The dark silence exploded in screaming fury as Fire Dance lunged out of the shadows. Rearing, the powerful stallion leaped at the gate, his teeth catching the faint light,his front hooves kicking and flailing. Something skimmed Cheyenne’s head. The pail toppled away beneath her feet. She pitched backward.
The arms that broke her fall were as unexpected as the stallion’s attack had been.
“You’re all right, Cheyenne. I’ve got you.”
The voice that spoke, almost in her ear, was Buck’s.
CHAPTERNINE
“What in blazes were you doing?” Buck lowered Cheyenne’s feet, none too gently, to the sawdust-strewn concrete floor. “That stallion could’ve killed you—and don’t think for a minute the gate would have stopped him! What got into your head?”
Turning to face him, Cheyenne found her voice. “I was checking Roper’s horse, and Fire Dance was so quiet in his stall, I was afraid something was wrong—”
“Well, you found out, didn’t you? You should have called somebody if you were worried. You work with horses. You know how dangerous they can be.”
She glowered up at him. “Don’t scold me, Buck. I’m not a child.”
“Aren’t you? Hell, girl, you’re not even legal to drink.” His eyes were in shadow, but Cheyenne could almost feel his gaze boring through her.
Behind the gate, the red stallion snorted and slammed his body against the rear of the stall. Cheyenne turned her attention back to the horse. “What’s really wrong with him?” she asked. “I mean, I know what happened to him, and I know that he was high-strung even before the accident. But it’s like he has PTSD. Can’t something be done for him?”
“That decision will be up to your friend, Hayden. And right now he’s busy celebrating.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I was hoping you’d win.”
He shrugged. “There’ll be other competitions.”
“But we were talking about Fire Dance. What do you think is wrong with him?”
Buck fell silent for a moment. “He doesn’t appear to have any visible injuries—although we can’t rule out brain damage. That aside, he seems terrified. And he can’t understand why. When somebody tries to approach him, he sees them as the thing that could be coming to hurt him again. So he lashes out. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. He’s innocent, like a child,” Cheyenne murmured, as if speaking to herself. “He doesn’t understand. He only feels. And that wreck, with the trailer slamming him to one side, hurting him in ways we can only imagine, destroyed his trust in the people who were supposed to keep him safe. All he’s ever done was obey, like a good horse. And now he’s suffering for it. Oh, Buck, why does life have to be so unfair?”
“That’s a question for the ages, Cheyenne.” His fingertip traced the moist path of a tear down her cheek, then paused to lift her chin, tilting her face to the light. As if drawn by his touch, she strained upward. A muted groan rose in his throat as he lowered his head and claimed her mouth with his.
He smelled of horses and man-sweat, and his lips tasted faintly of beer. But the warmth that crept through Cheyenne’s body was so powerful that it almost shattered her. As his arms clasped her, she melted against him. Her mouth softened and parted to let him in. She tasted his tongue, felt the gentle hunger in its probing. In the depths of herbody a pulsing current woke and stirred, shimmering upward. As the kiss became more urgent, she gave herself to the powerful sensation. Her fingers raked the back of his hair. Her hips curled against his. She thought of her empty room upstairs in the hotel, and his room next door. It could happen. Heaven help her, did she want it to happen?
But she should have known better. Like a killing frost on a spring morning, the terror crept in. Her body tensed. Panic, driven by her pounding heart, surged through her limbs. Instinctively, she began to struggle. “No—don’t—”
“Whoa, girl.” He released her and stepped back. “Are you all right? Was it something I did?”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. I’m sorry, Buck. It wasn’t you. It was me.” A shudder passed through her body. “I was wrong to let things go this far.”
In the faint light, emotions flickered over his rugged features—bitter amusement, wounded pride, a touch of concern.
“I won’t stop you from leaving, Cheyenne,” he said. “But that was a damned good kiss, and you liked it. I can tell when a woman is faking—and you weren’t faking. What happened? Is there someone else? Like Hayden? Say the word. I’ll understand.”
Cheyenne hesitated. She barely knew Buck Tolson. Their shared kiss had shown her a hidden side of this tough, taciturn man. But did that entitle him to know her secret? Something in her wanted to trust him. But what if she was wrong?
Buck was waiting. In his calm patience, she found her answer.
The first painful words had to be forced. Then the story spilled out of her.
“When I was eighteen, I was raped—violently—by a man I thought was a friend. I was a virgin. It was my firsttime. I was so hurt and scared, I wanted to die. Since then, I haven’t been able to … be intimate with a man. The memory comes back, and I freeze. All I want is to get away.”
She forced herself to go on. “He took me home afterward as if nothing had happened. I never reported him—the shame would have killed my family. My brothers don’t even know about it.”
“Why the shame?” His voice was gentle. “It wasn’t your fault.”