Collision at Roosevelt Ranch

by Elise Faber

  “Shush,” he said, cradling her close and standing. “I’ve got you.”

  Haley would have loved to blame her lack of further objection on her spinning head, or her aching leg, or the sudden, overwhelming fatigue enveloping her, but the truth was that being held so carefully, assured so confidently, felt . . . incredible.

  He had her.

  Yet, it all meant nothing, she reminded herself. It was a random kiss, the comforting words of an old friend, a gentle embrace for someone who was hurting.

  That was it.

  But as he helped her slip fresh pajamas on and tucked her into bed then brought her a bowl filled with banana ice cream, she wondered.

  Was it really nothing?

  Or could it possibly be the start of something more?

  Nothing, she thought determinedly, after he’d taken the bowl back to the kitchen and she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. Definitely nothing.

  Ten

  Sam

  * * *

  Another night. Another couch.

  Or rather, another night, the same couch.

  Sam had run home for a change of clothes while Haley was sleeping then had thrown together a simple meal of pasta and salad for dinner once he’d returned to Haley’s house. He’d gone to wake her for the meal, but she’d been sleeping so deeply that he had decided to leave her be.

  Her body needed the rest.

  So, he had wrapped up a plate and left it in her fridge and then debated whether to go home or to stay.

  Ultimately, he decided to stay again in case she needed him.

  Didn’t he mean, in case she got dizzy from the medication again?

  No. He meant, in case she needed him.

  Probably going to be a problem, but not one he was actively avoiding, especially when his phone pinged and he saw a text from Maggie.

  It was just after dinnertime, and he knew that meant Sunday Donovan dinner had likely just finished. He also knew the meal had probably included a discussion of his appearance at Haley’s house that morning.

  Bracing himself, he opened the message.

  Samwise. I don’t know if I should hunt you down and slice you into tiny little pieces because you hurt my sister or thank you because you saved her from our mother.

  God, that fucking nickname. Just because a guy had liked Lord of the Rings once upon a time. But he’d known Maggie for plenty long enough, and two could play that game.

  Maggie-baggie. I expected you to show up and save the day.

  A pause. Then:

  One, I’d almost blocked that horrible nickname from memory. Two, that’s why I’m texting. Is Haley doing okay? Lane is sick and Tim is out of town, so my mom decided to bring dinner to me. I couldn’t get away until now, and Haley isn’t replying to my texts.

  Sam considered the question then figured he might as well answer it truthfully. Haley was beautiful and funny, and he wanted to get to know her as . . . well, an adult. Which made him sound like a total creep, but he’d been friends with the girl. The woman was a completely different mystery that he wanted to solve.

  Did he want to be her friend? Yes, definitely.

  But he also wanted more. He wanted to know her as a man knows a woman he cares about. Not platonically.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. Why was he beating around the bush? He was attracted to Haley. He liked her. He wanted her.

  Big fucking deal.

  Except—his phone buzzed again, reminding him that things weren’t that simple. That he and Haley had history.

  Sighing, he saw the follow-up question mark Maggie had sent. Then girded his loins and replied.

  That nickname is a classic (and remember I have more before you pull out Samwise again). But nicknames aside, Haley’s fine. I just checked on her a few minutes ago and she’s sleeping. I stocked her fridge, am parked on her couch, and can keep an eye on her tonight. But tomorrow I have a full day and she could use some supervision. The pain medication makes her dizzy.

  The “ . . . ” signaling the start of Maggie’s reply began almost immediately. Then stopped. Then started again.

  And one more stop.

  Finally, Sam put Maggie out of her misery and just called her.

  “Sam Johnson, you’re sleeping with my sister?” she hissed.

  He sighed. “Stop and rethink that statement,” he told her. “Because that sounded like a Jenny Donovan special. I’m staying on your sister’s couch because she’s alone and aside from the broken leg, stitches, and concussion, her medication makes her dizzy.”

  “Oh.”

  He leaned back against the cushions. “Yeah, oh.”

  “I wonder why Brian didn’t fly out.”

  Sam sucked in a breath. He wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Maggie demanded.

  Shit. He’d been with this woman for six years. She knew him, and she definitely knew when he was lying. Still, Sam tried to play it cool. “Me breathing?”

  “No, not you breathing, you idiot,” Maggie snapped. “What do you know about Brian and Haley?”

  “Nothing,” he said, thinking the idiot comment was probably well-earned. For as much as she knew him, he also knew her. And when Maggie got something in her head, she was a dog to a bone.

  In these cases, it was best to divert and avoid.

  “Sam.”

  He closed his eyes. “Maggie.” A beat. “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Sam—”

  “Goodbye, Maggie,” he said. “I’ve got to be out at Roosevelt Ranch early in the morning. Make sure you check on your sister.”

  “Don’t you—”

  He hung up and sighed loudly.

  Which is probably why he missed the sound of Haley’s little scooter. “I didn’t know you were on chatting terms with my sister.”

  Sam’s eyes flew open.

  His gaze traveled over her face. Her color was closer to normal, and there were no signs of strain around her mouth and eyes. “You’re feeling better.”

  She was beautiful, even with the bandage marring her forehead, curls of black and purple creeping from beneath it and spreading across her forehead.

  One half of her mouth curved up. “How do you always know?”

  He shrugged and pushed up off the couch. “My patients can’t talk to me.” Pointing to the couch, he said, “Means I have to be observant. Now, sit. I’ll heat up your plate.”

  “Plate?” Haley started to frown but paused midway and winced. Shaking her head, she shifted herself onto the couch. “You didn’t have to cook for me, Sam. Hell, you shouldn’t even be here. You’ve got your own job and your own life, and just because you’re feeling guilty”—she pointed a finger at him—“and you shouldn’t even be feeling guilty at all because I was the one who slammed on my brakes, remember? But just because you are doesn’t mean that you should put everything that’s happening in your own life on hold.”

  He had been waiting for a pause in her speech. “You done?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “You going to be a pain in my ass?”

  “Probably.” He grinned. “But it’s not going to stop me. For one, my life is boring. I have work and . . . work. My friends are all married with kids, and my parents aren’t even in town right now.” When her brows drew down, he said, “They winter in Florida, like a pair of migrating birds.”

  Her mouth curved. “I’d forgotten they wanted to do that. Did they ever get the RV they wanted?”

  Sam chuckled. “It’s nicer than my house. They spend most of their time traveling around the States and will occasionally grace me with their presence by parking on my driveway for a week or two.”

  He tucked a pillow under Haley’s foot. “Living the dream,” she said.

  “They have their own Instagram account.” He tugged a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over her. “Last week, I saw my mom had used the hashtag YOLO.”

  She snorted. “Cooler than me.”

  “Ditto that
.” He straightened and headed for the kitchen. “I just made some pasta and salad, you hungry?”

  Considering her response was her stomach growling nearly loud enough to shake the foundation of her little cottage, Sam hustled to the fridge and pulled out her plate.

  Just as he was popping it into the microwave, she said, loudly enough he couldn’t ignore it, not with the open floorplan of her kitchen and living room, “So, Maggie?” she asked.

  Sam stifled a sigh. He’d never discussed with Haley—hell, he’d never really discussed with anyone—why he’d broken off his engagement with Haley’s sister. That was between him and Maggie, and they’d made their peace when he’d moved back to Darlington to take over the veterinary practice three years before.

  “Maggie and I talk on occasion.” She was married with kids and happy. That was all that mattered to him now.

  Sam pulled out the bowl of salad and brought it and a fork over to Haley.

  “Really?” she asked as he handed it to her. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “Would you like me to press you for more details of what happened with Brian? Especially since your sister apparently doesn’t know you two broke up.”

  Haley speared a forkful of spinach. “No one knows we broke up except him and me, and well, you. Though I guess Susie knows, too.” She jammed the spinach into her mouth.

  “Susie your friend?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” she said around the bite before swallowing. “Though former friend is a better description. And I didn’t deliberately not tell anyone we’d broken up. I just didn’t go out of my way to . . . tell them.”

  “You’ve been back how long exactly?”

  A cough trailed by a mumbled answer.

  “Sorry?” He put his hand to his ear. “What was that?”

  She made a face. “Thirteen months.”

  “Ah. That’s what my Haley translator missed. Thirteen months is a long time to keep up the charade of a relationship.”

  “It’s not a charade,” she protested and shoved another bite into her mouth.

  “Then what is it?” he pressed.

  She chewed. Swallowed. “It’s a—”

  The microwave dinged.

  He laughed. “Look at that. The universe is giving you time to come up with an answer.” He started to walk back into the kitchen, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “I don’t need time,” she said.

  “I’m teasing you.” Sam bent so that his eyes were in line with hers. “You don’t owe me an answer.”

  Her expression warmed. “I know. But I think I might owe myself one.”

  Eleven

  Haley

  * * *

  Why was she pushing this?

  Sam had given her the perfect out. An easy way to find some distance again and to avoid—

  Well, she’d done entirely too much of that in her twenty-seven years.

  “I didn’t correct my mom or Maggie about Brian because”—she sucked in a breath—“I didn’t want to deal with it. No.” She shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. I . . . just with me having a fiancé, things were easier, simpler. My mom didn’t hassle me, Maggie backed off about trying to set me up with all of the single guys in town—”

  She broke off.

  Because that was what she’d been telling herself.

  But what she’d been telling herself, the story she’d grasped on to tightly with both hands like when her niece, Ashley, had refused to let go of her blankie when she’d been a toddler, was absolutely and utterly an excuse.

  She’d held on to Brian because—

  “I didn’t want to be pathetic.”

  He faced hardened. “You’re not. That’s ridic—”

  “Don’t say it’s ridiculous,” she said. “You’re not in here”—she tapped her temple—“you’re not in my brain. You don’t know what it’s like.”

  Sam froze. “So, what’s it like?” He knelt in front of the couch, taking the bowl from her hands and setting it on the coffee table. “Tell me what’s going on”—he gently touched one finger to her forehead—“in here.”

  She forced a laugh. “It’s not a pretty sight.”

  “In the last twenty-four hours, we’ve done bruises, blood, and broken bones . . . I don’t think we should be worried about things being pretty, do you?”

  Her lips twitched. “Well, for starters, if you’d said that to me a year ago, I would have automatically assumed that you were saying I wasn’t pretty.”

  “I—”

  She waved a hand. “Yes, I know you didn’t mean it that way at all. I just—I don’t know, I guess I always have to fight the urge to immediately look for some hidden insult in someone else’s words.” Her chin wobbled. “It’s stupid. Logically, I know that, but I still can’t stop myself from digging for some buried slight. And I was like that before Brian.”

  He brushed his fingers over her cheek. “And after?”

  “Being with him”—a long slow breath—“amplified every insecurity I’ve battled my whole life. Not thin and beautiful like Maggie. Not smart enough. Not perfect.” Her voice dropped. “Unloveable.”

  Ugh. Haley blinked back tears and released another shuddering exhale.

  Because, yes, she felt that way—or rather, she had felt that way.

  But she’d grown since then. She understood herself better, knew she didn’t have to be perfect, that she had value even if she was five pounds overweight or didn’t automatically know the solution to a problem big or small.

  Of course, that also didn’t mean the echoes of those doubts were completely gone.

  They framed every interaction, were a constant struggle to shrug off, to not internalize—

  “That is such fucking bullshit.”

  Her jaw dropped open at his tone, but she didn’t have a chance to respond because then his mouth was on hers. His lips were hard at first, almost angry because of what she’d admitted, but then they softened. His mouth gently coaxed hers, his tongue slipping between her lips, brushing against hers, tender and sweet and—

  He pulled back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what you were saying was bullshit. Just that I hate you felt that way because you’re gorgeous and smart and totally, utterly love—”

  This time she kissed him.

  There was no hesitation in his response. One second, he was mid-sentence, the next his mouth was firmly against hers and though he held her gently, Sam still managed to give her the hottest kiss of her life.

  He nipped at her bottom lip and when she gasped, he slipped his tongue inside her mouth to tangle with hers. Calloused fingers slid over her nape, curled into her hair, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss.

  Hot, a little rough, and so fucking good.

  Haley pressed herself up, even as she yanked him down. She needed him closer, on top of her, inside of her. She—

  A bolt of pain had her gasping . . . this time not in a good way.

  Sam realized immediately, and he launched himself off her. She’d managed to pull him partway onto the couch, and while that was what her vagina wanted—or rather it wanted more, starting with the rigid length of him that was nudging her thigh sliding home—the rest of her body was intrinsically aware that she’d been in an accident the night before.

  Sam was big. Ha. Okay, he was heavy. There. That was a better descriptor, one that didn’t bring her inner teenage boy roaring to life.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he said. “I forgot—”

  She smiled up at him, heart pounding, head spinning—in pleasure rather than because of the concussion—her lips tender and swollen. “I forgot, too,” she said.

  He cupped her cheek. “I meant what I said. You have worth, sweetheart. And that doesn’t come because your outside is pretty—though it is gorgeous—but because you’re a good person and so damned brilliant and . . .”

  Keeping all the negative things inside her brain had meant she’d been giving them power. But somehow, the momen
t she’d verbalized those deep dark thoughts, the moment she’d admitted aloud how much the burden carrying all of that had been weighing on her, it was almost as if their power over her disappeared.

  Haley could take Sam’s words at face value instead of sifting through them for a backhanded compliment.

  She could imagine a world, imagine herself in a world where a man like Sam actually believed the things he was saying.

  She could be pretty and brilliant and imperfect.

  And that was okay.

  Shock weaved through her, chased rapidly by awe. She didn’t have to be perfect. She could be herself and still be worthy.

  Huh.

  Fancy that.

  Twelve

  Sam

  * * *

  He was knee-deep in horse manure and loving every minute of it.

  Ankle-deep might have been a more accurate description. Though his arm was in what most would consider a much worse place as he examined Kelly Hamilton’s horse, Stella.

  Kelly and her husband, Justin, owned Roosevelt Ranch, which was quickly becoming one of the premier breeding operations in the States. Kelly was also Rob’s sister-in-law.

  See? Darlington was a small town. They didn’t even need six degrees of separation.

  Still, despite Kel managing a breeding program, Sam had the notion this particular pregnancy wasn’t planned.

  “Is she okay?” Kelly asked nervously.

  He nodded. “Yup.”

  Kelly blew out a relieved sigh as he finished his exam then took a few minutes to discard the glove and scrub his hands with soap and water in the nearby sink.

  “So, do you have any idea why she’s been so moody?”

  “I’m guessing because she’s about three months pregnant.” He could have confirmed that more accurately if he’d brought his portable ultrasound, but apparently Kel had been adamant that Stella was not pregnant when she’d scheduled the appointment with Jane. “So, I’m guessing this isn’t planned?”