Claimed by the Cowboy

by Sarah M. Anderson

That wasn’t all she was looking at. It wasn’t his manhood—it was the bloodstained condom.

  And reality—that cruel, heartless bitch—came intruding into her happy dream.

  “You were a virgin?” He asked in the same tone of voice he might use to ask if Bigfoot really existed.

  Was there any good way to have this conversation? No. But there had to be a better way than this.

  “Um,” she started, and then stopped because that wasn’t any sort of answer at all. “Yes?” She winced at the way it came out as a question. Because she knew it wasn’t.

  His eyes narrowed and he put his hands on his hips. “I’ll be right back,” he told her. “And then you and I are going to have a talk.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and stalked away. Normally, she would’ve taken advantage of this opportunity to admire his butt. It was at that exact moment that she began to feel the effects of her first time. She was sore and stretched and her labia burned. Despite all that, she wanted him back in her bed again.

  She sat up in bed, wincing as her delicate parts came into contact with the sheet. And then she winced again because there was probably more blood. She felt different—and that was an understatement. But at the same time, she didn’t feel as different as she’d thought she would. She’d gained some firsthand knowledge—but she didn’t think it had fundamentally altered who she was. She wasn’t a virgin anymore, but she still felt like Lucy. She’d climaxed—two climaxes in one night wasn’t bad for a first timer—but the heavens hadn’t opened and the angels hadn’t sung and she hadn’t heard any fireworks go off.

  She rubbed her temples. Being different and not different at the same time made her feel funny.

  The bathroom door opened and Josh strode out. This was the stuff of fantasy, she had to admit. Because she had fantasized about this many times, except in her fantasies, Josh had always been leaner, more gangly. More awkward. He’d been the teenager she remembered.

  He hadn’t been this broad, muscled man with a sprinkling of dark chest hair. He also hadn’t been this intimidating man with his jaw set and his eyes hard.

  Before she could think of anything reasonable to say, he told her, “Your turn.”

  Lucy took the hint. She went to the bathroom and got cleaned up and then looked at herself in the mirror. She looked the way she felt—different and the same. Her hair was a disaster and her cheeks were flushed and her lips were red. She looked as though she had taken a lover. But she didn’t look like a different woman. A more mature, more sophisticated version of herself was not staring back at her.

  And now she had to go out and “have a talk” with Josh about this whole pesky virginity thing.

  Was sex always this complicated?

  She turned off the light before she opened the door, as if that would hide her. It didn’t.

  She saw that Josh had put his briefs back on, but nothing else. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, his forearms on his legs, and for the life of her, Lucy thought that he looked like he was praying. Oh, this was going to be bad, wasn’t it? This was going to be complicated and messy and awkward and painful, and it was going to be all the worse because she didn’t know how to have these conversations.

  “Explain to me,” Josh said in a low voice that bordered on dangerous, “how you were still a virgin.” He didn’t look up as she approached. He kept his head bowed and his gaze focused on the floor, on his toes or some imaginary speck of dust.

  “I’ve been busy.” That got his attention. His head popped up and he stared at her, and Lucy had a fleeting impression of...guilt? “Well, I have been. You don’t get to be the youngest head of oncology in a hospital by having a social life.”

  She felt awkward standing before him, but she figured it would be even more awkward if she went and sat next to him. She looked around and saw her bathrobe on the floor near her closet. She must have launched it there when she was frantically trying to get packed earlier. She bent over and flipped it over her shoulders, belting it at the waist. Immediately, she felt less exposed.

  “But that doesn’t make any sense.” He didn’t remark on her bathrobe. At least it was a nice plain white bathrobe—not a fluffy penguin in sight.

  “Yes, it does.” Something in his eyes shifted. Instead of guilt, it looked more like he might feel sorry for her. And Lucy couldn’t have that. “After high school, I wasn’t exactly looking for another relationship. I threw myself into my studies. I got my BA in three years. Then there was med school and internships and residencies and...and my patients. I didn’t make time for dating and I didn’t have a lot of offers, so it worked out. I have my job and that’s all I need.”

  Or it had been until Josh Calhoun had walked back into her life. Now? Now she wasn’t so sure anymore.

  And that, more than the loss of her virginity, was what had changed about her. Because Lucinda Wilde had been a doctor who hadn’t needed a personal relationship, who had convinced herself that she didn’t even want one.

  But Lucy Wilde?

  Josh stood and paced away from her. “No, that doesn’t make any sense,” he repeated with more authority. “What about you and Gary?”

  This was always what it was going to come back to, wasn’t it? No matter what curveballs life had thrown at them—and this sure as hell counted as a curveball—it would always begin back where it started.

  “What about us?” She shifted from foot to foot, trying to find the posture that took a little more pressure off her newly sore parts.

  “You guys were together—I mean, you dated for, like, two years!”

  Lucinda Wilde, MD, would have stayed standing to make her best argument. But Lucy was tired. It was after midnight, and she had to get up tomorrow and keep dealing with Sutton Winchester and everyone else. So she sat on the bed and tried her best to keep from yawning. “And Gary was sick, Josh. I know that you guys were friends from childhood, but when I showed up at school, he was already sick. I never knew him when he was healthy.”

  He spun and stared at her. “What are you saying?”

  She shrugged. “I wish I could tell you that we didn’t go all the way because we were waiting for the right time or we thought he would get better and we’d get married or we knew we weren’t mature enough to deal with it. But the truth was, he was sick.”

  She didn’t want to tell Josh the rest. She wanted to let that part of Gary stay buried. But she knew, just from looking at Josh’s face, that she wasn’t going to be able to do that. She sent up a silent prayer for forgiveness to Gary’s spirit, wherever he was.

  “But he loved you,” Josh said. He sounded so young and idealistic—as if he really did believe love could cure the world of all its ills. Lucy couldn’t help but smile. “And you loved him—didn’t you?”

  “I did. He was a good kisser—not that I had anything to compare him to—and we fooled around. Just because I was a virgin didn’t mean I’ve never done anything. The spirit was willing but his flesh was...weak.” No matter how hard she’d tried, Gary Everly had died a virgin in the strictest sense of the word.

  She wanted that to be the end of it. “Will you stay with me? I’m tired, Josh.”

  He took two steps toward her and then stopped. Lucy braced herself because she knew it was coming and she knew she couldn’t stop it. “You—after Gary’s funeral when you kissed me—what was that about, then?” He looked horrified.

  She tried to smile, as if they were reminiscing about lighthearted tales of frivolity instead of life-and-death issues. “Why did you kiss me tonight? Earlier, after you told me about your wife?” His mouth opened and then he shut it again. “Why did you come upstairs with me tonight—after you played with that little boy?”

  The color drained out of his face and he looked as if she’d slapped him. Hard.

  She stood up and walked over to him, laying her pa
lm against his cheek. “I understand,” she told him gently.

  For a moment, she thought he was going to give. His arms twitched as if he wanted to pull her tight against his chest. And that was what she wanted.

  But that was not what happened. “Did you—did you just have pity sex with me? Is that what that was? You give up your virginity after all these years to make me feel better about my dead wife?” His voice had risen until he had shouted that last part.

  She stumbled back. “No! That’s not what this was, Josh!”

  “Then what was it?”

  “I like you,” she told him, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. This was not how it was supposed to go. Even a novice like herself knew that. “I’ve always liked you. And I thought—after you explicitly told me—that you liked me, too!”

  “Jesus, Lucy.” He pushed past her and started gathering up his clothes.

  Now she was panicking in earnest. “What are you doing?”

  “Leaving,” he told her shortly as he shoved his legs into his pants and then his feet into his boots. “This was a mistake. God, what was I thinking?”

  That did it. Some of her panic flipped over into anger. “Boy, you sure know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you? Just what every virgin wants to hear, that she was nothing but a mistake. Would you just listen to me? This wasn’t pity sex!”

  He jammed his arms into his shirt and didn’t even bother to button it up. “Wasn’t it?” He made a break for the door. She grabbed his arm and tried to hold him still. “A thirty-five-year-old virgin and a widower and you’re going to tell me that’s not pitiful?”

  She gasped in shock, humiliation blossoming in her chest. “I am not pitiful,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “And neither are you.”

  He cut her a mean look and opened his mouth. She tensed, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he spun on his heel and walked right out of her apartment.

  All she could do was watch him go.

  And that?

  That was pitiful.

  Ten

  Somehow, Josh found himself outside Carson’s place. He didn’t get out of the truck immediately; instead, he sat there, fighting the urge to bash his forehead against the steering wheel in frustration.

  What had just happened? He found himself repeating that question over and over again—not that repeating it got him any closer to an answer.

  He had slept with Lucy. She had been a virgin. Those facts were just that—facts.

  It was also a fact that he had—and this was an understatement—flipped out. And the hell of it was, he had no idea why. Not one single idea. But he was pretty damn sure that in the process of flipping out he had grievously insulted Lucy. Which just made everything that much worse.

  He had screwed up. That was bad enough. Technically, he’d screwed up twice. Basically, his evening with Lucy had had three stages—plumbing the depths of his grief, seducing her and insulting her.

  Only one of those had been any fun. And he’d screwed that up, too.

  It was well past one when Josh finally dragged himself into the house. He was surprised to find all three Newport brothers sitting in a parlor. For a moment, he had a flashback to high school, of trying to sneak in past his curfew only to find his grandfather sitting up and waiting for him.

  But he wasn’t in high school anymore and nobody was going to ground him. The first person to try was going to get a fat lip for his troubles.

  Here they all sat, each one of them looking at him expectantly. Because he had been assigned a task—go to the Winchester estate and make sure that Sutton Winchester would be well cared for in a private setting.

  And, idiot that he was, he had used Lucy for that purpose.

  “We were beginning to wonder where you’d gotten off to,” Graham said in a diplomatic tone. Before Josh could tell him exactly where he could go, Graham added, “Whiskey?” as he held up his own tumbler. It was mostly empty.

  Yeah, he could use a drink. But he was in no mood to drink in present company. “Lucy has given her approval of the setup. She’s waiting on one set of test results and then she’ll discharge him.”

  Brooks rolled his eyes, Graham threw back the rest of his drink and Carson sat forward, looking interested.

  “Anything else?” Carson asked.

  Josh had always been a peacemaker. Ever since he’d buried his parents, he’d had to be. His grandfather had leaned on him in his time of sorrow. His brothers and sisters had needed him to step up, especially after his elder brother, Lincoln, had joined the military and bailed on them. His employees had disputes that needed settling. Even his friends—the Newports especially—had been well served by Josh’s calm, steady presence.

  And he was tired of it.

  “The estate is lovely. Your sister Nora is a sweet soul. Your nephew Declan is adorable.”

  “Problem?” Graham asked, reaching over for a crystal decanter to refill his glass. “Are you sure you don’t want some whiskey?”

  “No, damn it, I don’t want any whiskey.”

  Brooks snorted. “What crawled up your butt and died?” he asked, and Josh thought he seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much.

  Josh glared at him—at them all. “You’re just waiting for him to die. Can’t you let a man die in peace?”

  Brooks shrugged. “He doesn’t even deserve that much, you know. I’d have tossed him on the street if I could.” Brooks glanced at Carson and muttered a halfhearted, “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not,” Josh snapped. “You’re hell-bent on this vendetta.” He turned to Graham. “I haven’t figured out what your angle is yet, but I know you too well to know you’re not working on an angle.”

  Carson ignored this outburst. “You agreed that moving him was a good idea. In fact, you’re the one who convinced me it might get him to talk.”

  “Of course I did. I was keeping the damn peace. I always keep the peace.” Except tonight. Except with Lucy. God, what a mess. He felt like his skin was turning inside out. It was too much. He never should have come back to Chicago. “The next time you want to find out what’s happening at your father’s house, go there yourself. In the meantime, stop expecting me to do your dirty work. Because now Lucy has to rearrange her entire life so that she can coddle a man no one else wants to coddle.”

  The three brothers exchanged knowing—and irritating—looks. “Who is Lucy, again?” Brooks asked.

  Carson stared at Josh. “Dr. Lucinda Wilde. Sutton’s oncologist—and apparently a former old friend of Josh’s.” There was a pause while Brooks and Graham digested this information, and then Carson added, “Or perhaps, she’s not that former a friend.”

  “Go to hell,” Josh retorted. “I am your friend. You want advice? Fine. You want to talk about it? Fine. But I’m not your errand boy and I’m not your employee—not anymore. I didn’t come back to Chicago for the first time in five long, dark years just so you could use me and Lucy to fight some proxy battle. If you can’t get that—any of you—then I’ll be gone by morning. I have a business to run.”

  He turned and started to stalk out of the room, but Carson called after him, “Josh?”

  He stopped at the doorway, but he didn’t turn back around. “What?”

  “We know it wasn’t easy for you to come back. But we’re glad you did.”

  “Whatever.” And then Josh did something that was normally uncharacteristic of him—but something he’d done twice tonight, nevertheless.

  He walked away without looking back.

  * * *

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Lucy startled and glanced up from her tablet. Sutton Winchester was a man who looked sick. Ever since they’d started chemo and radiation, his skin had taken on a sickly gray pall. He’d lost a lot of weight and all of h
is hair in a very short period of time, which gave him a nearly skeletal appearance.

  But Lucy saw reasons for hope. He was able to keep some food down and the last scan of his lungs has shown that the tumor appeared to be shrinking.

  “Sorry?”

  Sutton sighed and repeated himself. “What’s wrong with you? Somebody die? Wasn’t me, was it?” That last bit he wheezed out.

  “No, actually. Nothing’s wrong. Your numbers are looking good and I think we’re starting to see your tumor shrink.”

  Sutton’s head was propped up on the pillows, and he seemed so weak that he could barely keep his eyes open at half-mast. But appearances, she knew, could be deceiving, and she got the feeling that Sutton was watching her far more closely than he should be. “You look like somebody dumped you,” he went on. “I’ve got three daughters. I know these things.”

  Great. Just what she needed. “Mr. Winchester, not that it’s relevant to your treatment, but I’m not seeing anyone. Ergo, no one can dump me.”

  Sutton’s eyes drifted shut and she hoped that maybe he was going to fall asleep. But today was not her lucky day. “Someone sent you flowers—the nurses were talking about it. You’re too good for him.”

  This wasn’t exactly an unknown phenomenon. Sometimes, when people were facing death, they became more philosophical about the trials and tribulations of life. Those regrets were then projected onto those around them. If they’d been neglectful parents, they would cajole and beg the nurses and doctors to take better care of their own families. If they’d been unfaithful, they would talk of love and honor and respect, of vows they hadn’t kept and now wished they had.

  Just her luck that Sutton Winchester would fall into more than one of those categories. “Mr. Winchester,” she began in a stern tone. “My personal life has no bearing on your treatment—and that’s the thing that you and I should both be concerned with at this time. Your family has gone to great lengths to have you transferred out of this hospital and returned to your home.”

  Sutton cracked open one eye and Lucy thought maybe he looked a little alarmed. “What? Why?”