Love Somebody Like You by Susan Fox

to give him.”
    â€œAbout lessons for his son or daughter?” She unfolded the paper.
    â€œNo, him. He’s—”
    â€œI don’t usually teach men. Just kids and women.”
    Because she didn’t feel safe alone with a man? “He seems like a nice guy. Used to be big into running, but now he needs to avoid high-impact exercise. He and his husband are both interested in riding lessons.”
    â€œHe’s gay? Married?”
    â€œThat a problem for you?” He wouldn’t have taken Sally for a homophobe.
    â€œNo, not at all. That’s actually better. I mean . . .” She shook her head, apparently unwilling to explain further.
    Ben guessed that a gay couple was less of a threat than a single heterosexual man. He sure wanted to get his hands on whatever jerk had made her so nervous.
    â€œAre they both beginners?” she asked.
    â€œAndrew, the guy I met, is. His husband used to ride a bit as a kid. They’ve moved here recently and his husband says they should get into riding. That’s how Andrew and I got talking, when he asked how I’d hurt my shoulder. Anyhow, I told him about Ryland Riding. He says they both want to take lessons, and if it works out they’d be looking for advice on buying horses. Then they’d want to board the horses.”
    â€œThat could be some nice business. Thanks, Ben.”
    â€œNo sweat.” Now that she’d relaxed, he figured he could tease her a bit. “But knowing how you hate to be beholden to anyone, I guess I should give you a chance to pay me back.”
    Her expression turned guarded. “What did you have in mind?” she asked coolly.
    So much for teasing. “How about you put together a salad with some of those veggies growing in your garden, and I’ll barbecue burgers? I picked up some ground beef at the butcher in town, and fresh buns at the bakery. Fudge brownies as well.”
    When he said “fudge brownies,” her eyes gleamed. Still, she said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI’m still not comfortable with you being here,” she said stiffly. “Not that I don’t appreciate the help. But if you stay, we need to work out some ground rules.”
    â€œFair enough. Let’s do that over dinner.”
    The corners of her mouth twitched, then straightened. “When Corrie was here, we worked really well together, but when the work was done we went our separate ways. She was a private person like me. We didn’t get into each other’s business.”
    He cocked his head. “You lived side by side, worked together all day, but didn’t socialize? You each cooked and ate your meals by yourselves?” That sounded pretty strange and awfully lonely. And not at all like the Sally he used to know.
    She nodded. “Neither of us are very social.”
    â€œYou used to be social. On the rodeo circuit, you were the life of the party in the bars where the cowboys and cowgirls hung out.”
    A slight, reminiscent smile warmed her face. It died quickly. “I drank too much.”
    She’d said something like that before, about alcohol making her do stupid things. He searched his memories of seven years back, and shook his head. “Not that I recall. You had fun. And I don’t just mean partying. You had friends; you cared about people and helped them out.”
    A sad, almost bleak expression darkened her pretty eyes. “I was a different person then. I can’t find my way back to being her again.”
    That wasn’t just sad, but wrong. “Sure you can. But you gotta want to. Like that little girl Amanda, determined to find a way back to being the girl she was before she lost a leg.”
    Sally’s lips opened, but no words came out. Was she mad at him? Did she want to say that losing a husband didn’t compare to losing the lower part of a leg? To his mind, loss was loss. Of