Tamed by Her Cowboy

by Shanna Handel

  “Is everything okay? Is your father okay?”

  “Yes, yes. He’s fine. It’s Buck I’m calling about, actually.” I wince, knowing my family doctor—the one that was present at my birth—will put two and two together and figure out I’m sleeping at Buck’s house. “We kind of got snowed in together.”

  He chuckles. “They say storms bring people together, I guess. What seems to be the problem?”

  My voice is shaking. “Buck is really hot. His temperature is one o’ three and I’m having trouble waking him.”

  “One hundred and three, huh? That’s a scorcher. Does he have any other symptoms?”

  “Not that I know of, just the fever I think.”

  “Sounds like his body is fighting something off. Funny—I don’t remember Buck being sick, well…ever. What all did you get into today?”

  I know he’s not accusing me, but the guilt weighs me down all the same. “He had to dig me out of the barn. Then we had to traipse through the snow to get back to his house. His teeth were chattering and he took a really long shower,” I pause, wondering if I needed to include the sexy bits of the story but for his sake, decide to skip them, and continue, “then we went to sleep. When I woke up, he was burning hot.”

  “Okay, Ava Marie. Buck’s going to be just fine. We all have germs coming at us all day. If our body is fighting to keep our temperature up, like it sounds like Buck’s was, then we have a harder time fighting off a bug and we might get sick. I’d bet anything this thing breaks within twenty-four hours. I want you to listen closely to me. Does he have any acetaminophen or ibuprofen there?”

  I think back to the medicine cabinet. “Yes. Both.”

  “What I want you to do is get a cool damp cloth and place it over his forehead. Then, you’re going to have to do what you have to do to rouse him enough to get him to take the medicine. You are going to give him one dose of acetaminophen, then in two hours, one dose of ibuprofen. You can keep that up till you get the fever down. Can you repeat that back to me?”

  “Cool cloth. Acetaminophen, two hours later ibuprofen?”

  “That’s right. That’s perfect. You’ve got it. Now I want you taking his temperature every couple of hours and call me if it gets any higher. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, you’ve got this Ava.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I hang up the phone and hop to. I’ve never taken care of anyone in my life. I always had my mother, then my father. The housekeepers. Jules.

  Buck.

  I’ve never been the one doing the looking out. It’s my time to step up. I can’t panic. Can’t freak out. I need to get right to work.

  I grab a rubber band from his kitchen drawer. Quickly braid my hair securing it with the band. Grab a clean cloth from the bathroom. I turn on the tap—the water is from a well in the ground and it’s already freezing cold from the low temperature outside. I wring it out until it’s damp.

  I go back into the bedroom. Buck’s laid out on his back, an arm flung over his eyes. He’s moaning softly. Words form and I’m taken aback when I make sense of them. “Ava. Don’t leave.”

  I lean over him. “I’m not going anywhere, don’t you worry.”

  He tosses, turns.

  He’s asleep. He’s not speaking to me. The words he’s saying are something he’s dreaming.

  I carefully move his arm from his face. It’s heavy, limp. I fold it in by his side. I smooth the cloth over his hot forehead. He lets out a relaxed moan.

  The doctor didn’t mention if I should keep covers on him or not. Should I call him? I shake my head.

  I’ve got this.

  If we want this fever down, surely being twisted in heavy blankets won’t help anything. I pull the covers back from him. Fold them neatly on the end of the bed. I go to his linen closet and find a clean, lightweight sheet. I hate being uncovered in bed and I assume he’s the same. I lightly spread the sheet over him.

  He looks as comfortable as I can make him with this wretched fever.

  Next job—wrangle two hundred pounds of muscle to get a delirious cowboy to take meds. I run to the kitchen, fill a glass with ice and water. Go to the bathroom and grab the bottles of medicine down from the shelf.

  I place my supplies on the nightstand next to him. I call his name, shaking him. Even try to slap his face a bit. He won’t come too. I have to get these meds in him.

  He starts talking to himself, mumbling. “How can something so small seem so heavy. How did I misjudge this so badly?”

  He’s scaring me. I’ve no idea what he speaks of. I can’t get his eyes to open. My fingers reach out for the phone to call Dr. Moore. But what advice can he possibly give me?

  Buck speaks again. “It’s in the creek. It’s in the bank of the creek. Our spot. Something so small…hurts so bad.”

  What on Earth is he on about? I’m helpless. Terrified. No one can get to us and I can’t get him out of here.

  I smooth the fabric on his forehead. The cloth is already hot. I’m wracking my mind trying to think of how to get him to take this medicine. I murmur. “Shh. It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay.”

  I can do this. I can do this.

  I’m repeating my own mantra as Buck repeats his, each word a dagger to my heart; “Don’t leave. Don’t leave.”

  I run to the bathroom to make another cloth. His groans are quieter, but I can still hear them.

  Tears sting my eyes. Is he asking me not to leave him now? Or…is he dreaming of two years ago? I press the backs of my hands against my eyes. “Snap out of it, Ava. This is no time to fall apart.”

  I return to the bedroom. He’s silent now. I take the first cloth off him, replacing it with the fresh cool one. I grab the bottles, taking them with me to the kitchen.

  I’m getting this medicine in him come hell or high water.

  Or in this case, ten feet of snow.

  I read the label. Dose out the first few pills he’s meant to take. I dig though the cupboards and find the stone mortar and pestle he keeps for grinding horse medicine.

  I pull it down. Put it on the counter. Throw the pills in and get to grinding. I mash with the pestle until my hand is sweating, my palm aching, and the pill a fine powder. I find a small measuring cup, fill it with a quarter of the way with hot water, and tip the contents of the mortar into the measuring cup. Take a soupspoon from the drawer, stirring until the swirling powder is mostly dissolved.

  I find a medical syringe in the drawer and pull the medicine up into the clear tube. I carefully carry the syringe to the bedroom. Sit by his side. Part his lips with my fingertips. Slide the tip of the syringe in his mouth, slowly dispensing the liquid. I hold my breath, waiting to see if he takes it.

  He swallows it right down.

  I refill it, pulling icy water up from the glass on the nightstand. Repeat the process. He drinks the cold liquid and relief fills me.

  When I’m sure he’s sleeping soundly, I go back to the kitchen. Set the timer on his phone for two hours from now. Make the same concoction, this time using the ibuprofen.

  About every fifteen minutes for the next two hours, I change the cloth. When I take his temperature, it’s already down to one o’ one. A giddy smile stretches across my face. I feed him more medicine and cool water through the syringe.

  I reset the timer on the phone. Change out the soaked sheet for a fresh one.

  I lay down with him and catch an hour of rest.

  When the alarm goes off, I repeat the entire process. Two hours later, same thing.

  This time when I take his temperature, it’s a cool ninety-eight degrees. wordlessly I shout my thanks to the heavens above and collapse onto the bed.

  The last thing I remember is closing my eyes.

  In the morning, sun is streaming in the windows, glaring off piles of bright white snow. I stretch, smiling, forgetting what’s happened. I suddenly remember, the fever, the delirium, my fear thick like a cloud around me.

  I flip over to ch
eck on Buck.

  The bed is empty. No sign of him but a dent in the pillow. Panic runs through me. I spring from the bed, running through the room. “Buck!”

  I rush into the kitchen. Am I seeing things? I lift my hand to my own forehead. Cool as a cucumber.

  He’s standing at the coffee pot, two mugs at the ready, waiting for it to finish brewing. He smiles at me. His skin looks healthy, vibrant. “Good morning, princess. How did you sleep?”

  I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his chest. “You’re okay. You scared the heck out of me!”

  He chuckles. “I’m okay. Just a little fever.”

  I pull back, studying his face. My hand goes to his forehead. His skin is cool. Normal. I heave a great sigh. “Oh, thank goodness you’re okay. I need to call Dr. Moore and let him know.”

  “He’s already rung. Told me you called him up in a panic last night. I must have given you a scare.”

  “You did.”

  He gives me a kiss on my forehead. “You must have taken good care of me because I feel as fit as a fiddle.”

  I throw my arms back around him, squeezing him tightly. “I was so scared.”

  “Everything’s okay now.” He wraps his arms around me. His chin resting on my head. “You okay?”

  I nod, my cheek rubbing against his soft shirt. “I’m okay.” I pull away, staring up at him, thinking.

  His brow furrows as he looks down at my face. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing, you’re looking at me funny. You sure you’re okay?”

  I remember his feverish words from the previous night.

  Ava. Don’t leave.

  How can something so small seem so heavy. How did I misjudge this so badly?

  It’s in the creek. It’s in the bank of the creek. Our spot. Something so small…hurts so bad.

  Don’t leave. Don’t leave.

  I’m rattled. My fingertips tremble. From lack of sleep or dealing with last night, I’m not sure. I untangle myself from him. “I’m just fine. I promise. Just glad you’re okay. That’s all.” I reach for the coffee he’s poured me, hoping it will steady my nerves. I wrap my hands around the mug to hide them from him.

  He slings his arm around my shoulder. “It’s really piled up out there.” We stare out the kitchen window.

  “I’m glad we made it back. You know how sorry I am that I went to the barn, right?”

  He smiles down at me. “Don’t mention it. What’s done is done.” He gives my ass a pat that makes me blush.

  We cook breakfast together. Biscuits with his mama’s homemade jam. Eggs and bacon and more coffee. My clothes are dry so we get dressed for the day. Listen to the weather on the radio. We only got a few feet and it’s starting to melt. The temperature will be above freezing tonight. We should be able to make our way out by tomorrow.

  I find myself wishing for more snow. Freezing temps. Anything to extend my stay here.

  We sit crossed legged by his coffee table, playing cards. We make sandwiches for lunch. Thick pieces of ham and cheese. Homemade mayonnaise. Heat up soup his mom canned earlier in the year.

  More coffee. We listen to music on the radio. Play more cards.

  And we laugh. Louder and longer than I ever have with my ‘city friends.’ Until my cheeks hurt and my sides are sore.

  In the afternoon, he makes cocoa with fresh whipped cream. Slices an apple, serving it with slivers of cheddar cheese—a tribute to the apple pie I left behind in the Hall.

  We lay on the couch before a roaring fire. Kissing, petting, making out like high schoolers. It’s wonderful.

  He wants more but I force him to rest. The two of us can work up quite a sweat and I’m not taking any chances on him backsliding tonight.

  The sun sinks below the horizon. The snow is melting faster than I’d like. I feel like I could stay here…forever. It’s such a magical experience, being snowed in together like this. No one could interrupt us even if they wanted to. Just the two of us. Playing, teasing, flirting.

  It’s time for dinner. We stand before his fridge, arms round one another, deciding what to cook. We settle on a simple pasta dish. Angel hair with shaved parmesan, olive oil, dried tomatoes, and spinach.

  He sneaks a bottle of wine down from a high shelf. A dark red, bold, fruity flavored wine with an oak aftertaste. He pours us two generous glasses. We sit across the kitchen table from one another.

  Dining in candlelight.

  I can’t help but wonder…is this what our lives would have been like, had I stayed?

  Probably not. Because I wasn’t ready.

  I had a lot to learn. Lesson number one being, when you love someone, you show it. You can’t just love someone with your heart, lusting after them. That’s not the right way to be. You’ll always end up hurting them.

  Love has to be an active thing. A sacrifice. Putting their needs before your own. Not always, but enough to let them know your love is a deep, steady river kind of love.

  The thought makes me think of the creek. Our spot. And the small, heavy thing that could possibly have hurt him so badly?

  15

  Buck Jones

  The snow melts. Too fast. Our perfect secluded vacation is over.

  We borrow my mom’s new four-wheel drive, making our rounds over the freshly plowed roads. First the barn and the animals, then checking on the town. Everyone is safe, fed, warm, and cozy. They tell us stories of the games they played, the meals they shared, the fun they had.

  They give Ava Marie and I curious smiles, funny stares.

  They all want to know how we ended up snowed in together. And what happened between us. I can’t blame them. I’m rooting for our reunion as much as they are.

  After hitting the last house on Main, we begin the slow climb up to the Castle. I’ll drop Ava Marie off. Pick up Aunt Betty; take her back to her house. Then I’ll go back to mine.

  Alone.

  Ava Marie is quiet on the drive. She stares out the window. I make attempts at small talk, but they fail. She has something on her mind. She’s a million miles away.

  Maybe she’s thinking of her friends back in the city. Missing them. Wishing she were there.

  We pull up to her door. She’s been so distant I half expect her to jump out without so much as a goodbye. When I put the truck into park, she reaches over the bench seat, closing the gap between us.

  She takes my face in her hands. Kisses me deeply. Her lips linger on mine a moment, then she pulls away. Her gaze is steady. Serious. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Won’t I?”

  “I don’t know.” The storm is over. Everyone was kept safe. I don’t have an excuse to keep her by my side. I no longer have a job to demand of her. There’s no threat to keep her in these walls. “Aren’t you headed back to the city? I’ve heard they’re clearing the highways today.”

  “Jules mentioned leaving tomorrow.” A flash of pain dances across her face, but maybe I’ve made it up. She stares out the window, a million miles away. “There’s something I have to do, first.”

  She gives me one more kiss, then hops out of the truck, dashing inside.

  I stay put, waiting for Betty to come down the stairs. Wondering what’s gotten into Ava Marie.

  Trying not to break.

  Ava Marie

  I snuggle down into my window seat, my head leaning against the cold stone wall. High up in the turret, I can look over almost all of Cedar Creek. The ranch is far in the distance. I can see the roof of Buck’s cabin, peeking out in the snow.

  The sun is shining brightly. The remnants of the storm are melting quickly. The highways are being cleared. Mr. Brunson plowed all of the main roads in town early this morning. Now, he’s working on the side streets.

  There’s a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” I call, my gaze staying steady over the town.

  “Hey there.” I turn to see Jules standing in the doorway. Her hair is in a messy ponytail. Her makeup free face looks splotchy.
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  She’s wearing sweatpants.

  Jules never wears sweats.

  She’s upset. I pat the cushion. “Join me.”

  She comes over, flopping down next to me. She brings her knees up to her chest, wraps her arms around them, folding herself in a small package. She stares out the window, a despondent look on her face. She lets out a huge, sad sigh. “I’m so ready to get out of here.”

  Something is up.

  And it’s my job as her best friend to get to the bottom of it. There’s only one thing that can make a woman in her twenties this miserable.

  A man.

  I give her an apologetic wince. “Things not going so well with Blaze?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What happened?” A few bundled up kiddos emerge from the houses, dragging colorful sleighs behind them. I watch as they attempt to make the most out of the melting slush before it’s all gone.

  Jules leans her head against the glass, staring out over the town. “I misread the situation. He turned me down.”

  “What did he say?” I ask.

  She groans. “Only the worst thing ever?”

  “Which was?”

  Her eyes lock on mine, filled with tears. “I value your friendship. Too much to risk dating you.”

  She got friend zoned. Hard. I don’t want to say I saw this coming, but Blaze Jones will never settle down. ”He doesn’t deserve you. You’ll find an even better guy. One that will risk anything to date you.” I pat her knee. Give her a smile.

  She sends me a weak grin in return. “Thanks.”

  We stare out the window. Watch the kids as they build snowmen, throw snowballs at one another. After a few moments, she asks me, her throat sounding tight, “And how’s your Jones boy?”

  “He’s good.” I leave it at that. She accepts my answer.

  She sighs. “We leave tomorrow, you know.”

  “I know.” I can’t tear my gaze from the kids. Their lives are so easy, so carefree.

  “What are you doing to do about you and Buck?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  She gives me a long look. “Alright, but we leave at ten in the morning. I want to get back to the city as soon as possible.”