by Jillian Hart
“Do you have to go?” Owen asked, disappointment setting in.
“Tell you what. I’ll give you a call when your mom gives the go-ahead to see how you’re healing up after your surgery. How’s that?”
“Great. Mom, did you hear? Tucker’s gonna call me. We’re friends.”
“I heard.” Sierra’s voice sounded thick with emotion, layered with feelings that did more than tug at him. He felt them—her worry for her son, her gratefulness that he was happy and her wariness of a has-been rodeo rider making promises she feared he wouldn’t keep.
“Got a pen?” He snagged a napkin off the stack and waited while she dug into her purse. “I’ll leave my cell number so you can get ahold of me. Let me know what a great job Owen does in surgery.”
“I’ll be asleep,” Owen laughed.
“Sure, but you’re going to be the best patient ever. The surgeon is going to be in awe at how well things go.” Tucker didn’t like thinking of the precious little boy undergoing something so serious. Strange and unwelcome pain bored deeper into his chest and it took hard work not to let it show. He grabbed the pen Sierra offered him, seeing the same dread reflected on her beautiful face.
“This time tomorrow,” he went on, turning his attention to scrawling out numbers on the napkin, “your mom will call and tell me how fantastic you’re doing and that I had better find me a good sheep because you’re ready to start learning the trade.”
“All right!” Owen clasped his hands together, as if overcome with joy.
Only then did Tucker realize what he’d done. He’d promised to teach the boy without clearing it first with his mom. Ouch. That was one big mistake. He stared hard at the pen and napkin in hand, knowing recrimination was about to come in one form or another. It was his experience that most mothers did not want their sons to grow up to join the rodeo.
“I’ll give you a call.” When Sierra spoke, there wasn’t veiled anger layered beneath her quiet alto. Not even a hint of coolness or a tone of disapproval. What he heard instead made him turn toward her, surprising him like nothing could. She smiled, taking the pen and napkin from him. “It’s a good thing your neighbors raise sheep. We’ll know just where to look.”
“Right.” His throat tightened. Words tumbled straight out of his head. He felt awkward and wooden as his boots hit the tile and he grappled for his cane and his hat. He didn’t know why he could see her heart, but he could. She was grateful for his offer because it gave Owen hope; it gave her hope, that there would be a lifetime of tomorrows yet to come for her and her son.
“You be sure and watch some of those movies,” he told the boy. “The one with the wooden toy cowboy is my favorite. When I talk to you, I want to hear what you think.”
“Sure. ’Bye, Tucker.” Owen wrapped his arm around the stuffed bull and held on tight.
The picture he made, sitting frail and small in his hospital bed, tore at him.
“Thanks for having me over,” he said, taking a step into the hall before he realized it was true. He thought he’d been doing a favor for the charity, but he’d been wrong. The favor had been for him.
Sierra was on her feet, following him into the hall. Light played in the multihued layers of her hair, golds, honeys and platinums glinted beneath the fluorescent lamps. She looked lighter than when he’d met her a few hours ago, so luminous it hurt to gaze at her.
“I can’t believe everything you did for Owen today.” Her fingertips landed on his forearm. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Her touch felt like the sweetest comfort he’d ever known and he did not pull away. “You promise to call? I want to know when he’s out of surgery. I’ve got a sheep to find.”
But that wasn’t what he meant and judging by the gleam of emotion pooling in her gray eyes, she knew it, too. The sheep wasn’t the problem. It was his concern for the boy.
“Promise.” Her lower lip trembled and she fell silent, as if she could not risk saying more. She firmed her chin and straightened her slender shoulders. So much strength for such a wisp of a woman, and seeing it made him admire her all the more.
“Goodbye, Sierra.” The emotion wedged between his ribs arrowed impossibly deeper. He forced his feet to carry him down the hall and away from the woman responsible. It had to be sympathy he felt for her because, as every woman he’d ever dated had told him, he wasn’t capable of more.
Chapter Four
Sierra yawned wide, covered her mouth with her hand and hated that her brain felt full of cobwebs. She stared at her phone, wondering why her mother’s cell kept going to voice mail. It was probably the storm that had blown out sometime in the night. Still, a lot of services were compromised this morning. She sat straighter in the chair, trying not to make any distracting sounds in the surgical waiting area. A handful of other people anxiously waited on the surgeries of their loved ones, too.
She dialed again, tucked her phone to her ear and sighed. She missed her mom, but it strengthened her to hear the sound of her voice on the recorded message. She waited for the beep. “Hi, Mom. I don’t know where you are. The home phone isn’t in service either. Owen has been in surgery for about an hour. So far, so good—at least there hasn’t been any word otherwise. I’ll try calling you in a little bit. I love you.”
She disconnected, hating the lonely, frightening feeling creeping in around the edges of her heart. That same worried terror had haunted her the night through, keeping away all chances of real sleep. Open-heart surgery came with risks, ones she had vowed not to dwell on but they surged around her now like a tidal wave. What would she do if something went wrong? She couldn’t lose him. Owen was her world, every part of her life that was good and beautiful.
Lord, please keep me on the right path here. She swallowed hard, slid her phone into the outside pocket of her purse and gathered up her knitting from the empty chair beside her. Help me to see the positive and keep all doubt away. Help Owen’s surgery to go perfectly.
Those words made her think of Tucker Granger’s visit yesterday. He’d found it so easy to be optimistic and the assurance in his rumbling baritone had been strong, strong enough to touch her now.
Footsteps came to a rest beside her. She glanced up, shocked to see the man towering above her, handsome, thoroughly masculine and invincible. Tucker Granger tossed her a strained grin, a shadow of the bright one he’d mesmerized her son with yesterday.
“Thought you could use a friend.” He held out a cardboard drink container with three covered paper cups. “And if I don’t qualify as a friend, then I figured bringing three different kinds of coffee might give me that status for the morning.”
“It’s possible, but only a temporary one.”
“Awesome.” He settled into the chair beside her and stowed his cane. “I’ve got a regular, a latte and a mocha. You get first pick.”
“Definitely the mocha. Thank you.” Her hands started to shake, so she let her knitting fall into her lap. Relief flooded her. “Why aren’t you warm and comfortable in your hotel room?”
“I felt cooped up.” He extricated a cup from the container and held it out to her, his fingers a shocking warmth against hers as she took the coffee.
“Cooped up? So you thought going out in the aftermath of a blizzard with half the city streets still unplowed would be a good alternative?”
“Absolutely. A little blizzard doesn’t scare me. Besides, I’ve been where you are before. Years ago when my dad was shot in the chest scaring off cattle rustlers.” His ease faded and he tensed up as if in memory. Pain crept into his features, giving him character, making him real to her in a way he’d never been before. He chose a cup of plain coffee and leaned back in his chair. “I’ll never forget the waiting while he was in surgery. It was touch-and-go the whole time.”
“I remember. That was a long time ago.” She took a sip. “And your sister was shot before Christmas, wasn’t she?”
“One of the dangers of cattle ranching, I suppose. The occasional well-armed cattle rust
ler.” He stared into his cup, more somber than was comfortable. “It’s been a tough winter. I was trussed up in traction in a hospital room worrying the whole time Autumn was in surgery. I felt the same sick, scared feeling when Dad was fighting for his life. Turned out she wasn’t hit as bad, but we still could have lost her.”
“Your poor dad, worried about the both of you.” Her gray eyes filled with empathy. “It’s been a rough year for your family.”
“And great at the same time. My big brother’s married and Autumn is engaged.” He gave his cup a swish to watch the coffee swirl like a whirlpool. “I’ll be walking without that cane in a few more weeks, so I can check out the neighbor’s sheep.”
“Tough times get us through to where we need to go.” She took a dainty sip of coffee, taking her time, letting it roll across her tongue.
She was pretty this morning, although she probably wouldn’t think so. Her hair was pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, thick and long and bouncing against her shoulder blades. Her face without makeup was pale but luminous with her authentic, natural beauty. Her simple T-shirt and jeans had obviously been thrown on without thought. The shirt was a little askew, which he found endearing.
Not that he had any tender feelings for her. Just making an observation.
“And where is it that you are going?” he asked.
“To a place where Owen’s heart is strong and well again.” She didn’t hesitate. Her affecting gray eyes filled as if with a prayer. “All I want is for him to be happy.”
“That’s what I want for him, too.” He’d never spoken truer words.
He spent most of his time thinking about himself, his job and his family, sadly in that order. He didn’t mean to be self-involved. He was a single man without strings or responsibilities, so his thoughts and goals naturally turned to himself. His job was demanding. He trained long hours and his best friend was his horse. He liked things this way, but he couldn’t say he was happy. He couldn’t say he had what mattered in life, the way Sierra did.
“I know you must be missing your mom about now and I’m one sorry substitute, but Owen is going to pull through just fine. The surgeon is going to be amazed and all that.”
“So, that’s your attempt to comfort me?” She shook her head. “Pathetic.”
A smile stretched his mouth and dug deep inside with a glow that spread all the way to his toes. He leaned back in the chair, stretched his legs out in front of him and took another swig of coffee. “I should at least get an A for effort. I’m a cowboy. I don’t know a lot about comforting women.”
“Excuses, excuses.”
“True, but I’m being honest. Truth is, I’m worried about Owen, too.” He wasn’t comfortable saying the words, but the thought of that little guy on an operating table hit him where it hurt. “Why isn’t Ricky here?”
“Owen’s father is having fun.” She tapped her fingers against the cup, probably thinking she was hiding her anger and pain. Her soft alto sounded brittle. “I left messages on his voice mail for almost a whole three weeks, telling him about Owen’s condition and the surgery they scheduled, but nothing. He hasn’t even bothered to call and see how his son is doing.”
“What do the Bakers say about all this?” He knew the family Sierra had married into. Their hometown was small, and they had all grown up together. “They are good people. They can’t be okay with this.”
“They’ve been wonderful. Betty and Chip have been great in-laws to me and fantastic grandparents to Owen. They are disappointed in their son.” She shrugged her slender shoulders, unaware of how vulnerable she looked. She might want to pretend otherwise but her divorce had taken a toll.
He understood, which was why he kept free and clear of entanglements. That didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate what she’d been through. Long shifts at the diner, working at near minimum wage. She had it tough. He didn’t have to ask if Ricky was paying his child support payments.
“The Bakers were supposed to be here, too. I haven’t heard from them either.” She swallowed hard, boldly set her chin and met his gaze. “The storm has thrown a wrench into everything. I’m praying they are safe. I know they wanted to be here for Owen.”
And for her. It didn’t take a genius to guess how much her family—all her family—adored her. You would have to be a fool not to. He set down his cup. “So, what went wrong with the marriage?”
“Hey, isn’t that a little personal?”
“Sure, but we’ve got time. I’ll tell you my troubles if you tell me yours.”
“Like I would want to hear about your troubles.” A glimmer of curiosity sparkled in her eyes. “What kind of problems can a carefree bachelor have?”
“You would be surprised.” He went for humor because she looked as if she needed it to get her mind off her son. Time would fly faster that way and the surgeon would be walking in with good news before she knew it. “Women keep dumping me.”
“Because you won’t get serious with them.”
“Sure, but I still get dumped. It’s hard on a man’s ego.”
“You don’t look like your ego is hurting any.”
“You might be surprised. I spend a lot of Friday nights alone with my horse. It’s sad.”
“As opposed to scrubbing the kitchen floor after Owen goes to bed because it’s the only uninterrupted time I have to clean?”
“See? I don’t have anyone to scrub my kitchen floor. Poor me.”
There. Now laughter was dancing in those beautiful gray eyes and hooking the corners of her mouth upward. She had to know he wasn’t serious, because she didn’t hike her bag off the floor and threaten to smack him with it, the way his sisters might have.
“Yes, poor you. I’m truly surprised you can’t keep a girlfriend for long.”
“I know. I can’t figure it out. I’m heartbroken and lonely.”
“Lonely? I don’t believe it. C’mon, women must flock around you, I’m sure. They dump you eventually, but they are interested in you in the first place.”
“There aren’t as many as you think.” He may as well tell the truth. “I spend the weekend with my horse, and a lot of ladies find fault with me for that.”
“Jack is your best friend.”
“That he is. A man can always count on his horse.”
“I remember those days. My parents still have my Patches, but I haven’t had time to ride since I graduated from high school. That was a few years ago.” Some of the strain eased from her face. The tension lines across her forehead vanished as she remembered. “I got Patches when I was twelve. He was one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I shared cookies and ice cream and secrets with him. He passed away a few years before Owen was born, and I miss him.”
“I lost my first horse a while back. One of the saddest days of my life. Dagwood was the horse dad put me on when I was little. That horse and I bonded like glue. I have Jack now, but I still miss my first love.” He twisted in the chair to face her. The wide warmth of his palm covered her hand. The contact was a zing of electric spark and a comforting sweetness that made her feel less alone. Should she take her hand away and break the contact? Or pretend as if he wasn’t affecting her?
“What happened with Ricky?” His question was blunt but kind with concern. “I still don’t get why he isn’t here. I can’t imagine anyone not caring about your boy. Even I do, and I hardly know him.”
“Ricky.” There was a difficult subject. Her chest seized up like a full-scale panic attack. The truth was hard, but there was no getting around it. “Ricky said he didn’t want to be tied down anymore, so he left.”
“He just decided to walk away?” Confusion twisted across Tucker’s forehead and darkened his eyes.
“Life with me and Owen was tedious and nothing but work. So, Ricky left.” That was all she wanted to say. Anything more, and it would be too overwhelming. She could just imagine that Tucker Granger, with his wandering lifestyle, would start sympathizing with her ex. “Good thing he got out when he did. Look
at how serious and demanding our life has gotten.”
Not a good attempt at lightness, but she wished it had been. She shrugged her shoulders, hoping to hide the deep sense of inadequacy she could not escape.
“Ricky’s loss.” He looked as if he meant it. Tucker had that strong, kind, honorable thing going on, an aura of integrity and grit that made her heart flutter a tiny bit. She had to be imagining things because Tucker Granger wasn’t that kind of man.
Or was he? She couldn’t think of a single reason why a carefree, nomadic bachelor would fight his way through a city slowed down by drifted snow to bring coffee and comfort to someone he hardly knew anymore—except for one. He was more caring than he seemed and more dependable than he wanted to admit.
Not in the same league with Ricky, not at all.
“I might not be a settling-down kind of a man,” he said, grabbing his cup and lifting it as if in a toast. “But I know what matters in life. I’ll sit right here with you as long as you need me to.”
“Thanks, Tucker.” Her throat tightened with gratitude that felt too big to hold back. She was strong. She could wait here on her own just fine, but having a friend at her side was nice and an old friend even better.
She remembered the boy he used to be, joking around in class and always ready with a wise-mouthed answer sure to make everyone laugh. But he had a serious side, too, a solid personality that maturity had given him, and she was grateful for that.
“Sierra?” A woman’s voice cut through her thoughts and rose above the other muted conversations in the waiting area.
“Mom?” She twisted in her chair, elation spiraling through her at the sight of her mother, looking worse for the wear. Still wearing her winter parka and carting her carry-on luggage, the woman charged across the room. She hadn’t even stopped at the hotel room.
“Baby, I stayed all night at the airport, I pleaded my case with the ticket agent and I got on the first flight out.” Jeri Lynn set her suitcase against the wall and peeled off her gloves. “I’m here. How’s our Owen?”