by Marin Thomas
“What happened?” she moaned, her head rolling against his chest.
“You fainted.”
“Liar.”
If she didn’t look so pathetic, he might laugh at her bravado.
“Can you drive an ATV?” she asked.
“I’ll manage.” He stuffed Ellen’s helmet on her head before grabbing his.
“Don’t tip us over, McKade.”
His heart clenched at the wobble in her voice—an indication she was in more pain than she let on. Because of her take-charge attitude and the fact that she was so capable around the farm, she appeared larger than life in Nelson’s eyes. Never more than now—injured and huddled against him—were her smallness and frailty startlingly apparent.
“I forgot to mention something,” she murmured.
“What’s that?” He cranked the key in the ignition and revved the motor.
“Bones likes to chase the ATV.”
“Chase the…you’ve got to be kidding.” He glanced over his shoulder, surprised that the bull had moved away from the tree. He can’t outrun this machine.
“Don’t slow down.”
Nelson glared at the top of Ellen’s helmet and thought of his comfy office back in Chicago. How the hell had he lost all control of his life? “What about the gate?”
“If you open it, I’ll drive through, then you can shut it before Bones escapes.”
“Hang on,” he warned. The ATV shot forward, almost unseating them both. The ride was bumpy as hell and he hurt thinking about the additional pain it was causing Ellen. Halfway across the pasture, he screwed up the courage to check behind him. The blasted beast was right on their tail, trotting damn fast for an animal with a lame leg.
The gate came into view not a minute too soon. Nelson stopped the ATV, hopped off, lifted the latch and waited until Ellen drove through before securing it. Sensing he was beaten, Bones slowed his pace, but didn’t stop until he arrived at the gate. He pawed the ground once, then rammed his head into the metal bars.
“Poor loser.” Nelson flashed his middle finger.
Bones snorted before ambling off.
Swallowing a mouthful of obscenities, Nelson hopped on the ATV. Now that they were out of danger, he drove slower, attempting to avoid the bumps and ruts in the ground.
He parked by the shed, lifted Ellen off the seat and ignored her protests as he carried her into the house. Once inside, he set her on the sofa and demanded, “Remove your pants.”
“My pants are staying right where they are.” She attempted to stand, but the moment she put weight on her injured leg, it buckled and she collapsed on to the cushions and moaned.
Ellen’s courage humbled him. In great pain, she’d yet to cry a single tear. “Either lose the pants, so I can check your thigh, or I’m calling 911.”
“Bully.”
He reached for the snap on her jeans, only to have his hands batted away.
“Turn around.”
“It’s not like I haven’t seen a woman in her underwear before.”
“Well, you’re not seeing mine.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Since when do farmers care about modesty?”
She stuck out her tongue. Brat.
Assuming she’d injure her leg worse if they tussled over a pair of jeans, he retreated to the opposite side of the coffee table and stared out the living-room window. And she thinks I’m stubborn?
“I need help,” she muttered.
“Can I turn around?”
“Yes.”
She looked pathetic—a red-white-and-blue afghan spread across her lap, her jeans waded up at her ankles and her slim thighs, one white and one purple and blue, exposed. He schooled his features, not wanting her to detect how her condition affected him. How he wished he could trade places with her. Wished his touch could ease her pain. He scooted around the table and knelt in front of her. “Aw, Ellen.”
“It’s just a bruise,” she protested, then sniffed.
He gently ran his fingers around the edges of the wound. Her leg felt too delicate to suffer such a brutal kick. “Bones may not have broken your femur but he broke plenty of blood vessels. A doctor should examine you.”
“No doctor. I’ll be fine after I ice my leg down and take some pain medication. The Motrin is in the cupboard by the kitchen sink.”
The determined set of her mouth guaranteed he wouldn’t win this battle. “If your leg gets any worse, I’m driving you to the hospital.” He left her to stew on his threat and went into the kitchen. There he confiscated a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, filled a glass with milk, then retrieved the medication from the cupboard and returned to the living room.
“Here.” He offered the tablets and glass of milk. After she swallowed them, he ordered, “Lie down.” He lifted her legs on to the cushions, then removed her boots and socks before pulling off her jeans. Next, he stuffed a pillow beneath her head and placed the bag of peas on the injury. “When the peas thaw, there’s a bag of corn waiting.”
“You shouldn’t waste food.”
“I’ll make a vegetable casserole for supper.”
As intended, the comment brought a smile to her pinched face. “Seth will be thrilled.”
“You want the TV on while I’m down in the barn?” he asked.
“Why are you going to the barn?”
“Milk the cows.” What else did she think he’d do in a milking barn? He should check her head. Maybe she’d smacked it against the ground when she’d fallen.
“The cows can wait a while longer. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”
Ellen was fooling herself if she assumed she could milk cows standing on one leg. However, she’d argue her way off the couch if he didn’t give in. “All right.” He played along. “You can milk the cows later. I’ll make sure the equipment is ready to go when you are.”
“Thanks.” With an exhausted sigh, she rolled her head to the side and closed her eyes.
Nelson wasn’t anticipating milking the cows all by his lonesome, but he’d manage. Over the past few days, Seth had showed him the ins and outs of cow milking and a few shortcuts Ellen didn’t know about. He arranged the quilt over her legs, tucked the edges around her feet, then leaned over and kissed her forehead before sneaking out the door.
JAY LENO’S VOICE registered in the back of Ellen’s mind as she struggled toward consciousness. The opening theme of the Tonight Show faded, the TV’s volume rising as a credit-card commercial aired. Her head felt like a supersize cotton ball—weightless and empty, except for the nagging thought that she never fell asleep in front of the television.
Her eyes begged to remain closed, and only her concentrated effort forced them open. She slid her gaze to the wall clock across the room. 11:00 p.m. Seth! Why hadn’t her son woken her when he’d returned from spending the day with Brad and his family?
A wicked bolt of fire shot through her thigh as she swung her legs off the sofa, sending a thawed bag of sweet corn on to the floor. Teeth clenched, she gripped the cushion and pulled herself into a sitting position. She sucked in crisp gasps of air as her head threatened to float away.
When the agony settled into a dull throb and the red haze in front of her eyes cleared, she spotted a package of lima beans on the floor by her foot. Nelson had better not have wasted her entire month’s supply of veggies on her leg. Speaking of the hired hand…he was stretched out in the recliner, sound asleep.
His big bare feet hung off the end, and quiet snores escaped his parted lips. In sleep, he appeared younger and less…less bossy. Although she had to admit that she’d appreciated his bossiness earlier in the day. Her lips curved upward as she recalled how he’d insisted on carrying her into the house. For the first time in her life she’d experienced the great feminine phenomenon of being swept off her feet—literally and figuratively.
Buck hadn’t even carried her over the threshold on their wedding day. At eight months pregnant, she’d been as unwieldy as a cow. Still…Her teenage heart had hoped her
new husband might view her as a treasured possession, not a responsibility. Ellen had learned quickly that her deceased husband hadn’t been a man she could trust for emotional support.
At times, Nelson came across as hard and unyielding. But the gentle way he’d handled her, the concern that had softened his brown eyes when he’d checked her wound, made her believe he was a man who would cherish the woman he cared deeply for. She suspected his caring could evolve into smothering, but from where she sat at the moment…she’d welcome a little suffocation.
How easily she could waste an entire day analyzing the inner workings of Nelson’s mind. But there were more important things to ponder than her hired hand—her cows. Had Seth helped with the evening milking? She couldn’t fathom Nelson managing the small herd on his own.
Exhausted, she lay back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling, surprised to find another water stain overhead. She’d have to add a new roof to her growing list of farm repairs. Everything around her was falling into disrepair and she didn’t have a dime to her name. A tear rolled down her cheek. Horrified, she rubbed the moisture away.
Crying was a waste of energy. Tears didn’t milk cows, didn’t pay bills, nor did they repair leaky roofs. Feeling as if her life were spinning out of control, she dabbed her eyes with the corner of the afghan.
Damn bull. Bones had never hurt her before. She’d poked and prodded that darn animal too many times to count since she’d bought him. The blasted thorn she’d tugged from his dew claw had been small in comparison with other debris she’d picked from his hide. Maybe Nelson’s presence had set the bull on edge.
What if Bones had broken her thigh bone? How would she manage the cows? Seth would have to take over the milking chores and his summer vacation would be ruined. She lifted the edge of the blanket and studied her injury.
The swelling had receded some, leaving behind a grotesque bruise. Streaks of black, blue and red fanned from the center of the wound, making her skin appear as though it had suffered a bad tie-dye job. She murmured a heavenly thank-you that Bones had missed her kneecap. A hoof there would have shattered the joint and crippled her for life. That was a sobering thought.
Her injury forced her to examine her situation long and hard. For the past few years, even more so since Buck’s death, she’d fought the temptation to sell off everything. But the farm was like an abusive husband; years of milking cows and doing little else with her life had sucked her dry of confidence and self-esteem.
The fact that she wasn’t qualified to do much else roped her to this meager existence. With no family to ask for help, it was too risky to begin again in a new occupation, especially when she had a son depending on her. If only Nelson’s grandfather hadn’t been the one to answer her ad.
Nelson made her wish more than ever that she had someone to share her burdens. Not someone—Nelson. How nice it would feel to rest her weary head on his shoulder each night, knowing he’d be there in the morning to help her face the day’s troubles. She wished with all her heart he were the one. Her man. Her haven.
Even if Nelson offered her a future with him, she’d be a fool to believe the relationship would last. How could it? She had nothing to interest a man like him. Besides, she couldn’t envision living in a big city like Chicago. Nope. She was born a simple country girl. She would die a simple country girl.
Before her heart took a tumble it couldn’t recover from, she’d better put an end to any notion about her, him and a lasting relationship. She glanced at the recliner, hoping her sniffles hadn’t woken Nelson. Fat chance.
Ellen drowned in the solemn brown eyes that stared at her. With just a look, this man could make her heart stumble.
Damn bull. If Bones hadn’t stomped her good, she wouldn’t be sitting on the couch, emotional and weepy and wishing she and Nelson were more than boss and employee.
Raising his arms above his head, he stretched, then without a word left the chair and padded into the kitchen. He returned with a glass of water and two pain pills. After he handed her the medication, he made room for himself on the couch. “Hurts like hell, huh?” He smoothed a hand over her hair.
Her eyes betrayed her and tears leaked from the corners. At least he’d believe physical pain and not emotional agony was tearing her apart. Nelson rubbed the pad of his thumb over her wet cheeks. His gentleness caused the tears to fall faster. And faster.
“Ah, babe.”
Her heart sighed as his mouth drew nearer. How did he know she desperately needed a kiss—his kiss? Her lashes fluttered, then closed when his lips grazed hers. The firm press comforted, urged her to lean on him…for a precious few moments. He shifted, his chest rubbing her breasts, his solid presence reassuring and warm.
Without warning, he levered himself off the couch. Stunned, Ellen searched his expression for the reason he’d pulled away, but his eyes skipped over her face and focused on the TV.
Her lips felt cold, bereft, lonely. She wanted Nelson to sweep her into his arms and carry her to the bedroom, allow his caresses to chase away her worries and troubles. She’d gotten the impression by his kiss that he had wanted the same thing. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he asserted. Too loudly.
“Why did you stop?” He frowned. Would she ever learn to keep her mouth shut?
“Forget it, Ellen.” He shoved a hand through his hair.
Okay, why the scowl, then? “But—”
“The timing isn’t right,” he argued.
“Is it because of my injury? You don’t want to hurt me?” His silence sparked her anger. “Or maybe you’ve changed your mind about doing the down and dirty with a dairy farmer.”
Brown eyes flashed.
Oh, Lord. She’d stepped out of bounds.
He pounced, forcing her head back on the pillow. His mouth tight. His nostrils flaring. Too bad his anger couldn’t make the sweet yearning inside her go away. Tracing his jaw with her fingertips, she asked, “What is it, Nelson?” When he didn’t answer, she added, “Tell me, because I really want to kiss you.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “Hell, Ellen. I can’t explain something I don’t understand.” He nuzzled his nose in her hair before trailing soft kisses down the side of her face and neck. His gaze, an odd mix of passion, regret and torment, bore into her. “I’ve dreamed about making love to you since the night we kissed on the swing.”
Her heart sang.
“But…you’re complicated.”
Her heart hiccupped. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life but never complicated.”
“Maybe complicated is the wrong word.” He brushed his lips against her forehead, then shifted away. “You married young and you don’t have a lot of experience with relationships. You might get hurt.”
Hurt? He’d already hurt her. “I get it. You believe that if we make love I’ll expect an engagement ring.” And you don’t have marriage in mind.
When he avoided eye contact with her, she assumed she’d read him correctly. She sat up and shoved a finger under his nose. “Get this straight, Nelson. I may be nothing more than a farm girl, but I understand sex doesn’t always lead to marriage or commitment. Did you ever consider I’m not ready for a serious relationship? Maybe I’d just like to have sex?” She hoped he wouldn’t read the truth in her eyes—that yes, she did yearn for happily-ever-after. But only with the right man. Her heart argued Nelson was the right man. Her brain alleged the notion was ludicrous and if she was wise, she’d settle for sex and demand nothing more.
“What about Seth?”
“It’s none of my son’s business what happens between you and me.” Regardless, the mood was spoiled. Forcing a change of topic, she inquired, “When did Seth get home?”
“He didn’t. Brad’s mother phoned earlier and asked if he could stay the night.” He gestured to her leg. “Under the circumstances I didn’t think you’d object.”
No doubt Seth had blabbed about Nelson, and Brad’s mother had jumped at the opportunity
to do a little matchmaking. Arlene had never cared for Buck, and after he’d died, she’d told Ellen to set her sights higher next time. Nelson was higher. Way higher. “Who milked the cows?”
Nelson grinned—a boyish twist of the mouth that raised her blood pressure. “I did.”
“You?” Visions of spilled milk and cows bolting from the barn with suction tubes attached to their udders flashed before her eyes.
“Piece of cake,” he assured her. “Except for Betty. She wouldn’t let me near to clean her sack.”
“She hasn’t been milked?”
“I made her wait until I milked the others. She liked me fine enough then.”
“Betty always goes first.”
He shrugged. “Next time, she’ll cooperate.”
“Aren’t you a tough-love kind of man,” she teased.
“You know it. Are you hungry?”
“For a vegetable casserole? No, thanks.”
“How about a ham sandwich and a glass of milk?”
“You’re sure the cows are okay?”
“I tucked every last one of them in for the night. Even sang them a lullaby.”
“Yeah, sure.” She swatted him playfully. He caught her hand and held it between his. “I guess I am hungry,” she admitted.
He kissed her knuckles as if she were a real princess. “Be right back.”
As soon as he left the room, she hauled herself off the couch, thankful he hadn’t heard the foul word that flew out of her mouth. After wrapping the blanket around her waist, she limped to the bathroom. Using the toilet required a bit of maneuvering, but she managed with a minimal amount of discomfort. After washing up at the sink, she removed her dirty T-shirt and bra, tossed them into the clothes hamper, then slipped on the nightshirt hanging from the hook on the back of the door.
She hobbled to the living room, where Nelson was waiting to help her to the couch. They ate side by side in a comfortable silence until the Tonight Show ended. “Thank you for milking the cows, but you should have woken me. I could have—” His finger against her mouth stopped her protest.
“It’s okay to let others help once in a while, Ellen.”
“Like you ever let anyone take charge?”
