Son of a Gun

“No. I was traveling out of the country. …” Another slip. There was nothing to do but finish the statement. “I was just going on vacation, but my doctor checked my records and recommended the booster.”

“Where did you go?”

“Italy,” she lied. Too bad she hadn’t gone there like she’d originally planned instead of letting her friend Dorothy talk her into island-hopping in the Caribbean.

“Okay, let’s go to the bathroom and get this cleaned up.”

Once in the bathroom, Damien excused himself for a minute to make a quick call to his vet friend. She stared out the window, thinking how changed the world looked when coated with snow. That’s what she needed—a way to white out the ugliness she’d endured these past months, a chance to go on with her life.

Damien returned quickly and slipped his hands into a pair of latex gloves.

“Good news. You don’t have to get out in the cold again. Benson’s coming here. In the meantime, he said to flush the wound with a saline solution and wash it with Betadine.”

“Do you have that on hand?”

“Yep. And he said to be careful with the arm and eat some of Mother’s soup. You need the nourishment.

“Oh, and Mother said to tell you that she’d bring you a sweat suit if you want to wash up and change into something dry and comfortable before you eat. The clothes are hers, so they’ll be a little large.”

“That would be great.”

She sat perfectly still as he washed the blood and the grime of the day from the area around the cut. She contemplated the strange turn of events. An hour ago, she’d been freezing cold and cloaked in fear and dread. Now she was being catered to and tended as if she were a princess who’d been dropped into a cowboy castle—even if the prince didn’t totally believe her.

A few days of this and her belief in the goodness of man might make a comeback. But she didn’t have a few days. She’d have to leave first thing in the morning, before Damien discovered that there was no car in a ditch anywhere near where he’d found her.

In the meantime, she might as well enjoy her freedom and the comfort the Lamberts provided. Even if all she had to offer in return was lies.

* * *

DAMIEN HAD KNOWN BLAKE Benson since they were in fifth grade and Blake’s father had bought the small spread that backed up to theirs. They’d been best friends all through school, even shared a condo the first two years they were at Texas A&M University.

They’d hunted together, fished together, drunk together and had a few major disagreements—mostly over politics or love. In college, they had tended to fall for the same females.

That was no longer a concern, since Blake was happily married and the father of three. Damien had practically given up hope of finding a woman he wanted to roll in the hay with until they were too old for rolling or pitching hay.

Other than his brothers, there wasn’t a man on earth Damien trusted more than Blake. Now that Emma was stitched and back in the kitchen with Carolina, Damien was eager to hear what Blake had to say about her and her injury. But first, the necessary small talk.

“How’s the family?” Damien asked as he walked Blake to his black pickup truck.

“Sylvia’s great. She’s deliriously excited about the prospect of helping the twins build their first snowman.”

“And the baby?”

“Jenna’s a handful. She’s teething, and little miss prima donna is making sure we all know that she doesn’t like discomfort.”

“Isn’t she a little young to get teeth?”

“She’s six months. Scooting around at the speed of light and with an attitude.”

“And has her dad wrapped around her finger.”

“You know it. So tell me about Emma Smith.”

“You know as much as I do,” Damien admitted.

“A sexy phantom who appeared in your pasture on a snowy night? That’s the stuff of fantasies.”

“If you leave out the part about having a baby and the suspicious tale of a ditched car and tearing her arm on the barbed wire.”

“I have to admit that I’ve never seen that exact kind of injury from getting caught on a barb.”

“I thought the same thing,” Damien said. “I questioned her about it, but she didn’t budge.”

“What do you think happened?” Blake asked.

“My guess is that she had a fight with a violent husband or boyfriend who kicked her out of the car.”

“That would have to be a mean son of a bitch to toss a woman and a baby out on a night like this,” Blake said.

“Or someone so high on booze or drugs that he didn’t realize the seriousness of his actions.”

“Emma seems too classy to hang out with trash like that,” Blake said. “Good manners, better grammar than me, a lady all the way. Mysterious and damn good-looking.”

“You noticed.”

“I’m married, not dead.”

“I’m not dead, either, but I’m not buying her story.” He was intrigued by Emma, though, and not sure why. In his book, lying was one of the biggest turnoffs around—unless she had a very good reason. Like fear of the man who had sliced his brand into her arm.

“One thing for sure, Carolina is taken with that baby,” Blake said. “She even called Sylvia and asked her to send over some of Jenna’s outgrown baby clothes. Sylvia had me bring a boxful with me.”

“You know Mother. She can’t resist a good charity case—or a baby.”

Blake opened the truck door and tossed his black satchel to the passenger seat. “I don’t look for Emma to have any trouble with the arm, but she should probably get it checked out tomorrow just in case. She might even appreciate a people doc.”

“I’ll take her into urgent care out on the highway once the roads clear up.”

“And keep me posted on the continuing saga of Cowboy Rescues Mysterious Woman and Child.”

“You mean, like whether or not there really is a car in a ditch on a road Emma should have never been on?”

“That, and what it’s like sleeping with a beautiful stranger.”

“You are into fantasies tonight.”

“Snow makes me a romantic, which is why I’m heading straight home to my own gorgeous wife.”

Damien stood in the falling snow as Blake drove away, his mind cluttered with the strange turn the evening had taken. The birth certificate that created troubling doubts. A rescue in the snow.