Last Second Chance (17 page)

Jerking her hand from his grasp, she whispered angrily right back at him. “That’s because you’re exceptionally arrogant and self-centered. Now if you’ll excuse me,
Mr. Walker.
”

Her body heated as she stalked angrily away from him. She prayed it was just his gaze on her and that her one chance at female friendship hadn’t just witnessed that inappropriate encounter.

B
y the time the weekend finally arrived, Stella was still struggling to sleep peacefully for an entire night. She’d given in and dove headfirst into the murky waters of the Internet to look up Vanessa Reeves online. Sure enough, several pictures of her and Van surfaced quickly.

Front Man Proposes to High School Sweetheart On Stage
was the only headline she read before she closed the screen and stopped herself from falling any further into her personal pit of pathetic.

“Christ, you look like hell.” Jesse Ramirez wore pure concern on his handsome face when she walked into the stables.

“People sure are honest around here,” she noted.

Jesse shook his head and shooed her out of the barn. “Go. Take a long bath. Get some rest.”

Unable to arouse the enthusiasm needed to make a decent argument, she thanked him and made her way back to her cabin. But even after a long, hot bath, she didn’t feel tired. She felt…restless.

She’d chatted with Miranda a few more times in passing at work. It was Friday night, about time she took the woman up on her offer to go out for drinks. She wanted to get as far from SCR as she could, give herself some space and time to get past what Van had probably already forgotten.

After she’d texted Miranda and made plans, she put on a short, black lace dress that hugged her just enough to give her a little of her sexy back. She let her hair air dry, tired of constantly straightening it for work. The tousled look fit her restless mood better anyway. After a quick attempt at a smoky eye and some mascara, she intentionally skipped applying lipgloss, knowing she’d just smear it off on the glasses of wine she planned to consume. After sliding on a black leather jacket, she stepped into her black stilettos. Strangely, they were much more comfortable when she knew she was heading out for a night of female bonding instead of off to work.

“Well, damn. Now I feel frumpy,” Miranda said as Stella walked out her front door. “Are we going to drink and hang out or are we trying to get laid? You have to clarify these things up front so I can dress appropriately.”

Stella laughed as she locked her door. “Let’s see where the night takes us. You were right about living where you work. I need a night out. Badly.”

Despite her comment, Stella noticed that the other woman looked gorgeous. She was one of those naturally fresh-faced women who didn’t need much of anything to be stunning. A burgundy, blousy belted shirt and some skinny jeans made her look like a runway model.

“You, my friend, are anything but frumpy,” she told her as they got into the doctor’s car.

Surprisingly, the Roadhouse Bar & Grille wasn’t far from SCR. After a drive in which they mostly discussed their respective musical preferences, they arrived in a gravel parking lot.

“I think we’re both overdressed,” Stella said as they climbed concrete cinderblock steps to the bar’s entrance.

“Eh. You’ll see.” Miranda held the door, her bright blue eyes shining in the neon lights on the front.

Stepping inside, Stella saw a packed bar, a few booths, some scattered tables, and several men playing pool. It had kind of a laid-back vibe but a couple clusters of women were dressed to the nines as if they expected to meet their future husbands here. Some were more casual, like Miranda. While a handful had on jeans and tank tops—similar to what Stella wore to take care of the horses. She even spotted a few wearing boots and plaid like most of the men.

“This place is a meat market,” Miranda informed her with an eye roll. “But they have the best barbecue nachos in the universe. And a decent wine list.”

Stella wasn’t entirely sure what a meat market was, though asking seemed like an obnoxiously naïve move so she didn’t. But as they polished off a mile-high pile of nachos and a bottle of Chianti, she began to figure it out.

People came here mostly to hook up. The later it got, the more people began pairing off. One particular couple, a raven-haired woman in a business suit and a tatted- up cowboy who was buff enough to be one of those cage fighter guys, caught her attention and sent a painful thrumming through her head. The woman had a hand firmly on his ass as they exited the bar.

Apparently opposites did attract. She couldn’t deny that. She’d experienced it for herself. Was still experiencing it, if she were being honest with herself.

“So are we going to talk about you and the infamous
Mr. Walker
or…” The blonde grinned at her from across their back-corner table.

“Oh God.” Stella rubbed her forehead and tried not to die of humiliation. “Caught that, did you?” She grimaced at her companion’s amused expression.

“Well, I have eyes, you know.” Leaning in closer, Miranda sipped her wine. “Look, I’m not judging. And obviously I can’t really say much about him other than be careful.”

Stella sipped her own wine—drained the rest of the glass, actually—and nodded. Glancing around to make sure no one else from work was there, she paused to choose her words carefully. Miranda seemed nice enough, but in Stella’s previous experience, trusting people hadn’t always turned out so well.

“We haven’t… I mean, it’s not like we’ve actually
done
what it probably seems like we have.” Shit. Now she just sounded stupid. Like a teenage girl denying high school rumors. She sighed. “We aren’t sleeping together. It never got that far. There’s something about him, though… Something that scrambles my brain and throws me completely off balance. But I don’t want to lose my job, you know?”

The woman nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to accost you or anything. It’s truly none of my business.”

“No,” Stella said, shaking her head. “I didn’t think you were accosting me. Honestly, if you know a way to shut down your hormones and ignore an extremely enticing man with the intensity of a herd of raging bulls, I’d love to hear it.”

A male voice with a deep Southern twang interrupted their conversation. “Ladies, can I get you a refill?”

Stella looked up at the tall stranger in tight jeans and a cowboy hat.

“We’re good, handsome. But thanks. Enjoy your evening,” Miranda said with a wink, giving him the most polite brush-off Stella had ever heard.

The stranger tipped his hat and continued on his way to the bar.

“That was pretty smooth,” Stella said with admiration. She’d never been able to handle situations like that very well. Typically she stammered and stuttered until the guy either got bored and walked away or forced a drink she didn’t want into her hand.

“Yeah, well. I’m a therapist. You give a compliment with the rejection and it doesn’t sting as much.”

“I feel like there is much to learn from you, wise one,” Stella said, only half joking.

“Yes, young grasshopper. Watch and learn. Although, in hindsight, maybe I should’ve let him buy us another bottle.”

Both women giggled as they eyed the now empty bottle of wine.

“Would you be totally disgusted if I licked the plate?” Stella nodded to the sweet and spicy barbecue sauce remaining on the plate.

Her friend laughed. “That should take care of any more unwanted male attention.” She glanced around. “Nah, it’d actually probably send some of them right on over.”

“Yeah right.” Stella wiped her mouth and hands with her napkin and sighed. “So you already know I’m lusting after a man I can’t have. What’s your story?”

At that, the consistently even-keeled woman’s eyes went wide. “Oh, you don’t want to know.” She waved her hand between them, but Stella could tell that the nonchalance was feigned. She’d perfected that very same act herself.

“Sure I do. But only if you want to share. I know we don’t know each other very well, but the only ears I’d be in danger of repeating your story to are firmly attached to a thousand-pound horse named Shadowdancer.”

“Shadowdancer?”

“He’s my therapist,” Stella informed her without cracking a smile.

“Ah.” Miranda took a deep breath. “Well, since I’m guessing Shadowdancer is a pretty good confidant, I can tell you that once upon a time I was very young, and very stupid.”

“Weren’t we all?” Stella said softly. Due to her new friend’s profession and her guarded demeanor, she suspected that Miranda typically did more listening than talking. She felt honored that the woman was opening up to her.

“Oh, I was exceptional at it.” The woman’s silky blond hair swayed gently as she shook her head. “Travis Clanton was a bull rider, and a damn good one. Even in high school, he was let onto a professional circuit. I would’ve followed that boy anywhere.”

“Was he cute?”

“Good God, he was sex personified.” Miranda’s ivory cheeks pinked. “But you know, boys like that…”

Again, Stella felt like the Queen of Naïveland.

“Have trouble staying faithful,” she finished for her edification. “But that wasn’t even the problem.”

Stella couldn’t imagine how that wouldn’t be a problem. It would always be a deal breaker for her.

The dreamy light faded from Miranda’s clear blue eyes as they clouded over. “He got hurt. Badly. Several times. But he was young, and his family needed the money. So he started taking painkillers so that he could keep riding.”

Stella felt like the air had been sucked out of her lungs by a high-powered vacuum. “Oh,” she breathed out.

“Yeah.” Moisture began to well in the woman’s eyes. “So I made him choose. The pills, the girls, the booze, and the bulls…or me.” She shrugged as she dabbed at her eyes with a cocktail napkin.

“He chose them,” Stella said quietly, the residual pain from her friend slowly seeping over to her.

“I don’t know.” Miranda swallowed hard. “He OD’d in a hotel in Tulsa before he told me what he’d decided.”

Oh God.
Sheer panic gripped her. Talk about an unexpected turn. She hadn’t expected the woman’s story to end that way. She’d thought they were going to get more wine and toast to men being assholes.

She didn’t know how to comfort people. Not being in the habit of confiding in others, she was usually glad that they returned the favor. She spoke in the soothing voice she was used to using with Shadowdancer.

“I’m so sorry, Miranda. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must’ve been like for you.”

“Dear Lord, I didn’t mean to turn Girls’ Night Out into a pity party. Sorry.” She huffed out a breath. “He’s been gone eight years. But he’s why I took this job after finishing medical school. If I can help someone before they lose their life—and before the people who love them lose them to addiction—then I want to be in their corner for that fight.”

Stella nodded. A shameful heat burned in her cheeks. That was an awfully noble reason for working at SCR. She’d just been mostly hiding out from home.

“Have you, um, dated anyone since then?”

Her friend’s gaze dipped downward. “Not exactly. I’ve um, hooked up, I guess you could say, with a few guys just to blow off steam. But no, nothing serious.”

“You look so young. Eight years seems like—”

“I’m twenty-seven. I’ll be thirty before you know it,” Miranda told her. “But thanks for the compliment. What are you? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?”

“I’ll be twenty-three in a few weeks.”

“We’ll have to go out again to celebrate. Can I give you some unsolicited advice from someone who wishes someone would’ve given her some at twenty-two?”

Stella smiled, grateful that Miranda seemed slightly lighter after getting her story off her chest. And that she wanted to hang out again. “Sure. Shadowdancer sucks at advice.”

Her friend grinned, but then her expression went deathly serious. “If you are just lusting after him, give it two months until he’s out of SCR and meet up and get him out of your system when it won’t cost you your job.”

Stella bit her lip. Two months left meant he’d hit his thirty days. Thirty days meant he’d been moved into one of the private residences and out of the main facility. Two months had never seemed so long. This past week alone had felt like torture. Like someone had breathed life into her and then stolen it right back.

“But if it’s more than that,” Miranda continued, “like maybe you want to pursue more than one night with him, then put your two-weeks notice in and tell him how you feel. Sooner rather than later.”

Stella opened her mouth to deny that this was even in the realm of possibility, but her friend wasn’t finished.

“Maybe that seems extreme. But you don’t always get a tomorrow, Stella. Believe me I know.” Her eyes began to fill again. “Everything ends one way or another. Love, lust, life. And when it’s over, when it’s all said and done, it will be the things you
didn’t
say that will haunt you.”

Van’s face, those intense ocean-in-a-storm eyes of his, flashed in her mind. She wanted to see him. Right then. So damn badly. It was worse than want. It was need.