Cattleman's Courtship

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “Is it?”

  The words came out before he could stop them.

  Well, that was brilliant. Nicholas watched Cara slowly turn away from him. Why couldn’t he be as cool as she was? Why couldn’t he return her greeting instead of running the risk of antagonizing her again?

  Now she stood with her back to him, the overhead lights catching glints of gold in her hair. Three years ago she wore it short, like a cap. Now it brushed her shoulders, inviting touch.

  He crossed his arms, angry at his reaction to her. It had been three years. It was done.

  And Nicholas spent the rest of the church service alternately trying to listen to the minister and trying to ignore Cara Morrison.

  He was successful at neither.

  Finally the minister spoke the benediction. The congregation rose for the final song. As soon as the last note rang out and the minister stood at the back of the church, Nicholas made his escape.

  He had his hand on the bar that opened the exterior door when he heard someone call his name. His first impulse was to ignore whoever called him. And he would have managed if the helpful person behind him hadn’t tapped him on the shoulder.

  “I believe Mrs. Hughes wants to talk to you,” his neighbor said. He pointed out a thin, short woman waving at him from the top of the stairs in the foyer.

  Nicholas smiled his acknowledgment and, with a sigh of resignation, walked back through the crowd of people in the foyer.

  He had his hand on the handrail of the steps and looked up in time to see Cara walking down the stairs past Mrs. Hughes.

  Cara caught his eye, then glanced quickly away.

  Right behind her stood her uncle, Alan Morrison.

  Nicholas caught Alan’s piercing gaze. It was as if he were making sure Nicholas didn’t “hurt” his precious niece yet again. Nicholas wanted to reassure him that as far as Cara was concerned, he had gotten the memo long ago.

  Then Nicholas saw a look of puzzlement cross Alan’s face as his step faltered. Alan’s hand clutched the handrail on his right side as he cried out.

  Then, as if in slow motion, he crumpled and folded in on himself.

  Cara turned. Her aunt Lori screamed.

  And as Nicholas watched in horror, Alan Morrison fell heavily down the rest of the stairs.

  Nicholas was the first one at his side. Cara right behind him. “Call an ambulance,” Nicholas shouted to the people who now milled around.

  “Stretch him out.” Cara pulled on Alan’s arm, falling to her knees beside him. “Straighten him out and open his coat.”

  Alan’s face held a sickly gray tinge, his eyes like dark bruises, unfocused, staring straight up.

  As Nicholas unbuttoned Alan’s suit jacket, Cara placed her hand above his mouth then, bending over, put her mouth on his and gave him two quick breaths.

  Her fingers swept his neck, pressing against it.

  “No pulse,” she murmured.

  “I’ll do the CPR, you take care of the breathing.”

  Nicholas counted to himself, one and two, pressing down on each count. Cara was bent over her uncle’s head, breathing for him.

  Nicholas felt vaguely aware of the people around them as they worked, Lori crying, someone else telling people to move away.

  But for Nicholas, the only thing that existed was the two of them fighting to save Cara’s beloved uncle’s life. A tiny cosmos among the shifting crowd around them.

  He didn’t know how long they worked. It seemed like a few moments, a brief snatch of time.

  Yet by the time someone called out to make room for the paramedics, the tension knotted his shoulders and the hard floor dug into his knees.

  “I’ll take over, sir.” Hands pulled him back as others caught the rhythm he had maintained.

  Nicholas caught the glimpse of two uniformed men and he got slowly to his feet, his legs tingling as the blood rushed back to them.

  Another paramedic strapped an oxygen mask on Alan’s head, manually pumping life-giving oxygen into him.

  Cara sat back, her hands hanging slack by her side, her eyes huge in her pale face.

  Nicholas tried to work his way around Alan to be at her side. But someone else took her by the shoulders. Lifted her up. Held her as she visibly trembled.

  That’s my job, my place, he thought, feeling ineffective and surprisingly possessive as someone else stroked her hair in comfort.

  In a flurry of activity the paramedics had Alan on a stretcher and then wheeled him out the doors.

  Beyond the double doors Nicholas saw the whirling lights atop the ambulance and the enormity of what had just happened struck him.

  “Cara. Go with him,” Nicholas heard Lori Morrison called out.

  Cara glanced around, looking confused at the sound of her aunt’s voice.

  “Please,” Lori pleaded. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

  Nicholas found her this time and gave her a gentle push in the direction of the ambulance. “I’ll take care of your aunt. You go. Be with your uncle.”

  He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before she whirled away, running after the paramedics.

  Nicholas hurried to Lori’s side. “I’ll take you to the hospital,” he said, slipping his arm over her shoulder. “We’ll meet Cara there.”

  Lori only nodded, clutching his arm.

  He steered Lori to his truck and soon they were speeding down the highway to the hospital, trying in vain to keep up with the ambulance. Lori sat curled against the passenger’s-side window, a silent figure clutching her coat, her face strobed by the flashing red lights of the ambulance they were following.

  While he drove, Nicholas sent up a quick prayer for Alan Morrison and for Cara, praying the ambulance would get to the hospital on time.

  Chapter Two

  Sorrow, huge as a stone, lodged in Cara’s chest. Tears threatened, but she held them back. In the past couple of hours her aunt had cried enough for both of them.

  She wanted time to rewind. She wanted to go back when her uncle was still walking around. Still talking and telling his terrible jokes.

  Not strapped to a gurney with a paramedic working on him while they raced to the hospital in the swaying ambulance.

  Myocardial infarction, the paramedics had said. Heart attack.

  How could a heart suddenly decide to stop working? What triggered it?

  Images flickered in her mind. Uncle Alan wheezing as he lifted a box. His unusually high color.

  Though he only worked part-time, Cara knew he’d been under stress lately. The practice had been extremely busy and Alan was called more often to fill in on the large animal work.

  Another vet, Gordon Moen, was supposed to be coming to help out, but he wasn’t arriving for another three weeks.

  Too late for Uncle Alan.

  The stone in her chest shifted and tears thickened her throat.

  Please, Lord, don’t take him away, too. You already took my mother, please spare him.

  Then she caught herself.

  God didn’t listen to prayers. How many had she sent up that her mother would come back to her? Would put her first in her life?

  Had God listened when she prayed Nicholas would choose her over his work? Over his ranch?

  Sometimes she wondered if her prayers were selfish but she believed that anyone else in her situation would want the same things.

  Aunt Lori always said God moved in mysterious ways. Well, they were certainly mysterious to Cara.

  Cara rolled her head slightly, chancing a glance at Nicholas, who had stayed at the hospital. The knot of his tie hung below his open collar of his rumpled shirt. She couldn’t help the hitch of her heart at the sight. He looked more approachable now, more like the Nicholas she remembered.

  As if aware of her scrutiny, he glanced back at her. And again their gazes locked. He turned, then walked back in her direction.

  He sat down in the empty chair beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. “How are you doing?” he asked.

&nbs
p; The deep timbre of his voice still made her heart sing. Still swept away her natural reserve. “I’m okay.”

  He frowned, as if dissatisfied with her reply. But what else could she say? She felt especially vulnerable now and if she said more, she would start to cry. She needed to maintain what dignity she could. To stay aloof, calm and in control. Nothing had changed in his life and she couldn’t put herself through that emotional wringer once again.

  “Here’s your aunt,” he said suddenly, standing up.

  Lori came down the hallway, clutching her purse. A nurse walked beside her, talking in hushed tones. As they came closer Cara heard snatches of the conversation.

  “He’ll be on the monitors for a couple of days…good pulse…healthy man…”

  Lori nodded, but Cara knew she wasn’t absorbing all this.

  Cara got up, stretching her tired muscles, and walked toward her aunt.

  “How is he?” Cara knew the question was superfluous but she had to ask.

  Her aunt shook her head. “He looks so awful with all those things attached to him. You don’t want to see him yet.”

  But Cara needed to.

  “Can I see him?” she asked the nurse.

  “You two can go in,” she said, gesturing at Cara. “But only for a minute. We don’t want to tire him out.”

  Cara realized with a start the nurse had included Nicholas in the invitation. She was about to correct her, when the nurse turned, her shoes squeaking on the gleaming floor.

  Cara didn’t look back to see if Nicholas was coming, but as she followed the nurse, she could hear his measured tread behind her, slightly slower than her own.

  The nurse motioned for Cara to come closer. “You’ve got two minutes then I’ll come and get you.” She smiled at Cara, then past her. Cara could tell the moment her smile connected with Nicholas. Nicholas always had that effect on women, she thought dully, pushing aside the curtain around her uncle’s bed, her fingers trembling.

  She stepped forward, then faltered at the sight before her.

  Her uncle, a large, strapping man, lay on the bed, his face still obscured by the oxygen mask. Lines attached to circular pads snaked out to a machine beeping out a regular rhythm. His arms lay beside him, bare except for a blood-pressure cuff attached to a machine. Two IVs ran out from his arms.

  He looked like death.

  Cara pressed her hand to her mouth, stopping the faint cry of dismay, her knees buckling beneath her.

  She would have fallen, but strong arms caught her from behind. Held her. Just for those few seconds she allowed herself to drift back against Nicholas’s comforting strength, thankful for his presence.

  We fit so well, Cara thought, letting him support her. His touch, his smell, his warmth felt so familiar it created an ache deep in her chest.

  Then, when she caught her balance, his hands settled on her waist, held a moment and then gently pushed her away.

  As if he couldn’t stand to touch her any longer than he had to.

  Cara disguised the pain of his withdrawal by catching her uncle’s hand and clinging it to it, hoping he would pull through this emergency. She stayed by her uncle’s side a moment longer, then turned away.

  “I want to…go,” she said to Nicholas.

  Aunt Lori sat huddled in the hard plastic chair, her hands kneading each other. As Cara came closer, her head came up. “Is he awake?”

  Cara shook her head.

  “He was working too hard.” Aunt Lori’s voice sounded so small. So wounded.

  Cara stifled the flicker of guilt her aunt’s innocent comment created. It wasn’t her fault, she reminded herself. Even if she had stayed behind and worked at the clinic as her uncle had always envisioned, Alan Morrison wouldn’t have slowed down. Wouldn’t have done less.

  “We should go home,” Cara said quietly, taking her aunt’s arm in hers.

  “Can we come back tonight?”

  “Of course we can. But you should go home and rest a bit before we do.” Cara took her aunt’s arm and, as they walked to the door, she leaned heavily on Cara.

  The air outside smelled fresh, new. The sun shone down with a benevolent spring warmth, but Cara couldn’t stop the chill shivering down her spine.

  “My truck is parked over here,” Nicholas said, stepping ahead of them to lead the way.

  Cara acknowledged his comment with a nod, following him more slowly, holding her aunt up.

  “I made him eat his vegetables. I made him go for walks,” Aunt Lori was saying, clutching Cara’s arm. “I took good care of him.”

  “Of course you did,” Cara said quietly, her attention split between her aunt and the man who strode in front of them, leading the way to his truck.

  He opened the door and Cara felt a jolt of dismay. The cab had one bench seat with a fold-down console.

  Which meant her aunt would be sitting by the window and Cara…right beside Nicholas.

  She helped her aunt into the truck, then had to walk around to Nicholas’s side. She began to get in slowly, wishing she’d worn sensible shoes instead of high heels made for walking short distances, not climbing running boards of pickup trucks.

  She faltered as she stepped up and Nicholas caught her, his hand on her elbow. She tried to ignore his touch, wished her heart didn’t jump at his nearness.

  She settled on the seat beside her aunt, and buckled herself in. Nicholas got in and Cara’s senses heightened.

  “Can you move over a bit,” Aunt Lori asked, nudging Cara with her elbow. “I’m feeling claustrophobic.”

  Cara shifted as much as she dared. No matter what, though, she sat too close to Nicholas. She felt the warmth of his arm through the sleeve of her sweater and the scent of his cologne drew up older memories of other trips in this truck. Trips when she didn’t mind sitting as close to him as she was now and often tried to sit even closer.

  That’s over, she thought.

  The trip back to Cochrane was quiet, broken only by the hum of the tires on the pavement, the intermittent noise of the fan sending cooling air over the truck’s occupants.

  Cara kept her arms folded over her purse and tried, like her aunt did, to keep her eyes fixed on the road rolling past them.

  But she couldn’t stop her awareness of the man sitting next to her. Each curve in the road and each bump in the pavement brought the two of them in contact with each other.

  “Did the doctor say anything about what might have caused the heart attack?” Nicholas asked, breaking the heavy silence.

  Cara took a breath. “He told me his cholesterol levels were high. And I imagine the stress of working added to that.”

  “Did they say how serious it was?”

  “A heart attack is serious. Period,” Aunt Lori said in a tone that didn’t encourage any further discussion.

  A heavy silence followed her remark. Cara wished she dared turn the radio on. She wished she and her aunt could share casual conversation. Anything to keep the picture of her uncle falling down the stairs out of her mind.

  Anything to keep her from being so sensitive to Nicholas’s presence.

  The beginnings of a headache pinched her temples and by the time Nicholas pulled up to her aunt and uncle’s home, Cara felt as if a vise gripped her forehead.

  “Thanks for all your help,” Aunt Lori said, leaning past Cara to give Nicholas a worn smile. Then she stepped out of the truck and headed up the walk to the house.

  Cara slid over and from a safer distance risked a glance at Nicholas.

  He draped one arm over the steering wheel, his other across the back of the seat, bringing his fingertips inches from her shoulder.

  “Thanks for the ride and for all the help,” Cara said. “I’m so glad you could bring Aunt Lori to the hospital.”

  Nicholas didn’t say anything, his eyes holding hers. “Are you going to be okay?” His voice sounded cool, as if he were asking a mere acquaintance.

  Cara shrugged and slipped her purse over her arm. “I don’t know.”
<
br />   Quiet fell again and Cara didn’t have anything more to say. So she slipped out of the truck and trudged up the sidewalk. But before she got to the house, she couldn’t help a glance back over her shoulder.

  Nicholas was watching her.

  She took a chance and lifted her hand in a small wave, but he started his truck and drove away.

  Cara closed her hand and pressed it to her chest, surprised at the jab of hurt.

  Did you expect him to come running down the walk, pull you into his arms and beg you to give him another chance? Did you really think he was pining for you the whole time you were gone? He doesn’t care for you anymore.

  The words mocked her, and she turned and entered the house.

  Aunt Lori sat in her usual chair in the kitchen, her arms wrapped around her midsection.

  “Do you want some tea?” Cara asked, walking to the stove.

  Aunt Lori nodded.

  While she waited for the water to boil, Cara joined her aunt, glancing around the papers piled up on the room table, the dishes scattered over the kitchen counter. She wished she had the energy to start cleaning.

  Her aunt was not a housekeeper. She always joked that she preferred to paint walls than wash them and she could always afford to get someone to do it for her.

  Though she missed her aunt and uncle, she didn’t miss the mess either in the house or her uncle’s vet clinic. Her mother wasn’t much different and at times Cara wondered if she really was a Morrison. Every time she came back to her aunt and uncle’s place, either from university or visiting, she spent the first few days tidying up.

  However, in spite of the chaos, Uncle Alan and Aunt Lori’s home had been Cara’s most stable home since Audra Morrison dropped Cara off at their place. Audra had assumed Cara was old enough to be without her while she followed her conscience and went to work overseas.

  Cara still remembered the grim voice of her uncle, trying to plead with his sister, Cara’s mother, to think of Cara.

  Her mother’s reply still rang in her ears. Cara had been raised with more privileges than any of the children she left to help. She didn’t need her mother as much as these destitute young orphans in Nicaragua.