Prairie Fever

by Tessa Layne

  “Gunnar?” she repeated, a breathy note to her voice. “What’s in the sauce?”

  He was dangerously near to telling her. Hell, with a voice and eyes like that, she could make any jailbird sing like a canary. There was no resisting her. Somehow, he managed. “Bachelor’s secret.”

  “You’d have to kill me if you told me?”

  Or kiss her senseless.

  CHAPTER 12

  Holy hell. Was flirting in front of one’s child okay? It would kill him to ask, but he’d consult with Maddie. It must be okay to some degree if Maddie and Blake were expecting a second child, but still, this was foreign territory. Suzannah hadn’t reprimanded him yet, so maybe he wasn’t too out of line.

  She kept staring at him, expectantly.

  Oh.

  He’d never answered the question. He winked. “Something like that.” Then he pointed to the dollop he’d spooned onto Lulah’s plate. “Okay, kiddo. Stir your peas in that and take a bite.”

  Lulah looked mortified, but didn’t protest when Gunnar did it for her. He took a spoonful and waved it in the air. “One special spoonful of magic sauce made just for little girls who like Batman. Open wide.” He must have spoken the magic words, because to his surprise and relief, she opened her mouth. Gunnar tipped the sauce-laden peas into her mouth, then repeated the action for himself. “Yum,” he said with exaggerated enthusiasm. Actually, the sauce wasn’t too bad. He’d give himself a seven out of ten.

  Suzannah covered a laugh, but then her eyebrows drew together. “Can I get you some ibuprofen?”

  How did she do that? His arm had been steadily throbbing for at least the last hour. Maybe longer. “I’m fine.”

  “You want to stay on top of the pain cycle. It’s likely going to be uncomfortable tonight.”

  He waved her off, and airplaned another spoonful of peas into Lulah’s mouth. “Don’t they say laughter is the best medicine?”

  “Not when you’ve had twenty stitches.”

  Okay, fair point. But he wasn’t in so much pain that he needed a pill. At least not yet. “Why don’t I clear the table?”

  “Oh, it’s okay, I’ll get it later.”

  “No, I insist. Ma would tan my hide if I sat here and let you do all the work.”

  She cocked her head, not hiding her surprise. “Really?”

  “She expected all of us to help around the house. Even dad.”

  “Well, okay. Do you mind if I give Lulah a bath then?”

  “Not at all.” He hated she looked so relieved. Being here only for dinner had been completely eye-opening. How did she do it all? And keep the clinic running? He stared at her hard, scanning her face for signs of fatigue. Sure enough, on second glance, they were there. The lines around her eyes were a little deeper, the lids, slightly puffy. If he hadn’t trained his eyes for years on studying horseflesh, learning to see the mildest inflammation at the fetlocks and forelocks, the slightest hint of unevenness in a gait, he’d never have noticed. She hid it well. But no doubt, she was exhausted.

  The dishes took minutes, sped along by the sweet sounds of mother and daughter singing in the bathtub. When he’d finished, he took a seat back at the table, waiting patiently for Suzannah to finish whatever bedtime ritual she shared with Lulah. To his surprise, they returned to the kitchen, Lulah clutching a book. “She’d like you to read to her,” Suzannah said softly.

  He could only nod, and patted his lap. Yet again, his throat squeezed tight, and he couldn’t talk. He wrapped an arm around her tiny body, breathing in the scent of soap and squeaky clean baby. “What do you have here?”

  Lulah began to read, every now and then stumbling over a longer word. A goodnight story involving butterflies and fireflies. With every page turn, he took a mental picture, trying but failing to imprint each moment in his memory. He’d remember this moment on his deathbed, even if he missed a few details.

  “What do you say?” Suzannah prodded when the book was over.

  Lulah twisted, giving him a light hug. “Thank you for my presents.”

  He was utterly unprepared for the feeling of her little arms wrapped around him. Nothing compared. Not the moment when a wild mustang accepted a harness, or the moment he first remembered his father looking at him with pride. Not even the moment that still vividly lived in his memory – when Suzannah had told him she loved him completely, without reservation. It was like a star had suddenly gone supernova inside his chest. “You’re most welcome, sweetpea.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and caught Suzannah staring at him, a funny expression on her face.

  “Time for bed, sweetie pie,” she said, extending her hand to Lulah. Turning in the doorway, she cocked her head toward the front room. “I’ll be out in about ten minutes. We can talk on the porch.”

  Before he had a chance to respond, she’d ushered a bouncing Lulah through the doorway. Across the room, he could hear her high voice asking something to Suzannah, and Suzannah murmuring some kind of a reply. Gunnar dropped his head into his hands, reeling. This was too much. How many bombshells could he take in a twenty-four hour period? Not only had he had the most intense sex since, well, ever, he was still reeling from the discovery he was a father. And now this little girl who’d captured his heart in the blink of an eye had a heart condition? He pushed back from the table, needing to move, to do something besides sit. He spied a coffee pot on the counter. Coffee. Coffee would help. A shot from Jamey’s crisis bottle would be better, but he suspected Suzannah didn’t have a liquor cabinet. Hell, her fridge was practically empty. What were they paying her? Surely enough that she could keep food on the table. She was a doctor for chrissakes. Weren’t doctors super wealthy?

  He found the coffee grounds and set about making a pot. While he waited, he studied the fridge, and the pictures he’d hung. If he cocked his head sideways, he could see the shape of Batman in her drawing. To anyone else, it might look like a misshapen blob, but he knew better. He especially liked she’d colored the cape pink and green. The pot gurgled a final time, signaling the coffee was ready. Gunnar snagged the drawing from the fridge and gently folded it, placing it in his front pocket. By the time Suzannah entered the kitchen, he had a steaming mug waiting for her. He held it out. “I saw the half-n-half in the fridge.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, fingers brushing against his as she took the mug.

  Why did she look so surprised? It was just a cup of coffee. Again, the lines of exhaustion on her face jumped out at him. “Do you need to sit? You look tired.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “You get used to it in Med school.”

  And she’d been parenting solo on top of it. Hadn’t her family helped?

  She lifted the cup. “This tastes delicious. You’ll have to show me how you do it.”

  “Let me guess, you burn the coffee?”

  “Worse. I can diagnose strep by smell, but they never taught us to brew a proper pot of coffee.”

  “Should we go sit on the swing?”

  “I’d like that.”

  The tension seemed to melt from her shoulders when he laid a hand at the small of her back as he followed her through the living room to the front door.

  “How’s your arm?” she asked, holding the screen door for him.

  Hurt like a motherfucker. “I’m fine.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I can tell you’re in pain.”

  “Not anything I can’t handle.”

  “You farmers. You’re all way too macho.”

  “It’s a good thing I’m not a farmer then,” he chuckled.

  Suzannah rolled her eyes, the corner of her mouth tipping up. Gunnar’s chest clutched. Conversation with her had always been so easy. Fun, even. She always made him laugh, and not because she was trying. Just… because. “Explain to me the difference between a farmer and a rancher again?”

  “We’re neither, but farmers farm.”

  “And ranchers ranch,” she answered with a giggle. “That’s super helpful.”

  “Okay,
so farmers raise the grains, the vegetables. Ranchers raise the meat.”

  “But aren’t there chicken farmers?”

  “Eggs.”

  She shook her head, smile still threatening to break loose. “I’ll get it one of these days. But if you’re not a rancher, what are you?”

  “Hansens have raised horses since the eighteen-fifties. I’m sure at one point or another we ran cattle, but we’ve always been horsemen.”

  “And women,” she added.

  Damn, he admired her spunk. “Yes, and my sister would be the first to point that out. She’s probably the best of all of us.” He took a sip from his mug, trying his best not to wince at the throbbing that made his arm feel like it was on fire. He shifted on the swing, to better face her. “So.”

  She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, eyes cast down. “So.”

  Silence spun out between them, the evening air filling the void with the chirps and trills of crickets and night peepers. Fireflies winked on the grass. By all accounts, this should be a perfectly romantic evening. The air was soft, not oppressively hot, like it would be in a few week’s time. A breeze whispered through the tree leaves, like the barest kiss on a satin cheek. Gunnar’s body stilled, waiting. If necessary, he’d wait all night. This wasn’t his first rodeo where scared mammals were concerned. She might not be a horse, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that she was scared to death. He offered a silent thought of thanks to his sister, Hope. He’d learned so much from watching her gentle mustangs. How to just be with an animal. How to give a scared horse, or human, space to settle, to develop the beginning threads of trust. Gunnar took another sip of his coffee and concentrated on keeping the swing moving with his foot. He had questions, days’ worth, but they’d never get answered if Suzannah was scared, or felt she couldn’t trust him. “If you’re not ready to talk, I can go,” he offered before he could pull back the words.

  She jerked her gaze to him. “No, no. I’m sorry…. It’s just…” she sighed heavily.

  “Start wherever you like. Or tell me to go.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” she answered in a rush. “Please.” She shut her eyes, and he could almost see her screwing up her courage. “I found out I was pregnant in mid-January, the day of my first residency interview. I was scared to death. Right away I knew I wouldn’t qualify for a surgical residency. To be honest, I’m lucky I got matched at all. Pregnancy is… a liability.”

  Gunnar’s chest flamed. That anyone would think Lulah was a liability, made him want to pound someone into the dust.

  “Oh don’t go looking like that,” she admonished, shaking her head. “Do you know how many locals won’t see me because I’m a woman?”

  Gunnar sat straight up. “What? The whole reason we have the clinic is so that people don’t have to drive more than an hour to get good medical attention.” What the hell was wrong with some of these people? “We’re gonna discuss this at the next board meeting.”

  “Calm down. Just don’t be a part of the problem, okay? And if you hear people being assholes, say something.”

  “Whatever you want, darlin’.”

  “And stop calling me darlin’.”

  “Even if I like you?” He swore he saw her cheeks go pink.

  “You’re head of the clinic board. Whether you like it or not, people will pay attention to how you treat me. At least in public,” she added.

  Fuck. His mind raced back to earlier. “Was I an ass?”

  She cocked her head. “Only the first night.”

  Yeah, not his best moment. Heat raced up his neck. “Can I apologize again?”

  “No need.”

  “Anything you want… Darlin’.” He couldn’t resist teasing her just a tiny bit, and it earned him a gentle sock at the top of his arm.

  “Ha. Ha.”

  He shifted on the swing so he could see her fully. “I swear, Suzannah. I like teasing and all, but I’d never… in public… I respect you.”

  Electricity arced between them.

  “But I’d like to call you darlin’ in private,” he murmured, tracing a finger along her jaw. He’d call her that and more, if she let him.

  Her mouth dropped open, and the urge to bend his head toward hers, to test the waters, grew within him. But he waited too long and the moment passed. She turned her cheek, serious again. “I started having contractions at thirty-four weeks, and went into full blown labor at thirty-five. Lulah was barely five pounds when she was born.”

  Gunnar’s stomach turned upside down. “Holy shit,” he breathed.

  “I was pretty scared,” she admitted. “But the worst part was when they told me her heart was underdeveloped.” She repeated the next information almost in a monotone, as if she’d told it so many times, it was now something to just be endured. “She was born with arterial stenosis, which means that one of the main arteries pushing blood through the heart wasn’t fully formed. She wasn’t getting enough oxygen, and her heart was unable to pump enough blood.”

  Gunnar stopped the swing. What had it been like for her? All alone? He was freaking out, and yet this had taken place years ago. “So she had surgery.”

  Suzannah nodded. “Two. But we’re keeping an eye on one of her valves. She may need a valve repair or replacement at some point.”

  “Oh God, this is all my fault,” he blurted, looking away.

  Her brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

  “My family. We have heart problems. Uncle Warren, before he was taken in the tornado, had a massive heart attack. My dad had one this spring.”

  Suzannah sat straighter. “Some of that could be diet. What do you know of your grandparents?”

  “I’d have to ask my mom.”

  She took a deep breath, and let it out in a rush. “Okay, that’s not going to change the present. But you should make sure you’re eating well and getting screened for high blood pressure and cholesterol on a regular basis.”

  It shouldn’t turn him on the way it did, hearing her with her doctor hat on, but a frisson of awareness shot through him. “Let me help. Let me share custody with you.”

  She recoiled as if she’d been slapped. His heart yo-yoed. Why was she staring at him like that? Like he’d asked her to eat a slug?

  “I…” she bit her lip, brows coming together, and shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not now, at least.”

  “Why the hell not?” He shot back. It was obvious she needed help. Hell, her cooking skills were abysmal, and her fridge was nearly empty.

  “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t shirk my responsibilities.” She might have struggled all this time on her own, but he was here now.

  “She’s sick Gunnar. Are you ready for that? For the financial burden of childhood heart surgeries? The fear of bankruptcy when the doctor tells you your child needs another surgery? Her first surgery cost twice as much as my med school loans.”

  Her words punched him in the gut.

  “Are you ready to lose your family’s land, your family’s legacy, when the collectors start calling? Because they will call. Or the fights with insurance over what procedures they will or will not cover? Or the copays on medicine? Or when insurance denies you the medicine you need?” Her voice came out clipped, frustrated, angry. As if she was reliving all of it.

  Gunnar clamped his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. He had a significant nest-egg, but it wasn’t enough to cover half-a-million dollars in medical bills. He’d heard through the grapevine of a family over in Marion whose son developed leukemia. They’d had to declare bankruptcy and auction off everything – land, horses, tractors.

  She continued. “Are you ready for the constant worry that your child, your world is going to be snuffed out in an instant? They have to stop her heart during surgery. Stop. It.” She batted at a tear with the back of her hand.

  His heart lurched. He was no stranger to loss, and losing his family’s land would be devastatin
g. But he was all in where Lulah was concerned. If something catastrophic happened to her, he’d break. “We’d figure it out,” he growled.

  “Would we?” she asked, eyes shining with unshed tears. “These are the kind of life events that break marriages. I’ve seen it happen. Marriages that had half a chance, and were on solid footing, crumbling. We barely know each other.”

  “We knew each other once,” he countered.

  She barked out a laugh, shaking her head. “Don’t be a fool, Gunnar. We were caught up in the moment. We’d never have survived the stress of a sick baby.”

  He folded his arms, cradling his injured one. “I don’t believe that.”

  She shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay, fine. But you have no idea what it’s like, what it’s been like.”

  Her words sliced him to the quick. “Then let me in,” he growled. “Let me help. Let me show you I’m better than you think.”

  CHAPTER 13

  When Suzannah showed up at the clinic the following Monday, Gloria McPherson stood waiting expectantly. Suzannah’s heart sank. People were showing up at the clinic earlier and earlier, eating into the time she used to catch up on paperwork, and more importantly, billing. She stifled a yawn and took a long slug of coffee from her travel mug. At least the coffee no longer tasted like dirt. Gunnar had taken to setting up her coffee pot every night before he left. It was a small gesture, but one she greatly appreciated. Especially since she’d been burning the midnight oil on administrative work. Pulling a smile, she lifted her mug. “Good morning, Gloria. Is everything okay?”

  Gloria returned the smile. “Oh yes, everything’s grand. I’m here to help.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  Suzannah unlocked the doors, and held one open for Gloria, following her into the cool, dark interior. Gloria beat her to the light switch, then bustled around the receptionist’s station and laid her purse on the counter. “It came to our attention that you might need a little office help.”