He was flirting with her. “Maybe.”
They all watched the doctor leave and there was no mistaking the way he looked back at her, his mouth tipped up on one side. Lauren didn’t know whether to feel flattered or amused.
“Wow,” Jax said once the doctor was out of earshot. “I think you have a new friend.”
“Oh, please.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t ask for your number,” Alana said with a grin.
“You guys, stop.”
“He was flirting with you, Mom,” Kyle said, swinging his leg over the side of the bed with a wince. “We all saw it.”
“I’m sure he was just being kind because I’m your mom.”
“Hah,” Kyle said, and then he looked around. “What am I going to wear?”
They’d left his chaps in the rental car, had cut his pants off his leg earlier. Thankfully, his boots hadn’t been sacrificed, but that still left them in a dilemma.
“Relax,” Alana said. “Fortunately, or maybe it should be sadly, I have a lot of experience with this. They’ll bring you hospital pants if you ask.”
“Hospital pants?” Kyle said, wrinkling his nose.
“It doesn’t matter what you wear on your way out,” Trent said. “You’ll be in a wheelchair anyway. They always insist.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Lauren could tell Kyle had let go of his fear and had moved on to enjoying the moment. She glanced at Bren and knew he felt the same way as she did. His relief that Kyle would be all right was evident in the way the brackets around his mouth had loosened. In the way he slowly stood, a small smile tipping the edges of his lips as he stared down at her son, and in that gaze she saw something that made her breath catch and made her realize that before her stood a man who cared—truly cared—about her and her son.
She had to look away.
“I’ll go tell them we need pants,” Alana said.
“And I’ll go with her,” Trent said.
“Guess I’ll tag along,” Bren said, heading out. She watched him go, torn, but in the end, she shot Kyle and Jax a reassuring smile before saying, “Be right back.”
He was right behind Alana and Trent, but she stopped him with a “Bren, wait.”
He swung back toward her. She caught Alana’s gaze, asking without words for a private moment. The woman smiled. Not that it would be very private. They were in the main emergency area. Beyond the curtain sat a long counter with printers and computers and laptops manned by half a dozen staff members. Everyone ignored them, busy with whatever crises they were trying to solve. That would be her next year, except she’d be at the bottom rung of the ladder. Night shifts. Weekend shifts. Crazy schedule. Crazy life. No time for a man.
“Thank you,” she said when he came back to stand in front of her.
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Trent and Alana were just as helpful.”
“I know, but it’s not just today—it’s...everything.”
He nodded and she could tell he was truly touched by her gratitude.
“I’m sorry we ruined your plans for a barbecue.”
He grimaced. “I forgot about that.”
“Me, too, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I should probably get Kyle home and his leg on ice.”
He nodded. “I’m just glad he’s okay.”
“And I’ve been thinking about your question.”
His gaze sharpened like the tip of a pencil. He focused all that passion, all that interest, all that dedication on her and it made her want to wiggle.
“If the offer’s still open, I’ll go out with you next week.” It was the least she could do, she told herself. She owed him dinner. “But it’ll be my treat.”
“You don’t have to pay.”
“I want to. Please?”
She could tell he didn’t want to agree, but she could also tell he would take what he could get. “Great.” And then he turned away and she felt strangely deflated.
“About time.”
She turned to find her brother peering through the curtain, his brown eyes full of amusement. “You took longer to decide on that than Congress did to ratify the Constitution.”
“Hah-hah-hah.” She made a face at him. “Very funny.”
It was a charity dinner. That was all. Nothing more to it.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
Chapter Twelve
“Where are my shoes?” Lauren tossed one pair of shoes after another—mostly different types of tennis shoes—toward the base of her bed. “I swear this closet is too big.”
“Mom,” Kyle said from behind her. “Relax. It’s just a date.”
So speaketh the child. As if he knew what it was like to go out on a date with someone.
“It’s not a date,” she quickly corrected. “It’s just dinner.”
Her son snorted. She shot him a glare, but who was she trying to kid? She’d been telling herself all week it was no big deal. That it was a purely platonic dinner, but she’d realized about Thursday she was being an idiot. It didn’t help that it was Valentine’s Day. For some reason that had changed things. Now she was a complete mess, a part of wondering if she should cancel, another part of her, the feminine side that wanted to feel special and like a woman again, wanted to look her best. And thus her frantic search for the perfect dress and now the shoes she knew she had somewhere. It was Valentine’s Day weekend, and by gum, she was going out on a date.
“I know they’re in here, darn it.”
She was in search of a single pair of high-heel shoes that she’d almost thrown out when she’d unpacked a few weeks ago. Something had made her stop, some forlorn hope that maybe she wasn’t a complete emotional mess and she’d be brave enough to go out on a date at some point in her life. And now look. Only she couldn’t find the darn shoes.
“Did you look up on the shelf?”
She straightened suddenly. “That’s right.”
She had to drag a chair to reach all way to the back, and sure enough, there they were.
“Eureka.” She did a little happy dance with the shoes in her hands.
Kyle stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Calm down.”
She glanced at the clock. She’d spent fifteen minutes finding the shoes. Bren would be here any moment now.
Her stomach rolled like it was a wave crashing onto shore.
It’s not a date, she told herself.
It’s a date, she admitted. She’d better just dive in and go whole hog.
“You’re going to look pretty, Mom.”
She glanced at the red dress she’d yet to don and wondered if he was right. It’d been so long since she’d worn something nice for a man. She wasn’t sure she remembered how. Bren had told her to dress up. That he was taking her someplace nice. She’d done her best, but she’d given up on styling her hair earlier, leaving it hanging down her back. She might have gone overboard on her makeup, though. She wasn’t sure how much to put on and her bathroom light was so bright...
“Mom!”
She straightened suddenly, turning toward her son. “What?”
“He’s here.”
“What?”
She raced to the front of the house. She peeked out the front window, and sure enough, she could see the dark outline of his truck.
“Damn.” She ran back to her room. “Stall him.”
“Mom. You’re starting to freak me out.”
“Just do it.”
Someone knocked. Kyle lifted a brow.
“Now,” she whispered.
Off he went with a long, drawn-out sigh. She closed the door, leaned up against it and breathed deeply. Heavens to Betsy, this was harder than it looked. What had it been? Eleven? Twelve years? She tried to
remember how long she and Paul had dated before they’d been married. Whatever it was, it’d been a long, long time ago, and thoughts of Paul really didn’t help matters.
She pushed away from the door, determined to look her best, but a few minutes later, as she studied herself in the mirror, her courage failed.
You can do this. It’s just one date. On Valentine’s Day. Millions of women are doing the same thing right now. Go on. Have fun.
For once she decided to listen to the little voice, because when it came right down to it, she was tired of being tired, of feeling like an overworked mom. Tonight she wanted to feel like a woman.
The look on Bren’s face when she finally emerged from her room told her she just might have succeeded.
“Wow,” Kyle said. “Mom. You look...awesome!”
She flicked the short skirt back and forth. “Thanks.”
Bren looked pretty good, too, in his black button-down and solid dark blue tie. His black slacks matched his shirt and she wondered if he had a jacket out in his truck. But then she noticed the look in his eyes and it made her freeze for a moment, her thoughts spinning furiously away. That look...that’s what she’d wanted to see, she suddenly realized. She’d wanted to light a fire. To make him look at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It didn’t matter if she was actually pretty. She just wanted him to see her that way.
And he did.
“I should have worn my badge,” she heard him say. “I’m going to need my gun to keep the men away.”
She turned the same color as her dress, but that was okay. She ran her hands down the front of the silk fabric. It was tight through the hips but then flared to just above the knees. She’d been concerned it might be a little too sexy, but what the heck. It made her feel good.
“You ready to go?”
He nodded, stepped back to the door, seeming to be bemused for a moment, but then he recovered himself and she thought she spotted something like concern in his eyes. Only it faded quickly and she wondered if she’d imagined it.
“You’re heading straight over to Uncle Jax’s, right?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Okay, well, I’m not sure how long we’ll be out, but you have my cell phone number, in case you need me.”
“Mo-om,” Kyle said. “Stop talking. Go on. Leave.”
He stared up at her with such endearing impatience that she wanted to bend down and kiss him, but she knew that would only embarrass him in front of Bren. So she grabbed her purse, gave him a smile and headed out to Bren’s truck.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
* * *
HE COULDN’T KEEP his eyes off her. If he’d thought she looked cute in pigtails, that was nothing compared to the way she looked with her hair down around her shoulders and in that sexy red dress.
Ai-yai-yai.
She was still too young for him, but he was having trouble remembering that. If his campaign consultant, Jerry Blaylock, saw his date, he’d probably throw a fit. To hell with it. Nobody would see them in an elite coastal restaurant. Nobody would care that a man with a bit of gray in his hair escorted a brown-haired beauty. Hell, even if people did, he didn’t care what they thought at the moment.
He glanced at her legs as he started his truck.
To hell with Jerry.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I’m taking you to a restaurant on the coast. Friend of mine owns it—otherwise we’d have never gotten a table on such short notice—and you’re not paying for it.”
She shot him a look. “But this is my thank-you dinner.”
“This is not a thank-you dinner.” She wanted to argue, but he cut her off with “You do not wear a dress like that for a thank-you dinner.”
She blushed. He could tell. “My treat, and, by the way—” he reached into the backseat of his truck “—these are for you.” He handed her the dozen roses he’d picked up.
“They’re beautiful.” He could see the pleased surprise in her eyes. The late-afternoon sun perfectly caught the expression on her face. She dipped her nose in them, inhaling the rose fragrance. “Thank you.”
Her reaction made his hurried stop at the florist worth it. He’d been worried it might make him late, but he’d ended up cooling his heels anyway, though she was worth the wait.
“I probably should have given them to you at the house.” He’d been nervous. Like a kid about to ride his first bull. He’d sat out front for what felt like an hour but was probably more like seconds, all so he could collect himself.
“No. Now is great. Honestly. It’s been so long since anyone’s gotten me flowers...”
She let her words trail off and he knew she felt the same way he did. Out of his depth. Anxious. Maybe even a little afraid.
Of what?
He’d kept asking himself that question the whole time he’d gotten dressed. What was it about her that made him so fearful? He’d been a bachelor for his whole life. Just because he was going out with her didn’t mean that would change. And what a strange thought to have, anyway.
“Is Kyle feeling better?”
He’d been restricted from riding anything with four legs, at least until his bruises healed. He hadn’t taken the news well, but they’d be back at it next week.
“He’s feeling well enough to complain every five minutes.”
“Never met a kid who loved riding steers as much as him, except maybe me.”
She nodded as she looked out the window, and Bren tried not to keep peeking glances at her long legs. It made him feel even more like a lecherous old man. But she wasn’t that much younger than him. Heck, in another twenty years the age gap would hardly make a difference.
Twenty years?
What was he doing thinking that far ahead?
“Alana told me you were good.” Their gazes connected as he waited for the ranch gate to swing open, the angle of the sun causing a shadow to drag beneath it. “Really good, but that you quit.”
He felt his heart do something strange when he admitted that, yeah, he was kind of thinking ahead. “Did she tell you why?”
“Something about horses and Las Vegas and a midnight ride.”
He thought back to that night, and just like it always did, it made him a little sick. “I could have killed someone.”
“You and the other guys.”
His grip tightened on the wheel, but then he forced himself to loosen it. “Still, it was a wake-up call.”
Her hazel eyes took on the shine of a golden ring. “A lot of guys would have ignored that call.”
“Some of them did.”
“Why not you?”
He’d never been asked that question before, and for a moment he thought about sidestepping it, but something about the warmth in her eyes, about the way she stared at him so boldly—as if daring him to look deep inside—it made him want to answer with the cold, hard truth.
“My dad was a drunk.”
She didn’t seem surprised. All she did was nod.
“And his dad before him.” The gate had finished opening, and so he pulled forward, driving without really thinking about it. “I thought I could control it. My dad drank because he hated his life. He worked for an asphalt company. Big-equipment operator. Good money. Crap job. He’d come home from work tired, hot, sweaty, in a bad mood. And so he drank. A lot. And I hated him for it. I couldn’t wait to get out of the house. I found bull riding and that was my ticket out. But I would be different, I told myself. I wouldn’t drink. Ever.”
“If only it were that easy.”
“No kidding, right?”
He shook his head in disgust. “At first I beat it. All through high school rodeo I never touched a drink. Then I started bull riding and we’d go out on the weekends and I’d hav
e a drink here and there. Everyone called me a prude. One drink a weekend turned into two. I told myself it was no big deal. I had it under control.”
“But you didn’t.”
He nodded as he turned onto the main road. “That night, when we took those horses out, I can’t honestly say how many drinks I had. When I sobered up, it made me think about what I was doing with my life. And how, in the end, my life didn’t mean squat. I wasn’t curing cancer. I wasn’t making the world a better place. I was just riding bulls. We could have killed someone that night. I could have killed someone. For what? A good time and some fame and glory? What a crock. So I quit.”
He could feel her stare, glanced over at her.
“You chose sobriety over notoriety.”
He’d never really thought about it that way. “I guess so.”
Her hand reached out for his, covering it. “That’s an amazing thing to do.”
“Not really. Not when you consider what I’d grown up with.”
“Was it bad?”
“Bad enough.”
He didn’t want to think about the fights his parents had when he was growing up. The yelling. His mom begging his father to stop. The dozens of times she’d left him, always dragging him along, only to go back. That wasn’t a life he’d wanted.
“I enlisted in the army the next day. Went into law enforcement and then became town sheriff. I’ve dedicated my life to helping others and it’s a much better use of my time.”
Her hand squeezed his own. “Do you miss it?” She smiled softly. “The bull riding?”
He swallowed. It felt like a ton of bricks landed on his belly.
“Every day of my life.” Her hazel eyes looked into his own and there was so much admiration in them that he lost the ability to speak for a moment.
“It was a good decision.”
Her hand squeezed his again, and he knew that if he squeezed back, he was committing to something bigger than himself. Tonight. This date. Wherever it was going, it was bigger than anything he’d ever done before. Bigger than bull riding. Bigger than the army. Bigger than being the town sheriff. That should scare the hell out of him.
Her Cowboy Lawman Page 11