by Meghan March
Mr. Thrasher offers a giant cup of coffee to me. “Not long, if that boy’s as smart as I think he is.”
29
Boone
My head feels like it’s been trampled by a herd of cows instead of just one pissed-off bull, but once the doctor staples the gash shut and they run me through a bunch of tests, they decide I’m not gonna kick the bucket anytime soon.
“We’d like you to stay overnight for observation as a precaution.”
I look at the doctor and ask him point blank, “If I wasn’t me, but instead was some poor schmuck with no insurance, would you have me staying overnight?”
“Well, Mr. Thrasher, this is a different situation—”
“I’m taking that as a no.”
“Boy, if they want to keep you overnight, you stay overnight.” Ma’s voice comes from the private room’s door as it creaks open.
“Ma, I’m fine. I just need someone to wake me every couple hours to make sure the concussion doesn’t kick my ass.”
“Sir, it would be best if you—”
“I took a hoof to the skull, not a bullet. I’ll be fine, Doc. Get my discharge rolling. I’ll sign out against medical advice if I have to. Doesn’t matter to me.” My gaze slides past Ma to clamp on Ripley. “I want to get out of here before the vultures descend.”
“Too late. They’re already here,” Ma says.
I shake my head but realize quickly that’s a mistake when it pounds harder. “Of course they are. All the more reason to get the hell out.”
“I’ll take care of those papers for you, Mr. Thrasher.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Ripley doesn’t speak until the door closes behind the doctor, leaving her and Ma inside.
“Are you crazy? If they want you to stay, you should stay.” Ripley crosses her arms over her chest, and I give her a sidelong look.
“This coming from the woman who didn’t want to step foot in the hospital, even though I thought your ankle might be broken? You’re not the only stubborn one here.”
“No, but she might be the bravest. You should’ve seen her throw herself over that fence. I wonder if anyone recorded it,” Grant says as he walks in.
I look at Ripley, but her gaze darts away. It sounds like there’s a story there I need to hear.
Grant pulls out his phone and starts searching. “Sure enough, here it is.”
Ripley’s face turns bright red. “Are you serious? Who would film that? Why weren’t they calling 911? What is wrong with people?”
“Give it here.” I hold out my hand.
“Boone, it’s not important. You need to rest.”
I want to see that video even more than I want to close my eyes and give in to sleep. I grab the phone from Grant and ignore the pounding in my head.
The angle must have been from someone higher up in the grandstand because they don’t catch Ripley until she hits the stock fence and flings herself over. She lands in the dirt, then sprints toward me and skids to her knees. My heart clenches when I see the bull still running free for a good thirty seconds before they have him contained.
My gaze cuts from the phone to her dirty jeans and then back to the screen. I watch the rest of the recording and see how Grant practically had to drag her away from my side.
When I hand the phone back to him, there’s a fist gripping my heart and squeezing. I see it, and from the looks on my parents’ and brother’s faces, they see it too.
Ripley’s in love with me.
From her expression, she’s goddamned terrified. One more reason I need to get out of this hospital.
The nurse knocks and opens the door. “All right, Mr. Thrasher, I’ve got your paperwork.”
“Good. I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”
* * *
Grant goes out to get his truck, and we plan to meet him at a side entrance where the press hopefully won’t be waiting.
Ripley and Ma walk on either side of the wheelchair the nurse insisted I ride in. I was going to argue, but it wasn’t worth it. Besides, I’m still a little woozy, and I’m not giving anyone a reason to say I should stay in the hospital a minute longer.
When we get to the door, Grant’s truck is idling, and there’s not a skulking paparazzi in sight.
“They didn’t follow me, but who knows how long that will last,” he says as he hops out of the truck to open the door for me.
“Can’t a guy get kicked in the head without the world knowing about it?” I ask, trying to inject some lightness into the moment.
“Not when it’s you, superstar,” Ripley says, taking my lead.
Grant guffaws at her nickname for me, and they all watch as I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and not shaking as I climb up into the backseat of the truck. Ripley rushes around and gets in the other door, then slides over to the middle.
“You should’ve stayed overnight. Your face is white as a sheet, and if you tell me you feel okay, I’ll know you’re lying.”
The fact that she can read me so easily is actually comforting.
“I’m gonna be just fine, sugar.”
Her hands clench into fists on her lap, and I reach over and cover one.
“But—”
“Ripley, look at me.” I wait for her eyes to lift. “It’ll take a hell of a lot more than a ton of bull to keep me from being with you.” Her eyes shimmer in the glow of the fading dome light. “But if you ever put yourself in danger like that again, I swear to God, I’ll make sure you can’t sit for a week for being so stupid.”
Her mouth drops open. “Stupid? Are you serious—”
“Fuck, yes. I’m serious. Next time you let the professionals handle it, and you stay on the sidelines where you’re safe. If anything happened to you . . .” I trail off as Dad opens the front door of the truck for Ma.
She twists in the seat and looks back at us. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night. I’m ready to go home.”
“Sounds like a plan, Ma.”
30
Ripley
I don’t sleep. The clock ticks over past midnight, one, two, three, and I sit up, watching Boone’s chest to make sure he’s still breathing.
I tried to get him to sleep in the main house with his folks, but he refused. Stubborn ass. Buford followed us up to the apartment and curled up on the floor next to the bed, keeping us both company and offering Boone comfort.
Every couple of hours, I wake him up just like the nurse instructed. Each time, my stomach twists until he opens his eyes and smiles at me.
The last time, he finally tells me, “I’m not leaving this earth yet, sugar. You haven’t told me you love me yet.”
“Then I’ll never tell you, because I refuse to let you ever leave.”
Boone falls back asleep with a groggy smile, and I assume he won’t remember a thing about it in the morning.
When seven o’clock rolls around, I’m fading, the effects of the hospital coffee long gone. Boone sits up in bed just as I’m drifting off.
I bolt upright, my head swiveling around. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Do you need me to—”
One thickly muscled arm wraps around me and pulls me against his hard chest.
“I’m fine. It’s okay. Calm down, sugar.” He presses a kiss to my hair and holds me close.
With my ear to his chest, I listen to the strong, even beat of his heart and take comfort in every thump. “I’m so fucking glad you’re okay.” His arm loosens when I speak, and I look up at him. “Don’t scare me like that again. I’m not sure I can handle it.”
His blue eyes stare down at me with an expression I can’t quite identify. “I think you’ve already handled more than most people will in a lifetime.” His voice goes quiet. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you get away with not saying you love me.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You remember.”
Boone nods slowly. “Of course I remember. I don’t forget anything about you, and especially not somethin
g like that.”
My heart hammers now, so hard that I’m afraid tachycardia might be imminent.
“I was trying to get you to sleep. It was just—”
“Shhh. You can hold it in for as long as you need. I’ll be waiting, sugar.”
His gaze is soft, and I can read in it all the things he’s not saying.
He’s falling in love with me.
I swallow back the lump in my throat, trying to control my rioting emotions.
Boone’s stomach sends up a loud, perfectly-timed growl, and Buford hops to his feet and lays his chin on the bed. Boone and I both reach out to pet him, and our hands collide.
“I bet you’d tell me if I got you a puppy.”
“Don’t you dare. I already have a foul-mouthed parrot living at your house.”
“We’ll see.”
I roll out of bed, ready to change the subject. “We need to get you fed.”
“Shower first,” he says, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn.
“You have to be careful with the staples.”
“Then I guess you’re going to have to help me,” Boone says with a wink, looking way too incredibly attractive for someone who got kicked in the head by a bull not even twelve hours ago.
“All right, superstar. Sponge bath, it is.”
* * *
I didn’t actually give Boone a sponge bath, but I did help him make sure he followed the care instructions for his head wound.
When we make our way to the house, the scent of bacon and sugary sweetness hits my nose.
“Ma must’ve gone all out, because that smells like her homemade sticky buns and bacon.”
The deep timbre of Boone’s voice carries through the house, and Mrs. Thrasher sticks her head out of the kitchen. The smile that sweeps over her features is enough to light up the whole house.
“Thank the Lord.” She comes toward us, and Boone wraps her in a hug.
“Sorry to scare you, Ma.”
“You’ve been scaring the life out of me since you were five years old and climbed onto the roof of the barn because Grant said you could fly.”
“Oh my God, he didn’t . . .” I’m picturing a Kyle-sized Boone on the roof, and it’s enough to give me a heart attack.
“He only broke one leg. The two mattresses they’d stolen off their beds cushioned most of the fall.”
Oh my God.
“That’s what happens when you have boys,” Boone says, like it’s no big deal that he could have died at five.
Boone’s mom looks to me. “You better hope you have girls. Boone will keep them wrapped up in cotton batting and never let them out of his sight.”
Boone’s arm comes around me, and I wonder if he can feel the tense set of my shoulders.
“Now you’re scaring Ripley, Ma. I haven’t even gotten her to admit she’s my girlfriend, so if you skip right to babies, you might send her running for the hills.”
Mrs. Thrasher shoots me a wink. “I think she’s made of stronger stuff than that. Come on, I’ve been keeping the sticky buns warm in the oven for you, and I suppose if you give me a hug, I’ll share my bacon too.”
* * *
Four hours later, Boone has finally proven to his family that he’s okay.
“Ripley and I have to head back to Nashville so she can work tomorrow, and I’ve got a couple interviews I shouldn’t miss.”
“Interviews? Are they going to make you famous?” Kyle asks.
Boone laughs, and Wendy ruffles Kyle’s hair. “Your uncle Boone is already famous, kiddo.”
“No, he’s not. He plays catch with me in the yard. Famous people don’t do that.”
Good point, little man. A smile tugs at my lips. Boone is definitely not your average celebrity. Seeing him here with his parents and nephew, I have a whole new outlook on who he really is.
Which is exactly what he probably planned. Diabolical man.
“Are you coming back for Thanksgiving and Christmas, Uncle Boone?”
“You know I wouldn’t miss them for the world. But I might have to work, so they could be short trips.”
“If you don’t come, I’m gonna eat all of Lala’s mashed potatoes.”
Boone swings Kyle up into his arms. “I can’t let that happen. Looks like I’ll be here for sure, just to make sure I get some.”
He squeezes the little boy to his chest before setting him down and crouching in front of Wendy’s belly.
“Listen up, little guys or girls or little guy and little girl. You stay cookin’ as long as you need. We’ll be ready to meet you when you decide you’re ready.”
“Now you’re talking to them like you talked to Ky?”
“Of course. They gotta know their uncle Boone’s voice when they come out. That way when I hold them at the hospital, they’ll fall asleep like little angels in my arms.”
Wendy rolls her eyes, but it takes everything I have to keep my ovaries intact. Since when did I think it was drop-dead sexy for a man to like babies?
Oh, right, since forever. Me and every woman in the history of ever.
Kyle throws his arms around my waist while I’m still recovering from my mental picture of Boone holding a newborn. I hug him back and ruffle his hair.
When Kyle releases me, he turns back to Boone. “Make sure to bring Ms. Ripley too. I like her. She’s pretty, and she smells nice too.”
Boone comes toward me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and bringing me against his side in what has become a regular move of his.
“Damn right, I’ll bring her back. You’ve got good taste, kid.”
Kyle throws himself at me one more time, and I give him another hard squeeze.
“It was good to meet you, buddy.”
He bounces from me to Boone once more, and I can’t keep the smile off my face. The grip I’ve been keeping on my heart slips another notch at the thought of so easily sliding into their family.
“You make sure you let Ripley drive. I don’t care how much you love that truck, it’s doctor’s orders.” Boone’s dad steps into the living room after refusing my help to load our suitcases in the truck.
“Dad, I’m fine.”
Mr. Thrasher crosses to me and picks up my hand before dropping the keys in it and closing my fingers around them. “Ripley’s driving.”
A chuckle works its way out of my throat. “Don’t worry. I won’t scratch her.”
“Be safe, both of you.” This comes from Boone’s mom.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure he calls you when we get back to Nashville.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of my boy, Ripley.” She comes toward me and wraps me in a hug. “You’re always welcome here. Always.”
The burn of emotion works its way up the back of my throat and tingles behind my eyes.
“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate that.”
Mrs. Thrasher pulls back and meets my eyes. “He won’t break your heart. I taught him better than that,” she whispers before releasing me.
Buford meets us at the truck, and I drop to my knees to snuggle him one last time. “I’m gonna miss you too.”
“Probably not as much as he’s going to miss you.” Boone gives the dog a good long scratch behind the ears before holding out a hand to me.
Buford gives my face a lick, and I kiss his silky head before letting Boone haul me to my feet.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be seeing him again. I promised Ky I’d bring you back, and I’m a man of my word,” Boone says as he opens the driver’s door of his truck.
Do I dare believe him? What his mom said echoes through my head. “He won’t break your heart.”
I guess we’ll find out.
31
Boone
One of the security guys waves at us as we drive through the gate, and I remember it’s Sunday and Anthony’s day off.
He better have made sure Esteban got breakfast.
Ripley shifts the truck into park once she brings it to a stop in the garage. “I
s it weird that this is actually one of the better birthdays I’ve had?”
My gaze cuts in her direction.
“What did you say?” The words come out a lot harsher than I intended, but that fits with the level of my shock.
“I said it’s one of the better birthdays—”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?”
Ripley shrugs. “I don’t know. It wasn’t a big deal. It never is.”
I look up at the headliner, asking the Lord to send me down some patience so I don’t shake this woman.
“How am I supposed to do something special for you if you don’t frigging tell me it’s your birthday?”
Ripley’s expression wrinkles with confusion. “You don’t need to do anything special. It’s just another day.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I pull out my phone and start barking orders when Anthony answers the phone. Sorry about your day off, man.
When I hang up, Ripley puts her hand on my arm. “Hey, whoa. That wasn’t necessary. I’ve had twenty-nine other birthdays that were no big deal.”
I lock my eyes on her stormy gray ones. “Wait. It’s your thirtieth birthday?”
She nods. “Yeah, but that still doesn’t make it a big deal.”
“Jesus Christ, woman. Some notice would have been appreciated so I could make it a damn good one.”
“It already was. I spent it with you.” The words come out so matter-of-factly, and then her lips clamp together as though she realizes what she said.
That’s right, Ripley. You feel something for me, and it’s not a little something. It’s big and scary, but it’s real.
The simplicity of her statement stabs me through the chest. This is what it’s supposed to be like.
She’s mine, and she’s staying mine. She might not realize it yet or know how to put it into words, but what I saw on that video at the rodeo is the truth—Ripley’s falling in love with me.