by Brenda Mott
Trent’s gaze focused on her lips, and she wondered what he was thinking. “That’s not necessarily true,” he said, meeting her eyes as she started to squirm. “In college I hated it when I’d take a girl out and she’d pick at her food like a little bird. It was like she was putting on a front, hiding her true self. Made me wonder if, once she married, she would just sit down in the middle of the kitchen and inhale every scrap of food around.”
Bailey laughed. “Well, not me. People can take me the way I am or leave me.” She shoved her spoon into the sundae dish and reached for her glass of ice water. “So, where’d you go to school?”
“Stanford. My parents own an Arabian ranch outside Sonoma.”
“Ah, a California golden boy, huh?” Bailey teased. He didn’t really look the part. He wasn’t pretty enough. Good-looking yes, pretty no. Trent seemed tough, rugged, the way a cowboy should. But then, most cowboys didn’t ride Arabians, so he definitely broke the mold there. He was the type of man who piqued a woman’s interest and left her wanting to dig deeper.
Forget it, Chancellor, Bailey reminded herself. He’s not for you.
“I don’t know about that,” Trent said in answer to her comment. The way his words matched her thoughts gave her a little start. “I think Colorado’s more to my liking, especially the western slope.”
“What brought you out here?” For a minute, she thought he wasn’t going to answer.
His words came out forced. “Amy, my ex-wife. She was born in Colorado and dreamed of building a home in the mountains.” He slowly stirred his spoon through his ice cream, lost in thought.
Bailey wanted badly to ask questions, even though she’d told herself not to get close to Trent. But she didn’t want to pressure him about something he obviously had no desire to talk about.
“I can relate to that,” she said instead. “This is certainly a beautiful area.”
“What made you want to come here?” Trent asked.
Bailey hesitated. Should she open up to a man who didn’t want to give her the same courtesy? Maybe doing so would let him know he could talk to her. Everyone needed someone to confide in at some time, even a stubborn cowboy.
“The bank I worked for in Denver is an affiliate of Colorado Western National,” Bailey said. “They wanted someone to give this bank a new direction, and I was offered the job.”
“But what made you leave the city?” Trent persisted. “Life in Denver has got to be a whole lot more exciting than life in Ferguson.”
Bailey shrugged. “I suppose living in the city has its advantages. But it wasn’t what I wanted overall.”
“Really?” Trent shoved his spoon into his ice cream and leaned on the table. “What do you want, Bailey?”
The question startled her, and she gave a short laugh. “That’s a little personal, isn’t it?” Especially coming from someone who kept his deepest thoughts and feelings locked inside.
Now it was his turn to shrug. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”
It was more than that, Bailey decided as she studied the expression on his face. Trent Murdock was curious about her. She’d bet her last dollar on it. Maybe she should open up to him…just a little.
“I also came to Ferguson because I’ve wanted to live on a farm ever since I was a little girl.”
“Is that right.” He gave her a crooked smile that sent her heart racing. “A banker turned farmer, huh?”
“Something like that. I’ve always loved animals.”
“Did you have a lot of pets when you were a kid?”
“Not really,” Bailey said. When a child was shuffled from one foster home to the next, there wasn’t room for a dog or cat.
“What—your parents didn’t like animals?”
In for a penny, in for a pound. “My parents were killed by a drunk driver when I was four.”
Trent’s expression softened, and he closed his hand over hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Heat spread through Bailey. Trent’s touch felt warm and strong, and she was surprised by her overwhelming feeling that here was a man she could lean on. But the feeling vanished just as quickly as it had come. Trent didn’t want to lean on anyone, and she doubted he had any intention of returning the favor. Besides which, she’d dealt with the pain of her childhood on her own and had managed to find a way to heal. Handling the rest of her life was something she could also do on her own.
Abruptly, Trent drew his hand away. “I know how it feels,” he said. “To lose someone.”
His comment made her wonder if she’d been wrong. Was he looking for someone to talk to? Maybe he didn’t even realize it himself. Should she push him for more? Ask him about Sarah? Bailey felt compelled to comfort him, in spite of her better judgment. At first she’d told herself she didn’t want any part of a man with so much emotional baggage. But now that she’d gotten to know Trent, she found herself second-guessing her better judgment. Her heart went out to him.
“Trent, if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m a good listener. It seems we have something in common, and—”
“Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine.” He turned his attention back to his ice cream. “Tell me more about you.” Looking away, he picked up his spoon and dug into the last of his sundae with obvious purpose.
Bailey scowled at him, though he didn’t notice. That he should expect her to open up to him when he wouldn’t do the same wasn’t fair.
“There’s not much to tell,” she said. “I like my job, I love kids and animals and I plan to spend the rest of my life on my farm.”
At the mention of kids, Trent’s gaze snapped back to her. He sat silent for a long moment. “You don’t have any kids, do you?”
“No,” Bailey said. “Not yet.”
“Ever been married?”
“No, but I’m not opposed to the idea.”
He didn’t answer, and she weighed her next words before speaking. She hated to be insensitive, but if Trent really was so devastated by his loss of Sarah that he never wanted kids again, Bailey needed to know. Then she’d be able to tell herself that beyond a shadow of a doubt he wasn’t worth wasting her time over.
“How about you, Trent?” she asked softly. “Do you think you’ll ever remarry?”
“Nope.” He practically bit the word off, as though it would poison him if left in his mouth too long. He let his spoon clatter into his empty dish. “Are you going to finish that sundae before your fudge melts it or not? I need to get moving—get my wrist looked at.”
Stung, Bailey glared at him. “Letting it melt is part of enjoying it,” she said, unwilling to allow him to see he’d hurt her feelings. “That way the ice cream and chocolate run together.” Too bad she couldn’t melt him. Too bad they’d never join like vanilla and chocolate.
Purposely, she took her time finishing her sundae, knowing it was childish, not caring.
And when she finally followed Trent out the door, after insisting on paying for her own sundae, Bailey made herself a promise.
She wouldn’t let Trent hurt her. No matter what developed between them, she’d keep her good sense and not allow things go any further than she chose them to. Because somewhere out there was a man she could spend the rest of her life with. And if that man wasn’t Trent Murdock, then so be it. She wouldn’t permit it to get her down.
She wouldn’t.
TRENT PAUSED outside the doors of the emergency room, hating the icy, pins-and-needles sensation that crawled across his skin. Bailey stood beside him, unaware of his reaction to the place. That was fine. He had no intention of letting her know how he felt. Though he’d called himself a jackass for treating her the way he had at the ice-cream parlor, he’d had no choice. Something about Bailey made it easy for him to talk to her, but opening up to her wasn’t smart. That he felt attracted to her was bad enough. To give her any other part of himself was something he simply could not do.
Taking a deep breath, Trent stepped through the automatic doors t
o the E.R. He scanned the surrounding hallway…and his eyes fell on the waiting room. How many hours had he spent there, and in one just like it in the third-floor pediatrics wing? More than he cared to count. Forcing his gaze away, he headed to the receptionist’s window.
“May I help you?” She was a cute little redhead, who did absolutely nothing for his libido. Trent held up his right arm. “I might’ve cracked my wrist,” he said.
“Oh.” The redhead frowned sympathetically. “How did you do that?”
He explained, while she sat in front of her keyboard and tapped the information into the computer. His name, address, what time the accident took place.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Bailey waiting in a chair. It was as though she belonged here with him. The thought comforted him in spite of his resolve to push her away, and in spite of the fact that his injury was a minor one. He wouldn’t even be at the hospital if not for his injury interfering with his work. He simply wanted to get it taken care of so he could go back to his routine and stay busy; back to his everyday, normal life. A life, he reminded himself, that didn’t include Bailey.
Somehow, that thought did not comfort him.
He didn’t care to dwell on the why of the matter. He pushed away from the chair he’d been seated in and followed the receptionist’s instructions to sit in the waiting room until a nurse came for him. Bailey walked silently beside him. He supposed he’d hurt her feelings at the ice-cream place. He hadn’t meant to; it was just that he didn’t want her prying.
Nor did he want to open up and share his fears and sorrow with her. He was afraid if he ever did, it wouldn’t stop there. He might be tempted to go a step further and share more with her than information. And that was something he’d promised himself not to do with any woman.
But Bailey wasn’t just any woman. Like it or not, he felt closer to her than he had to anyone in a long time. There was something special about her, though he knew he shouldn’t think about that. She wasn’t his and she never would be.
Trent sat in a chair next to her in the waiting room. “I hope we’re not here long,” he grumbled. “I hate this place.”
Sudden realization passed across Bailey’s face. Her beautiful, violet-blue eyes filled with concern, making him wish he’d kept his mouth shut.
“Trent, I’m sorry,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. “I’m sure being here isn’t easy.”
To say the least. How could he describe what he felt each time he drove past Our Lady of Mercy Hospital? He hadn’t stepped inside its doors since he’d taken Sarah home to die, and even just driving past gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, well, I guess it can’t be helped,” he said, not wanting to talk about Sarah’s last days here.
Daddy, are the angels going to come for me? What if they can’t find me here? I don’t want to be here. I want to be in my room when they come.
Trent closed his eyes, fighting for control as sweat began to drip down the back of his shirt collar.
“Trent?” Bailey squeezed his arm. “Are you all right?”
Take me home, Daddy. Please take me home.
It was all he’d needed to hear. All he’d needed to make him go against his own wife’s wishes and do, instead, what Sarah had wanted most. He’d taken her home. Home to die.
The walls closed around him. He couldn’t breathe.
The room swam.
His vision blurred.
He stood. “I have to get out of here.”
“Mr. Murdock?” A nurse stepped into the room. Concern lined her face as she peered at him. “Are you all right? Why don’t you come with me.”
He wanted to bolt. He could barely focus on what the woman was saying, or on Bailey as she held his arm in a steady grip. “Trent? Oh, God,” Bailey said. “Here—lean on me.”
He didn’t want to. Didn’t want to lean on anyone ever again. Amy had abandoned him. Sarah had been snatched away from him coldly and cruelly.
Trent swayed, clapping a hand to his forehead. His skin felt clammy to his own touch, beaded with cold sweat.
Bailey slipped her arm around his waist, and he leaned against her. She guided him to an exam room and helped him onto the padded gurney. He felt like a fool. The nurse took his blood pressure, his temperature, his pulse. Bailey fussed over him. It was too much.
“Damn it, I’m fine!” he snapped. Then, seeing the startlement on both women’s faces, he forced himself to use a softer tone. “Really. Thanks, but I’m fine. I just stood up too fast.”
Bailey graced him with a look that said she knew better, but she said nothing. It seemed to take forever for the doctor to come in, send Trent down the hall to X ray and finally come back with a diagnosis. Trent’s wrist was sprained, though that could often be worse than a break, according to Dr. Bevins. Trent barely listened as Bevins gave him instructions to soak the wrist in Epsom salts, use ibuprofen to relieve the inflammation and take things easy for a few days.
He wanted only to get out of there, drop Bailey off at her house and go home to Windsong, where he felt safe from prying eyes. Away from Bailey.
They’d just stepped into the hallway that led to the exit, when a man came out of one of the other exam rooms, his left index finger encased in a huge wad of gauze and adhesive tape. Trent recognized him even before Bailey smiled and spoke to the guy. Mr. Tool Belt, her buddy from the bank. The man he’d wondered if she was involved with.
Trent bristled.
“Bernie,” Bailey said. “What on earth happened to you?”
Bernie flashed her a sheepish grin, displaying those even, white, toothpaste-commercial teeth of his. “I had a little run-in with a table saw,” he said. “Twelve stitches.” His grin widened. “But don’t worry, I’ll still manage to get the rooms for your day care remodeled on schedule.”
Just as Trent wondered if Bailey was going to introduce them, she faced him. “Trent, this is my contractor, Bernie Tuttle. He’s remodeling the lower level of the bank to make room for our day care.”
Tuttle? Trent felt a grin creep across his face. Not exactly the macho name he would have imagined for Mr. Tool Belt. Actually, neither was “Bernie.” As in Bernard? Bernard Tuttle. Suddenly, Trent liked the guy.
He stuck out his hand and gave Bernie’s good one a firm shake, even though it pained his wrist to do so. “How’re you doing? Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Tool Belt–Tuttle said affably. “Well, I’d better get home and prop this thing up on a pillow.” He lifted his good hand in a wave. “Take care.” His comment included Trent.
“You, too,” Bailey said.
“Watch out for those saw blades,” Trent couldn’t resist adding.
Bailey elbowed him in the ribs, her lips curved in a mischievous smile. A smile that made him forget the way he’d been feeling a short time ago.
“You’re just plain ornery, you know that?” she said.
He shrugged. “That’s what my mom always told me.” He stepped up to the E.R. doors. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
THE WHOLE WAY HOME, Bailey fought the emotions that swirled inside her. Trent’s reaction to being at the hospital had all but knocked her flat. She hadn’t expected to care so much about him or the fact that being at Our Lady of Mercy was obviously a tough thing for him. She kicked herself for not making the connection sooner. Here she’d bugged him about going to the hospital, never once thinking it might bring back horrible memories of Sarah’s illness.
She should have known. Our Lady of Mercy was newly remodeled and boasted one of the best pediatric wings in the county, from what she’d heard. Sarah must have spent her last days there. How sad. No child should have to suffer that; no parent should have to feel such a cruel, senseless loss.
Trent pulled the truck to a halt in Bailey’s driveway, and she hesitated, her hand on the door handle. “Would you like to come in for a few minutes?” she asked, hating to let him go home to be alone with his memories. “I’ve got cold lemonade and root beer
. We could sit on the porch and enjoy the night air.” The sun had lowered in the sky, and an evening breeze stirred the tops of the trees.
“No.” Trent shook his head. “Thanks.”
Still Bailey hesitated. For a minute, back at the hospital, Bernie Tuttle had provided a distraction. She’d seen Trent grin widely when he shook Bernie’s hand, though she wasn’t really sure why. She’d just felt relieved that his face no longer looked pinched and white. But her relief had been short-lived once they’d gotten out to the parking lot.
Trent had immediately fallen into a brooding silence, one she didn’t have the foggiest idea how to penetrate. Small talk hadn’t worked, and though she’d longed to tell him to let everything out and get it all off his chest, she had a feeling now wasn’t the time or place. He didn’t know her that well.
“Come on. Just one glass. If I have to spend one more evening out here alone, talking to my animals, I’ll go crazy.”
He smiled crookedly at her, and her heart jumped.
“What’s the matter, city girl? The isolation of the country getting to you already?”
Bailey laughed, suddenly realizing what she’d said. Though she’d meant it mostly as an excuse to get him to stay, she had to admit her comment held a grain of truth. “Well, maybe just a little. I’m not used to being so alone, although I wouldn’t trade living here for anything.” She gestured to encompass the surrounding area. “I love these mountains, this land. I’ll get used to it, I’m sure.”
Trent stared at her, his gray eyes lit with some emotion that had her nerves jangling like warning bells. God, the man was good-looking. Too much so for his own good, or for hers.
“I’m sure you will,” he said. He turned off the ignition and left his keys dangling in it. “All right, one root beer, and then I’m history.”
Warmth snaked through her and her pulse picked up tempo as though the high-school quarterback had just asked her to the prom. Silly, she chided herself. But she didn’t care. Being with Trent felt good, and what was wrong with enjoying his company? As long as she kept things in perspective. She already knew there was nothing serious to be had with the man. Entertaining thoughts of a future with him bordered on the ridiculous. So, if she kept these things in mind, she’d be fine.
