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“I am. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, anytime.”
“Okay,” she whispered. The call clicked off.
Tom slid down in his bed, smiling.
She’d called him.
Chapter 10
Hah. Got him. In more ways than one. Wiz did a celebratory war dance. And she’d talked about her ex and her emotions to someone other than her therapist. A man. A physically large male she didn’t truly know or trust. But she had faith in him, or she wouldn’t have called. She hadn’t called her other friends, not even Ryan or Erin.
She closed out her games and did her nightly security rounds. Returning to her master suite, she locked all the doors, double-checked the security system, and got ready for bed. By the time she washed her face, she was exhausted. Too many emotions in too short a time.
And yet, she kind of wanted more.
She’d called Tom and told him things she’d only told her therapists. She’d almost blurted out the whole story. And she’d wished he was present, holding her, hugging her. Which was horribly unfair. She wanted a hug when she cried, but not at any other time. She shivered at the thought of male arms around her body. The dream of Tom holding her was better than the reality.
Tom couldn’t be that different from her ex. He was a man, after all. He wouldn’t put up with her issues for very long. He’d get tired of it and leave. They all did. She couldn’t rely on him. Sure, he knew she had problems and claimed she could call anytime. But he didn’t know what he was getting into, not fully. And she highly doubted he’d be satisfied with a platonic relationship forever. She shuddered.
Wiz checked the pistols on the nightstands and the others stashed around the room. She climbed into bed and curled around her pillow, leaving the light covers loose. She couldn’t stand anything holding her down. But the bed felt empty. Usually, she was beyond relieved to sleep alone. No one else to worry about, no one else’s needs to put ahead of her own, over and over. No reason to wake up in a cold sweat because she’d dreamed that the hands on her body belonged to a stranger. Even when her ex had been supportive, she couldn’t sleep next to him; she’d wake up screaming at a single touch. It hadn’t been long before he’d demanded she “get over it.” She’d tried, so hard, but once he touched her, she recoiled, and he got angry.
He’d always been selfish, and he’d gotten worse after she didn’t recover immediately. In an unusually harsh condemnation, even her doctor said the guy wasn’t worth any tears. But would she ever be different? Time healed wounds. But emotional wounds were hard. They couldn’t be fixed with stitches. She was getting better; all the support helped, along with therapy. Pete, Ryan, and Erin, even Sam and Deb, they all helped. And Tom.
But she couldn’t believe they’d stay. Everyone gave up eventually.
It didn’t matter. She had too much to do tomorrow—she needed sleep. She recalled her last lesson with Pete, riding bareback. The movement of the horse was soothing, the warmth comforting, and controlling such a large animal was satisfying. She drifted off with a smile.
The next afternoon, Wiz brought the horse to a halt in front of Pete, using her body properly, not the reins. Dust glimmered in the bright winter sun shining through the open door of the arena, the smell of horse and dung rising but not unpleasant.
Pete tipped his hat back. “You’re doing good. I think it’s time to move outside.”
“Really? On the snow and ice?” That seemed unnecessarily risky, especially when she’d only ridden under controlled circumstances. Even when Pete had put out obstacles, or waved something to make Brownie shy, they could only go so far because of the arena walls. Brownie was a well-trained, steady, older horse, but Wiz had landed on the dirt a couple of times. She hadn’t hit her head yet, but Pete’s insistence on a riding helmet had proven wise. It would be doubly so on ice.
He shook his head. “We’ll stay off the road. It’s too icy. But we can ride around one of the pastures where the cows and feeding have packed the snow or pushed it away. These are stock horses; they’re used to being around cows in the winter.”
“Okay. When?”
“No time like the present.” Pete untied his horse and mounted. She’d never look that natural. Of course, Pete’s legs were much longer than hers; she had to use a mounting block or a fence rail. He turned his horse back toward her. Rusty bounded up from his spot near to the arena gate, tail wagging. “And how would you feel about Tom joining us?”
She jolted, and the horse jumped, but she quickly got him under control.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” His frown reflected his unease.
“That’s okay. It shouldn’t have.” A horse reflected every emotion and movement; the rider had to control both.
“Sure it should have. It’s a big step. I should have asked when you were off the horse.” Pete shrugged. “If it’s too soon, that’s fine, but I know he’s riding Strawberry this afternoon. Trying to teach the horse some manners.” He snorted.
“Oh. So this wasn’t planned?”
Pete’s smile turned sly. “Well, it was by me, but no, Tom had no idea.”
She smiled. He was tricky. Somehow, her twice a week riding lessons had turned into three or four days each week, claiming she needed an intense course in horse psychology first, then horse care, and only after that, riding. Grooming and cleaning tack was soothing but not terribly difficult, so they talked a lot; she’d told him more about her past than anybody else. He’d opened up about his past, too—a mutual venting-slash-healing society. But she wasn’t sure if she was ready to add Tom. She hadn’t seen him since her late-night confession. The horse sidled under her, and she controlled both of them again.
Pete’s mouth twisted. “Nah, it’s too soon.”
“No, it’s okay.” She didn’t have to talk. She’d be concentrating on riding. “Call him.”
