His Rodeo Sweetheart

by Pamela Britton

  What was he doing here? And so early. A quick glance at her cell phone made her blanch because it wasn’t that early at all. Eight o’clock—and the dogs hadn’t been fed yet.

  “Crap.”

  She grabbed the first thing she found—a pair of jeans and a bright orange T-shirt with San Francisco across the front. She barely glanced at her reflection in the mirror, just pulled her hair back off her face and shot out her bedroom door. No doubt Adam was sleeping, but she ducked her head in the room to make sure. It’d been a while since she’d felt the familiar fear, the one that robbed her of breath as she crept to his bed and examined her son. Was he still breathing?

  He was. But his skin was flushed and she knew with a mother’s intuition that he was sick. She’d known it last night when he’d gotten irritable just before dinner. And then later when she’d ordered him to bed. She seen it in his glassy eyes and his flushed cheeks, too. Fever.

  “Crap,” she muttered again. She’d let him sleep, then check his temperature when she came back in from feeding the dogs.

  But her feet were heavy when she opened her front door. Not just with fear, but with exhaustion and sadness and a growing sense of frustration.

  Would it never end?

  Lord, how she longed to be like a normal mother. A mom that had nothing more to worry about than getting her son to school on time and making sure his homework was done. There were days when worrying about Adam made her physically ill.

  The sun nearly blinded her when the door swung wide. That’s why she didn’t see him standing there, not at first, his tall frame outlined by light. He wore a pair of jeans that looked as if they’d seen better days and a dark green shirt that probably matched his eyes. She didn’t know. She was too afraid to look into them.

  “You look like hell.”

  Her gaze shot to his. “Thanks.”

  “Not that you could ever look bad.” Her eyes had adjusted enough that she could spot the consternation on his face. “I mean, I’ve always thought you were pretty.”

  Despite telling herself that it didn’t matter, his words made her cheeks redden.

  “You just look, I don’t know, tired.”

  Beneath the brim of his cowboy hat she spotted embarrassment in his eyes. Funny, she felt just as self-conscious all of sudden.

  “Long night with Adam,” she admitted.

  The embarrassment turned immediately to concern. “Is he okay?”

  Would he ever be okay? Would their lives ever be able to go back to normal? Would there be a day when she could drop her guard and look to the future without worry or fear?

  She took a deep breath. One day at a time.

  “He’s spiking a fever—I can tell.” She slipped out the door and into the morning sunshine because she didn’t want Adam to overhear their conversation. “He keeps talking about going into town for ice cream, but it’s all just a front. He’s getting sick and both of us know it.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  She nodded. “It can be. His immune system still isn’t back to normal. Anytime he becomes ill there could be complications. I just have to keep an eye on him.”

  She shouldn’t have taken him into town yesterday, but he’d begged her, and to be honest, she couldn’t keep him locked up forever. The doctors had told her to just make sure he didn’t come into contact with sick people. She made sure he washed his hands. She avoided restaurants and other places where a lot of people congregated. Still, there was only so much she could do.

  “I bet you didn’t get any sleep last night.”

  “I got enough.”

  The dogs had seen her. Their barking had changed from a warning to a whine. All except Thor. Once again the dog lay curled up in a ball right outside his loafing shed.

  Ethan must have followed her gaze. “I’d like to work with him just as soon as he’s finished eating.”

  “He’s probably not hungry.”

  She kept the dog supplies in a shed she kept latched with a brass snap to keep the critters out of it. Damn raccoons were as clever as a human sometimes, and she would swear they checked that lock every night. Inside the room were barrels of dog food, the high performance kind that cost an arm and a leg and that she had to order from the feed store.

  “You can fill bowls while I start scraping.”

  “How much do you feed?”

  “A scoop per dog.” She pointed to the white plastic mixing cup. “But if their bowl is already full, I just top it off.”

  They went to work, and to be honest, it felt good. Being busy took her mind off Adam inside the house and the obsessive need she felt to go back, to check his temperature again, but she couldn’t do that. If he was sick, his best bet was rest, not an overanxious mom poking and prodding him every ten minutes.

  It didn’t take Ethan long to feed. She could hear him talking to the dogs as he went in and out of their kennels. She’d written their names on the outside just for that reason. In case she was suddenly called out of town—like back to Children’s Hospital.

  Don’t think about it.

  When he finished he caught up to her. They worked side by side then, Claire trying not to feel self-conscious while standing next to him. His hands weren’t shaking this morning, and he seemed far more relaxed. The only time that changed was when they got to Janus. He tensed up then. She could see it in the way his hands gripped the shovel and the way the line of his jaw hardened.

  “What are you working on with Thor today?”

  She asked the question more as a way of distracting him than any real desire to engage in small talk. She couldn’t stop herself from diving in. She hated seeing someone in pain, and Ethan very definitely had a hard time being around his buddy’s dog.

  He took a deep breath. “Probably keeping his gaze focused on me.”

  He scratched the dog on the chin one last time before straightening, the two of them finishing up together. When they were done she showed him where to wash up. She had an industrial-sized sink off the back of the shed, one she used to give the dogs their beauty treatments before heading off to a new home, and it was peaceful out back, a thick grove of oak trees just a few feet away. She’d had Colt help her install a gate, one constructed out of old oak so that it blended with the trees behind, and that led to a path where she liked to walk along the nearby creek.

  “I’m just going to go check on Adam.”

  He nodded, but he seemed lost in thought as she quickly slipped away. Adam still slept, and while he didn’t feel hot, that didn’t reassure her. Her little man tried so hard to be brave.

  Ethan was right where she’d left him, or near enough. He rested his arms against a fence post, staring out into the woods. Their gazes met and she saw something in the depths of his eyes that reminded her of the first day they’d met.

  “How is he?”

  “Still sleeping.”

  He glanced back toward the kennels. “He’s going to hate missing out on my training session with Thor.”

  She nodded. “Maybe you could do it later?”

  She thought he might say no, would bet her best pair of boots that he thought about it, but instead he said, “Why not?” He smiled, but it was brief, like a patch of sunlight that had escaped from between storm clouds. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

  He’d gone back to looking lost again, and sad, and maybe even tense, especially when his gaze hooked on the kennel that belonged to Janus. It prompted her to head toward the gate a few feet away, and to her walking path. Her way of escaping reality, at least for a few minutes. Her balm for the soul because she’d noticed nothing soothed her more than the sweet smell of Mother Nature. Perhaps it would work for Ethan, too.

  “Come on. Let’s walk.”

  He seemed surprised by her invite, but she smiled, trying to reassu
re him without words. They were two peas in a pod. He grieved over the loss of his buddy and she grieved over the loss of her son’s childhood.

  He seemed to nod, as if somehow reading her mind, then stepped forward.

  “He was a good friend, wasn’t he?” She asked the question as she opened the gate, stepping aside so he could join her. She had a perfect view of his face and so she saw the corners of his eyes flex, as if he fought to keep from revealing too much.

  “The best.”

  They walked in silence for a moment, Claire feeling her back pocket to ensure she had her cell phone. They had pretty good service out here thanks to a cell tower on the nearby hills. Adam could call her if he needed her. They would be within shouting distance, too, the house visible from her favorite spot through a thick grove of oak trees.

  “Did you know him long?”

  “Not too long. A few years, but we used to joke that in combat years, it was a lifetime.”

  Maybe it was her exhaustion, or maybe it was her inability to mind her own business, but for some reason she found herself pushing for answers. “You were there with him, weren’t you? When it happened, I mean.”

  It was just a simple question, one she suspected she already knew the answer to, so she would never have demanded an answer. They’d reached her favorite spot. An old, fallen tree lay alongside the creek, the bark worn away where she and Adam sat all the time. Her footfalls had long since worn a path around it and she followed the path now, urging him to sit next to her as the water gurgled by. Few things seemed to settle a human soul like the sound of running water and the smell of a forest. It was as if something primordial kicked in, a deep-rooted sense of belonging that acted as a balm to the rush of life.

  “I was with him,” he said as he sat down beside her.

  That was all she’d been curious about and so she didn’t push him for more. She watched a leaf slide by on the soft current that pushed the creek toward the ocean. She hoped the smell of wet earth and dank vegetation soothed him as it always had her.

  “We’d just left base.”

  She glanced at him quickly because this she hadn’t expected. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and she knew he’d begun to shake again. “No. That’s all right. I think maybe I should.”

  Still, he didn’t immediately launch into the tale and for a moment she wondered if he’d changed his mind.

  “We were on our way home. We’d made it, both of us, to the end. We were leaving, and when we reached stateside, we were going to open up a training business.

  “That morning, Trev left ahead of me to secure our ride. I had some dogs in my care, so I had to wrap a few things up, but I wasn’t that far behind.”

  She could tell the next part would be hard, felt the urge to take his hand in her own, the desire so strong, her empathy so keen, she almost told him to stop, that she didn’t want to hear. Instead, she tightened her own hands into fists and simply listened.

  “He was gone maybe ten minutes, couldn’t have been more than that, when it started. Boom! One moment sunshine and sky, the next dirt and broken glass. And then another boom and another. We were under attack.”

  He rubbed his arms absently and she realized that’s where the scars came from, the ones she’d noticed the day he’d arrived. They were covered by the dark green shirt he wore, but he still touched them.

  “It doesn’t register at first when something like that happens, you know?” He turned and met her gaze and her heart broke into a million pieces at just the look in his eyes. Yes, she’d known he’d lost his friend, but it wasn’t until that moment that she realized just how badly it’d affected him. “It felt like a dream. The psychologists say it’s a natural reaction to trauma, some sort of mental self-defense. At first I thought it was just a nightmare, that we couldn’t really be under attack, and so I just sat there.”

  She knew all too well that sense of denial. She’d felt the same thing when she’d realized there was no hope for Marcus. That he was going to die. Time and again she’d wake up thinking it was all a bad dream only to roll over and spy the empty bed next to her and realize that Marcus really was in the hospital and that he really wasn’t going to come home.

  “And suddenly it hits you that it is happening and that you have to do something.”

  His gaze sharpened. “All I could think about was Trevor. And Janus. They were up ahead of me and I knew from experience they’d bear the brunt of the attack.”

  A part of her didn’t want to hear the rest. Another part knew he needed to get it out.

  “I jumped out. I don’t even remember the explosion next to me, but fragments hit my arms. I just remember the sting of something, but I didn’t care. I grabbed my sidearm and took off only when I looked ahead—”

  She found herself reaching for his hand and clutching it despite telling herself not to touch him. “It’s okay.” She squeezed. “You don’t have to keep going. I can imagine what you saw.” It was her worst fear come to life—being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When Marcus had been overseas she’d prayed every day he’d make it home. She prayed the same thing for her brothers. The irony was that Marcus had made it home, but he’d been terribly ill from the day he stepped stateside. She’d changed her prayer then. She wanted her brothers to come home healthy and strong.

  He’d turned away from her, his face in profile. It was like watching a movie play across his face, one where she could see the actors, but not listen to the lines. She didn’t need to hear them, though. She could tell he recalled the scene he’d stumbled upon. Knew he remembered finding his friend’s body. That he tried to shut it out, but that he couldn’t.

  Please, God, keep Chance safe these last few months.

  She clutched his hand harder.

  “Sometimes I can still smell it. Burnt rubber. Spilled fuel. Gunpowder. And...other things. It was total chaos. But just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. There were medics on scene, but I knew I couldn’t help Trev. I needed to let the medics do their thing.” She saw his eyes fill with tears, felt his fingers clutch her own. “But I could help Janus, and so I did, yet some days I wonder if I shouldn’t have at least tried to help Trev.”

  She let go of his hand, touched his chin, asking without words for him to turn back to her again. He did so reluctantly, but that was okay. She needed him to hear her words.

  “Some memories will always be a part of us. The trick is to learn to let them go. Or to put them in a place where they can no longer hurt us.” She could tell he barely heard her. “You need to replace those bad memories with good ones. In time those good memories will outnumber the bad.”

  He huffed sarcastically. “Good ones?”

  She nodded.

  “And where do I find those?”

  He seemed so lost, so completely adrift in a sea of fear and sadness and self-rebuke that she did the unthinkable. She leaned into him, her lips brushing his own, whispering the words, “You can start right here,” kissing him before she could think better of it.

  And God help her, it felt right.

  Chapter Seven

  She was his anchor in a storm-tossed sea of memories, Ethan thought. Her lips were soft and warm and all he wanted to do was stay right there, to absorb her heat and her scent and the earthy goodness that was her.

  She pulled back. He let her go, but he didn’t allow her to pull away entirely. He cupped the back of her head with his hands, rested her forehead against his own and peered into green eyes that seemed both troubled and terrified.

  “I’m sorry.” She blinked. “That was out of line. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Shh.” His thumb slid forward, the edge of it brushing her lips. So soft. So plump. So tempting. He didn’t know what had just happened. He onl
y knew that having her near, holding her like this, peering into her eyes—it all somehow righted his world.

  Her eyes closed and she bowed her head. He let her go, inhaling deeply, wondering if this was why he’d driven all those miles. If somehow he’d known she’d be a balm to his soul.

  “I should get back. Adam—”

  How long had they been sitting there? Five minutes? Ten? He couldn’t recall, but he knew she was right. She had a son. A little boy who had battles of his own to wage.

  “I’ll walk you back.”

  He grabbed her hand, and as he helped her up, he wondered what she’d do if he tugged her to him. Just as quickly as the idea had come, he let it go. She’d kissed him out of kindness. Even as messed up as he was, he could see that.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She glanced up sharply. “For what?”

  “For listening.”

  She searched his eyes for something—what, he didn’t know. “Anytime.”

  Once again, he noticed the beauty of her eyes. It wasn’t just their color. It was everything in them. Kindness. Strength. And a sweetness of spirit that made him wonder what it would be like to know her—truly know her. He shook his head at such a thought. They were two human beings brought together by tragedy, nothing more.

  He had to force his thoughts away from her, and it was hard, but at least he no longer felt like a soldier out on a battlefield, scared, wanting to run, to get away from it all. He could breathe now. It brought everything into focus: The way light dappled the ground in front of them. The sound of the creek as it moved forward. The smell of dried oak leaves and wild sage. All of it reminded him of happier times. Days from his childhood when he’d gone camping, back when the biggest problem he’d had was how to carry his fishing pole and tackle box and cooler all in one trip so he could beat the other boys to the best spot on the river.

  “Did you drive over?” she asked.

  They’d reached the gate. “No. I walked.”

  She nodded. “Do you need a lift back? We could wait until Adam is up.”