Claimed by the Cowboy

by Sarah M. Anderson

  But not his Lucy. Every single bit went right back into her hospital and her patients.

  And he had called her pitiful. To her face.

  “Philanthropy is good business,” Carson said. “You should know that by now.”

  “You’ve neglected to mention why you’re telling me this,” Josh said.

  “You’re invited. To the benefit, that is.”

  Josh waited, but Carson didn’t have anything else to say. “That’s it? You’re not going to ask me to snoop around or convince your sisters to do something for you? Has Brooks gone off the deep end? Does he need to be hauled back into reality again?”

  “No,” Carson said simply. “We overstepped and this is our way of making it up to you.”

  “If that isn’t the damnedest thing I’ve ever heard. How do you figure that asking me to come back to Chicago is making anything up to me?”

  There was a moment of silence, during which Josh’s grandfather stuck his head into the office. “Everything okay?” he asked. If his grandfather had heard him, it probably meant that Josh was shouting.

  Dammit. He tried to keep calm. “Carson’s asking me to go to some benefit in Chicago.” He hadn’t exactly filled his grandfather in on the details of his disastrous trip to Chicago. And he didn’t want to.

  Still, his grandfather knew him too well. “Does this have something to do with our Lucy?”

  “Dr. Lucinda Wilde is the guest of honor,” Carson chimed in. “I think she’d want to have her friends around her. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who is used to a lot of media scrutiny.”

  Josh’s grandfather gave him a warm smile. “Maybe you should go.”

  If Josh didn’t know any better, he would have said that the two men had planned this entire ambush. “I’m still trying to get caught up from the last time I was in Chicago,” he told both of them at the same time.

  “Reports will keep,” his grandfather said.

  “There are going to be a lot of movers and shakers at this event,” Carson reminded him. “It’s going to be a hell of a networking opportunity.”

  Josh scowled at his grandfather.

  Carson, however, did not see the scowl. “Look, I was talking with Dr. Wilde the other day and she asked me to make sure you are doing okay.”

  “She did?” Josh said. “I mean, she asked about me?”

  His grandfather cocked an eyebrow at this as Carson said, “She did. I think she was worried about you. I can’t really blame her—you took off like a bat out of hell.”

  No one could blame her. Josh knew exactly where the blame lay—with him.

  Was this his penance, then? He’d made an ass of himself with Lucy, so was he going to have to suck it up and go back to Chicago to make it up to her?

  He needed to apologize to her. There was no guarantee that she would forgive him, but the guilt of how he’d treated her was eating away at him.

  His grandfather said, “She was a good friend of yours,” as if that was supposed to reassure Josh instead of making him feel worse.

  “Well?” Carson said. “Shall I put your name down on the guest list?” Josh’s grandfather nodded encouragingly.

  Josh needed to make it up to her. And he couldn’t do that from Iowa. “Fine, I’ll go. Send me the information I need.”

  “One grumpy ice-cream maker, check,” Carson teased. “Anything else you need?”

  Josh dropped his head into his hands and thought. He knew Lucy—or he thought he did, anyway. No, that was a cop-out. He did know her. And he knew that if she was going to be the guest of honor at a big gala with the movers and shakers of Chicago’s high society, she’d drive herself crazy trying to decide what to wear. Because he had a feeling this was not the sort of event that she could a wear lab coat to—or even that dress she’d worn to the pizzeria.

  “Yeah,” he told Carson. “Can you give me your sister Nora’s phone number?”

  * * *

  Lucy paused only long enough to drop her bag off in her room before she headed next door to see Sutton. She was, for all intents and purposes, dead on her feet. It was only Tuesday but she had worked through two weekends in a row trying to stay caught up at the hospital while keeping tabs on an increasingly grumpy Sutton Winchester. Just yesterday, she’d had to threaten to strap him down to his hospital bed to keep him from pulling out his chemo port. If love was a battlefield, this was an all-out war.

  She hadn’t even had time to go back to her apartment and stare helplessly at her closet. The gala was on Friday night and she was the guest of honor and she had absolutely nothing to wear. She had no idea what she was even supposed to wear. She had a feeling that if she showed up in the blue dress and the white cardigan she’d worn to the pizzeria with Josh—again, her thoughts went back to Josh—that John Jackson might have a stroke right then and there.

  She had no time to get a dress and, frankly, at this point, she was too tired to care.

  “And how are we doing...today?” she asked as she walked into Sutton’s room and saw that all three Winchester daughters—Nora, Eve and Grace—were talking with Elena. That was unusual enough—she hadn’t yet seen all three women in here at the same time. But the way all four women suddenly stood up straighter, wearing nearly identical fake smiles, set her nerves on edge. “Is everything okay?”

  “None of these girls will bring me a rum and Coke,” Sutton grumbled. “And I want a cigar.”

  It was official. She was in no mood to deal with his crap. “And I’d like a pony, Mr. Winchester. Sadly, neither of us is going to get what we want today.” She glanced at the four women, who were staring at her like dogs eyeing a bone. “What?”

  The Winchesters looked at Elena. “Dr. Wilde,” Elena said in a gentle voice, and Lucy decided that maybe Elena was no longer her best work friend. “The Winchesters would like to talk to you about something. You and I can go over Sutton’s vitals in a little bit.”

  Lucy’s gaze traveled over the three Winchester sisters’ faces. She knew instinctively that this was going to be yet another thing she didn’t want to do and she knew she was too tired to care. “Okay, what?”

  Grace Winchester was the one to step forward first. “Can we talk to you in your room?”

  What would they want from her now? She shuddered to think. She wasn’t going to marry anyone. She wasn’t going to carry anyone’s surrogate baby. She wouldn’t be donating a kidney to Sutton Winchester should his suddenly decide to fail. She would not be moving into this house permanently.

  Nora Winchester stepped up and slipped her arm through Lucy’s. “It won’t be bad,” she promised as she turned Lucy around and they headed toward the open door.

  “Hold out for more!” Sutton yelled behind them. For some reason, that made Nora giggle.

  “Daddy!” Eve said in an exasperated tone.

  Lucy was marched out of the sickroom and into her guest quarters in short order. Nora sat her down in one of the armchairs and the sisters stood around her like the three Furies. Resistance was futile. Lucy knew she was about to be assimilated. “Do I want to know?”

  “We were thinking,” Grace said, clapping her hands together with excitement, “that you might appreciate a little assistance in getting ready for the gala.”

  Lucy slumped back in the chair and stared dully at the three sisters. “Is it that obvious that I’m going to be hopeless at it?”

  Eve leaned over and looked at the fading bouquet of sunflowers and daisies on the coffee table. Too late, Lucy realized she hadn’t hidden the card. When Eve straightened, she had a smile on her face. It was not comforting. “Look,” she said in a brisk tone, “it’s our way of making it up to you. We didn’t ask if you wanted to be a guest of honor at the benefit and we’ve been made aware of the fact that you might not have the appropriate wardrobe.”

 
; They’d “been made aware” of that? What did that mean?

  But before she could formulate her thoughts into an actual question, Grace went on, “So, we’re here to help!” She came over to the chair and pulled Lucy to her feet. “I love a good makeover,” she said with way too much enthusiasm for Lucy’s current energy levels. “A dress, obviously, plus shoes, a bag, new hair, makeup—how committed are you to those glasses?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my glasses,” Lucy said defensively, putting her hands up and shielding the frames on her face. At that point, she couldn’t be sure that someone wouldn’t whisk off her glasses, never to be seen by her again. Because she needed her glasses to find her glasses.

  All three sisters exchanged looks that could only be described as pitying. And Lucy was not having any of that. “I’m keeping my glasses and that’s final,” she said in her sternest voice. “And, okay—I might not have the things to wear on Friday. But I also do not have time to go clothes shopping and get my hair done and whatever it is that people do before they go to balls or galas or whatever you call them. May I remind you—again—that I am pulling down a full-time job plus caring for your father?”

  “Not a problem,” Grace said warmly. “Elena has already agreed to extend her shift for an extra hour or two the next couple of nights so that we can spend a little time polishing you up. We’ll do it here,” she said, gesturing at the room they were in.

  “She seems to think it will be good for you,” Nora added in a sympathetic tone. At least Lucy hoped it was sympathetic and not just pitying.

  The traitor, Lucy thought. “I suppose she’s getting something out of this, too?”

  “She’s invited, of course,” Nora said. “Jenelle will be taking the shift.”

  Lucy sighed heavily. At least no one had asked her to donate a kidney—yet. The day wasn’t over yet, though. “Do I have much of a choice?”

  The three women exchanged worried looks. “If you have something you’d rather wear...” Grace started.

  Lucy shook her head. “No, actually—I don’t.” She looked down at her boring blouse and her boring work pants and her boring shoes and the boring lab coat. Boring—that was her in a nutshell.

  “And as for the cost, it’s all being taken care of,” Nora said. “See? I told you it wouldn’t be that bad.”

  Lucy had the distinctive feeling that there was something she was missing about this conversation. “Fine. But I swear to all that is holy, this is the last thing I will be railroaded into on your behalf. The moment your father is stabilized, I’m going to be returning to my regularly scheduled life. Is that understood?” It wasn’t much of a negotiation, but it was all she wanted at this point. Before Sutton Winchester and his various and sundry children—and Josh Calhoun—had steamrolled her life, she hadn’t minded being boring. In fact, right now she missed it.

  The three sisters nodded and assured her that, once they basically got done playing dress up with a real-life doll, things would be “much calmer.”

  Lucy let herself believe the lie simply because she was too tired to argue. Besides, getting professionally made up was almost a Cinderella dream come true.

  But she was keeping her damned glasses. That was final.

  Twelve

  God, he hated Chicago.

  Which did nothing to explain why Josh was back here for the second time in less than three weeks after having successfully managed to avoid the godforsaken city for over five years. Nor did it explain why he was climbing the steps of the Chicago Cultural Center in a tuxedo. He supposed that, at the rate he was going, he should be thankful that this wasn’t where he and Sydney had gotten married. He was trying to be a better human at this point, but when faced with that sort of memory, he wasn’t sure he could pull it off.

  Hell, he still wasn’t sure of anything as he fought the urge to yank at the bow tie around his neck and headed straight for the bar. He didn’t know if it was lucky or not, but he saw that Brooks Newport was already there.

  Brooks was talking to a large man in a tux that barely seemed to contain his shoulders and—if Josh didn’t know any better—the man had a piece under his jacket. That was interesting. Private security or private investigator? An investigator, Josh decided. Brooks could handle his own security. Either way, the other man moved on as Josh got closer.

  “Brooks.”

  Brooks started and turned to look at him. “I’ll be damned,” he said with a wide grin. “You actually showed up. I owe Graham fifty bucks.” He shook Josh’s hand and slapped him on the back.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Josh said as he ordered a beer. There was no way he was getting through tonight without a shot of liquid courage. “Make any progress on your end of things?”

  “Some.” He took a long pull of his drink. “Get this—before he got sick, Sutton was trying to block our birth father from finding our mom, the bastard.”

  “And that’s got you smiling?” Josh asked. He had not come back to get involved in the family drama again. He’d come back for one reason and one reason only. Still, Brooks was his friend and Josh was worried about him.

  Brooks shrugged. “Because I’m going to bury Sutton Winchester if it’s the last damn thing I do. His daughters thought I was doing a full-court press before?” He snorted. “They have no idea what’s coming. None.”

  “Brooks...” Josh put a hand on his shoulder and dug deep for the thing to say that would pull his friend back from the brink of what sounded like madness. It was insane, it really was.

  But Brooks looked past Josh and said, “Who is that? Damn. She’s gorgeous.”

  The moment was lost. Josh followed his gaze and felt his breath catch. A stunning woman had just entered the room. She wore a dark blue gown—but it was a vibrant blue, not a conservative navy. The top of the dress was a loose-fitting satin that was wide open at the neck, revealing sloping, graceful shoulders. Her light blond hair had been arranged in delicate curls and she held a silver bag in her hand. Even at this distance, Josh could see the jewels that glittered in her ears.

  The only thing he recognized was her glasses.

  Otherwise, he never in a million years would have figured it was Lucy. When he’d called Nora Winchester and told her that Lucy was going to need some help getting ready for the gala, he had no idea that this would be the result. He’d just wanted to get her into an appropriate outfit so that she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. It’d been a selfless act. After all, Lucy was the girl who’d worn a mother-of-the-bride’s dress—complete with tacky jacket—that she’d bought at a thrift store to senior prom.

  He hadn’t anticipated that the Winchester girls would turn her into a goddess, though. And he especially hadn’t anticipated how seeing her would affect him. His lungs quit working and his chest seized up, and regret—regret like he’d never felt before—beat him over the head with a two-by-four.

  He was only vaguely aware that Brooks had shoved him forward. All he knew was that he was getting closer to Lucy as she peered around the room, her eyes large behind her glasses. She was thinking about fleeing, he realized. And then her gaze settled on him.

  She took a step back. “What are you doing here?” she said, and he heard the terror in her voice.

  “Apologizing,” he told her. He reached over to pick up her hand and kiss the back of it. He needed to keep her from bolting. “Also, telling you how beautiful you look.”

  She stood stiffly as his lips brushed over her skin. “Apology accepted,” she said, each syllable sounding like she was chewing on glass.

  From where he was bent over her hand, he lifted his eyes until he met her gaze. “No, I don’t think it is. You’re still furious with me. Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t punched me yet.”

  “I should, you know.”

  “You absolutely should.” He stood and smoothly tucke
d her hand into the crook of his arm. “You look gorgeous tonight.” He began to lead her toward the bar, but he saw that Brooks had bailed. Damn that man’s hide.

  “Josh, please spare me. I’m already nervous. Don’t make it worse than it already is.”

  He had opened his mouth to reassure her, when a voice called out, “Dr. Wilde!”

  “It just got worse,” she said in a low whisper as they turned toward the sound of the voice. Josh didn’t recognize the man who was working his way through the crowd toward them, but Lucy did.

  “Old boyfriend?” he whispered back.

  “Later? I’m going to kill you,” she muttered. Then, in a fake cheerful voice, she said, “Mr. Jackson! This appears to be quite a success thus far. The place is packed. John Jackson, this is an...old friend of mine, Josh Calhoun. Josh, this is John Jackson, the vice president of Midwest. He’s been working closely with the Winchesters and the Newports to manage my time and their many generous donations.”

  Josh shook the man’s hand. Why had he said that? Why had he risked further antagonizing Lucy, asking if this guy was a boyfriend? Later, when she killed him, he was going to deserve it. “This is quite a party,” he said, which was one of those meaningless things people said at parties because somebody had to say something.

  “Isn’t it? I’m beginning to think that anything the Winchesters and the Newports touch turns to gold.” He stepped back and gave Lucy the once-over, which make the hair on the back of Josh’s neck stand up. “Including our dear Dr. Wilde. If it weren’t for the glasses, I’m not sure I would’ve recognized you.”

  Josh’s free hand clenched into a fist, but he should’ve known that Lucy didn’t need him to defend her. “Don’t get used to it,” she said in a short voice. “This is a one-time-only event. Sutton Winchester is improving and the moment he is no longer my patient, I’m no longer going to be your dog at this dog-and-pony show. So you’d better get all the donations for that cardiac cath lab out of this that you can now. The clock is ticking.”