by Abby Gaines
Ethan drummed his fingers on the rail. The arena was noisy, with announcements and commentary feeding through the PA system, the crowd and all the animals. Behind him, the jingle music of carnival rides and the shrieks of overexcited kids filled the air.
He looked around for Sam. Over the other side of the arena, Linnet was talking to Sally from the diner. Sensing his gaze, she turned. Her unguarded smile took Ethan by surprise; he found himself smiling back, tipping his hat. Huh.
“Dad.”
His heart jolted in his chest at Sam’s voice. Sam didn’t often call him Dad. Usually it was just Hey. “What’s up?” Ethan asked.
“I’ve got a favor to ask.”
Ethan’s hand went to his back pocket. “Yeah?”
A commotion from over by the outdoor stage caught his attention. Jackson Bream was almost running toward a knot of people. Ethan shaded his eyes with his hand…then his chest tightened. Cindy had arrived. Jackson was kissing her cheek.
But the fuss wasn’t about Cindy, Ethan realized. Teenage girls swarmed around the taller of the two women flanking her. Then it sank in. These were her sisters, the tall one must be the ex-Miss Georgia. Which meant those two men were her brothers-in-law—the governor would be the one Jackson was fawning over.
Cindy was getting a lot of attention, too, Ethan noted with the kind of proprietary pride he’d only felt—on occasion—for Sam. Everyone wanted to bend her ear about yesterday’s judging, all of it positive.
“Can we talk later?” Ethan asked Sam. When he didn’t get a reply, he turned to find his son had left. He’d be back, Ethan guessed, if the favor was that important.
As Cindy’s party made its way toward him, he drank in the sight of her cute body in those shorts and tank. Her legs were incredible, definitely better than Miss Georgia’s.
She was so busy chatting to one of the bonsai growers, she didn’t notice Ethan. He saw the moment awareness dawned. Her cheeks turned pink.
Best to get any awkwardness over and done with.
“Good morning, Judge.” He took a step toward her.
She stepped backward. “Ethan, hello. I’d like you to meet my sisters, Sabrina and Megan.” Her voice was polite, not especially warm. Not surprising. “Girls, this is Ethan Granger. He runs a work program for kids sentenced to community service.”
What about, Ethan and I made out last night, he challenged her with his eyes. Then remembered how he’d left. She shot daggers with her gaze.
He lifted his hat to the sisters. He hadn’t really noticed Megan, but now he saw she was quite pretty, her hair a darker honey color. She had a nice face, but she didn’t have Cindy’s instant, eye-catching appeal…though her husband didn’t see it that way, judging by the way he watched Ethan as he shook Megan’s hand.
Not interested in your wife, buddy. Your sister-in-law, now, she’s something else….
After a curt handshake, Ethan turned back to watch the rodeo. Cindy’s brothers-in-law found places against the rail, and tucked their respective wives in to watch with them.
A voice called, “Judge Merritt, yoo-hoo!”
Mrs. Baker, of course. She marched toward them. “Judge Merritt,” she said, “I want you to have this.” She thrust a small pink carton at Cindy. “My ginger and hazelnut slice. I think you’ll find it more to your taste than the upside-down cake. Not so sweet.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it.” Cindy had obviously had enough of tasting food in public—she tucked the box into her purse.
Mrs. Baker beamed. “It took guts for you to judge yesterday. None of our male judges has ever been man enough for the job, but you were.”
“Uh, thank you.”
Mrs. Baker’s eyes darted between Ethan and Cindy. “Did you two have a nice evening?” No mistaking the coyness in her tone.
Megan’s head jerked around. She narrowed her gaze on Ethan, who didn’t look away. Then she flicked a glance down at his hands on the rail. A small smile twitched her lips.
Obviously, she realized where he’d left his watch.
Cindy’s brothers-in-law looked to be the protective type. The last thing Ethan needed was some question about his intentions before he even understood what they were himself. Maybe he should hint to Mrs. Baker that the evening hadn’t been a date.
“Actually,” Cindy said, “we mostly talked about work. Ethan and I don’t agree on much, so things don’t generally get personal.”
Not personal? How the hell did she explain kissing him in the middle of the street?
Mrs. Baker’s brow creased.
If Cindy had decided they didn’t have anything between them, he was damned if he was going to force the issue. “You know me,” he told Mrs. Baker. “I don’t do the dating thing seriously.”
Cindy glared at him.
“That is a shame,” Mrs. Baker said. She left, bemused. Tension crackled between Cindy and Ethan.
“You’ve changed your tune since last night,” he said sourly.
“As soon as the effect of the wine wore off.”
He tugged her a few steps away from her sisters. “So, what, if we’d made love you’d be regretting it now?”
“Undoubtedly.” She darted a glance at Megan.
“You’d have a smile the size of Texas on your face,” he corrected her.
“It would have been a big mistake.” She dug into the pocket of her jeans. “Here, this is yours.”
His watch. It landed in his hand, warm from its hiding place. It felt as if she was handing back his kisses, the confidences he’d shared with her. The thoughts he’d had this morning about how important she might be in his life. Everything.
He focused hard on his wrist as he slipped the watch on. “Maybe you changed your mind when your sisters arrived with their fancy husbands, and you realized a messed-up rancher wouldn’t cut it in your scene.”
“You’re the one who said we have nothing in common.”
Ethan couldn’t believe how much that hurt. “So, you admit I was right?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
And that was before she knew the full truth of his past. How much less would he matter to her then?
Behind them, the PA system crackled. “Would the Youth division saddle bronc competitors please move into the starting area. Youth division saddle bronc, we need you ready to start.”
Ethan grabbed her arm. “We can’t leave it—”
“Is that Sam?” Cindy interrupted.
What was his son up to now? Ethan turned and scanned the bleachers.
“There.” She pointed. “Next to the ring.”
Sam, wearing Ethan’s favorite brown Stetson, was one of a dozen young men waiting to ride in the saddle bronc event.
“What the hell? I told him it was too dangerous…” He began elbowing through the crowd, intent on hauling Sam out of the contest, vaguely aware of Cindy following him.
“Our first competitor is Sam Barrett,” the announcer said.
Riders competed in alphabetical order in the first round. Ethan cursed.
“Let’s have a big hand for Sam, a first-timer today!”
The crowd was generous in its support for a rookie—everyone cheered, from the old granddads in the front row of the bleachers to the toddler held on the rail by his father, waving chubby arms.
Sam was already climbing onto the gray mare in the bucking chute. Eight seconds—that’s how long he had to stay on the horse for his ride to earn points. The mare looked determined to kick him to a bloody pulp. Ethan sped up, but Sam signaled to the chute crew guy that he was ready, and the man opened the gate. The horse burst out and began to buck, the way it had been raised to.
Ethan froze. Through his fear, he noted that Sam had succeeded in marking the mare out. His heels touched the animal’s shoulders until its front legs hit the ground. If they hadn’t, he’d have been disqualified. Clearly, he’d been practicing. Probably at his friend Dean’s house.
It was the longest eight seconds of Ethan’s life. And Sam’s,
going by his white-knuckled grip on the cotton rein attached to the horse’s halter. He lifted on the rein, keeping his free hand well clear so he didn’t inadvertently make contact with the horse, and tried to find a rhythm, spurring backward and forward with his feet.
Sweat ran down Ethan’s back; his palms were dry and hot. His eyes didn’t leave his son. Cindy slipped her hand into his. He hung on tight.
When the bell dinged eight seconds, Sam was still on the mare.
“He did it,” Cindy said. “Did he win?”
As she spoke, Sam fell from the horse. He rolled out of the horse’s way like a pro and jumped to his feet. The horse made a dash for the far end of the arena, eluding both pick-up men, who took off in pursuit.
“He’s nowhere near winning,” Ethan said roughly. “He stayed on, but he doesn’t know the first thing about scoring points.”
She punched his arm. “He was great, admit it.”
“Maybe.” She was right, he couldn’t help feeling a burst of pride as he watched Sam head for the fence. Ethan shaded his eyes with his hand, so his pleasure wouldn’t be too obvious. Because when he got Sam home he would…what? Tan his hide? Ethan had had enough of that from his stepfather—he wouldn’t do it to Sam, even if Sam had been young enough.
He could ground the kid, if he’d listen. For the first time, he felt sympathy for Susan. He couldn’t blame her for his son being out of control.
Sam acknowledged the crowd’s applause with a jaunty wave. The toddler on the fence wriggled in his dad’s grip. His father, distracted by his conversation with his pals, didn’t react fast enough—the kid slid over the rail and landed smack in the sawdust. In the path of the bronc and the pick-up man who’d just managed to grab hold of the rein.
A dozen things happened at once. The pick-up man pulled hard on the rein; the bronc showed no interest in stopping. Someone screamed; the kid’s dad scrambled over the fence.
And Sam dived for the little boy.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SHEER INSANITY, ETHAN thought as he vaulted the fence. Sam picked up the boy, flung him at his dad in a lateral pass any quarterback would be proud of. Then he threw his hands over his head to protect himself from the horse. His hat—Ethan’s hat—rolled under the hooves. Though the pick-up man had at last gained control of the bronc, one hoof connected with Sam, so fast it was impossible to see where.
The wails of the little boy rose above the ruckus. Ethan knelt by the groaning Sam just as the rodeo doctor reached him.
When Sam struggled to sit up, relief roared through Ethan like a brush fire. To be followed by a blaze of anger. As soon as he knew his son was okay, he wanted to stick him up against a wall and shake him until his teeth rattled.
“Let me through, I’m the judge.” Cindy joined him, the rodeo officials having let her into the ring, uncertain how far her jurisdiction extended.
“Broken wrist,” the doctor announced. “We’ll get you to the hospital to have it set, son.”
Son. He’s my son, Ethan wanted to say. He’d never actually called Sam that to his face, even though the word haunted his thoughts. Over by the fence, Linnet waited, her knuckles pressed to her mouth. Ethan gave her a sharp nod of reassurance. She turned away; he guessed she was crying.
His eyes met Sam’s.
“That was brave,” Ethan said. “You saved that child.”
Sam ducked his head. “He prob’ly would’ve been fine.”
“He is fine, thanks to you.” Later, he would figure out how to handle Sam’s defiance in entering the damn rodeo in the first place.
“Let’s get you to the hospital.” He helped Sam to his feet. His son’s shoulders were bony, his arms muscled. His hair was full of sawdust and grit and he was the handsomest kid Ethan had ever seen.
Linnet met them at the gate. “Sam, honey. Oh, Sam.” She hugged him carefully; Sam hugged back.
Ethan heard worried female voices. “Your sisters,” he reminded Cindy. She glanced over her shoulder, then back at Ethan.
“I could come to the hospital with you,” she said.
He could have kissed her.
“Come see us later,” he said. “When you’re free.”
CYNTHIA’S FAMILY STAYED until late afternoon, lingering over the lunch they’d brought with them, prepared by Sabrina, a Cordon Bleu cook, and transported from Atlanta.
At five, the visitors announced their intention of heading back to the city. Cynthia embraced Jake, then Sabrina. “Drive safely.”
“We always do,” Sabrina said. She was paranoid about road safety. “It’s been great seeing your new life. I can’t believe how many people you know—you really seem to be a part of the town.”
Cynthia smiled. “Thanks. Tell Dad that, would you?”
“Sure.” Sabrina looked puzzled. She’d never fully understood that Jonah loved her differently from the way he loved Cynthia and Megan. He loved Sabrina unconditionally.
Cynthia shared a glance with Megan as she hugged her middle sister. Sabrina didn’t have a malicious bone in her body, so there was no point telling her how things were.
“Good luck with Ethan,” Megan whispered.
Cynthia’s stomach plummeted. She wasn’t about to beg Megan not to tell Dad she’d gotten involved with a man here. But it would be very convenient if Megan failed to mention it.
WHEN CYNTHIA ARRIVED IN the emergency room, Ethan was reading the newspaper beside Sam’s bed; Sam was staring at the ceiling.
The E.R. was busy, mostly with injuries from the fair, a nurse had told her, so Sam didn’t notice Cynthia until she’d almost reached his bedside.
“How are you feeling?” She handed over several packets of chocolate—Milk Duds and Peanut Butter Cups. She’d called Ethan on his cell and he’d told her those were Sam’s favorites.
“Okay.” He dumped them on the nightstand. “Thanks for the gift.”
Ethan stood and gave her his chair. “Thanks for coming by.”
“My pleasure.” He looked tired. She wanted to hold him. “You okay?”
“Aside from out of my mind with worry about this dude.” He nodded at Sam.
“You were great today, Sam,” Cynthia said. “The way you reacted, saving that boy by putting yourself in harm’s way, says a lot about your character.”
“Cynthia’s right,” Ethan agreed. “I’m proud of you.”
Sam eyeballed his dad. As was often the case, he seemed to be waiting for more. Something niggled at Cynthia, but she couldn’t place it. Then Sam closed his eyes. His face was pale.
“Did they give you painkillers?” she asked.
He grunted. “Not sure they’re working.”
“The nurse is bringing a supply for us to take away, and we’re waiting for the doc to clear us to leave,” Ethan said. “Then we’ll go back to the Double T.”
Sam turned his head to one side. Cynthia thought she caught a glimpse of tears. “Sam, are you all right?” Oops, that was probably the worst thing to do, draw attention to it.
Sure enough…
“I friggin’ broke my wrist,” he snarled. “It hurts, okay?”
“I bet your mom was worried.”
His jaw jutted. “She hasn’t called back yet.”
Oh, help.
The attending physician showed up before Cynthia could make things worse. “You ready to go home, Sam?”
“Where’s that?” Sam muttered.
“Just sign him out and we’ll give you back your bed,” Ethan said.
The doctor scrawled something on a clipboard. “The nurse will have you fixed up with painkillers, then you’re free to leave.”
“Thanks.” Ethan turned to Cynthia. “You want to come back with us, have some dinner?” He caught her fingers in his.
“Another day,” she said. “You and Sam need some time together.” She read something in Sam’s eyes, longing and fear. Fear of what? Again she had that niggling feeling, a kind of recognition. But she couldn’t pin it down. And no matter what Ethan said ab
out the anger he’d felt in his troubled youth, he would never physically harm his son.
“Can I have a word with you while Sam waits for the nurse?” she asked Ethan. She hadn’t come here only to see Sam. She’d spent most of today thinking about where things stood with Ethan.
He followed her out into the corridor. Cynthia checked him out, sidelong. He looked lean and strong and kind. The kind of man a girl—a woman—could depend on. But as he’d said about the cakes, appearances could be deceptive.
He laced his fingers through hers. “Thanks for offering to leave your family and come with me today.”
“That’s okay.”
He tugged her into an alcove that housed a couple of vending machines. “I’m sorry I accused you of not wanting anything with me because your family moves in bigger circles. I was out of line.”
Somehow they’d ended up standing almost touching. Cynthia’s plan to remind him they’d reached a stalemate last night and maybe they should settle for that flew out the window.
“Mmm,” she said, anticipating.
“Mmm,” he agreed and kissed her. His tongue brushed her lips and she let him in.
Time stood still as they kissed, not groping each other, since they were in a public place, but with a sweet languor that seeped through every cell in Cynthia’s body.
“Howdy, y’all.” The sheriff’s voice jerked her back to consciousness.
As Ethan straightened, Cynthia tugged at her tank top, which had ridden up.
“Good to see you, Judge.” Sheriff Davis sounded highly amused.
“You, too, Sheriff.”
“Just come to take a statement from your boy,” the sheriff told Ethan.
Ethan took a step forward. “He saved a child, surely he can’t be in trouble.”
“Routine accident report,” the sheriff assured him. “No trouble at all. I won’t be more than ten minutes, if you two want to keep, uh, talking.”
Cynthia narrowed her eyes. He grinned and sauntered into the E.R.
“The whole town will know we were kissing again by suppertime,” Ethan observed.
