In The Rancher's Arms. Trish Milburn
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She loved her mother dearly, but all Arden wanted was for everyone to go back to behaving normally around her so she could do the same. So she could somehow find a way to forget what had happened to her, what she’d been unable to prevent from happening to others.
“Excuse me,” she said as she found an opening in the crowd. As if her need to get away had been blasted over the speaker system, people ceased trying to stop her. There was no destination in mind, just some space to breathe—ironic since recently open space had a habit of robbing her of her ability to breathe.
Somehow she ended up in the dimly lit area next to the concession stand. She counted it a small miracle that no one seemed to notice her there. Evidently the people in line were too focused on placing orders for hot dogs, nachos or food on a stick to pay her any attention. But she knew it wouldn’t last.
As she thought that, someone stepped around the corner of the building and extended something toward her. It took her a held-breath moment to realize it was Neil Hartley and what he had on offer was a cold bottle of beer.
“You looked as if you could use one of these,” he said.
She latched on to the bottle and brought it to her lips, downing half the contents before stopping. When she finally lowered it to breathe, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He didn’t stare at her, which allowed her to relax some. He was tall and broad enough that he blocked her from sight of a good portion of the crowd in front of the concession stand. “Guess your homecoming has been a bit overwhelming.”
“You could say that.”
Most people would have asked questions or done the teary hug followed by an “I’m so sorry” or “Praise the Lord you’re home safe” thing, necessitating a response from her, but Neil did neither. He just stood there gazing out across the field behind the grandstands, leisurely enjoying his beer. It felt as if he was appointing himself a quiet and casual barrier between her and the world, and she felt more of her well of panic subside. There was no way he could, but it almost seemed as if he understood how she felt and what she needed.
In the same moment she saw another woman walking toward them with a sympathetic look on her face, Neil nodded in the direction of the stock pens at the end of the arena. He gently touched her elbow and said, “Let’s get away from this crowd. Can’t hear myself think and it smells like a fryer vat back here.”
She didn’t question him, just went along and acted as if she hadn’t seen the other woman so it didn’t seem as if she was being rude. Some people might have the best of intentions but still not understand that she was on emotional overload at the moment and needed to not have to be “on” and ready with a plethora of thank-yous.
The crowd seemed to part for Neil as he guided them away from the grandstand toward where the pens contained the bulls that would be ridden in the last event of the evening.
“They look so much bigger up close,” she said. “I can’t believe people climb on them voluntarily.”
Neil chuckled a little, a nice sound that tempted her to smile. “Everybody’s got something about themselves that others think is crazy.”
Was he thinking about how she’d tracked down human traffickers and ended up getting herself kidnapped, necessitating a rescue by the US military? Sure, she hadn’t been the only American being held, but it had still been equal parts relief and embarrassment when the camo-clad troops had burst into the kidnappers’ camp. At the memory of the resulting firefight in which she’d feared for her life, she grew dizzy and wrapped her hands around one of the rungs on the metal fence in front of her.
Neil had to have seen her reaction and yet he didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned his forearms against the top of the fence beside her, then pointed toward the bulls in the enclosure.
“See that black bull on the opposite side?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“He’s the meanest one here. If whoever draws him stays on for eight seconds, I predict that guy will win the event.”
She glanced at Neil, was struck by how handsome his profile was. The last time she’d seen him before her return home, he’d probably been about twenty. It must have been the night she and Sloane graduated. She had a vague memory of the entire Hartley clan being part of the crowd that crammed into the high school gym for the commencement.
“Did you ride?” she asked, deciding to go with the avenue of conversation he’d offered.
“Bulls? Heck no, I like my neck unbroken.”
She laughed a little at that, and the sound of her own laughter stunned her. When was the last time she’d been able to really laugh? She honestly couldn’t remember.
“Any rodeo events?”
He shook his head. “Never got into it. Too busy working on the ranch.”
Inside the arena, the next barrel racer sped toward the first of the three barrels and guided her horse in a tight turn around it.
“You ever try it?” Neil asked.
Arden shook her head. “Didn’t grow up on a ranch. I did ride an elephant once, though.”
What had made her reveal that? They’d been doing fine talking about something that had nothing to do with her job—former job—and she had to go and steer the conversation that way.
Neil smiled, and her breath caught. She’d known he was good-looking. Even she wasn’t so caught up in her own concerns to be able to overlook that obvious fact. But it was remarkable how much a simple smile could magnify what she’d already seen.
“An elephant, huh?” The way he said it indicated he’d believe it when he saw it.
“Yes, in India.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled to a photo of her atop a large Indian elephant, then extended the phone to him. “She was very sweet.”
He took the phone and looked at the screen. “Well, what do you know? You did ride an elephant.”
She accepted the phone when he gave it back. “I was there covering efforts to prevent poaching.”
“Sloane says you’ve been some interesting places.”
The conversation was veering deeper into an area she didn’t want to visit, but there was something so calm and inviting about Neil that she found herself telling him about some of her travels—primitive villages in the Amazon, the outer reaches of Siberia, corners of China most Americans had never heard of, which had made her realize just how massive was the population of that country.
“What’s your favorite place you’ve ever been?”
“I don’t really have one. Every place was fascinating in some way.” She glanced at the arena when a cheer went up from the crowd.
“That’s a really good time,” Neil said of the barrel racer’s 14.0.
They watched in companionable silence as the last two barrel racers took their turns. Arden didn’t know whether it was because of where they were standing or the fact that Neil stood between her and the crowd of spectators, but no one approached her. It was the first time since she’d left the house that she could breathe easily.
When a truck rolled into the arena to load up the barrels, she turned slightly toward Neil. “What about you? Got a favorite place you’ve been?”
He glanced toward her, and she was struck by how much she liked his eyes. It wasn’t that they were some bright color, rather a soft brown, but there was something in them, a kindness, a goodness that attracted her.
“The ranch,” he said simply.
“Your family’s ranch?”
He nodded. “I haven’t traveled a lot. Don’t have the time, really. Guess I don’t