He tickled Jamie and smiled at Emma. “Oh, I wasn’t in a wreck. It was a misunderstanding. I’m sorry for worrying you, kiddo.”
“I’m...” She swallowed the argument because it would do no good. And she pushed aside her fear for her aging grandfather. “I’m sure it will be okay.”
Jamie’s arms tightened around her neck as a violent episode of coughing racked her small body. Emma buried her face in her daughter’s hair, close to her ear, and whispered for her to take a slow breath. When she looked up, Daron watched with questions in his thick-lashed eyes. He towered over her, all broad-shouldered and strong, ready to help.
There were days when she wanted to give in and let him be the hero he wanted to be.
Not today. Today she wanted to go home, help her child breathe a little easier and make sure her grandfather was okay.
“Is she okay?” Daron asked as she shifted Jamie to her other hip and pulled the hood of her jacket over her head.
“She’s fine. And thank you. For being here.”
“Emma, if you need anything...”
“I know.”
She took her grandfather by the arm and walked him out of the police station. Daron didn’t follow this time. She resisted the temptation to glance back, to see if he stood in the doorway watching.
* * *
Daron told himself to let it go. He knew that Emma was holding on to her pride by a thread that was coming unraveled fast. But he couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t watch her struggle to keep afloat knowing that he was partly responsible for her struggle.
Emma didn’t want him in her life. He wanted to say he wasn’t interested in being in her life. But he guessed if he was going to be honest, he’d admit that he was attached to her, to Art and to Jamie.
There was something about their little family. They didn’t have much. He’d noticed a tarp on the roof, meaning it probably leaked. Her truck tires were worn slick. They were content with that little farmhouse, the small plot of ground they owned and the few head of cattle they ran.
Content. He sighed. It had been a long time since he knew the meaning of the word.
From the window of the police station he watched as they all climbed into her truck. She leaned to buckle Jamie into the car seat. Art said something and she shook her head, but then smiled and touched his weathered cheek.
The cop said something to him about rain. Daron nodded and headed out the door. The cop had been right. The rain was coming down in sheets. He hunkered into his jacket as he hurried to his truck. Once inside he cranked the heat and turned the wipers on high. It was cold for December in Texas Hill Country.
He headed in the direction of Martin’s Crossing, and the strip mall where he and his friends Lucy Palermo and Boone Wilder had their office. Since returning from Afghanistan the three had opened a bodyguard business. It kept them busy, supplying protection and security for politicians, businessmen and anyone else who might need and be able to afford their services.
Things had changed since Boone married Kayla Stanford, half sister of the Martins of Martin’s Crossing. Boone was building a house. Daron was still crashing at the RV on the Wilder ranch.
Lucy remained the same. She was still a loner. She was still hiding things that might be buried deep, keeping her tied up in the past.
Daron was still reliving that moment when he saw his friend Andy die, caught in the blast of an IED. He remembered the face of the kid who had led them all, knowingly or unknowingly, into danger.
Just a week before that explosion, Andy had learned that Emma was pregnant. He’d shown all the guys the ultrasound picture of the baby, the tiny dot he’d claimed would be his son. Andy had divorced Emma, not realizing she was pregnant. And she’d let him go, he said, because she wouldn’t force a guy to stay in her life.
Daron had made a promise to his dying friend that he’d check on Emma, make sure she and the baby were okay.
Daron had kept that promise. But after more than three years, maybe it was time to walk away.
Chapter Three
Emma came in from the barn on Thursday morning to find her granddad in the kitchen making up a cold remedy concoction that smelled a little bit like mint and a whole lot like something he’d cleaned out of the corral. He held the cup up, his grin a little lopsided beneath his shaggy mustache. His overalls, loose over an old cotton T-shirt, reminded her he’d lost weight recently. But he was still her granddad, her hero. She wanted him to live forever.
From the bedroom she could hear Jamie coughing. “I’m going to call the doctor.”
Art pushed the cup into her hand. “Give her a sip of this. It’ll help that cough.”
She held the brew to her nose. “Art, what in the world is in this?”
“Mint to clear up her cough, some spices from the cabinet and a little cayenne.”
“We can’t give her this. She’ll choke.”
His mustache twitched. “It always worked for you.”
“No, it didn’t. I poured it out and then made a face so you would think it worked.”
“And here I thought I’d invented a cold cure.”
She set the cup down and gave him a tight hug. “You cured a lot of things, Granddad. Like loneliness and broken hearts. But you can’t cure that cough. You can’t cure her. And I know you want to.”
His blue eyes watered. With a hand that trembled a bit more than it had a year ago, he pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose. “I’d give this farm to cure her.”
“I know you would. So would I.” Emma brushed a hand down his arm, then turned her attention to the kitchen cabinet, intent on finding the right cough medicine and the inhaler that would clear her daughter’s lungs.
But the asthma and the cold were the least of their problems.
The coughing started up again. She hurried down the hall to the room she shared with her daughter. The teenage posters of Emma’s high school years had been taken off the walls and replaced with pictures of kittens and puppies. The twin beds were covered with quilts that Art’s wife, a grandmother Emma had never known, had made.
Jamie was curled on her side, her blue eyes seeking Emma as she walked through the door. She’d seemed to be getting over this virus, but last night she’d taken a turn for the worse. Emma had known they would be seeing the doctor today.
“Hey, kiddo, need something for that cough?”
Jamie sniffled and rubbed her blanket against her face. Her cheeks were red and her eyes watery. Emma had given her something for the fever before she went out to the barn an hour ago. A hand to her daughter’s forehead proved that this time a dose of over-the-counter fever reducer wasn’t going to cut it. She leaned to kiss Jamie’s cheek and managed a reassuring smile.
“We’re going to get you dressed and take you to the doctor, okay?”
Jamie nodded and crawled into Emma’s lap. Emma brushed a hand through the silky curls.
“Mama,” Jamie cried, her voice weak.
“I know, honey. Sit up and take this medicine, and then I’ll call Duke and tell him I won’t be in today.”
“Everything okay in here?” Art’s gruff but tender voice called from the doorway.
Emma glanced back over her shoulder. “We’re good. But we’re going to take a drive in to town to see Dr. Ted. You want to go?”
“Nah, I’ll stay here. But if you need anything, you call and I’ll head to town straightaway.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine. I think we just need something stronger than what I can buy at the pharmacy.”
“That would be my guess.” Her granddad stepped into the room, his smile tender for his great-granddaughter. “Ladybug, you need to get better so we can start learning to ride that pony of yours.”
Jamie smiled a weak little smile, but her eyes lit up. “Blacky.”
<
br /> “Yeah, that’s the one. He’s a pretty little pony.” Art brushed a hand through her hair. “Now, you be a good girl for your mommy and I’ll make chicken noodle soup for you for dinner. They say that’s a good cure for a cold. Better than my tea, I’ve been told.”
Jamie grinned and the tension surrounding Emma’s heart eased just a bit. “We’ll be home soon, Art. Don’t try to fix that tractor by yourself. We’ll work on it together. If it has to wait until tomorrow, that’s fine.”
Art frowned. “Now, don’t go getting sassy with me. I’ve been working on tractors since before you were born. I’m old, but I’m not feeble or ready for the rest home just yet.”
“I agree, but there is no use getting hurt.”
“No, there isn’t. But you don’t need to worry about me.” He gave her a quick hug. “Go call the doctor.”
An hour later Emma was carrying Jamie through the Braswell Hospital toward the pediatric unit, where Dr. Ted assured her they had a bed waiting. He wanted to put Jamie on intravenous antibiotics and to run some tests. In Emma’s arms, Jamie felt too light, too small to be facing something so overwhelming.
Emma felt so alone. She suddenly wanted her granddad there with her. Then she started thinking about Daron McKay, and how he’d been watching over them for the past three years. Right now she wouldn’t even complain about him being where he wasn’t invited. Because never in her life had she felt so alone. And never had she wanted company more than she did at that moment.
As she approached the nurses’ station, a somewhat familiar face stepped out from behind the desk. Samantha Martin, now Jenkins, smiled at the two of them. Duke’s younger sister had a friendly openness about her. She’d married a couple of years ago, and from the tiny bump near her waistline, it appeared she might be expecting.
“Ted said you were on your way up.” Samantha touched Jamie’s brow and offered a reassuring smile. “And you’ve got quite a fever. Let’s get you in bed and see if we can get you cooled down.”
Emma followed Samantha down the hall and into a room with green walls and a view of an open field that lay beyond the hospital grounds. Samantha took over, placing Jamie in the bed, covering her with a light blanket and then kissing her forehead. Emma stood back, watching as the nurse moved about the room, turning the television on to a cartoon station and opening the curtains to give a clearer view of cattle grazing in the distance.
Emma stepped into the hall to take a deep breath. She could do this. They would survive. She closed her eyes to say a heartfelt prayer for her daughter.
* * *
When Daron pulled up to the office, Boone’s truck was parked in front. Daron parked next to it and got out. Hard rain was falling from a sky heavy with clouds. He hurried through the front door, pulling off his jacket and tossing it on the back of a chair to dry.
“You look bad,” Boone said, surveying him critically.
“Thanks. It’s pouring.”
“How’d last night’s job go?” Boone poured him a cup of coffee. “Here. That ought to help.”
“Or rot my insides.” He sat down and put his booted feet on the top of the desk. “Not bad. The senator is a hard one to stay close to. Works the crowd like a...”
“Politician?” Boone offered.
“Yes, something like that.” He tossed his cowboy hat on his desk and ran a hand through hair that tended to curl in this weather. Daron took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Let Lucy make the coffee next time.”
“You say the most hurtful things,” Boone shot back, his mouth curving.
“Hurtful but honest.” He took another sip of coffee and decided it wasn’t worth it. “I’m going to Duke’s for lunch. And coffee.”
“Or maybe you’re just hoping Emma is there. She’s going to get tired of your version of babysitting. Or is this courting, Daron McKay–style?”
“I’m not babysitting or courting. Where did you get that? I’m...” He rubbed a hand across his cheek. Man, he needed to shave. “I’m just doing what I promised.”
Boone held up a hand to cut him off. “Stop. Andy volunteered to go with us.”
“I trusted Afiza.”
“Yeah, you did. And we trusted her brother. That doesn’t make you Emma Shaw’s keeper. It isn’t your fault Andy divorced her, or that he didn’t list her as a beneficiary.”
“You’d think his family would want to help out.”
“But they don’t,” Boone said. They’d had this conversation a hundred times before. “You can’t make sense of what doesn’t make sense, my friend. So either you keep hounding her, trying to help when she doesn’t want it. Or you walk away and let her live her life. The problem is, if you don’t mind me saying so, that you kind of like being in her life. You’re attached to Jamie. You like Art.”
“They’re pretty easy to like.” He grabbed the mail piled on his desk and started opening envelopes. A few checks they’d been waiting for.
A letter from his mom. Why would she send a letter rather than call? He slid his knife under the flap of the envelope and pulled out a card. No, it was an invitation. He glanced over it.
“Something good?” Boone asked as he got up to pour himself another cup of coffee.
“My mom, making a point.”
“What’s that?”
Daron glanced at the photograph on the front of the invitation, of a smiling blonde and her too-handsome fiancé. He opened the card and read over the details. “My ex-fiancée is getting married. This is my mom’s way of letting me know I’ve missed the boat.”
“It isn’t like there aren’t plenty of boats out there.” Boone lifted his cup of coffee in salute, and the light glinted off his wedding band.
“Spoken like a man who is tragically in love.”
“Nothing tragic about it, my friend. So, will you go?”
Daron glanced over the invitation and then shot it into the wastepaper basket. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going to run to the bank and make a deposit that will keep us solvent and help you pay off that pretty house you’ve built your wife.”
He was heading for the door when the phone rang. He waited as Boone answered. Then he waited because the call seemed serious.
“Well?”
“First-responder call.” Boone shot him a look that unsettled him.
“Who?”
“Art Lewis. He’s cut his finger pretty badly and Emma isn’t there.”
“I’ll drive on out there and make sure he’s okay,” Daron said as he headed out the door, Boone behind him.
“Might as well,” Boone agreed. “I’ll follow you in my truck.”
As they left town, the fire truck and rescue unit were leaving the rural fire station that served the Martin’s Crossing and Braswell area. Daron flipped on the first-responder light on his dash and fell in behind the emergency units.
It took less than ten minutes and he was pulling up to the small home where Emma lived with her grandfather. Art was on the porch, a towel wrapped around his hand. Daron jumped from his truck and hurried past the other first responders.
“What happened?” he asked as he reached the porch.
Art grimaced. “That tractor. I’ve been trying to get that nut loosened up for ages, and of course today it came loose and my hand slipped. I cut a hunk out of my thumb.”
Art started to unwrap his hand and show Daron and Boone, who had joined him on the front porch.
Daron stopped him. “No, that’s okay. Keep it wrapped. And you’re pale, so why don’t we take a seat and let the guys check you out?”
A first responder grinned as he stepped into the group and took over. “Art, you have a way of finding trouble. Wasn’t it just last year that you set—”
Art cut him off. “Let’s not go over the list of past sins or we’ll be here all day.”
The first responder took a look at the gash and shook his head. “You’re bleeding pretty good here, Art. I think we need to get you to Braswell.”
“Oh, don’t look so worried. I’m not going to bleed out.” Art started rewrapping the wound.
“We’re going to dress this a little better,” the first responder told him. “Let’s get you to the ambulance and we’ll be in Braswell before you know it.”
Art planted his feet on the porch. “I only called you young roosters because I thought you’d bandage it up. I didn’t expect you to haul me in.”
“Well, Art, there are just some things we can’t do in the field.” The first responder held his own, but the corner of his mouth flirted with a smile.
“I’m not in a field. I’m on my cotton-picking front porch.”
Daron laughed and earned himself a glare from the older man. “Art, I’ll call Emma. She’ll be glad you went to the hospital. Is she at Duke’s?”
“No, she had to take Jamie in to the doctor. I figured she’d be home by now, but you never know what the wait time is going to be.”
“Is Jamie still sick?” Daron asked as the first responder continued to look Art over. They had moved him to a chair.
Art glanced down at his injured hand and then back at Daron. He grimaced a bit as the first responder cleaned the wound. “Yeah, son, she’s still sick. But she’s strong and her mama has faith.” Art turned his attention back to the first responder, who now seemed to be trying to help him to his feet. “Son, I said I’m not going. I can drive myself if I need stitches.”
Boone walked up behind Art, his beat-up cowboy hat pulled low over his brow and a look on his face that told the first responders to take a step back. “Art, how about we drive you to Braswell to the ER? They can sew you up. Plus, you can check on Emma and Jamie while you’re there.”
Art pushed himself out of the chair. “Now, that’s an idea. Thank you all for coming. I’ll just take Boone’s offer and let you all go on back to your jobs, or whatever you were doing before I got you called out here.”
Daron shot Boone a look. “Really?”
Her Guardian Rancher Page 3
