Heart of a Cowboy

by Kristin Vayden

  “He’s only been here a few days—”

  “Honey, when you know, you know. I’m not saying you have to get it all figured out, but I’m trying to explain that you shouldn’t be afraid to try.” Jack leaned back into his recliner, sighing. “Now all this emotional fluff has me tuckered out, and I want to go fall asleep to Die Hard or Rocky, so I can feel like a man again, so if you’ll excuse me…” He gave her a quick wink and left toward his room.

  Even with her mind spinning, Laken noted the way he didn’t pick up his feet like he had a week ago, and she made a mental note to have a walker on standby; he’d likely need it in another week.

  She took a big breath and blew it out slowly, thinking over everything Jack had said. It was a lot, it was loaded, and it was all startlingly accurate. Such an odd reversal of roles and one that she found slightly awkward to categorize. Usually she was helping others, and Jack had just helped her tremendously by giving her a gift.

  Latitude.

  Odd, but that was what she needed—room to grow, room to learn, room to discover—and with Cyler’s recent words, that was going to be necessary.

  The prospect both thrilled and scared her. Jack was right. Kessed was right. They had both ganged up on her without even knowing it. She at least needed to try. Just try.

  Remembering Jack’s slowed gait, Laken strode to her room and opened her laptop. After signing into her company login, she scanned for new emails from the system. Jack’s blood analysis was due back any day, and it was crucial for them to use it as a mile-marker for treatment of pain and other developing symptoms.

  Sure enough, Interpath had given her the secured email, and she clicked it open.

  Her eyes scanned the numbers, her heart growing heavy.

  Cancer was a monster that played in multiplication. Cells didn’t just divide, one plus one, they would exponentially divide and conquer, and Jack’s weren’t exactly being lazy. They were reproducing at an alarming rate, faster than she or his doctor had anticipated. She noted that the email had also been sent to Dr. Wills and went back to her inbox to check for any further instructions from him.

  As she refreshed the page, she noticed a new email at the top. Opening it, she twisted her lips as she read.

  Nurse Garlington,

  Due to the increase in detected cancer cells in Jack Myer’s blood, we can expect to see an increase in his psychological and somatic pain. As such, protocol requires different medication to keep him at a comfortable level. I expect an increase in his chest pressure to likely occur, if it already hasn’t presented itself. I’m recommending that we switch from the anti-steroidal and anti-inflammatory meds to codeine. When that no longer manages the pain, we will make the progression to either morphine or oxycodone. Currently, I’ve sent in a prescription for codeine to his pharmacy on file, and in a week, we’ll take another blood sample. But, if the pain isn’t manageable, please let me know before then, and we’ll move toward the morphine route.

  Based on the replication of his cancer cells, I believe that the outlook of three months was optimistic. Because of the replication rate we’re seeing, two months is a better timeframe. I’ll be speaking with Jack concerning this information on our next appointment, Friday, August 9th.

  Regards,

  Dr. Wills

  Laken closed her laptop. Taking a deep breath, she stared at the gray computer, not really seeing anything, her mind flipping through a thousand words, a thousand moments, a thousand memories.

  How many times had she read that same email, only about a different person? A different life?

  It still hit her hard each time. Part of her saw the words clinically, yet her heart still was vested. This was someone’s life—Jack’s life.

  Three months wasn’t very long.

  Two was even shorter.

  And they were already about a week in.

  She exhaled a deep breath just as she heard Jack’s coughing from across the hall.

  Rising from her chair, she forced a smile. “Jack?” she called, walking toward his room.

  “I’m here…honey. Not…dead yet,” he called out, his words interrupted by sporadic coughs.

  “Let’s get ahead of it and start the nebulizer. No need to wait till you’re suffering.”

  She pulled out the tube and started the albuterol treatment. Soon Jack’s chest relaxed into easy breathing, and he drifted off to sleep.

  After taking care that he was propped up, she covered him with another quilt and walked into the living room. She turned off the TV and the lights, and checked the doors before going to bed.

  It was a juxtaposition that never ceased to amaze her. Life while facing death. Just because one loomed on the horizon didn’t mean that the other had lost the battle yet. Most of the time, people believed that life and death were separate, when in truth, they often co-existed. Death could start while a person was still breathing, still fighting. And sometimes, life’s most beautiful moments were not when death won, but when death set them free. As she closed her eyes, sinking into her pillow on Cyler’s old bed, she said a prayer, hoping, praying, wishing that the latter would be true for Jack.

  Would be true for Cyler.

  That death wouldn’t steal anything from them.

  But be the ultimate gift.

  Chapter 13

  The ride back to the ranch had Cyler in a bundle of nerves. He tapped the steering wheel of his truck impatiently, his mind speeding ahead to the ranch, wondering. He’d all but laid out his hand and shot his poker-face to hell with one kiss. His gut said that Laken was worth it, but experience said that a pretty face could be a seasoned liar. Not that he really believed that about her, but it still gave him pause.

  He’d hated leaving yesterday—ha, that was a new one—but had known it was necessary. The housing development was clipping along, and he’d needed to check on a few details. If they were going to be on the market within the month, the houses had to be perfect, every seam caulked, every roll of sod laid. It wasn’t his favorite part of the job, but he was good at it, and it was rewarding seeing all the details finally fall together to make the blueprints a reality.

  Cyler took the exit from the interstate and glanced at the clock. It was late afternoon, with the sun still arched high in the aqua-blue sky, giving him plenty of time for some maintenance in the barn. When he’d been in with Margaret, he’d noticed several issues that needed to be addressed, especially if the mare was going to need a little more hands-on care. He’d packed some tools and lumber in the back of his truck and would arrive at the ranch in time to get a good start. He wasn’t heading back home till next week. Taking the next few days off gave him an awkward sensation in his chest, but he reasoned that a few of those days were part of the weekend.

  After navigating the main street through the small town, he passed by Central Washington University with its large red brick buildings and took a left, leading him out of the heart of Ellensburg and into the wide-open spaces. Inhaling deeply, he noticed how his chest expanded as if he were releasing a tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding till it dissipated. The expanse of sky and miles of rolling hills had a soothing effect, and he welcomed it.

  He turned down the ranch drive, and his nerves returned. Would Laken be there? He had no reason to expect her to be anywhere else, but certainly she had some time off? And like a whipped puppy, he wondered all the stupid things he’d sworn to never think.

  Does she miss me?

  Does she regret the kiss?

  What did she say to Jack?

  A million thoughts flickered through his mind, and he chased them all away with a low growl of frustration.

  The house grew larger as he closed the distance, and pretty soon he was putting the truck in park and glancing between the house and barn, vacillating between going to one or the other first.

  His mind was made up for him when La
ken slipped out the side door, her hand sweeping her hair from her face at the near-constant breeze as she made her way toward the barn.

  Desire burned the edges of his mind while he watched her hips sway teasingly, innocently as she walked. His hands burned with the memory of those curves under his fingertips, the shape of her pressed against him when they kissed. The memory was stronger than he anticipated, and he had to adjust his jeans before exiting the pickup.

  When his door shut, she jumped slightly, turning toward the sound. She was far enough away that he couldn’t read her expression clearly, which wasn’t helpful, so he closed the distance between them, offering a wide grin.

  “Afternoon.” He nodded once.

  “Hey.” Laken’s face warmed to a delicate pink as she grinned shyly, glancing down for a moment before meeting his gaze with a brave one of her own.

  “How’s Margaret?” he asked, needing to put her at ease.

  Laken’s expression brightened. “Fantastic! Vince was here earlier, and she’s already doing far better than he’d expected. There shouldn’t be any further complications.”

  “That’s great to hear.” His grin widened. “I noticed last time that there were a few things than needed some repair.” He gestured to the barn and used the perfect segue to let her know he was planning on being around. “I have a few days off, so I’ll be working out there.”

  Laken nodded, glancing from the pickup to him, a flash of intuition brightening her expression. “Giving me a heads-up?”

  “Basically.”

  “So, I’ll need to put up with you till…” She let the question linger.

  “Monday. If you’re lucky.”

  “I’m not usually lucky,” she teased, starting to walk toward the barn again.

  “That’s okay, I usually am.” He flirted.

  He earned a laugh from Laken. “I bet.” She arched a brow. “So, what’s all needing repair?”

  He opened the sliding barn door for her and waited till she walked through, sneaking a glance at her butt as she walked ahead.

  “Uh…” He cleared his throat, glancing around the dimly lit room. With the door fully open, the sun streamed in, filling the room with golden light. “For one, Margaret’s stall got kind of torn up from her thrashing.” He jerked his chin to the bungee cord that held the door closed and the gouged wood beside it.

  “I was pretty proud of my idea.” She unhooked the cord and walked into the stall. Margaret nickered as she approached. The mare placed her head on Laken’s shoulder then sniffed her pockets, searching for a treat.

  “She’s got you figured out.”

  “I’m not exactly complicated,” Laken replied dryly, reaching into her pocket then pulling out a sugar cube. “Fine, take it. You’re so impatient,” she scolded the mare gently.

  “Pushover.” Cyler coughed, hiding the words poorly.

  Laken gave him a mock glare.

  “Just sayin’.” He held up his hands in surrender.

  “You’re just jealous that I brought her a treat and you forgot,” she shot back. “I think she loves me more now.”

  Cyler chuckled. “Is that so?” He glanced down, wondering if he should press the subject. To hell with it. He gave a high whistle.

  Margaret’s ears perked, and she lifted her head abruptly, nickering softly.

  Laken narrowed her eyes, glancing between the horse and Cyler.

  Cyler clicked his tongue three times, and Margaret gently nudged Laken aside and then used her head to press open the stall door. Laken watched in amazement as the mare passed through the opening, slowly turned, and then used her nose to close the door behind her.

  “What the…” Laken watched, wonder evident on her face.

  But Cyler wasn’t done. He whistled lowly, making a circular motion with his finger. The mare nodded her head and started to circle him, her big brown eyes trained on him, waiting for the next signal. In all honesty, Cyler was pretty amazed she remembered everything. It had been at least a decade since they’d gone through the routine. He nodded once and gave a quick, piercing whistle. Margaret halted, frozen. He whistled again, and this time she marched in place, shaking her head and nickering as if enjoying the chance to perform.

  “Impressed yet?” Cyler crossed his arms, regarding Laken’s still shocked expression.

  “You win.”

  “I thought you might say that.” He chuckled then whistled the halt for Margaret. She stopped, waiting for the next command. “Go on, take a bow.” He made a sweeping gesture and couldn’t hold back a bark of laughter when Laken gasped as Margaret knelt very gently then rose back to her feet.

  Laken started to clap slowly, her eyes giving a quick roll of defeat as she glanced between the two. “So, what you’re saying is that rather than train a dog, you trained a horse.”

  Cyler nodded. “Pretty much.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  Margaret bumped her head against his back. “I know. I know. Hold up.” He went to the tack room and came back with a handful of oats. “Just a little bit. Your stomach’s still a bit ginger, girl,” he murmured softly as Margaret’s velvet lips tickled his callused palm. He slowly rubbed the star on her forehead.

  When he glanced up, Laken was watching him with an expression that was intimate, deep, and pierced down to his very bones. She tried to shutter it but failed. She’d shown her hand, just like he’d shown his the day before. It wasn’t just him. She was every bit as far-gone, and the realization flooded him with anticipation and relief.

  “I, uh…I need to check on Jack.”

  She is running scared. Cyler reached back, patting Margaret’s hindquarters, and the mare started toward her stall once more, trapping Laken within.

  Her gaze widened then narrowed as she took in the grin he couldn’t hide.

  “I’m not quite finished with you yet.” He shrugged, answering her silent question. He walked over to the stall and opened the door wide then gestured for her to walk through.

  “Should have seen that coming,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Come help me.” He turned his back on her and headed to the pickup.

  She didn’t reply, but he heard the crunching of her shoes on gravel, and soon they were unloading the supplies and setting everything in the barn.

  “One more thing,” he called out to Laken just as she tried to escape back to the house.

  She turned and watched him with a wary expression.

  “This is going to take a few days, and since you’re in my old room, I thought I’d take the guest room”—he took a few strides toward her—“unless you want to share.” He gave a quick and gentle tug on one of her curls and added a wink for good measure. As he hoped, her face flushed with pink.

  “Maybe another time,” she replied, shocking the hell out of him just before she walked away, glancing over her shoulder and grinning.

  Shaking his head and laughing at the mystery that was Laken, he regarded the barn and got to work.

  Several hours later, Cyler shed his shirt and hung it on a stray nail. His muscles ached with the wonderful sensation of working with his two hands. He’d missed that feeling of working hard, of doing something physical rather than mental. He swiped his hand across his forehead then finished nailing a board back into place. He assessed his handiwork. Most of the repairs had been completed. The upgrades would have to wait till tomorrow, but Lord only knew how much the old barn needed some work. After all, it would be his responsibility soon.

  His mind wandered to Jack. That area of his life was like an old scratched CD that kept going around and around on repeat, unable to find a way to resolve. The anger and the resentment were still there, but somehow, he was able to think around them. It didn’t change the reality, just the way he was responding to it. He sighed. Cyler didn’t want to give his father a chance; he didn’t deserve it. Wh
ile he hated how he felt like an ass for standing on his principles, a man had to pay for his actions, didn’t he?

  If he just walked away, forgave Jack—his stomach clenched at the thought—then what consequences did the old man have from his decisions? None? How the hell was that fair? Cyler thought back over how he’d suffered, how Jack’s actions had destroyed the most precious aspects of his life, cold and calculating.

  Yet, as Cyler turned to glance at the house, the heat of the anger was less. And he hated Jack more for it. While Cyler knew life wasn’t fair, that didn’t mean that justice was irrelevant.

  But the whole situation was turning shades of gray, rather than black and white. Part of him wanted to blame Laken, but the greater part of his heart rejected the idea. Regardless, he didn’t care. She was the only reason he was here, and that was enough of a risk for him without adding in the issues with Jack.

  With that, he shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind and picked up a pine two-by-four and placed it on two sawhorses. After measuring, he made two marks and started to saw the board to fit the sliding barn door to reinforce it. It wasn’t until he turned off the power saw that he noticed Laken’s approach.

  “Hey.” Her face lit in a warm smile. “You hungry yet?”

  Cyler nodded, setting down the saw. “Sure thing. I’m at a good stopping point anyway.”

  “Good.” She turned to walk away but not before he noticed how her gaze lingered on his chest.

  “Wait.” He reached out, holding his breath as she paused then slowly turned. “I was wondering something on my way up here.” He closed the distance. “When exactly do you get time off?”

  Her expression was mildly surprised. “Paige is the on call for Jack. She’ll be here tomorrow so that I can take a day off.”

  “Do you have plans tomorrow?” he asked, reaching for her hand then turning it over in his and tracing the lines in her palm.