Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Her Unexpected CowboyHis Ideal MatchThe Rancher's Secret Son

by Debra Clopton

  Why did she have to care?

  “By you?”

  The words fluttered from her lips, and Emma bit back a gasp at having released them. Ever since she crossed the county line into Broken Bend, her self-control and restraint had been nearly nonexistent. She stifled words all day long in counseling sessions in Dallas. Why was she suddenly Ms. Loose Lips?

  Rachel shook her head with a wistful smile. “Not me. That was the problem, actually. He was still hung up on someone from his past. Emma, I think was her name.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but the two syllables rammed into Emma’s ears like a fiery dart. Her chest caught and her ears flamed. Max still cared about her—after all those years. Even after her sudden desertion. So much so, he hadn’t been able to move on.

  She hadn’t, either, though she hated to admit it was for the same reason.

  But it was.

  Emma braced one hand against the stall door to steady herself. His hug in the kitchen the other night had lent to the idea, but this—this was proof. Facts. More than just an emotional hug between two friends who used to be more.

  Why, oh, why, did this new knowledge have to affect her so strongly? If anything, it twisted the knife of her secret deeper. Max had really been hurt by her leaving—even though she made the best choice she could at the time, it’d be so much easier to think he never cared. Never missed her. Never regretted anything.

  Now what was she supposed to say? She could barely breathe, much less form a sentence.

  Thankfully, Rachel didn’t seem to expect an answer. “There’s mild swelling in the left pastern. I’m going to have to do an X-ray.” She stood and brushed her hands on the legs of her jeans. “We need to see what’s going on in there.”

  Too bad the pretty veterinarian didn’t have a machine that could tell Emma the same.

  * * *

  Max saw Dr. Peters’s truck pull up from the window of his office, where he prayed between One4One sessions, and breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe now they could get to the bottom of what was hurting Buttercup. He shot a quick text to Tim to let him know he’d be right back before sending the next teen in, shoved his hat on his head and strode toward the barn.

  Rachel preferred to treat the horses on her own unless there was a problem that required a decision on his part, and he couldn’t really blame her. They’d dated a few times back when he worked for Brady, and while it’d been obvious she wanted to take things to the next level, he couldn’t. Not honestly. Not without traces of Emma lingering in his heart. It just wasn’t fair—Rachel deserved better.

  So did Emma, for that matter. As she clearly realized on her own the day she disappeared from his life.

  But today, he wanted to see Rachel. He hadn’t needed her at the ranch in almost six months, and it was a little ridiculous that they still acted like junior high kids at a dance—Awkward City. He was tired of hiding. It was time to be adults. Besides, he wanted to hear her opinion on Buttercup’s leg firsthand since the mare had been perfectly fine last week. Hopefully it wasn’t anything too dire—or expensive.

  He entered the barn, welcoming the familiar scent of hay, leather and horseflesh, and inhaled deeply. It never failed to amaze him of all he’d accomplished in the past several years. If it hadn’t been for Brady’s kick in the hindquarters to get his own spread and put feet to his faith, he’d probably still be assisting his best friend at the Double C Ranch. But God was good, and through hard work and more than a little patience, Max had planted himself where he’d never imagined he’d be. And now, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

  All the more reason to keep atoning for the past. He owed God, big-time, for that much grace.

  A horse nickered to his left, and he glanced over in time to see Stacy finishing up mucking Winston’s stall. He smiled at her, but her lips barely quirked in response. Uh-oh, someone was getting tired of manure. At least she withheld any sarcasm, which was a major improvement. He made a mental note to praise her for that in their next session together.

  To his right, he glimpsed Katie, whistling loudly as she groomed Max’s best quarter horse, Remington, not even looking up as he strode past. Of all his campers, so far Katie had shown the least improvement—because she’d started out so far ahead of them all. Her file had only vaguely explained she needed to get away from negative influences, but he had yet to determine what all they were. She’d clearly wanted to come, as evidenced by her personal statement in the paperwork, but he still felt as if he was missing a piece of her story. It couldn’t be anything that terrible, though, if she functioned so well at Camp Hope. He’d try to figure that out at their next One4One. As far as attitudes went, Katie won the award for Miss Congeniality.

  His stomach twinged in automatic response as he glimpsed Emma at the far end of the barn, leaning against Buttercup’s stall as she chatted with someone inside. Clearly she’d already met Dr. Peters. His step hitched as he drank in the sight of her. She looked good in his barn, though he’d already known that. Still, watching her stand there with arms loosely hanging over the door, one booted foot kicked up against the side, made her look as though she belonged. Once upon a time...

  He opened his mouth to call a greeting, give the ladies fair warning of his approach, but not before Rachel’s crystal clear voice rang from inside the stall.

  “He was still hung up on someone from his past.”

  Oh. No. Max hesitated, unsure whether to hurry up or slow down. Interrupting would be embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as if Rachel actually said—

  “Emma, I think was her name.”

  He should have hurried.

  Max came to a stop, his boots scuffing on the concrete floor. They couldn’t be discussing what he thought they were—could they? She and Emma had known each other all of, what, ten minutes? His chest tightened, and he drew a deep breath against it, trying to talk himself down. No big deal. Emma already knew he cared about her—at least a little, after that encounter in the kitchen last week. He’d hugged her in the middle of the night, for crying out loud, and told her he wished he’d have been there for her at her father’s funeral. But what Rachel said took it a little further.

  If he recognized that as a dude, he could only imagine how much further Emma was taking it.

  His fears—hopes?—were confirmed as an immediate red flush crawled up her face. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she were unsure what to say, and she grabbed for the stall door frame.

  He really wanted to be the one holding her up right now.

  A warm feeling spread through his chest, returning his breath even as hers was apparently being stolen. His feelings mattered. The past few years still counted. Even hearing about it secondhand, her reaction proved it—she still felt something, too. If she were as indifferent toward him as she pretended, she’d have cared less at Rachel’s admission.

  Rachel came out of Buttercup’s stall with her bag, her next words too low for Max to catch, and stopped abruptly as their gazes locked. Emma turned, and there they stood, an unlikely triangle, all eyes pointedly fixed on Max.

  First he was jealous of the wood propping up Emma, now he was jealous of the horses that got to hide in their stalls. Not that he had any reason to be embarrassed—if anything, Rachel should be, for having slipped personal information about him to a near stranger.

  Though, since they’d dated back in his womanizing, desperate-for-distraction days, he probably deserved it.

  He adjusted his hat and grinned. “Ladies.” He still had some charm left, somewhere. Not that it would affect either of those two. “How’s Buttercup?”

  Maybe if he pretended he hadn’t heard, they could all save face. But denial had never been his specialty. He might have done a lot of things worse in the past, but lying was never his crutch. He hadn’t had anyone trying to keep him accountable in the first place until Emma. His dad cou
ldn’t care less what he did, and if Max told him flat out, he’d probably reach for another shot glass and toast him best wishes.

  But they knew he’d heard. He could see it in the guilt clouding Rachel’s eyes and the mortification lurking in Emma’s.

  “She needs an X-ray.” Rachel jangled her truck keys as if in proof of her pending deed. “Was just headed to get the machine.”

  “And let me know?” An X-ray definitely fell under the unofficial doctor/client relationship they had going, though the question was more to distract from the tension radiating off Emma than from his own personal desire to find out.

  “Of course.” Rachel smiled, that gentle, practiced white smile she’d perfected over the years of having to break bad news to animal lovers.

  But this time, Max knew the bad news had nothing to do with Buttercup.

  “Need help?” She’d say no, but he had to ask anyway. Maybe she’d take pity on him—or Emma, at the least—and give them an excuse to delay the inevitable.

  Nope. Rachel Peters owed Max Ringgold no favors. Her smile deepened as she rushed past them. “I’ve got it.”

  Of course she did.

  He couldn’t resist. Not that he’d call it desperation but... “Are you sure? Emma or I could—”

  Rachel stopped, back stiff, and slowly turned. “Emma?”

  He pointed, and Emma ducked her head, turning even redder than before. In fact, she was downright burgundy. Clearly, he’d missed a step. He frowned. “Emma Shaver.”

  And then the pieces connected. Rachel had been talking to Emma earlier without knowing her name. Obvious, now, by the particular way she’d phrased her tell-all sentence. Too bad he hadn’t caught that tiny detail before now. Talk about upping the embarrassment factor.

  “I didn’t know.” Rachel’s apologetic gaze was focused on Emma, not on him. Ouch. Probably some form of girl code he didn’t get, either. “Sorry for...well, you know.” She turned without meeting Max’s eyes. “I’ll just grab that machine now.” Apparently the vet was still clinging to hope that Max hadn’t overheard what she’d said. She hurried down the barn aisle and into the sunshine.

  “You heard.” Emma pointed out the obvious the second Rachel was out of earshot.

  “I heard.” He still couldn’t lie—especially not to her eyes.

  “So you and Rachel...Dr. Peters...” Emma gestured between him and the empty barn aisle behind him, her hand flopping listlessly like a fish on a bank. “You and she...”

  He’d never seen such desperation for someone to fill in a blank. If it’d been anyone else, he’d have teased them a bit. Drawn it out. But she’d been through enough pain, he could tell. Talk about knowing the feeling. “We dated casually.” He made sure to keep his voice down, despite the female campers being across the barn.

  Instant relief drained the anxiety from her expression. “So it wasn’t serious.”

  “Were you jealous?” He really didn’t mean to say that out loud, but on second thought, maybe he did. Emma couldn’t hold all the cards and leave him with nary a peek.

  Her eyes flashed, and she crossed her arms over her chest, the defensive motion one he recognized all too well from her. “You’re one to talk. You haven’t dated anyone seriously since me.”

  “You’re right.”

  The fight fled from her stance, and she took a tentative step toward him. “Why?”

  “Why do you think, Emma?” She was so close. So familiar. He reached out and grazed her arm with his knuckles, her shirtsleeve soft under his touch. Man, that hurt deep. He hadn’t realized until that fateful hug how badly he still craved her presence in his life. Craved her arms around him and her head on his shoulder. No one had ever fit like Emma had. But how could he tell her that without losing the tiny splinter of dignity he had left?

  She shrugged, but the hope in her eyes left his head spinning. She wanted him to tell her. But could he really hold his heart out for her to trample over a second time?

  He yanked off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair and sighed before replacing it. “You’re the one who left. Not me.” That was about as straightforward as he could get. Without putting himself on a silver platter and saying “here.” “Remember?”

  The hope in her gaze morphed into something colder. “Oh, I remember, all right. I remember you—”

  “Miss Shaver!” Katie’s panicked cry sent a burst of adrenaline into Max’s veins. He’d forgotten they weren’t alone in the barn. Had the girls overheard Rachel’s confession?

  “Help!”

  Either way, it didn’t matter at the moment. He half caught Katie as she barreled toward them, straw stuck in her hair. His heart raced. “What’s wrong?”

  “Are you okay?” Emma grabbed for her hands, and Katie squeezed until her knuckles turned white.

  “It’s Tonya. She’s on the floor next to Remington’s stall.” She panted for breath, eyes wide with fear. “I think she’s unconscious.”

  Chapter Ten

  Emma laid a cool washcloth on Tonya’s head, gesturing for Katie to back up as she continued to bounce nervously. Apparently her burst of adrenaline over finding Tonya facedown in straw had yet to fade. “Careful now. Let her breathe.”

  She could say the same for Max, who didn’t seem to care in the least that he was breaking his own rule about staying out of the female dormitory. He hovered over Tonya’s bed, frowning down at her pale face, her dark hair stark against the white pillow.

  “I still think we need to take her to the hospital.”

  Tonya lifted from the pillow, panic highlighting her expression. “No!”

  He flinched, and even Katie backed up a step. No way could someone truly ill coax that strong of a tone. Emma raised her eyebrows at Tonya. Something was going on, for sure—had she been faking to get out of barn duties? She needed to run the idea by Max, but not in front of Tonya.

  “Why not, Tonya? Afraid of needles?” Stacy spoke up from her spot on her bed across the room, and Tonya glared at her.

  “That’s enough.” Max’s voice left no room for disagreement—or sarcasm. Stacy slumped back against her pillow, but her smug smile didn’t fade. Max caught Emma’s eye and gestured with his head to the entryway area outside the dorm. He wanted to talk to her alone, too. About Tonya? Or their unfinished conversation?

  She wasn’t sure how she felt about the interruption earlier. One part grateful and two parts disappointed. She probably shouldn’t have finished the sentence she’d been tempted to before Katie arrived panicking, but saying it would have felt so good. So relieving.

  Sort of like justifying her decision and her secret for the hundredth time.

  Great. How healthy was that? There she went again, trying to fix everyone around her while ignoring her own broken pieces. Too bad counseling oneself didn’t work nearly as well. Though she knew what she’d tell herself if she were a patient—that truth was always better than lies. That anything worth hiding was worth telling. That relationships built on untruths would only crumble.

  Saying it was easy. Living it, not so much. Especially when one’s son could potentially go to jail based on the consequences of said truth.

  And speaking of secrets, Tonya definitely had one.

  Emma adjusted the washrag on the teen’s forehead. She didn’t feel warm, and her pulse had calmed. Maybe she really had faked it and knew an examination from a professional would rat her out. Still, she’d never been one to shirk out of chores before. If anything, Emma would have expected that behavior from Stacy—not Tonya.

  At least the girls didn’t seem to have heard the awkward conversation between the adults in the barn. Maybe Tonya passing out cold had been a blessing in one sense.

  Max traded places by Tonya’s side with Katie. “We’ll be right back. Katie, keep this rag cool and come get us if something h
appens, okay?”

  The eager redhead nodded and immediately stood guard and stared at Tonya as though she might fade away into the sheets if she so much as blinked. “Yes, sir.”

  Stacy snorted again, but Max let that one go. Emma followed him just outside the bedroom door and lowered her voice as she secured her stance by a potted fern. “So what are you thinking?” Best to let him lead the conversation, or she’d put them right back where they left off in the barn. She still couldn’t decide if that would be good or bad.

  “She might be faking. And if she is, I want her busted.” Max crossed his arms and sighed, the sleeves of his work shirt pulling taut across his biceps. “On the other hand, she says she just got hot shoveling and forgot to eat breakfast. It could be a blood sugar issue.”

  “I sat by her at breakfast. She only nibbled on an orange.” Emma hesitated. “Come to think of it, I don’t think she ate much at dinner last night.”

  Understanding began to slide across Max’s face. “She’s the only one that’s been on a treadmill since we’ve been here, too. Have you ever seen her leave the table at a meal for the restroom?”

  Surely he didn’t think... “Eating disorder?” Emma frowned. “No. Well, maybe. I guess it’s possible. What’s in her file?”

  “Nothing about that. But she’s so thin. And I’ve seen it at this camp before.” He rubbed his jaw, the day’s stubble bristling under his fingers. “Let’s keep a close eye on her.”

  “So, hospital or no hospital?” The heater in the dorm kicked on, sending a brush of warm air across Emma’s shoulders. Still, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, fighting a chill that wouldn’t go away. If Tonya had a disorder, Emma should have picked up on it. She should have noticed long before the girl fainted. What good was she even doing here?

  “I’m not going to make her go this minute. But I do have to call her parents and see what they advise. Legally, I can’t ignore this whether Tonya thinks she’s fine or not.” Max leaned against the door, his voice nearly a whisper to avoid being overheard from inside. “If they don’t insist, then we’ll see what happens tomorrow. I’ll make her go if she passes out again.”