by Fiona Lowe
—
BEAU heard Shannon’s hurt before it burned like a fire in his chest. Hurt he’d brought to the surface. Hell, he hadn’t meant to. He was still confused at how they’d gotten to this point. What should have been a pleasant stroll in the pasture had turned into his worst nightmare—talking about feelings.
When she’d asked him why he was spending time with Hunter, he should have fallen back on the puppy training, but he’d been busy avoiding saying that part of the reason was so he got to see her. That would have made him sound like he was using Hunter and, hand to God, he wasn’t doing that.
He’d thought that telling a mother her son was a good kid would have been enough, but shit no, he’d gotten that wrong. She’d kept pushing at him and now she was upset. He didn’t understand women, but for the first time in his life, he wanted to try. But that was going to involve talking about feelings, and he’d rather be thrown by a bull than do that. Talking about feelings—his or anyone else’s—made his stutter come back in full force.
As he concentrated on his breathing as well as carefully choosing his words, his head threatened to explode. “I kn-kn-know it doesn’t . . . make sense. The s-sadness . . . it . . . it isn’t logical. Doesn’t mean it . . . doesn’t happen.”
Her gaze, which matched the wide blue sky above them, found his. “I don’t understand. You said Hunter was like you, but you grew up here with your family. With your father.”
He gave up on the controlled breathing and took the emergency tactic of whispering just so he could get the words out. “Bonnie and Kirk are my aunt and uncle.”
Surprise flared on her face. “I had no idea.”
“No reason why . . . you should. They adopted . . . me at five.”
She sat down abruptly in the grass and hugged her knees. “I want to ask why, but are you okay with that?”
Not really. He sat down next to her, hoping that by telling her, she might understand Hunter. “It will . . . be slow.”
“That’s okay.” She squeezed his arm as her pretty mouth curved up in a wry smile. “I promise not to interrupt.”
He appreciated that more than she’d ever know. All his life, people had taken his slow speech to be a slow mind and had jumped in to finish his sentences for him. “My father died . . . in a trucking accident. My mother . . .” God, he hated this part. “My mother was a . . . junkie. She tried hard . . . not to be but . . .” His throat tightened, so he decided just to skip that bit. “I was five when . . . I got here. Best thing that . . . ever happened to me. Probably saved my life.”
“Bonnie and Kirk are good people.”
“The best.” Which was why it totally sucked and was viciously unfair that Bonnie was now fighting cancer. He hated that he couldn’t blast it with his gun or rope it under control. “They are . . . my parents. I owe them everything.” He raised his brows. “Didn’t see that . . . at fifteen.”
She nodded slowly. “Puberty sucks.”
He watched her stretch out her legs and momentarily got distracted by the tiny butterfly tattoo on her ankle before he realized she was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. “Before that I was . . . happy. My only memory . . . of my mother . . . is fear. With Bonnie . . . it’s love. One day when I . . . was fifteen . . . I woke up . . . feeling like there was . . . a hole inside of me. I didn’t understand. All I kn-kn-knew was I felt bad . . . guilty . . . that I wanted to see my mom . . . but in my head . . . Bonnie was my mom.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, seeming lost in her own thoughts. Eventually, she said, “Did you ask to see her?”
“No. No point. By then she . . . was dead.”
She flinched. “Would you have asked if she was alive?”
“I dunno.”
She drew circles in the dirt with her forefinger. “Has Hunter told you he wants to see his father?”
“No.”
“So it probably isn’t that.”
He shrugged. He guessed she had her reasons for not wanting to believe him.
“So what helped you?”
“Working on . . . the ranch. Riding the horses. Losing myself in . . . books.”
She gave him a contemplative look. “Animals are less complicated than people?”
He smiled. “You bet.”
Her hand sought his and her empathy flowed into him like a balm. For a moment, he stared at her white fingers that were interlaced with his sun-browned ones—light and dark, small and large, both work-worn. He brought them to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
Her other hand immediately crossed his chest and cupped his cheek, turning his head to face her. She leaned in close, her breath skimming across his skin. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since the night you kissed me.” Reaching up, her lips touched his, all soft, warm and wonderful.
His waiting was finally over, and the relief that she wanted him was equal to his need for her. Both rushed him, sending desire into every cell. He opened his mouth under hers, and she took the invitation and dove right in.
She explored his mouth with her tongue, each flick and lick branding him with her taste of toothpaste and sugar, and promising more. So much more.
God, he wanted more. Wanted it all. He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, tilted her chin back and took over the kiss. He plundered her delicious mouth, imprinting himself all over it and claiming ownership.
She made a whimpering sound in the back of her throat and threw her arms tightly around his neck, clinging to him. The sound echoed down deep, releasing a primitive urge to protect her from everything except him. He wanted to ravage her in a way that would make her scream with pleasure and beg him for more. He kissed a slow path across her chin, down her neck and into the curve of her shoulder. Her skin smelled of brown sugar, cinnamon and huckleberries, and it collided with the musky scent of sex—the juxtaposition of sweet innocence and eroticism. He couldn’t get enough of it. “You smell good enough . . . to eat.”
She laughed and pressed kisses into his hair as her fingers trailed gently across his face starting at his forehead, sweeping around his eyes, down his cheekbones to his nose, over his lips and along his chin. He’d never known touch quite like it, and something deep down inside him that had held tight for years gave way.
Putting his arms around her, he rolled them over into the grass, needing to feel her body—the one he’d fantasized about for weeks—fitting against him. As if reading his mind, her legs immediately tangled with his, pulling him down against her. Her hands pulled at his shirt and she slid her palms along the skin of his back with a sigh.
His hands, which could control a wild horse and every tool ever invented, shook as he pushed up her T-shirt and camisole. Her breasts—small and beautiful with their dusky nipples erect and calling—lay there just for him. He dropped his head and suckled her, filling his mouth and feasting.
His blood thrummed hot and fast, the sensations building on top of one another. God, he was going to lose control in the middle of the pasture. He pulled back just as Shannon let out a squeal that was more surprise than orgasmic pleasure.
Her hands pushed at his shoulders. “Look.”
He glanced around to find eight sets of big brown eyes staring down at them. Six belonged to the calves and two to the dogs who’d wandered over to see what was happening.
Somehow, despite jeans so tight they threatened to castrate him, he rolled away and then pulled Shannon to her feet. “S-s-sorry.”
She laughed as she brushed grass off her clothes. “Don’t be sorry. We just need to choose a less public place, and preferably inside, next time.”
“Good idea.” He grinned down at her. “I’m glad . . . there’s going to . . . be a next time.”
She put her arms around his waist, her face filled with anticipation. “There’s definitely going to be a next time. But where? It can’t be at my place because of Hunter.”
For the first time in his life he regretted living at home. “It can’t be . .
. anywhere in town. If Bethany gets a hint, it will be . . . on Twitter.”
“Oh my God, this shouldn’t be this hard. We’re adults, not teens, and I gave up sneaking around years ago. And then there’s the when. How are we going to manage it when we both work huge hours and—”
“I’ll . . . f-find a place.” He felt her wavering and kissed her, but it was the growing reserve in her eyes that made his gut squeeze. “It will work out.”
Her fingers squeezed his forearms. “Beau, Hunter can’t know.”
He understood. This was the mother bear protecting her cub. What he didn’t understand was the stab of disappointment that caught him under the ribs.
Chapter 16
Katrina woke with a start only to realize she’d been asleep on the sofa and someone was in the kitchen. Bleary-eyed, she padded the short distance to find Beau drinking a glass of water. “What time is it?”
“Three. You’re up late.”
She automatically plugged in the electric kettle for hot chocolate. “Mom was puking her heart out until almost midnight. When she finally fell asleep, I sat down to watch the end of The Tonight Show. I guess I must have fallen asleep.”
“Should you call . . . Josh?”
“I will when it’s light. I want her to sleep as long as possible.”
“Good.” He set the glass in the sink and sighed. “Is it going . . . to be worth it?”
It was the first time in the seven weeks since Bonnie’s diagnosis that Beau had spoken to her about their mother’s condition. Up until now, he’d coped by throwing himself into running the ranch and helping Shannon’s morose son with his dog. “The chemo? We have to hope it is. Best-case scenario, she goes into remission. Worst-case, it buys us all precious time.”
“The chemo’s worse this time.” He slammed his fist into his palm. “I h-hate s-seeing her like this. So frail.”
“Me too.” She hugged him tightly, totally understanding his grief because it perfectly matched hers.
He was a tall man and her head didn’t even come close to his shoulder, and as her cheek hit his shirt, a familiar scent tickled her nostrils. A scent that had nothing to do with horses, dogs, tractors, cows, sweat or laundry powder, all of which were the aromas she associated with her older brother. This scent was one hundred percent female. Interesting. Since the end of June, Beau had been coming and going at odd hours, but she’d been too distracted with caring for her mom and sneaking times with Josh to really notice.
She stepped back and busied herself making the hot chocolate before passing him a mug. “So, you and Ty were out late, given you’re cutting hay in four hours.”
“Yeah.” He sipped his drink.
“Since when has Ty worn cinnamon cologne?”
He stared at her and she couldn’t quite decide if he looked sheepish or hellishly proud of himself. “You’d kn-know more than me.”
She laughed. “Good try, Beau, but it’s been a very long time since I was intimate with Ty’s cologne.”
“Ty’s not . . . my type.”
“Ha-ha, very funny.” She knew the scent but she couldn’t instantly place from where and it was driving her nuts. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
He shook his head slowly.
“Oh, come on, Beau, I need some good news.”
“I want to . . . tell you. I want to . . . tell everyone, but she . . . wants to . . . keep it quiet.”
Katrina thought about her and Josh and begrudgingly understood. “Does she make you happy?”
“Very.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “I’m glad.”
Beau headed off to bed and she switched off the lights, intending to go to her own, but the conversation had woken her up. She stepped out onto the porch and Scout and Rastas raised their heads but Boy slumbered on. “Go back to sleep, doggies,” she said quietly as she sat on the bottom step and gazed up at the stars.
There was something special and calming about being under a clear summer night sky. She located Cygnus in the middle of the Milky Way and immediately thought of Josh. He’d been the one to point it out to her. He’d bought a stargazing app for his phone, and two nights ago, after they’d made love, they’d snatched some precious time lying together on their backs in the cottage garden, locating constellations.
Making love? It’s called “having sex,” remember?
Josh and love didn’t belong in the same sentence. He was as insistent as she was that he didn’t want a relationship. Why, exactly, was less clear. Although he knew her sordid story, she didn’t know much about his life before Bear Paw, other than he had a difficult relationship with his father.
But that didn’t preclude relationships with women. She’d worked in a big hospital, so she wasn’t naïve enough not to know that he’d probably enjoyed and accepted the attentions of numerous nurses and interns. A guy who could reduce her to a quivering mess with a few dexterous flicks of his fingers had plenty of experience.
Just thinking about those fingers made the muscles between her legs twitch, and tingling sensations darted deep. Just like that, she wanted to see him. Unlike with Brent, this thing she had with Josh had no structure or organization as to when they saw each other. It was exactly how she liked it. She got away from the ranch when she could and he never asked for more. He accepted her unannounced arrivals and departures in his bed with a bone-melting kiss that kept her coming back.
Not that she’d ever arrived at 3:30 A.M. before, but there was a first time for everything. She had a key to let herself in, and while she was there she could ask him to stop by to see her mom before he started his clinic day.
Decision made, she stood up and walked to the pickup. He’d either be in bed, sleep rumpled and gorgeous, or he’d be at the hospital. She hoped it was the former because she didn’t have much time. She needed to be back by six to start the day. Hardworking ranchers needed feeding before they started out on a long day of haymaking, and her mom would need her to help with showering.
Josh, please be there. Don’t let there have been a medical emergency.
The eerie hoot of an owl agreed.
—
“YOU should have called me,” Josh said to an exhausted Bonnie, who lay against a bank of snowy white pillows, her complexion a contrasting sickly yellow. He was doing a home visit to the ranch on his way to work because Katrina was worried that Bonnie’s lethargy was more than just post-chemotherapy nausea.
Katrina had slid into his bed a couple of hours after he’d fallen into it. There’d been an almost fatal car crash between an RV and a compact on the road to Glacier. He, Millie and Will Bartlett had spent a fraught hour trying to stabilize the driver and passenger of the compact to give them the best chance of surviving the airlift to Seattle. It was so touch and go, Millie had flown out with Will as an extra pair of hands. The moment Millie had texted to say their patients had stayed alive and were in the OR, he’d fallen into a fitful sleep.
A sleep filled with 3-D dreams that lurched crazily between his family’s vacation cottage, where Ashley stood in the sea dressed in her business suit, and every ER where he’d ever worked, where she suddenly appeared to stand next to him. She constantly blocked his access to all his patients, telling him they were going to die because he wouldn’t operate. With rising anger, he’d been running up and down stairs, desperate to find a way around her when suddenly all his agitation had dissipated and the hospital had faded away.
Languid warmth had seeped into him and he was back at the water hole, lying in dappled sunlight. Katrina was snuggled into him, her breasts pressed into his back and her hands on him, stroking him, rubbing him, and he was coming fast.
He woke just as his orgasm hit to find Katrina in his bed. It was the best start to a day he’d ever known.
Bonnie coughed and the sound centered him, bringing his concentration back to what was important.
“It was a bad night, is all.”
“Katrina said you’ve had a few of those.”
Bonnie pu
rsed her lips as if Katrina had spoken out of turn. “I think I waited too long before I got the injection for the nausea. Once it started working, I slept until six when one of those damn hot flashes woke me up.” She gave him a look of utter indignation. “Instant menopause is the worst.”
He shoved his stethoscope into his bag. “Bonnie, I think it’s more than just nausea. Your blood pressure’s low, you’re not eating and I’m not convinced those hot flashes are due to the fact the surgery removed your ovaries. I want you back in the hospital so I can run some tests.”
“I’m fine,” she said, her fingers picking at lint on the summer cotton throw.
“You’re far from fine,” he said quietly.
Ignoring him, she shifted her gaze out the window, looking far into the distance, off toward the green and yellow tractor that was moving up and down the pasture.
“You know, Kirk and I couldn’t afford our own tractor when we started. We shared an old one with our neighbors and Kirk and Roy kept it running with copper wire and a lot of swearing.”
This was why he’d preferred ER work. In the ER, no one ignored your instructions and told you stories. Or at least he never gave them the chance. He’d just order the tests and walk away, leaving the nurses to deal with everything else. But now, after twelve weeks in Bear Paw, there were fewer opportunities to walk away. Fewer opportunities to see patients just as a malfunctioning body part. More opportunities to see them as people interconnected with their community and family, which was increasingly hard to ignore even when he wanted to. Bonnie obviously had something on her mind and he needed to give her the chance to say it.
He sat down on the bed. “And now tractors are fully computerized, but I bet a lot of swearing still goes on.”
“Some things don’t change.” She dragged her penetrating gaze away from the window and locked it onto Josh’s. “Life’s going on as normal all around me, only nothing’s normal anymore, is it, Josh? I’m getting worse.”
He wanted to reassure her. “I know it feels that way, but until the final round of chemotherapy is finished and the scans are in, we won’t know if we’re winning. Remember, chemotherapy’s not without its side effects, and one of those is a drop in your infection-fighting white blood cells. If I were a betting man, I’d say that’s the most likely culprit, not the cancer. Once we get on top of the infection, you’ll feel a lot better.”
