His Rodeo Sweetheart

by Pamela Britton

  “No.” His gaze caught on her lips, and it shocked him how much he wanted to pull her to him, and how badly he longed to kiss her again, and if they were alone in her house with her son asleep in bed... “I can walk back after I work with Thor.”

  Her eyes widened a bit and he could tell she’d forgotten about him working with Thor. He wondered for a moment if she wanted him to leave. If maybe she regretted their kiss, but try as he might, he couldn’t read her eyes.

  “Adam’s going to want to watch you.”

  “You can call me back over once he’s up.”

  “No. I should wake him up now. If he sleeps too long I’ll never get him to bed at a decent hour tonight.”

  “Then I’ll wait. He can watch from a window.”

  “There are leashes and treats in the feed room.”

  “I know. I saw.”

  She looked as if she wanted to say something more. He waited, and for the first time, held his breath over something not related to Trevor and the horrors of his past. But whatever it was she wanted to say, she lost her nerve.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  * * *

  SHE’D KISSED HIM.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  It wasn’t as if she didn’t have enough problems of her own. She didn’t need to take on the troubles of a near stranger, too.

  “Rise and shine, kiddo.” She sat on the edge of Adam’s bed. If ever she needed a reminder of all the reasons why she should steer clear of Ethan, this was it, she told herself. Her son’s cheeks were still flushed, so much so that she reached out and touched them.

  Hot. She drew back her hand as if stung.

  “No.”

  She ran for the thermometer, cursing herself the whole time. She should have been attending to her son, not kissing Ethan.

  “Hey, buddy,” she said, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and gently shaking him. “I need to take your temperature.” She nudged him awake, and he slowly blinked the sleep from his eyes, his cheeks stained red.

  His gaze snagged on her own. She saw his eyes move around the room as if trying to reason out if he was awake or if this was a dream. “Don’t feel well.”

  It took every ounce of her willpower to force a smile on her face. Inside, though, she fell apart. Should she call the doctor? They had warned her this might happen. He’d been doing so well, though. She’d been meticulous about keeping him away from sick people and disinfecting his hands whenever he went out.

  “Let’s take your temperature.” First things first. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she just imagined the heat of his body.

  He was so sick, though—fever or no—all he did was nod his head, and in some ways, that scared her even more. Even before his diagnosis he’d always been her tough kid. The one that had to be practically missing a limb before he slowed down. The whole time they’d been undergoing treatment it’d been the same way. He had been terribly sick once before, but that’d been in the hospital. It’d been a long forty-eight hours while they waited for his temperature to drop. The longest hours of her life, but she’d had a full staff of professionals around her to assuage her fears. This time she’d be on her own.

  She trembled as she checked the digital thermometer, but she had herself in control when she went back into Adam’s room. If he saw her panic he’d start to fret and if he started to fret she would fall apart.

  It’s just a little bug, she told herself. He’ll be fine. “Open up,” she told him.

  Probably just a cold.

  But his immune system wasn’t 100 percent. They were optimistic about having cured the leukemia, but that battle had left her son more vulnerable to even a simple cold bug.

  Beeeeep.

  She didn’t want to look. She really didn’t, not when she already knew the answer. She forced herself to read the numbers anyway.

  One hundred and three.

  “Son of a—”

  Even as sick as he was, Adam’s eyes popped open. “Is it bad?”

  Her son, the boy who didn’t fear anything, looked terrified now. “Not too high,” she lied. “I’m going to give you some medicine, then call the doctor.”

  “Am I going to the hospital again?”

  “No.” She forced a smile. “Of course not. Dr. Jones warned me this might happen. He told me to check in with him if it did. You’ll be fine.”

  Would he? Would he really be fine? And if he wasn’t, could she face another loss? This past year she’d asked herself that question at least a million times and she always came up with the same answer.

  No.

  She would not be fine. She would fall apart, and she wasn’t certain she could put the pieces back together again.

  She glanced outside. Ethan had Thor out. She’d need to tell him. But first, she had to call the doctor.

  * * *

  WHAT WAS TAKING so long?

  Adam must have been awake, he reasoned. She was probably helping him get dressed. Or getting him breakfast. Or helping him to find a missing shoe. But there were no little boy noises coming from the house. No slammed cabinets and no heavy footsteps. Just near quiet.

  He touched Thor’s head. The dog looked up at him. He might not be able to hear, but there was nothing wrong with his sight and the dog was already used to looking for hand signals. In just five minutes he was making progress on having Thor keep constant eye contact, something the dog wasn’t used to doing since canines relied on their ears just as much as their eyesight and smell. It filled him with a self-satisfaction that he’d made even that little bit of progress in such a short amount of time.

  Still nothing from inside the house.

  He tugged on the leash. This, too, Thor understood. The difference would be to teach Thor to keep his eyes on his handler instead of perpetually looking around and being on alert. He needed to undo Thor’s training to a certain degree and so he stopped, tapping the dog on the top of the head so he and Thor made eye contact, then praised him and set off again.

  Claire.

  She had kissed him out of kindness. He wasn’t so messed up in the head that he didn’t recognize pity when it kissed him, but the fact that he’d broken down in front of her didn’t help his self-esteem. It was at an all new low.

  The front door slammed. He turned.

  “Adam won’t be joining you.”

  Her eyes were rimmed with red—as if she’d recently cried, but gotten herself under control before coming to see him. “What’s the matter?”

  “He has a fever.”

  He knew enough about Adam’s illness to recognize what a serious issue that was. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She shook her head. “I have to go back inside. I’m waiting for a call back from the doctor.”

  He nodded. She took a few steps back, then waved goodbye. Something in her eyes before she’d turned away made him feel like a jerk for worrying about his own troubles when she clearly had so much more to deal with than he did.

  You’re alive, buddy. Quit dwelling on the past.

  The voice was Trevor’s and it caused Ethan’s eyes to close. Instantly an image of his friend rose up before him. The smart-ass smile. The cocky grin. The look of impatience when Ethan didn’t rush right into something. That was why they’d gotten along so well. Ethan prided himself on being cautious. Trevor liked to rush right in and get things done.

  When he opened his eyes, he found himself facing the kennels, Janus staring back at him.

  Trevor would have told him to get off his ass and stop feeling sorry for himself. There were other things he could be doing with his time; like helping Claire, a woman who had clearly reached the end of her rope, yet still had a sweetness of spirit that led her to reach out to others in need.

  He would do the same.

  He
put Thor away, giving the dog a pat on the head before releasing him, then headed toward her front door before he could think better of it and knocked on it. He heard her footsteps, quick and businesslike, before the door swung wide. Claire was just as stressed in appearance as she’d been two minutes earlier.

  “What’s up?” she asked, glancing past him as if she might glean a clue as to why he suddenly knocked on her door.

  “I’m going to cook you breakfast.”

  Her face registered puzzlement. “But I’m not hungry.”

  “You will be,” he said, sliding past her. He might be many things, messed up in the head being one of them, but he was a hell of a cook.

  “But, I might have to leave for the hospital in a few minutes.”

  “Then I’ll finish cooking breakfast, then stay here and keep an eye on the place.”

  She stood by the door, fingers still on the handle, her green eyes as worn and tired as woman triple her age and his heart broke for her. Even though she had family less than a mile away, he had a feeling she tried to do most of it alone.

  “Adam is sick and I’m not sure—”

  “Shh.” He came forward, pressing a hand against her lips, and for the first time in weeks felt tasked with a purpose. “I’m going to stay.”

  Chapter Eight

  It took forever for the doctor to call back. Claire didn’t know what stressed her out more: waiting for her phone to ring, or the man who cooked breakfast in her kitchen.

  Adam stirred in his bed. She had parked herself next to him, watching, calling herself obsessive at least a million times, but not really caring. Something might change. She might need to be there for him. Bathroom. Drink of water. Medicine. She would always have to be there for him, which was why the man in the kitchen—

  “What smells good?”

  She glanced at the bed in surprise. Her son’s eyes, glassy and red from fever, peered up at her in curiosity.

  “It’s Ethan. He’s cooking us breakfast.” And all right. It did smell good. No. It smelled delicious.

  Adam’s eyes closed.

  “Do you want some?”

  Adam gave a sleepy nod, one that buoyed Claire’s spirits because if he was hungry it couldn’t be that bad. At least that was what she told herself as she got up from the chair and headed toward Ethan. She drew up short at what she saw. Ethan stood there, the sleeves of his green shirt rolled up to his elbows, his scars barely visible, an apron of hers tied around his waist, one with the words Hot Mama on the front. On the counter next to him sat a pile of pancakes even though she couldn’t remember ever buying the mix. And he’d clearly found the package of bacon in her refrigerator because that was the smell wafting through the house and causing her stomach to growl.

  “Adam is hungry.”

  He turned toward her.

  She’d kissed him.

  Best not to dwell on that, she told herself. “I thought I’d bring him a plate of food.”

  “I have something just for him.”

  He bent, opening the oven beneath the stove, and removed a plate. Next he fished a piece of bacon out of the pan, then picked up a smaller, narrower pot, Claire watching as he poured syrup over everything.

  “Here you go.”

  On the plate was a pig, complete with a pig nose and ears, and chocolate chips for nostrils. He’d somehow made it look as if that pig was smiling.

  She didn’t know why the sight made her heart flip over, but it did.

  “Tell him to eat up. That whole ‘starve a fever and feed a cold’ thing is an old wives’ tale. He needs nutrients to help him fight off whatever’s attacking him.”

  And then suddenly she wanted to cry. He cared. He wanted to help. To reassure her.

  “Thanks.”

  He waved his spatula. “You’re going to eat, too.”

  “I will, after Adam.”

  That must have satisfied him because he nodded once again, then went back to making his bacon. She stared down at the plate and found herself wishing Marcus was still alive with a ferociousness that took her aback. Ethan reminded her of him, she realized. He used to make her breakfast, too.

  It took all her effort to slip on a smile, though it felt as false as an infomercial as she gently nudged Adam awake again. “Want some food?”

  Her son stared up at her through eyes that were so much like Marcus’s that it kicked her in the gut. They might be feverish and red, but those were Marcus’s long lashes. Or maybe it was the shape of his eyes or the line of his brows. Something about Adam’s face reminded her of her lost husband to the point that she had to clutch the plate to keep from dropping it.

  “Come on.” She used as chipper a voice as possible. “At least have a few bites.”

  Though he’d expressed interest in it earlier, she could tell her son wasn’t really hungry. She could also tell he didn’t want to displease her. It was one thing she’d noticed about him. He always tried to put a brave face on things—for her. It broke her heart.

  He slowly shifted until he was sitting up. It was just lack of sleep that made her so shaky. That and the fact that she’d kissed Ethan. Exhaustion had eroded her common sense.

  “Do you see what he made you?” she asked with false brightness as she helped him sit up. “It’s a pig.”

  He tried to smile, but it was obvious it took all his effort just to sit up. Whatever it was that attacked his immune system it had managed to physically drain him. When he sat up she didn’t even bother to hand him a fork.

  “And he must have made it all from scratch.” She cut off a bite. “Just have a little bit, then you can go back to sleep.”

  He obediently opened his mouth and she tried not to fret as she watched him eat. She’d been up half the night running through various scenarios. What she would do if his fever spiked. What she would say to the doctor when he called back. Who she would call if she needed to leave the ranch. Around and around her thoughts had tumbled until, suddenly, it was daybreak and Ethan had been walking up her driveway.

  “N’more.”

  Her fork froze halfway. He’d held up a hand and she hadn’t even noticed it. When she glanced at the plate it was to note he’d eaten hardly anything at all.

  “Just a little more.”

  He shook his head, sank down and rolled over on his side, and she just stared, her spirits sinking even further. Days like today it was hard to keep her chin up. She tried to maintain a positive attitude, knew that if Adam saw her lose her cool it would upset him, maybe even cause him to panic, and right now she needed him happy, or as happy as a sick child could be. She refused to distract him with her own mental breakdowns.

  But her body quaked as she stood and silently left the room. Her lip quivered. She knew she was on the verge of tears. She stared down at the plate in her hand. The last thing she wanted was for Ethan to see her red-rimmed eyes, because sure as certain she was about to bawl her eyes out.

  Dumb, dumb, dumb.

  She slipped into her bedroom, swung the door closed behind her and set the plate down on her nightstand. Ironically, though, the tears wouldn’t come. It was as if there was so much sorrow inside her that it dammed up her tear ducts to the point nothing could escape. Her stomach roiled, her mind churned, her heart broke for her son—but her eyes refused to let loose.

  “You okay?”

  She turned sharply, on the verge of telling Ethan to close the door again, but he didn’t stand inside the room. He spoke through a crack, one that made her belatedly realize the door hadn’t swung closed all the way.

  “Fine.”

  She turned back around, took a deep breath, hoped he didn’t hear the way her voice cracked. What a pair they were. Him mourning the loss of his friend. Her morning the loss of her happiness.

  “You want to eat?”


  Her gaze snagged on Adam’s half-eaten food. “In a bit.”

  She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she would get through this. She would make it through tomorrow, too. And the next day after that. What choice did she have?

  Ethan still stood on the other side of the door. “Come here.”

  She didn’t want to. Crazy, really, considering she’d been the one to console him less than an hour before. She didn’t think she could take his kindness, though. She needed to do this on her own—as she always did.

  She opened the door and brushed past him. “I’m going to grab something to eat.”

  The words were a contradiction to what she’d just said, but Claire didn’t care. She needed to say something, anything, to escape from him. No, she quickly amended. To escape from the urge to do exactly as he suggested; to sink into his arms and forget for the moment that she was the single mother of a very sick little boy.

  “Claire.” He called her name and she ignored it, turning toward the kitchen.

  He intercepted her halfway there.

  “I need to eat.”

  “No,” he said. “You need a hug.”

  Funny how just a moment ago she couldn’t cry to save her life, yet his words roused instant tears in her eyes. “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  She sucked in a breath, trying hard not to crumble because that was all it’d taken—one gentle call of her name, one random act of kindness, one offer of a shoulder to lean upon—for her to lose strength.

  “Don’t be kind to me because if you touch me I might crumble and if I crumble I don’t know if I’ll be able to put all the pieces back together again.”

  He stared down at her with a kindness that melted her self-control. “If you crumble, I promise to help put you back together again.”

  He tugged her toward him. She tried to resist, but he wouldn’t let her, and then the tears were coming. Soft tears because she didn’t want Adam to hear. And then the tears turned into sobs. He muffled the sound with his shirt and a part of her worried that she was making a mess on the fabric, probably leaving mascara stains, but he kept on holding her.