His Country Girl

“I’m having second thoughts, baby. I can still drive. If I leave right now—” Her mother paused as if calculating time and distance. “I should be able to make it in time.”

“I said absolutely not.” She couldn’t stand the thought of her mom alone, driving through the night, battling ice, weariness and terrible conditions. “We already settled this. You’re staying home.”

“Maybe I can get your brother to come with me. We can trade off driving.”

“No. Don’t you see? I’m holding it together but if I have to worry about you, too, I don’t think I can do it.” She liked to think she was strong enough to handle everything, but it wasn’t true. She bounced out of the chair, grabbed her bag and her mocha and headed for the exit. “Go home and stay with Dad. You two can call me tomorrow as many times as you want. We can be together that way.”

“I don’t like it.”

“When the storm clears, you can fly in. It might be better that way. Owen will get to spend more time with you.” Her voice hardly cracked, and she was pleased. The last thing she wanted was for her mom to guess how unnerved she was. The surgeon had gone over with her the risks of anesthesia, surgery in general and everything that could go wrong with the delicate procedure.

Concentrate on the positive, she reminded herself.

“He will be just fine.” No one could comfort like a mother. Jeri Lynn’s voice shone with certainty and love, as if she could will everything to be all right.

Sierra breathed in as much of her mother’s comfort as she could. Her sneakers squeaked on the tile floor as she wended her way to the elevators. “Owen is going to get through this surgery the way he does everything. With flying colors.”

“That’s right. He’s one special little boy.”

“By this time tomorrow, he’ll be in recovery and doing well.” There was nothing like a little wishful thinking to put spring in a woman’s step. She punched the elevator button.

“You call if you need me, baby girl.” Jeri Lynn’s voice rang as warm as a hug. “Anytime. Even if it’s the wee hours. You hear me?”

“I promise, Mom, but I’ll be fine.” She intended to be fine. She intended to handle the worry, the fear and the wait in the best way possible. The doors opened. “I’ll talk to you soon, Mama.”

She tucked her phone in her pocket and smiled briefly at the other occupant of the elevator car, a nervous-looking accountant-type holding a small bouquet of flowers, who did not smile back. She hit the floor button and leaned against the wall. How was Owen faring with Tucker? She warmed from the inside out picturing her little boy’s excitement. He was probably still clutching the plastic horse and the stuffed bull, basking in his hero’s presence.

“Hi, Sierra.” Allie, one of the nurse’s aides, smiled as she hurried by. “I see Owen has a visitor. A handsome visitor.”

One look and all women were charmed. Honestly. Sierra shook her head. “He’s Owen’s charity wish.”

“I was wondering if he was yours.” Allie waggled her brows.

“Not a chance.” She rolled her eyes. She’d become far too sensible to wish, even just a little.

“Then I’m going to wish for him. Christmas is already past, but I can start on my list for next year.” With a wink, Allie whisked around the corner and out of sight.

Wish? It had been a long time since she’d wished for anything for herself. Sierra skidded to a halt in the corridor, drawn by the sound of her child’s voice. All her wants and prayers had gone to her son. First during the rocky year before the divorce, to protect him as much as she could from the marital unhappiness, then to helping him cope with the separation from his father, who had chosen to leave town. And then she tried to shield him from his worsening health.

All I want, Lord, she prayed as she stood mesmerized in the hall by the sight of her little boy’s wide grin, is for him to be healthy again. That’s all I want. Nothing more. All her lost dreams, the long string of workdays on her feet from dawn until dusk and the tatters of her heart were nothing by comparison.

He still held the plastic horse in one hand and hugged the stuffed bull in the curve of his other arm. He was thin. He’d lost weight, his appetite had dwindled, but his baby blues sparkled and pleasure flushed his face. He hadn’t spotted her yet because his entire attention was fixed on the man telling a tale.

“And then the bull gave one final kick. I ducked.” Tucker crouched as if he were missing a bull’s hoof by a hair and blew out a dramatic sigh of relief. “A half inch closer, and I would have been in big trouble.”

“But you weren’t. You showed that bull!”

“I did, but I’m not sure who came out the winner. Me or him. He gave me a good fight. Don’t know how I managed to stay on as long as I did.” Tucker’s baritone vibrated with laughter. “Back in the barns I paid a visit to that bull.”

“You did? What happened? Did he try to kick you?” Enthralled, Owen leaned closer, squeezing the stuffed bull in the crook of his arm harder. “Is he a mean bull?”

“He’s powerful. He spotted me coming and he remembered me.” Sounded like a tall tale to her, but he was entertaining Owen so she didn’t hold it against him. Tucker leaned closer to the boy, as if to make the story more intense. Dark hair dropped over his high forehead, and in profile the straight blade of his nose and the square cut of his jaw were impressive.

Not that she was noticing.

“His eyes got big. His nostrils flared.” Tucker raised one arm, imitating the animal. “He pawed the ground, and I heard a low, menacing growl.”

“Wow. Oh, wow.” Owen’s eyes became impossibly bigger. “What did you do?”

“I pulled a handful of molasses treats out of my pocket like this.” Tucker held out his hand, palm up. “Slayer turned his head to glare at me with one eye, then he snatched the pellets out of my hand and let me rub his poll.”

“Wow. You tamed him!”

“He’s a good guy. He’s just very good at his job, which forces me to bring my A-game when the gate opens.” Tucker was obviously good with kids. She didn’t want to like him, but she couldn’t find fault with him for that.

As if he had become suddenly aware of her, he glanced over his shoulder. A slow grin spread across his face, revealing those lady-killer dimples. “You managed to stay away all of twenty minutes. We agreed on thirty. I want a full half hour.”

“One thing you have to learn about me, Tucker.” Why was she smiling, too? “I don’t make it a habit to do what a man wants. Any man. Even you.”

“Duly noted.” He crossed his arms over his chest, as if appraising her. “You have to go away. Owen and I have ten minutes left. All my secrets have not been revealed.”

“Yeah, Mom. We’re busy.” Owen bounded on his knees, the rasp of his oxygen like a knife to her heart. She hated seeing him like this, but the happiness radiating from him was worth the step back she took.

“Okay, fine. I’ll go away.” As hard as it was to leave her son again, she would retreat to the waiting room and knit a few more rows.

“Well, now, I guess we don’t want to drive you off.” Tucker hooked the chair she’d been sitting in with his foot and tugged it out of the corner. “Maybe you can stay if you vow not to divulge anything you hear.”

“I make no promises.”

“Beware, I’ve been known to charm the most cantankerous and ornery of animals. It might even work on you.” His wink was a step away from downright laughter.

“I’m not ornery.” She was so not sure about this man.

“I didn’t say you were, but you do look tired and I did ask you to take a break. Since you refused to listen, you might as well come put your feet up. I can always hope I bore you so much you drift off and take a nap.”

“As you are completely dull and lackluster, it’s likely to happen.” She settled into the chair and set her bag on the floor. “Is this all right, Owen? I don’t want to intrude on your guy-time.”

“I guess, but we’ve got to talk about bull and bronc riding.” Owen looked adorable, her little angel. “He’s gonna teach me all about it.”

“I won’t interfere. Promise.” She held up her cup and took a sip. Now that she could see her son was all right and happy and her separation anxiety was eased, she did feel a little more relaxed. “Go on with your tale.”

“My tale? I assure you this is the bona fide truth. Cowboy’s honor.” Tucker laid a fist across his heart. “Slayer and I aren’t friends exactly but we respect one another. He’s good at what he does and I am, too. Some days I’m the victor and some days he is.”

“You talk to this animal? That’s how you know he respects you?” So, she was giving him a little sass. Maybe he deserved it, maybe he didn’t. But any man who looked that amazing and who had enough charm to disable half the female population in six states could use a little humbling.

“Sure I do. Slayer and I have had some good conversations.”

“You mean you like Slayer?” Owen seemed amazed.