my head, I go to the other side and free that hand, too. The rope slides away from his body, pooling in my hands, and I stare down at it.
"Hope." His voice is very low.
I jerk my head in acknowledgement.
"Look at me."
I look up.
His eyes are almost black in the dim barn. His mouth is slightly parted under his moustache. There is a pulse visible in the column of his throat, steady and fast, and a flush high on his cheekbones tells me he’s not as calm as he wants to be.
“How did that feel?”
Before I can find the words, his phone vibrates, interrupting the privacy of this moment.
But Zane doesn’t look away. Reality has intruded again, and life must go on, but he’s waiting for me to answer.
“Powerful,” I whisper, smiling at him as I back up. “Thank you.”
“Any time.” He rubs his wrist, then reaches for his phone.
My sign to leave.
I nod, and then I nod again, and I keep nodding all the way out of the barn, and as soon as I’m out of sight, I tip my face up to the sun and groan, because what the heck did I just do?
But I’m still smiling so much it hurts, and that’s the best feeling in the world.