Last Second Chance (8 page)

Van cleared his throat. “Not bad. You forgot to mention that you have no fucking clue what I’ve lost or stand to lose. And that I should keep a journal to get in touch with my feelings.”

“I take it you’ve heard something similar before?”

“I have.” Maybe not in such exquisite detail, but close.

She set her notebook and pen on a small table beside her chair and sighed. “Let me be clear, Mr. Ransom. This isn’t every other facility you’ve been in. It’s not the traditional twelve-step structure you might have encountered in the past. And if other doctors have failed you, well that’s unfortunate. But we can’t get to know each other until you let go of that, rid yourself of that chip on your shoulder, and be straight with me.”

“So no journaling then?”

She smirked. He kind of liked her. For a doctor, anyways. She was honest, straightforward, and she didn’t give him the impression she’d be writing out her grocery list when and if he actually decided to tell her what had led him here.

“Sorry. It’s really not that type of place. Second Chance Ranch is more about facing the reality of what tempts you, triggers your addictions, and finding ways to build up a resistance to them.”

“I see.” He did his best to mimic her knowing confidence. “And you think you can do all that in ninety days or less?”

“No,” she said, surprising him. “In ninety days or less I think
you
can do that.”

M
ucking horse stalls was done by some of the teenage volunteers, thank goodness. Though they didn’t always clean up as well as they could have. Stella Jo peeked into the stables and saw that it could still use some straightening. But she’d have to change clothes first.

After a long day of learning the layout at SCR, where the copy room, breakroom, and bathrooms were, she was exhausted. But she looked forward to the end of her shift for more reasons than just because she was dead on her feet. No matter how her feet ached from traipsing around the facility in four-inch heels, she looked forward to checking in on the horses every evening.

Dr. Ramirez’s son, Jesse, was around her age, and had just finished veterinary school at the University of Texas. He handled a great deal of the animal care. Stella waved goodbye to him as she walked the path to her bungalow. He grinned and waved back.

“They’re good for tonight, Ms. Chandler. See you next week.”

“Thanks, Jesse,” she called out as she unlocked her door. Even if the horses had been fed and exercised, she knew she’d still head over to them after she’d changed. Something about them calmed her. Allowed her to decompress from her stressful first days at her new job.

There was one she felt the need to see each night especially. He was black, solid black, with eyes like a midnight sky. Shadowdancer, the board next to his stall proclaimed. He was beautiful, a retired racer—like her.

The other three were sweet, chuffing at her when she entered each evening and allowing her to pat their noses. But Shadowdancer despised everyone. He wouldn’t even let Jesse get close enough to do anything besides refill his trough. It was him who’d drawn Stella Jo in like a moth to a flame. She felt the pull to him like she felt a pull to a certain client she’d been trying her damnedest not to let run across her mind.

Shadowdancer had darkness in him, much like Van Ransom. Secrets. A past. Something that haunted him.

She always approached him slowly, one small step at a time, not making eye contact until she was close. As if she didn’t notice him and then was pleasantly surprised to see the thousand-pound animal in her midst.

He was so beautiful, so majestic, that he almost seemed unreal. As if he were some ethereal equine figment of her imagination. Sometimes she feared he’d up and disappear, fly off into the night and return to whatever magical world he’d come from. But after she’d exchanged her shift dress for cutoff shorts and a T-shirt, slipped off her Manolos and slid on her riding boots, she made her way to the barn, where Shadowdancer still stood. As usual, he backed into his stall when she entered, hiding from her.

Stella took her time petting and loving on the other three, waiting for him to peek his head out to see what the fuss was about.

When his black snout appeared at the edge of his stall, she took her first step. Softly, so as not to startle him with creaking wooden floorboards. Another step and she could feel his steady breathing as if it were her own. Two more gentle steps and she was beside his stall. A loud huff told her that he knew she was there. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but it sounded like acceptance, so she turned to face him.

Making eye contact had to happen at just the right moment. If she tried too soon, he’d retreat and that would be it for the night. If she waited too long, he’d get impatient, and ignore her completely.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she turned slowly, praying silently that she’d got it right, read him correctly. Glancing over to him, she saw him eyeing her from under thick dark lashes. He exhaled slowly, seemingly thankful that she hadn’t screwed it up this time.

“Hey there, sweet boy,” she said softly. “Want a snack?”

She opened her palm to reveal the apple slices she’d brought. Not breaking eye contact, Shadowdancer angled his head toward her hand and gingerly took the slices. Her heart ached to reach out to him, to tell him that despite whatever, or whomever, had hurt him in his past—he could trust her. But there was no need to rush into things. He clearly needed her to respect his need for space. So she would.

“You know, I had a horse like you once,” she practically whispered as he chewed loudly. “Angel’s Breath.”

The memories of her childhood, of spending every waking second possible in the barn on her parents’ ranch with her horse, came flooding back.

The house she’d grown up in was always cold. Sterile. Her mother was harsh, demanding, and had never been particularly loving or affectionate that Stella Jo could remember. It wasn’t like she’d been abusive or anything. Just driven about Stella Jo’s riding and winning and priming her to take over her family’s ranch one day. Set in old-fashioned ways that often felt like being dressed up like a doll and played with only to be cast aside.

The ranch where her parents lived had been in her mother’s family since the early 1900s and Candace was the first female to take ownership. But since they’d never had a son, she wouldn’t be the last. Her father was avoidant. A man of few words, Hugh Chandler hardly looked at her. A few nods and grunts at the dinner table and messages passed on from her mother were about all he’d ever offered.

The barn had been the complete opposite. It was warm, welcoming, and full of life. Angel’s Breath was her best friend. The one she’d turned to when her parents had nothing to give. No interest in listening to her stories about her day or her dreams. She’d always felt more communicative with horses than with people. People saw with their eyes. Horses saw with their souls.

I am seriously fucked up.
The thought flickered across her mind and she shook her head.

A loud breath caused her to jump as Shadowdancer retreated.

“Aw. I’m sorry, buddy. I got lost in my own head for a minute.”

A high-pitched whining sound erupted from him as he reared back. Stella Jo took a step back as well, unsure as to what had upset him. Surely he wasn’t this spooked because she’d shaken her head.

“I think it’s me he’s pissed at,” a deep male voice informed her.

This time, she was the one who nearly reared back as she whirled around. “What are you doing down here?”

“Taking a walk. It’s allowed. Just have to sign out first.”

Van Ransom stood there watching her unapologetically. She was strangely irritated with his unexpected presence. He’d pretty much undone the last twenty minutes of carefully calculated interaction with Shadowdancer, and he’d nearly caused her to pee herself.

“Okay. Well I’m pretty sure there are eighty acres or so of land that belong to this place. Feel free to keep on walking.”

“Ouch. If I had feelings, you would’ve hurt them.” He placed a hand over his heart. Her eyes landed on a small black cross inked just under his thumb. That was odd. He didn’t seem like the religious cross-bearing type. She mentally scolded herself for making the kind of snap judgment her mother would have.

“You don’t have feelings?” Keeping her tone light, she made her way over to the storage stall and began tidying it up in order to relocate her attention elsewhere.

“Nah. Waste of time and energy if you ask me.”

Had she asked him? She wasn’t sure. Being around him sent her thoughts scattering. After stacking the last of the folded riding blankets atop a stack in the corner, she stepped out of the stall.

“If you say so.”

“What about you, beautiful? You have feelings? For something other than horses, I mean.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “My feelings are none of your business, Mr. Ransom.”

He took a step closer and her eyes drank in his broad masculine build. A dark hooded sweatshirt hid his muscles from her, but his jeans were tight enough that she could see powerful thighs straining against the denim. For a brief moment, she wondered what they would feel like against her thighs.

“Bet I could make you feel some things, cowgirl,” he said as if he could read her mind.

She stifled a shiver, but he hadn’t missed it.

“Cold? Here,” he said before she could answer, making quick work of unzipping his sweatshirt and holding it out for her to step into.

She eyed him for several seconds, knowing it would get awkward if she didn’t give in and accept his attempt at chivalry.

“Thanks. Um, it was warmer when I first came out.” She slid her arms through his too long sleeves.

His breath was warm on her neck as he reached around and zipped it for her. “Temperature drops a good bit when the sun goes down.”

“Yeah,” she breathed, unable to come up with a more intelligent response.

“There. You good?”

She turned to face him, expecting him to back up. But he didn’t. Instead he placed his large hands on her arms and rubbed. The temperature had dropped. She could tell by the chill bumps rising on her bare legs. But looking into those hooded eyes of his while his hands were on her had Stella feeling anything but cold. The exact opposite of cold, actually.

“I’m good,” she said softly, forcing herself to back out of his embrace. “I should probably get on back to my—”

“Hey, I really didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I was just walking by and saw you out here alone and…” He cut himself off with a shrug. “Anyways, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other down here.”

“We will?” Stella felt her eyes widen. She’d been doing everything in her power to steer clear of him all week. And they’d still crossed paths a few times—mostly in the Atrium, and now here. Why in the world would she suddenly be seeing even
more
of him?

“Dr. McLendon, my, uh, whatever she is… She and I talked about my having too much free time on my hands. It makes me kind of nuts not to be doing something. Not exactly like I can play music or get a job or anything. So I’m going to be helping out. Here.”

Oh no. This was not good. Panic began to churn in her stomach. This was her sanctuary. The place she came to relax, to let go of the tension. The last thing she needed in her safe haven was this tatted-up sex-on-a-stick man all in her space. And they’d be alone. Probably a lot. At night.

A few possible solutions came to mind, but they all seemed unnecessarily hurtful. She could tell Dr. Ramirez that Van made her uncomfortable, that she didn’t feel safe being alone with him. It wouldn’t even be a lie exactly. But then her boss might assume Van had done something, which, okay, he kind of had. Though he hadn’t done anything she’d felt threatened by. And she knew the deal. If he didn’t make it through this program, he was done. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize his recovery or his career.

His expression was open, almost sad, as he waited for her verbal response while reading the obvious horror on her face.

“Um, wow. Okay. I didn’t know that,” was all she managed.

“You don’t look too excited for the company. I’ll try to stay out of your way,” he bit out.

“It’s not… I mean, it’s not personal. It’s just I like to be, um, alone.”