His Country Girl

by Jillian Hart

  “So far, so good. At least they haven’t told me any differently.” She felt Tucker’s hand withdraw from hers and she couldn’t explain why she felt bereft, why she felt unbearably lonely or why her hand continued to tingle with the memory of his comforting touch. Her mother was in her arms before she could ponder it too much.

  “I can see I’m no longer needed.” Kindness, strong and good, radiated from him as he clutched his cane and pushed himself to his feet. Was it her imagination or did he seem sad, too? In a blink the look in his eyes had changed and he was the same unstoppable, untamable force he’d always been. “Give me a call when Owen’s in recovery. I want to hear how great his surgery went.”

  “I will.” She caught that look in her mother’s eye. The smart thing to do would be to wave the man away as if he meant nothing at all, as if they hadn’t shared a moment of closeness, but that wouldn’t be right. He was already striding away on those long, powerful legs of his, injury and all. She managed to disentangle herself from her mother and step after him. “I can’t tell you what it meant that you came. I—”

  “Don’t sweat it. I know.” He winked like a man without a care in the world, but this time she wasn’t fooled. She could see the layers beneath his dazzling, easygoing grin. He was worried about Owen, he was sad to be leaving and she didn’t know how to ask him to stay. Maybe he didn’t know how to ask either.

  “Call me.” Those were his last words to her before he turned away with a plea on his handsome face she would not soon forget.

  He cared about Owen. And that made her like him far too much.

  “Well, now, isn’t this interesting?” Her mother sounded pleased with the situation. “That Granger boy came all this way to sit with you this morning. Maybe I should have taken a detour to the hotel, maybe showered, changed and searched down some coffee. That would have given you more time together.”

  “He was only being nice, Mother.” Really. She hadn’t been able to hold Ricky’s attention. What chance did she have of keeping a man as handsome, vital and popular as Tucker? He lived a life full of constant change and excitement, even if he did confess to spending most of his nonwork time with his horse. She held no illusions. She was an average girl, and once she’d dreamed that a man could love her enough to change his ways. She would never make that mistake again.

  “Tucker was Owen’s charity wish, you know that. He came here this morning for Owen.” She gave her mom one more hug before recovering her knitting, which she’d forgotten about. It had tumbled to the seat and a few stitches had slipped off. She bowed her head to fish the stitches back onto the needle. “Tucker brought extra coffee. Go ahead and help yourself to the latte.”

  “I will, bless him!” Mom settled into a chair with a smile on her face, but it could not surpass the worry in her eyes. They both knew they had a long wait ahead.

  Sierra couldn’t explain why she felt something was missing—why someone was missing. She resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder, knowing full well that Tucker was long gone, and that was the way it should be.

  “How are you doing, son?”

  Tucker adjusted the phone on his shoulder and considered his dad’s question as he dropped the last of his clothes into his suitcase. His hotel windows offered a snowy, winter-wonderland view of downtown Denver, but the scenery wasn’t what he saw. It was Sierra sitting alone in the waiting room with her knitting in her lap and anguish on her beautiful face. He hadn’t liked walking away, but he didn’t belong there. Her family had that right. If he’d stayed it would have only gotten complicated.

  “I’m packing right now. Catching a plane in a few hours.” He added his shaving kit to the mess, closed the lid and strong-armed the zipper closed.

  “Great news. I’ll pick you up at the airport. Get more time with my son that way.” Dad sounded warm as always but there was something else layered in his words. Something that tugged at Tucker, bringing up all kinds of issues he didn’t want to face. He found life was easier staying on the surface. Or it had been until the accident. He’d been bucked off a bareback bronc the same way he had hundreds of times, but this landing had been different. He’d flown directly into the horse’s path and the animal hadn’t been able to avoid him.

  Pain. That was the first thing he remembered before his heart had stopped beating. He’d been officially dead for two minutes and thirty-odd seconds until paramedics had gotten his ticker going again. Those two minutes had changed everything.

  Including him.

  “I’d like that, Dad.” When he had woken up in ICU, his father had been at his side. He knew he’d put his dad through a lot of fear and worry, and he was sorry for it. He’d been able to spend ample time at home on the family ranch recuperating, and he’d gotten used to seeing his father every day. He missed him now. “I’ll text you my flight information.”

  “Great. Any word on how the little Baker boy is doing?” Caring about others, that was Frank Granger. Sincerity rang deep in his baritone as his light tone fell away, leaving only solemness. “He was first on my morning’s list of prayers.”

  “Mine, too.” He swallowed hard, ignoring the tug of worry deep in his gut. The image of the little kid, with one arm around Slayer and his eyes wide with excitement listening to rodeo stories, stuck with him. Lord, please watch over that boy.

  “I haven’t heard anything. You know what they say. No news is good news.” The tug of worry worsened. He couldn’t help being worried. It was impossible not to care about Owen. “Sierra promised to call me when there’s news.”

  “Then you can update me.” Whatever Frank said next was interrupted by an electronic beep.

  A check of the screen told him he had an incoming call. “Dad, I have to go. Sierra’s on the line.”

  “See you soon, son.”

  He clicked the phone over, unable to explain why his heart began to hammer and his palms went damp. “Sierra?”

  “He’s fine. He’s in recovery.” Her words came in a rush, driven by relief and thankfulness. “The surgeon said it couldn’t have gone better.”

  “See? What did I tell you.” The smile splitting his face was nothing compared to the joy uplifting him. He grabbed the suitcase by the handle and lowered it to the floor. “I’m sure he will be out of that hospital and back home in no time.”

  “That’s the plan. I can’t see him yet, but it won’t be much longer.” Her warmth somehow flowed through the phone line, the tangible gentleness that he’d experienced in her presence. “Thank you for all you did for him. You made my son one happy little boy. That made a difference going into this surgery.”

  “I didn’t know that I did all that much. Nothing at all, when compared to what you do for him.” The need to see her gripped him hard. He wanted to be sure she was all right. He knew her mother was there to take care of her, but the need remained. He could picture the relief on her beautiful face, the love lighting her eyes, the joy polishing her. He swallowed hard, doing his best to push aside that pretty picture. “I hope you take good care of yourself, too. No long nights without sleep. No skipping meals.”

  “That’s what I have my mom for. She’s been watching over me.” Sierra laughed, as if her mother was close, and sure enough there came a woman’s muffled response. Sierra laughed again. “My mom wanted you to know she’s well equipped for that job. Chip and Betty made it in a little bit ago, and you know my mother-in-law. She keeps trying to feed me.”

  “Then I can leave town in good conscience knowing you are in good hands.” His throat tried to close up at the thought of leaving. Funny, because that didn’t make a lick of sense. He never had problems leaving a female behind. Staying always put him in a panicked sweat.

  “Have a safe flight home.” Her voice dipped low as if she were trying to keep her mother from overhearing. “Thanks for coming to sit with me this morning. I can’t tell you what that meant.”

  “For me, too.” That was only the truth. He was glad he’d helped out. Life was a finite gift an
d how a man spent his time mattered. He grabbed his cane from the bedside table. “Have Owen give me a call when he’s up to it. I’ll need to keep him updated on my sheep search.”

  “Then I guess I will be seeing you again, Tucker Granger.”

  He couldn’t help liking the note of respect he heard, respect he had in turn for her. “I guess this isn’t over. Are you sure you want your son to grow up to be a rodeo cowboy?”

  “I want my son to grow up well and happy, and I’ll be thankful with that.” A world of love vibrated in her words. “Goodbye, Tucker.”

  “Adios.” He kept his tone light but what he felt wasn’t light at all. Not in the least. He tucked his phone into his pocket, leaned his weight on the cane and grabbed the suitcase handle. He limped to the door, wheeling his luggage after him. He shut out the lights and took one last look around. Yep, he got everything—nothing was left behind. He stepped into the hallway, unable to sidestep the feeling that he was missing something. The feeling followed him all the way home.

  Chapter Five

  “Look who is home.” His older sister, Autumn, rode up to the garage on her chestnut-bay mare, her strawberry-blond ponytail bouncing behind her in the brisk, wintry wind. “I hear little Owen is doing just fine. Already talking about coming home.”

  Tucker hopped down from the passenger side of the truck and grabbed his cane. News traveled fast in a small town and he was fairly sure which way the wind was blowing. Good thing his two younger sisters, Cheyenne and Addison, were away at school or he would never hear the end of it. To make matters worse, Dad was behind the wheel paying close attention.

  Great. Nothing like everyone thinking they knew your business. He tugged the suitcase from the backseat, fairly sure he could figure out what they were all thinking. With his older brother’s recent wedding and Autumn’s engagement, the family was probably hearing wedding bells for him and Sierra.

  Play it down, he thought. Best to act as if this is all no big deal. The suitcase hit concrete with a thud and he closed the truck door. “I heard the same thing. Glad the little fella is going to be okay.”

  “I also found out something very interesting.” Autumn stripped off her gloves, and the diamond ring she wore glinted in the late afternoon sunlight.

  “Great. Whatever it is, I don’t need to hear it.” He tossed a dimpled grin at his sister, hoping to distract her. “You know I’m not the romantic sort. I don’t want to hear about your love life, Autumn. Sorry. I’m not your confidant.”

  She looked confused, her forehead crinkling, her mouth twisting down in the corners. She planted both hands on the saddle horn and stared him up and down like he was a bull in a china shop. He figured he had about two more seconds before she figured out he’d said something that made no sense on purpose to derail her, so he had better start moving as fast as his injured leg would allow. He wanted to be in the house before she brought up the issue of Sierra Baker again.

  “Why are you movin’ so fast, son?” Dad was a sharp tack, and silent laughter lit up his face as he ambled behind Tucker along the pathway to the back porch. “I haven’t seen you get a move on like that since you were sixteen and stole Autumn’s truck keys.”

  “I borrowed them.” Another infamous story about him that hadn’t died down, even more than a decade later. “There were extenuating circumstances.”

  “There always are.” Frank’s chuckle was a sound that had defined Tucker’s childhood and the rumble of it now made him smile. He couldn’t help it. He had a lifetime of laughing with his dad, of sharing the same honest good humor. But he currently didn’t have time to let the memories surge up because of the sharp, rapid knell of steeled horse hoofs beating behind him and gaining ground.

  Uh-oh. He glanced over his shoulder to see his sister with a determined look on her face and an unyielding jut of her chin. His tactic hadn’t worked as long as he’d hoped. May as well brace for the worst.

  “I heard from my friend Caroline directly from Terri that her mother heard all about how Sierra’s mom found you two cozied up together in the hospital waiting room.”

  Cozied up? It was worse than he’d suspected. His chest squeezed tight in the first stages of panic. Was it too late to do damage control? He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his dad. It was hard to miss the burst of pleasure lighting Frank up like a Fourth of July fireworks display.

  “Is that true, Tucker?” His father clomped up the steps behind him. “Is there something you want to tell us about you and Sierra?”

  Definitely too late. Grimacing, he launched across the porch and yanked open the door. “My flight out was delayed, so I went by the hospital to check on the kid. That’s the extent of it.”

  “You thought you were safe from prying eyes in Denver. Wrong.” Autumn’s big-sister amusement didn’t end. “I think you should go for it. Sierra is about the nicest person I know. She would make you a good wife.”

  “I brought her a cup of coffee, not a diamond ring.” He sat down to kick off his boots on the bench by the back door and heard the telltale creak of leather as she dismounted. His sister intended to follow him into the house. Sure enough, her step tapped across the porch. Why couldn’t she just stay on her horse and let this lie?

  Dad sat down beside him and heaved off his right boot. “Looks like you’re in trouble, son. Now everybody is going to think you’re sweet on the girl.”

  “On Sierra?” He grimaced again, mostly because his heart beat oddly at the sound of her name. “You know me. I’m sweet on all the girls.”

  “Disgusting.” The corners of Autumn’s mouth fought a grin as she charged into the mudroom. “I can’t believe we’re related.”

  “I’m just not the settling-down type.” A standard line, so he used it, knowing his sister would sail on by with a shake of her head, which she did, and his dad would blow out a frustrated sigh, which he did.

  “One day some pretty gal will lasso you by the heart and you won’t have any more excuses.” Dad hauled off his left boot and stood. “I’ve got a few calls to make, and then I’m heading to town. Need to stop by the feed store. Want to come?”

  “Sure.” His chest ached with both memories and longings he didn’t want to name. It was good to be home, good to accompany his dad on errands, just like he used to do when he was a boy.

  His cell chose that moment to ring, merrily jingling an electronic tune. He pulled it out of his pocket and winced when he saw the screen.

  “Is it her?” Autumn reappeared with a travel mug in hand, probably full of hot tea. “Be careful. I think I hear wedding bells.”

  “Funny.” He shook his head and waited until his sister was safely out the door before he took the call. “Hi, Sierra.”

  “Nope, it’s me.”

  At the sound of that weak little voice, Tucker hopped off the bench, relief hitting him like a speeding train. “Owen. It’s good to hear from you, buddy.”

  “Did you hear that, Mom? Tucker and me are buddies.” Sierra’s pleasant alto rang in the distance and Owen came on the line again. “I’m all better now. They fixed up the hole.”

  “Excellent job. I hear you wowed that surgeon. You must have been the best patient he’s ever had.”

  “Yep. I got Slayer and Jack with me. I’m gonna be home real soon.”

  “That’s great.” Tucker strolled into the kitchen, cane in hand, and caught his father trying to listen. Frank didn’t turn his head away fast enough and nearly dropped the cordless handset. He hoped his dad hadn’t caught a glimpse of the truth—a truth Tucker wasn’t entirely comfortable with. The kid affected him deep in the heart, and Sierra—

  He’d best stop thinking of her.

  “Say good-bye, Owen.” Her voice, although background, became the focus.

  His senses sharpened and he found himself stalled dead center in the kitchen because his brain had lost the concentration necessary to keep walking. When she spoke again, a hook latched into him and reeled in his attention against every bit of his w
ill.

  “You need your rest, baby.” Love polished her words until they shone with brightness even he could see. “Tucker understands that. Now, tell him good-bye and hang up. You can call him later, I’m sure.”

  “Okay.” The boy drew out the single word in a long sigh. “Tucker, gotta go. Talk to my mom.”

  Sierra? The panic Tucker fought amped up a notch. Being with her at the hospital had felt right—too right. He wasn’t comfortable with that. His palms went damp as he heard her gasp in surprise.

  “No, I don’t—” She didn’t complete the sentence.

  That was okay, because he could do it for her. She didn’t want to talk to him. She would rather avoid him. And that got him thinking she must have really been desperate this morning to have been glad for his company in those early hours of Owen’s surgery. He couldn’t say exactly why hurt shot through him. He didn’t want to care about the woman. He didn’t want to like her.

  The plain fact was he did.

  “Mom.” Owen sounded unhappy and it didn’t take much to imagine the boy stretched out in his hospital bed, hooked up to IVs and weak from his ordeal, holding out the phone for his mother to take against her wishes.

  He tried not to imagine Sierra’s grimace as she took the phone or the reluctance she might be feeling at being forced to talk to him again. He remembered the first look she’d thrown him when he’d walked into the hospital straight from the airport and had seen her waiting for him, pale with worry and exhaustion. She couldn’t hide the gentle scorn she held generally for a man like him. He feared it had returned and she wouldn’t be able to disguise it now.

  “Tucker.” She had a beautiful alto, the kind of voice made for singing in church choirs and for lulling babies to sleep. The kind of voice that could make even a man like him dream just a tad. She didn’t sound disdainful, but she didn’t sound comfortable either. “I hope we haven’t bothered you. Owen insisted, and right now I can’t say no to him.”

  “I understand. Glad to hear from him. I mean that.” His voice dipped, knowing full well that though his dad had retreated to the living room he was still in eavesdropping range. “Owen is a good kid. He can call me anytime.”