Cowboy Casanova (Wild At Heart Cowboys Book 3)

by Charlene Bright

  “Sure,” she said, following him. She’d just pushed the button to start the coffee drip when the monitor in her pocket crackled and a gagging noise erupted. She took off toward Bill’s room, throwing the door open and getting to his bedside. She simultaneously reached for the bucket beside the bed and his arm so she could pull him up into a seated position and avoid him choking on his own vomit. He was already breathing hard, and though he heaved, nothing came out.

  Tara settled the bucket in front of him and started rubbing circles over his back. Slowly, he relaxed and lifted his head, his eyelids still drooping and his mouth hanging open as he gasped for air. Pain was written in the deep lines cut across his face and around his eyes, and she wanted to wash it away. She hadn’t realized Dylan was beside her until he reached past her with a cool, damp rag, as if to do just that. He scooted in so he sat on one hip on the edge of the bed and wiped the cloth over Bill’s forehead, cheeks, and lips.

  It was plain to see how tenderly Dylan handled the older man, how much he cared. It was also pretty clear that Bill had a lot of pride, and moments like this were the only time that wall came down, the moments when he couldn’t fight to take care of himself because he was too weak. It broke her heart to think how much an illness like cancer damaged someone physically, but it was worse to see how it pained them mentally and emotionally. Tara always made it her job to keep her patients filled with as much pride and confidence as they’d ever had, and it looked like Dylan had the same idea.

  As if he wanted to prove her point, Dylan caught her eye and motioned with his head almost imperceptibly for her to step aside. Her instinct was to protest, but she backed away, watching as he moved in. “Okay, old boy, get up. We’re going to the bathroom so you can take a bath.” Tara felt a bit helpless and didn’t particularly like it, but she took note of the way Dylan handled Bill. He took most of the man’s weight with an arm slung over his shoulders, but he didn’t duck or walk slowly, giving Bill a bit of illusion that he was carrying himself. It was good for him. She liked Dylan’s style and decided that, while she had the chance, she’d study the way he took care of Bill so she could find ways to keep her patient from falling into depression. That usually led to a decline in health.

  While the men took care of Bill’s personal hygiene, she gathered the sheets, which weren’t dirty but were drenched from night sweats. It wasn’t like he wasn’t taking at least three medications with that side effect. She carried the linens to the laundry room and got them started with the hypoallergenic detergent. Then, she remembered the bacon and raced to the kitchen to make sure it didn’t burn.

  She could hear the guys bantering in the bathroom, their voices cheerful, though she couldn’t decipher the words. But if they were happy, then she would stay in here, for now, and finish making breakfast. It was the least she could do to earn her keep.

  5

  Dylan swung the axe, landing it precisely down the center of the log and splitting it into three wedges in one blow. He kicked it aside and reached for the next section of tree, setting it up on the stump to do the same. There was no point in stacking it neatly here when he’d just have to carry it to the side of the house anyway.

  He lifted the axe again but stopped before he swung as he heard the diesel of a truck coming. Turning to squint into the sun, he wiped the back of his hand on his forehead, wishing it were just a couple degrees cooler as he watched Noah get out and slam the door behind him. Damn, this wasn’t something he needed right now. He didn’t have time to stop what he was doing and schedule his horse being broken, and he couldn’t explain why he was in such a hurry. At least, he hadn’t cleared it with Bill yet.

  But he wasn’t going to be able to avoid some sort of discussion with Noah, who ambled toward him in that deceptively calm manner he’d mastered. The closer he got, the bigger his smirk grew, and Dylan waited patiently for whatever jab he was going to throw this time. “You know, I think it’s the fact that you never wear a shirt that keeps you from getting a woman.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Whatever. I think the only reason Zoe married you is because she felt sorry for you. And maybe because you stuffed your pants to make a bigger impression, if you catch my drift.” They both laughed, and he shook Noah’s hand, bumping shoulders with him in a man-hug. “What brings you out here?” he asked, though Dylan had a feeling he already knew.

  Noah pulled the sunglasses resting on the brim of his hat down and put them over his eyes. “I’m checking up on you, man. You’re always out doing something, your ranch isn’t in the best of shape, and you keep putting me off with that mustang. I know you want him broken, so I can’t figure out what’s going on. I can break him for you, without you even there. If you’re too busy to bring him over, I can come pick him up and haul him over myself. I won’t even charge for transport because we’re friends.”

  Dylan shook his head. The truth was, he wasn’t in good financial shape, with the time he’d been spending at Bill’s, and he didn’t have the money to pay for the work. He needed to spend some time shearing sheep and get some of his cattle to market just to pay his own bills. “I know, Noah, but I’m not quite ready for that.”

  But Noah scowled at him. “What’s going on, Dylan? I saw you at the diner, and you took enough food with you for a small militia. Now, I’d ask if you’re seeing someone, but if it was someone local, everyone would already know. And if it was someone from out of town, someone would have seen her by now. So, it’s something else, and you need to spill your guts.”

  Looking at a distant, unfocused point somewhere over Noah’s shoulder, Dylan tried to decide the best course of action. Noah wasn’t a typically nosy man, but when his wife wanted to know something, and it sparked his curiosity, he could be relentless. In this instance, he had a feeling Noah had been mandated to get the answers before he left and faced serious repercussions if he came home without them. That meant Dylan wasn’t going to convince him to wait any longer, just so he could get the go-ahead from Bill. It wasn’t like he could keep Tara on lockdown permanently. She was going to go into town, and there would be no stopping the rumors without telling the truth.

  “I’ve been spending a lot of time at Bill Campbell’s place lately,” he finally said plainly, his voice gruff. He didn’t like having to tell anyone how sick Bill was because that meant it was true.

  But the skeptical look on Noah’s face wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. “What are you trying to say, man? Is that why you haven’t dated since high school?”

  In complete disbelief of the misunderstanding, Dylan guffawed, doubling over in his mirth. “No, man!” he gasped, trying to find his control. “You don’t really think I’m trying to tell you we’re gay, do you?”

  “I didn’t know what to think, Dylan,” Noah told him, looking a bit relieved. “I would have been shocked but supportive, of course. But I just couldn’t wrap my head around it with you and Bill.” He shook his head, laughing softly. “So, if that’s not the case, what have you been doing over there?”

  That sobered Dylan instantly. “He’s sick, and he’s been trying to keep it quiet. No one else in town knows about it, and he’d probably get pissed at me for telling you, but he’s got a nurse now, so everyone’s going to find out eventually.”

  Noah turned green at the revelation. “Is it cancer?” Dylan nodded, not trusting his voice. “Damn. I had no idea. How bad is it?”

  “Bad. It’s gotten worse over time. He’s taking some chemo drugs, but the treatments are done. No more radiation or live chemo or anything. The docs can’t stop it, and the pills are supposed to help him live longer.” He hung his head. He’d been counting down subconsciously, unwilling to accept the finality of it all, and now he said it for the first time. “They said he had six months to a year, and that was a couple months ago.”

  Looking like he was about to puke, Noah covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh, man. So, you’ve been taking care of him, his ranch, and your ranch, too? How the hell are you managi
ng any of that? Do you ever sleep?”

  Hadn’t Tara asked him the same thing? It would have been amusing, except the thought of her made his drawers feel too tight. There was nothing happy about that. “I sleep. Not well, but I sleep. And honestly, I haven’t been doing the best job keeping up on my own place. I can’t afford to get the mustang broken right now. I need to slaughter a cow or two first.”

  Noah rubbed his forehead. “You should have said something. I would have kicked in to help. I know you said Bill didn’t want to tell anyone,” he added quickly, holding up his hands to stop Dylan’s protest. “But I would have been discreet, just gotten over to your place to help you out when you couldn’t be there.”

  Dylan didn’t want to tell him that it was a sense of pride, just like Bill’s, that kept him from asking for help, though that’s exactly what had made him stay silent. He knew very well there were plenty of people who wouldn’t have gone to Bill with condolences and wouldn’t have spread the word through town. But he didn’t want to be that guy who couldn’t handle it alone. Of course, since Bill had gone and hired Tara, Dylan had to admit now anyway that he wasn’t a one-man miracle worker.

  “I was just trying to stick to Bill’s wishes.” He felt like a jackass, and he didn’t even feel relieved at having been able to finally unload the burden of secrecy he’d been carrying for so long. “I’m just looking to get caught up now that he’s got a nurse, but I don’t want to abandon him or anything. I’ve still got his land to take care of. And I don’t care how good she is. Tara can’t work 24-7.”

  “Tara’s the nurse?” Noah asked.

  Dylan nodded. “She came in last night. I got home a few hours ago and figured it was time to take care of this wood I salvaged and hauled off from the fire over there. I can sell it and bring in some extra cash to cover me for hiring a little help.”

  “How is Bill paying for this nurse? She’s living with him, right?” Noah had latched on to something he didn’t think added up, evidenced by the way he squinted his eyes behind the glasses. “Does he have any government benefits?”

  “Some. But I don’t know how much of the expense is covered. I know the meds he takes are still ridiculously expensive, so I imagine it’ll be difficult for him to cover this. But I’m looking at ways I can help, if I can get myself back afloat.” He hated admitting to having financial troubles, but Noah would have figured that out on his own anyway.

  “Everyone loves Bill. We could have a fundraiser. I don’t know how much it would cover, but I know anything is better than nothing,” Noah suggested, then sighed heavily. “And I know before you say it. Bill wouldn’t be happy. He’d call it a pity party. So, that’s out the door. Fine.” His face hardened with anger, obviously feeling just as frustrated as Dylan had been for weeks. “We’ll think of something together, you and me.”

  But Dylan shook his head. “You have a wife on the verge of going into labor. That’s where your focus should be. I’ve got a little relief now with Tara here. I’ll figure it out. I just have to get caught up.”

  “Tara. You say she just came in last night?” Dylan nodded. “And you, what, showed her where everything was so she could start doing her job?” He nodded again. Now, Noah crossed his arms over his chest and stared him down, a challenging expression on his face. “Then, why did you have to stay the night? Why didn’t you come home and sleep in your own bed?”

  “It was late. Tara insisted that I stay and not drive so late. And it was a good thing because Bill had a bad episode this morning and wasn’t quite ready to give up the last of his pride so he could get help from a strange woman.”

  “That’s pretty convenient,” Noah muttered, his voice full of sarcasm. Dylan tilted his head, considering Noah and what on earth he was talking about. But his friend smirked. “Tell me you didn’t sleep with her, Dylan.”

  “No! Why would you even think something like that?” Dylan was offended, though granted, he hadn’t done much to dispel any curiosity about something like that. He honestly should have gone home, but he didn’t want to throw Tara into the fire headfirst. And he had been determined to sneak another glimpse of her this morning. Unfortunately, the plan to actually enjoy that time together had been thwarted by Bill’s episode, which he should have expected. And now, between Bill’s failing health and all the work Dylan had to do, he doubted he would have another chance to spend any sort of quality time around the woman.

  It was probably for the best. He didn’t need to perpetuate any rumors, and he needed to be able to focus on his own life. He didn’t need or want a woman in his life, and Tara was definitely the sort of woman to distract him from what was important. Unfortunately, he didn’t know if he’d just be able to forget her as long as she was here, taking care of Bill. And when she didn’t have a reason to be here—well, if he forgot her, it would be because he was so lost and devastated he couldn’t focus on anything else.

  Noah sighed. “Okay, it just seemed like you were awfully familiar with her, calling her ‘Tara’ and staying the night with her.”

  “I didn’t stay the night with her,” Dylan said, getting a bit irritated. “I stayed the night, like I’ve been doing for weeks. Only this time, she got the bedroom because she’ll be living there, and I took the couch. Now, cut it out, okay? I have too much to do to worry about you or anyone else getting the wrong idea.”

  “All right, you win. But let me help you out, Dylan.”

  It was hard to ignore the plea in his voice, especially knowing how much help he really needed. With a sigh, he told Noah, “Do you think you could find a couple of hours to carry some wool out to sell it?”

  “Sure thing. When do you need me?”

  Dylan tried to think when he’d have the sheep sheared. It was Wednesday. He could shear the sheep tomorrow. “How about Friday morning?”

  “Works for me.” Noah smiled, a dimple in his cheek showing he was going to tease. “Now, was that so hard?”

  Dylan couldn’t help but chuckle. “Get out of here. Go buy your wife some pickles and ice cream or something.”

  Noah nodded and started walking away. “She hasn’t had any crazy cravings like that, but she did ask me to pick up some fresh peaches.” Just another reason Dylan didn’t care to get involved with a woman. He couldn’t even get his own life in order. He didn’t have time to cater to anyone else. Even Bill wasn’t that demanding.

  And yet, hadn’t he told Tara he’d pick up the supplies she needed for her? He didn’t know when he’d become such a people pleaser, but it had to stop. He’d run the errand, head over to Bill’s tonight to drop off the stuff and make sure she didn’t have any questions, and then he’d come home to get a real night’s sleep. Then, he’d wash his hands of the personal care and focus on the ranches. He couldn’t help pay for her to work if he kept taking the time to do the job she was getting paid for.

  6

  As expected, Tara didn’t see much of Dylan for the next three days. He dropped off the supplies he’d promised the same evening, made sure she was doing okay and didn’t have any problems or new questions, and disappeared. She could see him from a distance sometimes when she was in the kitchen, cooking, and then when she stepped outside for fresh air. She had no idea what he was doing. She couldn’t really tell from a distance, and she didn’t have time to study his actions to figure it out.

  But she liked the view.

  It was Sunday before she had a chance to even say hello. He’d spent a couple of hours on Saturday sitting on the porch with Bill and chatting while she had been busy with laundry and deep cleaning in the bathroom, something she made a priority at least once a week in any house she came to. But otherwise, he hadn’t been up to the house for days.

  He stepped through the door, and she caught a whiff of leather mixed with the distinct odor of a hard-earned sweat. It wasn’t off-putting but rather rich with masculine appeal, and as she glanced around from where she’d just cleaned up Bill’s lunch after putting him down for a nap, her heart jumped into he
r throat. He was shirtless with ragged jeans slung low on his hips and his hat pulled low over his forehead. Every deep cut showed strong muscle, and the glistening dampness emphasized his abs and pecs and shoulders. His biceps were bulging from whatever work he’d been doing, and she knew that she’d never find a guy in a gym like this. There was something different about the way a man built himself through manual labor versus in a high-tech gym.

  He was breathing heavily, obviously tired. “Hey,” he said, his voice deep and gruff and resonating in her chest as if it were her own. She thrilled to it and chided herself for reacting like a girl in high school. “You got anything like some tea or lemonade in there?” He motioned toward the fridge.

  She nodded. “How about a big glass of sweet iced tea? I think you’ll appreciate the fact that I took Bill’s advice on how much sugar to add. It tastes like the tea you had the night I got here.” She kept up the string of conversation as she poured it for him, even though she knew she was rambling. It was a habit, especially when she was nervous, and something about Dylan made her extremely anxious.

  She handed it to him, and he gulped down most of the glass while she watched his throat move. It was like an erotic commercial, and she flushed from head to toe, deciding she should pour some tea for herself as she reached for his glass to refill it. “Thank you,” he said, sounding relieved. He glanced at the table and one of the chairs but didn’t sit down. “I’m hungry, but I need a shower,” he grumbled, more to himself than to Tara.

  “If you’re worried about getting the chair dirty, don’t be. I clean and disinfect everything on a daily basis. It keeps patients healthier longer. Have a seat, and I’ll build you a sandwich.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” he argued, but he did sit down, practically collapsing into the chair.

  “It’s no big deal. The stuff is still right here. I just put it away.” She reached into the fridge and grabbed the stack of sandwich supplies, plunking it back on the counter. As she started working, she asked, “So, what is it you’ve been doing out there?”