Cowboy Summer

by Joanne Kennedy

  Molly’s face floated before her, smiling. “I restocked it.”

  She heard her father pounding down the stairs.

  “Thanks.” Molly barely looked at him. “Now bring me a warm washcloth. There’re some in the powder room, in the cabinet under the sink.”

  Wonderingly, Jess met her stepmother’s eyes. Normally, there was nothing but sweetness there, but what she saw now was steely determination.

  “Good job bossing Dad around.”

  “I’d boss the queen of England when you’re lying there hurt.”

  The last word stretched out, low and long, as Molly’s face rushed backward down a tunnel and became very, very small.

  Jess gave the face a comforting smile while she tried to figure out who this nice woman was. She’d known just a minute ago. She looked so familiar…

  “Jess?” The woman shook her shoulder. “Honey?”

  “That’s right.” Jess tried to nod, but it hurt too much. “Jess. That’s my name. You got it right, Mom.” She stifled a sob as the face blurred and faded. “I’m surprised you still remember.”

  She felt like she might throw up, so she let the darkness wrap her in a soft cloak of unknowing and slept.

  Chapter 36

  Cade cranked up the hottest shower he could stand and let the stink of the dead raccoon and the sick bull calf run down the drain. Too bad the uncomfortable knowledge that the woman he loved was a liar and a schemer wouldn’t wash off.

  Jess knew her dad was sick and needed to sell the ranch so he and Molly could live someplace safe, with no horses to race or hay to buck. So why was she trying to chase these buyers away? He didn’t like them either, but it could take years to sell a property the size of the Diamond Jack. Jess had to know that.

  Letting the water beat hard on the back of his neck, he ran his fingers through his hair as if that could erase his doubts and worries. He was toweling off when his pager leapt to life, jigging around on the vanity before throwing itself to the floor like an exhausted toddler.

  Shoot. He didn’t feel like going on a call. He strained to interpret the staticky voice as it droned code numbers, commands, and assorted gibberish.

  “185 County Road 17,” it squawked. “Woman down, possible head injury.”

  Holy crap. That was the Diamond Jack.

  “Female, age twenty-six, sustained a blow to the head from a collapsing structure. Scene may be dangerous. Proceed with caution.”

  Age twenty-six? That was Jess.

  Collapsing structure? Blow to the head?

  Suddenly, he forgot she was a scheming liar. She was just Jess, his Jess, and she was hurt. Pocketing the pager, he shoved his feet into his boots and slung the canvas bag that held his bunker gear over his shoulder. He stumbled toward the door like a hunchbacked monster, zipping his boots as he ran.

  His buddies always appreciated his calm response to emergencies, but he wasn’t calm this time. He ground the key in the ignition, cursing as the engine caught, then fishtailed down the gravel road.

  When the house came into view, his heart leapt to his throat and died. The place looked like it had been hit by a tornado.

  Once he stepped out of the truck, he realized it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Only the porch had collapsed. The house stood firm, the front door opening to a three-foot drop. Six feet away, the porch steps stood, a short flight to nowhere, and between them and the house lay a mess of beams and boards beneath the drooping halves of the fallen roof.

  On the lawn, Molly and Heck crouched over a prone figure. Almost falling out of the truck in his haste, Cade raced across the yard and skidded to a stop beside her like a runner sliding into home.

  Jess lay with her head in Molly’s lap, her eyes half-closed, her expression serene. She looked like she was sleeping, but there was blood on Molly’s skirt. A lot of blood.

  Heck wrung his hands. “Glad you’re here, Son. A beam came down, hit the back of her head. I wasn’t there. I couldn’t protect her.”

  “It’s all right.” Cade did his best to sound calm. “You couldn’t have stopped it.”

  He put a finger on Jess’s neck to feel her pulse. It was faint but steady. “How long has she been unconscious?”

  “Not long,” Molly said. “She came to pretty fast, but then she touched her head. When she saw the blood on her fingers, she fainted.”

  “Okay.”

  Cade did his best to follow procedures as he would with any other patient. He checked her pupils; reactions were normal. Blood pressure was good, and the gash in her head wasn’t deep. Scalp wounds bled a lot, but she’d be okay.

  In a terrible way, this was a gift. He’d resolved to stay away, to take the lesson Redline had taught him to heart, but he hated to leave Jess believing he’d cheated on her. Somehow, he had to convince her of the truth. She knew he wouldn’t lie—she had to—but he needed to clear the air between them before he left.

  Deep down, though, he was hoping for something more. For absolution, followed by adoration, followed by the life he’d always dreamed of. With Jess.

  Stupid. Goddamn stupid. How many times does she have to say no?

  Pushing his dad’s voice out of his head, he touched an alcohol-soaked pad to Jess’s wound.

  “Ow!” Her eyes flipped open like a doll’s, then narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

  Well, her reflexes were all right. Her face was flushed with pain, though—or was that anger? He’d always been an idiot when it came to reading her emotions. That was part of the problem.

  The other part was that she’d caught his ex-wife in his bed and was determined to believe the worst of him. All these problems needed to be solved, but right now, he needed to do his job.

  He raised his index finger in the air. “How many fingers?”

  “Too many. Because they’re yours.”

  “Now, sugar, you be nice,” Heck said. “Cade’s trying to help.”

  “I’m just not up for this right now.” Shrugging off Cade’s hands, she rose to her feet and swayed, pale as a daylight moon. She had to grab something to steady herself, and the closest something happened to be Cade.

  “Careful,” he said. “You’ve been hit in the head, and…”

  “Yeah, no kidding. I figured that out on my own. What I want to know is what happened?” She turned to face the house and staggered. “Who knocked down our house?”

  “Eeet just fell down.” The Dudette was sitting on the ground by the porch steps, her husband hovering over her like an anxious bumblebee. “This house, it is falling apart.”

  Cade hadn’t even noticed she was there. “Oh, sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I am fine.” She looked sulky and put out, probably because he’d rushed to Jess and ignored her. He had a feeling Margo was used to being first in line when it came to male attention. “I want to go home.”

  “We will, sweetheart princess,” said the Dude. “Just rest a minute.”

  “I’m okay, too,” Jess said. “So, Cade, you can go now.”

  A thin trickle of blood chose that moment to stream out from under her hairline. It trailed down her cheek, joined by a tear that slipped from the corner of her eye.

  “You have a cut on your forehead, too.” Ignoring her anger, he stroked her curls back from her face and examined a small but raw-edged wound. “This needs to be cleaned up. Once the ambulance gets here, I’m betting they take you to the emergency room. A head injury’s nothing to mess with.”

  “I’m nothing to mess with. Just go, okay? I’m fine.”

  The Dude was poking through the broken beams.

  “Got to be dry rot.” He held up the chain from the swing, with the bolt that had once been screwed into a beam. “This pulled right out of the wood.”

  “I worked on this porch last summer, and it was fine,” Cade said. “There’s no dry rot.” Distan
t sirens grew louder, and a rusting, rattletrap milk truck swung up the driveway. A picture of a cheeky smiling cow was barely concealed under a red cross painted on the side. As the makeshift ambulance skidded to a stop, two men jumped out of the back, bearing a stretcher.

  “Oh no.” Jess stood, swaying dangerously. “You’re not loading me into that deathtrap.” Cade was glad to see her grin at the ambulance attendants. “I know you, Fletcher Kincaid. I’ve seen you drive.”

  Fletcher, whose father owned a ranch beyond the highway, was just a couple of years out of high school, but he’d already earned his EMT certification. Though he was still a skinny kid, his training gave him an air of confidence as he took Jess’s arm and lowered her to the ground. Cade felt pride warm his heart. He’d mentored Fletcher since the kid was sixteen.

  “You’re pale,” Fletcher said. “How do you feel?”

  “Bad.” Jess shot a killing glare at Cade. “But I’ll be fine if you can just get Cade to leave.”

  “You want Cade gone?” Fletcher looked stunned. “I thought you two were…”

  “You thought wrong.”

  Even with blood trickling down her cheek and fury in her eyes, dressed in old clothes with Hermy’s hair decorating her shirt and blood on her face, Cade couldn’t help admiring Jess’s fiery beauty. The Dudette had flawless makeup and perfect nails, but Jess had an indefinable quality that made her eclipse every woman around her without even trying. Her beauty wasn’t the perfect-princess type—not at all. But she struck Cade speechless with her glorious imperfection.

  She was unique. She was special. She was his—or ought to be.

  Give it up, boy. You said you’d stop.

  Cade shook his head, trying to dislodge his father. I never made you any promises.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he let the scent of crushed honeysuckle fill his senses, calling up a long-ago summer night on that porch swing with Jess. He’d held her, swaying in the flower-scented night, and been sure they’d be together forever. Now, just looking at her made his heart hurt, as if it were trying to grow fingers so it could reach for her.

  But he’d probably never hold her again, because the real forever he faced was going to be just like the last couple of years. Judging from the way she was behaving, she’d condemned him to a life sentence of missing her.

  He needed to accept that fate and go.

  Chapter 37

  Jess swatted away one fireman, then another. They were neighbors, well-meaning and kind, but she didn’t need their help. She could stand up just fine. Somebody’d sped up the rotation of the earth, but she could handle it. Sure, she was staggering a little, but that was because the lawn was uneven. When had it gotten so lumpy?

  Maybe around the time her life grew speed bumps. Her dad was sick, they were selling the ranch, Cade had cheated on her, and her house was falling down. She felt like covering her eyes and peeking through her fingers to see what was coming next, but for her dad’s sake and for Molly’s, she needed to face her obstacles head on.

  Turning, she scanned the wrecked house. The porch was gone, just gone. The smell of crushed honeysuckle tangled in the wreckage was suddenly overwhelming; the world spun faster, then slipped out from under her feet. A hand gripped her elbow, and she stumbled against a male body—a young one, angular and thin. Barely man enough to hold her.

  So not Cade.

  Why did her heart sink at that realization? How could she still want him after what he’d done? Why did she want to tuck her head beneath his chin, rest her palms against the hard plane of his chest, and melt into his warmth?

  Her head injury must be worse than she’d thought.

  “Ma’am?” It was Fletcher again. “You probably shouldn’t be walking just yet.”

  “Maybe not.” She let him help her to a seat on the back of the milk-truck ambulance and shrank into the shadowed interior.

  Cade had joined Molly and Heck up on the porch. He’d taken off his hat, and the way sunlight glossed his blond hair made it look like he had an actual halo, but she knew he was no angel. She didn’t want to look at the man or talk to him, ever again. She didn’t want him to hold her or comfort her.

  But it sure was cold for a summer day.

  She let Fletcher fuss with the gash on her head while she stared straight ahead, pretending she wasn’t listening to Cade and her parents.

  “I saw it happen,” Molly said. “This side pulled out, and the other side held, but it was like the weight of the swing was too much for the beam and pulled the whole roof down.”

  Cade knelt to examine the beam. “Look. You can still see the marks of the screw most of the way. The wood’s only torn up in the last half inch or so.” He examined the bolt. “I think somebody set this up. Unscrewed it partway so it would fall.”

  “Why would anybody do that?” Heck looked puzzled.

  Cade glanced around for the Dude and Dudette, but there was no sign of them. Turning back to Heck, he lowered his voice. “Somebody’s trying to discourage buyers.”

  Molly and Heck didn’t respond. Molly just stood there, twisting her hands in her apron, while Heck stared down at the ground and scuffed the dirt with one foot.

  “You know who I’m talking about, right?” Cade asked.

  Jess slid deeper into the ambulance and pulled her legs to her chest. Wrapping her arms around them, she leaned against the cool metal and closed her eyes. The man said he loved her, but he so readily believed the worst of her. Then he expected her to trust him with Amber Lynn playing pajama party in his bedroom.

  It wasn’t right. As far as she could see, she’d been the target, not the perpetrator. Nobody’d expected the Dudette to sit in that swing. The trap had been set for Jess, and whoever had done it was sneaky, underhanded, and mean. Jess wasn’t like that—but she knew somebody who was.

  The world wavered before her like an underwater dream. As she closed her eyes, she felt strangely confused, but somewhere in the stew of her slipping, sliding thoughts floated an image of Amber Lynn Lyle. She wasn’t screaming, like the last time Jess had seen her. She was leering with triumph.

  Winning Cade back wasn’t enough for his ex-wife. She was trying to kill off the competition.

  * * *

  It was late afternoon when Jess woke to the roll of thunder. In intermittent flickers of lightning, she tried to figure out where she was. Dark wood, cream upholstery, the scent of furniture polish—she felt like she’d landed in a Victorian ghost story, but it was just her mother’s parlor.

  Great. She was languishing on the antique fainting couch like an old-timey virgin with the vapors. How appropriate.

  A second thunderclap made her sit up. She watched a streak of lightning tear across the sky, lighting up the rain-drenched pasture and the windblown trees beyond. Swollen thunderheads loomed over the mountains, and fat raindrops splatted on the windowpane.

  Another flash lit up what was left of the porch.

  “Shit.” She didn’t cuss much, and when she did, she tried to be creative, like her dad. It was a family tradition, but tonight nothing came to mind but shit.

  “I feel the same way,” said a voice from the shadows.

  Cade. He was sitting in one of her mother’s fussy slipper chairs, watching her.

  Shit again. And double shit.

  Jess started to stand so she could head upstairs to bed with her nose in the air, but the walls wobbled and the floor began to spin. Grabbing for something, anything, she grabbed him.

  A wave of heat and nausea washed over her, and she slumped gracelessly onto the fainting couch. Nothing like demonstrating the function of an antique with some vintage feminine behavior.

  “Jess? Talk to me. Please.”

  Maybe those Victorian women were onto something. Nobody could bother you if you weren’t conscious. She threw her head back and let her forearm fall over her forehead t
o shield her eyes. Cade might think he had something to say, but she wasn’t listening. She was done. Done, done, done with Cade Walker.

  “At least let me know you’re all right.”

  “I’m not,” she mumbled.

  She felt his hand brush her shoulder. “What hurts?”

  “Nothing. I’m not all right with you being here.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry about that.”

  She felt him take one of her curls between his fingers. He gently pulled it straight, then let it bounce back into place. It was a tender signal between them, one of the many declarations of love they’d worked out over the years. Her tears, already threatening, brimmed over as another clap of thunder shook the house. The raindrops grew fat, then fatter, and then hailstones hammered the window like a thousand tiny fists.

  “Look, I almost lost you,” Cade said over the racket. “I mean, I know I lost you, but you could have been killed. It made me realize—I just need you to be okay. Don’t know if I ever will be again.” He sighed. “I guess that’s up to you.”

  She didn’t answer, hoping he’d go away if she ignored him.

  “I wasn’t sleeping with Amber Lynn. I wouldn’t do that, and I think you know it.”

  She shifted and cracked one eye open. The so-called slipper chair, dwarfed by his long legs and broad shoulders, looked like something from a dollhouse. He had his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped before him, and was looking at her so intently, she felt naked. She closed her eyes and prayed he hadn’t caught her peeking. She didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want him to look her in the eye.

  Because deep down, she was dumb enough to believe him.

  Outside, the hail ceased, and the sudden silence amplified his words.

  “I’m not leaving til you talk to me,” he said. “I’ll sit here all day if I have to. You know I’ll do it, same as you know I wouldn’t cheat on you. Can’t say it’s much of a hardship anyway. There’s no place I’d rather be than with you. You know that, too.”