Paige reached across the table and gave her hand a reassuring pat. “I’m sorry, honey. I was hoping you’d found the one,” she said, then gave her a bright smile. “Maybe you have and he just doesn’t know it yet? I know one thing, if you really care about the guy, I wouldn’t give up on him. Some men need their arm twisted, you know.”
“So why don’t you give Dr. Sherman’s arm a yank?” Marcella suggested. “You might wake him up.”
Marcella expected her friend to make a sarcastic protest. Instead, Paige’s expression turned somber. “I don’t want to cause the man any more pain.”
Paige’s reaction momentarily distracted Marcella from her own problems. “What does that mean?”
Shrugging, Paige picked up a french fry but didn’t bother lifting the piece of food to her mouth. “When someone needs to heal, you don’t want to give them another wound—even if their bad behavior asks for it.”
Marcella was still thinking about Paige’s remark when she spotted Dr. Whitehorse entering the cafeteria. As she watched the tall, dark physician head over to the serving line, she wondered why he couldn’t stir her body or touch her heart. He was handsome and easygoing and a dedicated professional. He’d make a wonderful husband and father, she decided. But he wasn’t Denver. Damn it.
Glancing over her shoulder to see what had caught Marcella’s attention, Paige spotted the good doctor. “Oh, there’s the man you ought to be pursuing, Marcella. Everyone says he has his eyes on you. Why the heck don’t you take advantage of it? Instead of mooning over a widower who’s vowed to never marry again.”
Jerking her gaze back to her plate, Marcella muttered, “I never said anything about Denver vowing to avoid marriage. I merely said he wasn’t interested.”
“Really, Marcella? Like there’s a difference?”
Marcella was about to retort to Paige’s well-meaning sarcasm when she noticed Dr. Whitehorse heading in their direction.
She shot Paige a warning glance, then forced a cheerful smile on her face as the doctor paused next to their table.
“Good evening, ladies. How are things in the ER tonight?”
“An endless stream. The other nurses are going to be howling if we don’t get back soon,” Paige answered.
“How are things on your floor?” Marcella asked him politely.
“Not one empty room.” A wry expression crossed his tanned features. “Sometimes I wonder why I chose internal medicine. I should’ve been an orthopedist or dermatologist. Now, those guys have time for a round of golf.”
“Don’t let any of them hear you say that,” Paige joked.
A round of golf. Peter and Harry were still talking about playing miniature golf with Denver. And she was still remembering what a special time that day had been for her and her sons.
“Marcella, you’re looking rather peaked this evening,” the doctor commented. “Are you feeling okay?”
Paige said, “I asked her the same thing, Doctor.”
Embarrassed that Dr. Whitehorse had noticed her dismal state, she did her best to smile at him. “Thanks for asking, Doctor, but I’m fine.”
“Well, if you do start feeling ill, just come by my office upstairs,” he offered. “You might need a prescription.”
Marcella thanked him and after he’d said good-night and moved on to join a colleague at another table, Paige shot her a knowing look.
“And the prescription you need is him! He’s dreamy, Marcella. And you two have everything in common. What do you and Mr. Cowboy have?”
Marcella grimaced as the image of Denver walking out the door took center stage in her mind. He’d been visibly anguished, and though his quick exit that night had left her wounded, she couldn’t be angry at him. Instead, she felt defeated and very, very sad for Peter and Harry.
Sighing, she rose to her feet and picked up her tray. “I don’t know if I have anything with him, Paige. That’s something I need to figure out.”
* * *
The office Denver shared with Rafe was a dusty, cluttered room with two wooden desks facing each other and a row of metal filing cabinets lining one wall. A pair of windows looked out of the cattle barn and across a portion of the ranch yard, which this morning was decorated with a measurable amount of snow that had fallen the night before.
Since he and Rafe both hated the business side of ranching, the men spent as little time as possible sitting at their desks. But this morning, Denver was forcing himself to deal with feed and vaccination orders.
“Denver, I think we’d better have a couple of hands count the alfalfa bales in the small barn. This morning after the men loaded the hay truck it’s starting to look pretty empty.”
Denver glanced away from his computer screen to see that Rafe had left his desk and was standing at a nearby table pouring himself a cup of coffee. Even though it was only a few minutes after nine, both men had already saddled up and ridden five miles out to check a herd of yearling calves that was impossible to reach by vehicle. The cold ride had left Rafe’s face red with windburn, and seeing it reminded Denver of how devoted his friend was to the ranch. A man as wealthy as Rafe didn’t have to do such menial chores. He could have sent someone in his place, but Rafe wanted to see the cattle’s condition for himself. Not through another man’s eyes.
“Already?” Denver asked. “We just had that barn filled a month ago.”
Rafe sipped the hot drink before he replied, “I know. But the antelope and deer are hungry, too. And with snow on the ground, they’re eating as much hay as the cattle.”
“There’s not much we can do about that.”
Rafe shook his head. “No. And I wouldn’t want to. I don’t want to think of any animal going hungry.”
Denver nodded. “I’ll have Frank and Leo make a bale count. In the meantime, I’ll check to see if we have any hay scheduled to arrive soon. We might have to supplement the alfalfa with timothy until we can have more shipped.”
“Hmm. That would cut down on the protein. We’d have to increase the grain feed. I’ll talk to Dad and have him see what he can locate in the way of alfalfa.”
“Good idea,” Denver told him. “I’ll have the guys make a count of the timothy bales while they’re at it.”
He started to turn back to the computer screen when the cell phone on his desk vibrated with the alert of a text message.
Annoyed for the interruption, he started to ignore the notification, then decided it might be some of the hands texting for help.
Once he scrolled to the new message, his jaw practically dropped to see the sender was Marcella. Is there any way you can come to town today? I need to see you.
Had something happened to her? Or the boys? He couldn’t bear to let his mind go in that direction.
“You’re scowling, Denver. Is anything wrong?”
He glanced up from the phone to see Rafe approaching his desk, and from the concerned frown puckering his forehead, he’d already guessed that something was amiss.
“Uh—no. I don’t think so,” Denver told him. “It’s Marcella. She says she needs to see me. I haven’t talked to her in a few days, so I’m at a loss as to what this is about.”
Rafe made a grunt of disapproval. “Why haven’t you talked with her? Aren’t you two dating?”
Denver wiped a hand over his face. “Hell, Rafe, you make it sound like we’re a pair of teenagers going steady and need to stay in constant contact.”
“I’m hoping this is a steady thing with you two. Marcella couldn’t be more perfect for you. And you’d be perfect for her—if you’d just let loose.”
Let loose. He’d let go, all right, Denver thought ruefully. Another minute or two in Marcella’s arms and they would have been making love. And that would’ve changed everything about their relationship. He wasn’t ready for that. Or was he? These past few da
ys he’d been aching like hell to see her again, to have her back in his arms.
With a heavy sigh, he placed the phone on the corner of his desk. “I don’t want to get serious, Rafe. I can’t give Marcella what she wants or needs.”
“And what is that? If you’re talking about money—”
Denver interrupted with a shake of his head. “Money has nothing to do with it—I have plenty of that. She wants babies. A family. I can’t give her those things.”
Rafe’s brows lifted in question. “Why not? Are you sterile or something?”
Denver groaned with frustration. “No. It’s nothing like that.”
“Then—”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Rafe.”
“Well, all I can say is you’d better talk about it with Marcella. That is, if you care anything about her at all.”
Years ago, when Denver first started working with Rafe and his family, he’d told them he was a widower and that his wife had died from diabetes. He hadn’t gone into the details, though. At the time the whole tragic incident had been too painful to relate to anyone. Instead, he’d bottled away the heartbreak and tried to move on and forget. Unfortunately, the past always had a way of being linked to the future, and now it was rearing up to slap him in the face.
“I do care. I guess that’s why...I want her to be happy. And—well, I’m not the man who can make her happy.”
Rafe shook his head with disgust. “If that’s the way you feel, then you ought to be up front with her. She doesn’t need to be wasting her time on you.”
Even though Rafe’s assessment of the situation was correct, just hearing it cut Denver right to the core.
“You got that right,” he said glumly.
Rafe glanced at his watch. “There’s not much going on this morning. I want you to drive into town and go by the saddle maker’s to see how he’s coming on the new saddle I’m having made.”
Denver bit back a curse. Giving Denver an excuse to drive into Carson City was ridiculous. This was all about Marcella and they both knew it.
“The saddle maker doesn’t have a telephone?”
Rafe slanted him a pointed glance before heading back to his desk. “I can’t see the tooling over the phone. I want you to look at it firsthand. That way you can give me your opinion on how it’s shaping up.”
“Just like you’d have the man tear the saddle apart and do the tooling over? Sure, Rafe,” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
“The money I’m paying for that saddle—you bet I would.”
“And I’m sure you’re thinking I’ll have plenty of time to stop by Marcella’s after I go by the saddle shop?” Denver asked wryly.
“Exactly. After all, how long does it take to tell a woman you’re finished with her?”
Grim-faced, Denver rose to his feet. “Shut down my computer for me, would you? This might take longer than you think.”
“Take your time,” Rafe told him. “The ranch will be here when you get back.”
Chapter Eight
How long did it take for a man to convince himself to give up the best thing he’d ever held in his hands? And where did he find the strength to be that unselfish? As Denver drove through the residential streets to Marcella’s house, the questions rolled over and over in his mind. Yet the closer he got to her place, the more the answers evaded him.
Forty-five minutes ago, before Denver had left the ranch, he’d texted Marcella to let her know he was coming into town and would be stopping by to see her. As soon as he stepped onto the tiny porch, the door opened before he ever had time to knock. She must have been watching for him, he decided.
“Hello, Denver,” she greeted. “Please come in.”
“Hello, Marcella.”
He walked past her, and while she fastened the door behind him, he noticed she was dressed in old jeans and a baggy black sweater. Obviously she wasn’t going in to work anytime soon. Nor did she consider his visit a special event. Which was hardly surprising, considering the abrupt way he’d left the last time he was here, Denver thought ruefully.
“I hope you had another reason for making the drive to town today,” she said as she gestured for him to precede her into the living room. “I didn’t want you to make a special trip on my account.”
Her voice was stilted, almost to the point of being distant, and Denver decided she was about to save him the difficult task of ending things between them. The notion should have filled him with immense relief. Instead, anger and helplessness were swirling through him, upending his rattled emotions even more.
He took off his hat and coat and placed them on the cushion of an armchair. “No problem. I had an errand to run for Rafe. And there’s no urgent reason for me to rush back to the ranch. At least, not this morning.”
She gestured for him to take a seat, and Denver sank into the same spot on the couch where their kissing session had started the other night. Whether he’d chosen to sit there out of a sense of familiarity or masochism, he didn’t know. Either way, he found he couldn’t tear his eyes off her or stop the runaway pounding of his heart.
She eased onto the edge of the cushion next to him and squared her knees so that she was facing him directly. Her back was ramrod straight, her lips compressed to a thin line. He’d never seen her in a mood like this before, and the revelation told him there was far more to sweet Marcella than he’d first imagined.
“I guess you’ve been wondering why I wanted to see you,” she said flatly.
“At first I was worried that something might have happened to you or the boys,” he admitted. “Now I can see that isn’t the case.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s just that since you left the other night I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about you—us. And I wanted to—No, I need to explain some things before more time passes.”
Her blue eyes were full of shadows and Denver felt like hell. He’d never planned to hurt her, but somehow he’d managed to take the sparkle from her eyes and smile from her face.
“Marcella, I’m sorry you haven’t heard from me. I—”
“Forget it,” she interrupted. “After it became clear you weren’t going to bother calling, I’ve—well, like I said, I’ve been thinking—”
When her voice trailed away on an anguished note, he finished the sentence for her. “You don’t want us to see each other anymore,” he said bluntly. “Right?”
Shoving her loose hair away from her face, she momentarily closed her eyes, and as Denver studied her lovely image, he realized giving her up might be the right thing to do, but it was far from what he actually wanted.
She said, “I think it would be best. For you. Me. And the boys.”
The mention of Harry and Peter pulled his brows together. “Am I missing something here? What does us not having sex have to do with the boys?”
Her expression incredulous, she stared at him. “You think sex, or the lack of it, is what I’m concerned about? That’s the most inflated male ego remark I’ve ever heard.”
“It wasn’t a remark,” he corrected. “It was a question. And what am I supposed to think? I understand you’re angry with me for running out the other night. And yes, I should’ve already called or texted you, but I—well, I needed time.”
He realized that sounded worse than feeble, but how could he explain the emotions that had been tearing him one way and another?
Why don’t you try being completely honest with her, Denver? Why don’t you open up that scarred heart of yours and let her see what a mess you are?
Fighting against the bitter voice in his head, he refocused his attention on her face. At the moment her features were tight with anger. An emotion he’d never seen her display before.
“Time for what? To figure out whether you want me that much?” she asked
curtly. “Well, in case you’ve forgotten, I have two boys who’ve already been hurt by selfish, indifferent men. I’m not going to let them continue to invest their emotions in you, and then you suddenly decide to disappear from their lives. I can’t bear for them to be hurt like that. Not by you or any man.”
He was trying not to be offended. Protecting her children was a huge part of being a good mother. But putting him in the same category as those loser dads ripped him right down the middle.
“So you think I’m that sort of man?” he asked.
Her sigh was heavy with frustration. “I wasn’t comparing you to Harry’s and Peter’s worthless fathers. There’s no comparison there. But surely you can see how my sons have grown enormously fond of you.”
“And I’ve grown more than fond of them,” he admitted. “I hope you can see that.”
“I believe you feel that way. But with you and me—well, this morning at breakfast they begged me to ask you to come to dinner tonight. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that you have some sort of hang-up about me and you won’t be coming around—”
Her voice broke off with a strangled sound, and before Denver could stop her, she jumped to her feet and stood with her back to him.
He rose just as quickly, and though he wanted to pull her into his arms, her rigid stance made him doubt she would welcome his touch.
Staring at the back of her head, he spoke gently, “Marcella, you don’t understand. Just because you hadn’t heard from me—I hadn’t quit on us. I care about you and the boys. Very much.” When she didn’t respond, he placed his hands on her shoulders and tugged her around until she was facing him. “The other night when I left, you can’t imagine how sick—how scared and stupid—I felt.”
Her head swung back and forth in confusion. “The way you left, I could see how much you—well, I thought you suddenly realized you didn’t want me.”
Groaning helplessly, he wrapped his arms across her back and pulled her tight against him. “Oh, baby, I wanted you. So much. It was all I could do to get up and leave. But I...I’ve been telling myself if I wasn’t so selfish, if I was any kind of man at all, I’d step aside and let you find a man worthy of you and the boys.”
The Cowboy's Christmas Lullaby Page 10
