Texas Ranch Justice

by Karen Whiddon

  Damned if he was going to ask why.

  But of course she told him anyway. “I decided to stay and look after you.”

  He nearly dropped his glass. “Go home,” he croaked. Then added as a bonus. “I’m contagious. I don’t want to get you sick.” While he knew she didn’t realize it, he was actually making an effort to be nice. Comparatively, that is.

  Waving her toward the door with his one free hand, he staggered back to his bedroom. He managed to set the drink down on his nightstand, before a bout of coughing nearly brought him to his knees.

  Unbelievably, Scarlett had followed him. “Here.” She offered a brand-new box of tissues. “It looks like you might need these. What else would you like me to get you?”

  “An empty house,” he snarled, at the end of his miserable rope. He snatched the tissues and ripped them open. Turning his back to her, he blew his nose. “Really, Scarlett. I appreciate your concern, but I’d like to be left alone.”

  “I’ll be out in the living room or kitchen if you need me,” she replied, clearly determined to ignore him.

  He tried one more time, aching for his bed. “Hal needs you more than me. You can’t risk bringing germs home to him.”

  “I’m thinking it’s already too late.” She smiled, apparently unconcerned. “Delilah will look after Hal. And Amber has already decided to stay over there with Will as she doesn’t want him to catch this. Vivian is going to stay with Frank. I refuse to leave you alone when you’re so sick.”

  Having said her piece, she marched quietly from his room, letting herself out and closing the door behind her.

  He let himself fall back onto the bed, his head throbbing. He felt either touched or annoyed, he couldn’t decide which. He fell asleep while trying to figure that out.

  Sometime later—judging by his nightstand clock, shortly after noon—a soft tapping on his bedroom door woke him. He considered ignoring it, but he’d drained his glass of ginger ale and needed to get more.

  “What?” he rasped, trying to sound fierce, an effort that was ruined by a fit of coughing. While he struggled to catch his breath, his door swung open. Blinking at the sudden influx of light, he realized Scarlett stood framed in the doorway.

  “I made you some chicken broth,” she said, her voice calm and soothing. “That, along with a few saltines, might help settle your stomach.”

  Right on cue, his stomach gurgled. “I don’t know...”

  She came closer and he realized she carried a tray. The scent of chicken broth reached him. To his surprise, it actually smelled good.

  “At least try,” she said. “Do you need help sitting up?”

  He almost snapped at her that he wasn’t an invalid, but managed to hold his tongue. Well aware that his foul mood while sick was legendary in his family, he suddenly realized he didn’t want Scarlett to see him that way.

  “Thank you, but I’m fine,” he said instead, propping his pillow against the headboard and using it for a backrest. He leaned over and turned on his bedside lamp, even though so much brightness hurt his head. “It’s very kind of you to make me lunch. I’m not sure I can eat, but I’ll give it a shot.”

  The effort of making such a long speech exhausted him, but it was worth it to see the dazzling smile bloom over Scarlett’s beautiful face. She set the tray down on his lap. When she did, he saw she’d brought him another glass of ginger ale, though she’d poured it over ice.

  “I brought a smallish sized bowl,” she told him. “Because I know you need to start off slow. And there’s only about five saltines, so if you need more let me know.” Still smiling, she started backing toward the door. “You can either call me and I’ll come get the tray, or put it on the dresser. Holler if you need anything.”

  He almost asked her to stay, but didn’t. Instead, he nodded and waited until she’d closed the door behind her before picking up the spoon.

  To his surprise, the rich broth soothed his throat. It tasted good, though he waited after a few spoonfuls to see how his still-queasy stomach would take it. When a moment or two passed and nothing happened, he finished the bowl and ate all the crackers.

  Even the act of eating such a small meal made him feel wiped out. He managed to get up and place the tray on the dresser, swapping out the now half-full glass with his empty one. A quick trip to his bathroom, then back to bed.

  He woke next to the sound of a phone ringing, then Scarlett answering it. Wincing, he massaged his aching temples, surprised to realize it was a little after three.

  Stretching, he realized he felt marginally better. As if the worst had passed. His head still hurt, but he no longer felt as if he were burning up from the inside out.

  A bout of coughing had him doubling over, making him question his earlier assessment of his condition. Past experience had taught him he might be thinking overly optimistically. He didn’t get sick often, but when he did, he got really, really ill. Since he hated being even slightly incapacitated, he tended to take out his frustration on those around him. This had earned him a reputation of being a horrible patient, and rightly so.

  He thought of Hal, enduring all he had over the past few months, without complaining much and certainly without turning into an absolute bear. Hal had been poked and prodded, tested and retested, all the while growing more and more ill without any definitive diagnosis.

  While still flat on his back with the flu, Travis realized he wanted to be more like Hal.

  Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he waited while the room spun. He made it into the bathroom where he washed his face and brushed his teeth, hoping even that small effort might make him feel more human. His bright red nose felt sore, despite the box of super soft tissues he’d kept with him. Nothing he could do about that, especially since it was still stuffed up.

  He’d been ill for only twenty-odd hours yet he wanted it over and done. He had too much work to do to be able to afford to waste time sleeping.

  Next, he knew if he wanted to venture out into the rest of his house, he couldn’t continue to do it in boxers. Rummaging in his dresser drawer, he located a barely used pair of flannel pajamas someone had given him last Christmas. He managed to pull on the pants, and then attempted to put on the matching shirt. It took him three tries—he finally had to sit down on the bed and work up to it, but he finally finished. He thought about looking for the pair of slippers someone had given him that same Christmas but decided that would be too much work.

  Barefoot, he padded down the hall of his unusually quiet house, looking for Scarlett.

  He found her on the couch, sound asleep. She hadn’t turned on the television, just simply curled up on her side with her arm pillowing her head.

  Looking down and watching her while she slept, he realized two things. One, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met and two, he loved her.

  He loved her. Once, even thinking such a thing would have brought on denials, maybe even panic. After all, he’d thought he loved Kendra once. She’d taken his heart and wrung it dry, after twisting it up in knots. Clearly, she’d never loved him despite agreeing to marry him, because to this day Kendra didn’t understand how he could have been so devastated.

  He certainly hadn’t planned on ever letting himself be that vulnerable again. Especially not opening his heart to a woman who most likely would always choose city over country, white-collar man over rancher. In other words, a woman who couldn’t be more wrong for him if she tried.

  * * *

  Scarlett stirred, for a moment confused. As she sat up, she got that she’d fallen asleep on Travis’s couch. To her surprise, she saw Travis dozing in his recliner, the chair back and a blanket tucked around him.

  A rush of tenderness filled her as she gazed at him. For such a big man, he could be surprisingly gentle. She thought of his kiss, of the way he held her and touched her, and remembered his passion too. Her feelings for
him were complicated and intense. And real. More real than anything she’d ever felt for anyone.

  Lost in thought, she jumped when her phone rang. Luckily, she’d turned the volume down earlier. Still, she answered it quickly, hoping the sound hadn’t woken Travis.

  “How are you holding up?” Judging from the thread of laughter in Amber’s cheerful voice, she wasn’t expecting a positive answer.

  “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m fine.” Scarlett eyed Travis again and smiled, her heart full.

  “Really? Travis hasn’t bitten your head off yet? Believe me, it will happen.”

  “Nope.” Scarlett lowered her voice, not wanting to wake him. “He’s had a few grumpy moments, but mostly he seems grateful for the attention.”

  “What?” Amber fairly shrieked into her ear. “Hold on, I’ve got to tell Mom this.”

  Though Amber covered the phone, Scarlett could still hear the majority of the conversation. Vivian expressed loud disbelief, while Amber said something that made Scarlett smile. He must really like her. She certainly hoped so. Because sick or no, she really liked him too.

  When Amber uncovered the phone, Scarlett asked her about the trip and the costumes. According to Amber, they’d had a great time, eating in a downtown Dallas restaurant and paying Neiman Marcus a short visit. They hadn’t purchased anything at the iconic store, but simply looking had been fun.

  “When are you coming back to the main house?” Amber asked. “Delilah’s cooking a huge meal since we’re all here.”

  “Not tonight,” Scarlett answered softly. “How’s Hal?”

  “He seems better. He’s actually alert and making himself part of the conversation. He’s also asked about Travis.”

  This made Scarlett happy. “Tell him I’m sorry that I can’t be there tonight. And let him know Travis seems to be doing better.”

  “Maybe he just hasn’t gotten to the worst part of his sickness yet,” Amber pointed out. “When he starts feeling truly awful, that’s when his snarky side comes out.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open for that,” Scarlett promised. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Once she’d ended the call, she looked over at Travis and realized he’d been watching her.

  “I’m guessing that was my sister,” he said, his voice a little less raspy. “And that she warned you about me.”

  “She did,” Scarlett answered cheerfully, meeting his gaze. “Again. So did everyone else. I was fully prepared for the horrible, mean side of you to come out. So far, I haven’t seen that.”

  He ducked his head, appearing embarrassed. “Sorry. I really appreciate you sticking with me through this. Especially after receiving all those warnings.”

  “I take it you’re feeling better?”

  He inhaled deeply and considered. “Maybe? I don’t ache all over like before.” His effort at talking brought on another coughing spell, though even that didn’t seem to last as long or sound as deep.

  “You’re on the mend!” Her grin invited him to celebrate. To her surprise, he smiled back.

  “You know what, I think I am.”

  Her stomach growled, making her laugh. “Are you hungry?” she asked, jumping to her feet. “Because I am.”

  He considered her question for a moment. “You know what? I think I might be. I could eat.”

  Delighted, she started for the kitchen. Halfway there, she turned around. “Do you need something to drink in the meantime?”

  He heaved himself up out of the chair and stretched. “I’m not an invalid, so I’ll get it myself.”

  Once they’d reached the kitchen, he filled his glass with more ginger ale and took a seat at the table. His color seemed better and he definitely appeared to be feeling much better.

  She opened the fridge and made a bit of a face. “Hot dogs, nope. Something that looks like leftover spaghetti—”

  “My mother made that last week. I’ll pass,” Travis said. “As should you.”

  Hiding her smile, she continued to peruse the contents. “Oooh, ground turkey. And corn tortillas. How about some tacos? Or I can make enchiladas if you’d prefer those.”

  Since she’d read that no Texan worth his salt ever refused Mexican food, she felt pretty confident in his response. When he didn’t comment, she turned to eye him. “What? You don’t want tacos or enchiladas?”

  “It’s not that.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m just wondering how someone who’s from Georgia might make them.”

  Piqued, she glared. “We eat Mexican food there too, you know. And making tacos isn’t difficult, believe me.” She almost added that he could make his own now, and if he wasn’t still recovering from his illness, she would have.

  One corner of his mouth twitched. Fascinated, she watched him. When he let loose with a laugh, the deep sound coaxed a reluctant smile from her.

  * * *

  The tacos were delicious and Travis managed to eat three. She covered the leftovers and placed them in the fridge.

  To her surprise, Travis went back to the recliner in the den. She took the couch and they spent a companionable evening watching TV. When the evening news came on, she glanced over at Travis to find he’d fallen asleep.

  Vulnerable would never have been a word she’d have chosen to describe such a big, capable man. But right now, with his breathing even and deep, his head pillowed on his hand, that’s how he looked. If they’d truly been a couple, she could have climbed up there with him and curled into his side. Instead, she left the television on for him though she lowered the volume, and retired to her makeshift bed on the couch.

  In the morning, she got up to find Travis in the kitchen, already on his second cup of coffee. He’d made breakfast too, a pot of oatmeal along with brown sugar and raisins.

  “I feel almost normal,” he declared, grinning at her disheveled appearance. “I’m really considering going to work. If I use the truck instead of going on horseback, I’m thinking I could still do my job.”

  She waited until she’d made herself a cup of coffee before turning to face him. “I noticed you said almost normal. Define almost.”

  He shrugged. “I feel maybe a bit weak. And my head still hurts some, though nothing like before. I took my temperature and it’s only slightly elevated. So almost back to normal.”

  “I think you should give it one more day,” she said, sipping her coffee and watching him. “Especially since you still have a fever, which means you’re most likely contagious.”

  “Well, it’s not like I plan to go around hugging or kissing anyone.” He grinned. “As long as I keep a reasonable distance, no one else should have to worry about getting infected. Except I’m not going anywhere near Hal yet. I don’t want to take a chance with him.”

  “That’s all well and good, but I’m more concerned about you.” She watched as his smile became a frown. “If you don’t give your body time to rest, you could relapse. Do you really want to take that chance?”

  He muttered something under his breath, but in the end he grimaced and agreed with her. “One more day then,” he said. “But on the condition that you go home. Not that your help was unappreciated, but I’m well enough to take care of myself.”

  Heaven help her, she felt a twinge of hurt at his words. But she lifted her chin, determined not to show it. “Fine. I’ll go. I’ve been missing Hal anyway.” After a brief pause, she brightened. “I think I’ll send Vivian home just in case. Amber can stay another day since we can’t take a chance of you infecting Will.”

  The way he snorted at her words let her know he knew she was bluffing. “My mother is a true germophobe. I promise you, she won’t want to come anywhere near me until I’m fully recovered.”

  Giving up, she made herself a bowl of oatmeal and ate it silently. When she’d finished, she rinsed the bowl and put it in the dishwasher. “I’ll be out of your hair in an hou
r,” she promised, careful not to look at him.

  True to her word, she showered and dressed, packed up her things and slipped out the door without seeing him or saying goodbye. Maybe she was being ridiculous to feel so hurt, but clearly she enjoyed his company more than he did hers. Again, clear proof that it took more than sizzling sex to make a relationship work.

  When she reached the main house, all the cars in the driveway startled her at first. But then she saw one of them belonged to Vivian, one to Amber and, of course, Delilah’s vehicle was there.

  Grabbing her suitcase, she wrestled it into the house and down the hall to her room. Luckily, the old Victorian had more than enough bedrooms, so no one had stayed in hers.

  It felt good to be back, she told herself, pushing away the crazy sense of loss. Being around Travis—even sick Travis—made even the air she breathed feel clearer and cleaner, the sky brighter and her heart happier. More proof she was a fool.

  Judging from the sound of it, everyone had gathered in the kitchen. Glad she’d taken the time to clean up and make herself presentable, Scarlett sauntered into the room and headed for the coffeepot. “Mornin’ everyone,” she sang out.

  “You’re back,” Hal exclaimed. Turning to face him, she saw that he did look a lot better.

  She walked over and planted a soft kiss on one grizzled cheek. “You look amazing. You must be feeling pretty good.”

  “I am,” He conceded. “How’s Travis?”

  “Yes,” Vivian trilled. “Tell us how my son is doing.”

  Behind her, Amber smiled encouragingly. “We can’t wait to hear. I take it since you’re here, he must be feeling all better.”

  “He does feel better, though not 100 percent yet. He’s hoping to go back to work tomorrow.” Scarlett poured herself a mug of coffee, taking time to make it exactly the way she liked it. Behind her, everyone had gone oddly silent, as if they’d been discussing her and she’d walked in right in the middle of their talk.

  She decided to simply take the bull by the horns. “In case you’re wondering, he wasn’t that bad. Oh, he was sick. High fever, chills, sweats, a horrible cough. But he’s feeling so much better that I had to talk him out of going to work today.”