In a Cowboy's Arms

Everyone served themselves, then Ty turned to Jenny. “How were Morgan’s blood-sugar levels today?”

Jenny finished off a salsa-laden tortilla chip, relieved that the conversation was headed toward an acceptable subject—her job. “Just fine. Nothing lower than ninety, nothing over 150.”

“Good,” he said, nodding. “Thankfully, they’ve been pretty stable lately.” He reached out and stroked Morgan’s macaroni-and-cheese-covered cheek, a look of pure love and devotion shining from his eyes. “I don’t want to go through another low-blood-sugar episode any time soon.”

Jenny gave him a sympathetic smile, ignoring how his concern about his child clogged the breath in her throat, determined to keep her reactions on a professional level only. “I can understand why. But keep in mind that we have the glucagon injection on hand if we need to counteract a low, and over the long run, the lows aren’t nearly as damaging physically as the highs.”

“I know,” he replied after chewing a bite of sandwich. “But I’d still like to avoid the lows if we can, even though it’s difficult with an active toddler like Morgan.”

“I do, too,” Jenny said. It was easy to see that the low-blood-sugar episode Morgan had had three weeks ago, which had required a long, agonizing wait for the paramedics in Baker City, had really scared him. She graphically understood his need to keep his daughter safe and healthy. “As long as we stick to the regimen prescribed by the pediatric endocrinologist, we’ll be fine.”

The girls finished their meal quickly, then both started squirming to get out. Sam graciously offered to take them into the family room to watch a Disney DVD before Jenny gave them their baths and put them to bed.

Soon, Jenny was alone in the kitchen with Ty, feeling like a tongue-tied teenager on a first date. Her appetite suddenly gone, she fidgeted on her chair, then suppressed a snort of disgust. She was sitting next to her employer, not a date, thank the Lord; the thought of dating, of opening herself up to be hurt again, struck absolute terror in her heart.

Pushing her half-eaten sandwich aside, she reiterated in her mind that Ty was nothing more than her boss. She would be pleasant and talkative enough to establish a cordial working relationship while keeping their conversation superficial. On the plus side, she might be able to ask Ty what had happened to Morgan’s mom, a detail she told herself she only needed to know for Morgan’s sake.

An awkward silence passed while she kept quiet and Ty built his third sandwich, which was piled high with meat loaf and cheese.

She raised a brow. “How many of those are you going to eat?”

“This’ll probably be it,” he said, holding up the fat sandwich. He nodded toward the tortilla chips. “I’ll fill up on those, too, then probably sneak down for a midnight snack.” He gave her a crooked grin, then leaned in close and whispered, “My dad still buys me the full-fat, very high cholesterol ice cream.”

Jenny had to smile, even though her stomach was doing flips from his sudden nearness. “This,” she said, gesturing to the food on the table, “isn’t enough for you, is it?”

Ty scooped up some salsa with a chip. “Nope, especially not after a hard day working outside.” He lifted a thick shoulder, then popped the chip into his mouth. When he was done chewing, he said, “But I wouldn’t dream of telling my dad that. He works too hard at providing healthy meals to hurt his feelings with complaints.” His eyes softened and he kicked one side of his mouth up. “I just eat what he prepares and then fill in later.”

Jenny’s heart turned over. “You’re very considerate,” she murmured, toying with a piece of cantaloupe with her fork, wishing he wasn’t so darn appealing in every way, wishing it was easier to keep him in the “employer” box she’d made for him.

Swallowing heavily, she deliberately kept her attention off of him, focusing her gaze instead on her half-empty plate.

After a long silence, Ty asked, “So, how are things going with the girls?”

“Just fine,” she said, happy to talk business. “They get along great, and both are used to the same kind of nap routine.” She’d been a little surprised that Morgan was on a set schedule, and had mentally given Ty kudos for doing such a good job as a single father trying to raise a child while working more than full-time hours.

“Good. They both seem happy.” He paused, then cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I ask you a kind of…personal question?”

She looked at him, pulling in her chin. Of course she minded; she wanted to keep things strictly employee/employer between them. But she was taking care of his most precious possession—his child. He had a right to ask personal questions. To a point. “No, not at all,” she said, her voice higher than normal. “What would you like to know?”

He propped his forearms on the table, then gave her an inquisitive stare. “Why did a young, beautiful woman like you want to come out here and live in the middle of nowhere?”

Her heart lurched when he called her beautiful, but she quickly crammed the feeling into a little ball and ignored it. “I thought we covered that in the phone interview.”

He inclined his head. “We did, sort of. Something about wanting to support yourself being a nurse without your parents’ help.” He turned and bored into her with his intense, compelling blue gaze. “There’s got to be more. Not many women would willingly come here to stay.”

Jenny focused on how he seemed to be speaking from personal experience rather than on how his blue stare made her shiver. She had to keep his appeal from sucking her into a dangerous place she’d sworn never to go again when Jack had died. “Um, I, well, I needed to get away from Oak Valley,” she said, hoping he’d leave it at that. She wasn’t ready to share her innermost fears.

“Why?” he asked, still staring, dashing her hopes.

She bit her lip and popped a grape into her mouth, stalling. How could she share with him how much she needed to escape the sad memories of Oak Valley, how she was determined to avoid laying her soul bare again to the most intense pain and hurt she’d ever felt?

Given that searing reality, opening up about Jack’s death seemed…well, nearly impossible. And yet, she was trying to move on and make a new life, for Ava’s sake. To do that she needed to get past the pain, or at the very least be able to deal with it in the most basic of ways. She needed to be able to talk about it.

Taking a deep breath, she hesitated. “Did Connor ever tell you about how my husband died?”

Ty stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”

She swallowed, fiddling with the napkin on her lap, working herself to a mental place where she could talk about Jack’s accident. “He, uh, well…” She cleared her tightening throat. “He was a paramedic, and he was rushing to help a car-accident victim.” She closed her eyes, willing herself to deal with the pain and keep talking.

“Go on,” Ty said softly. “It’s okay.”

The strange thing was, it did feel almost okay—or at least acceptable—to tell him about Jack’s death. Why was that? Why did she feel comfortable enough with this man to tell him about the most tragic event in her life? Was it his softly compelling eyes and wide shoulders that looked as if they could handle any burden?

She fidgeted in her chair for a moment, confused. But then a surprising need to unload came over her and she deliberately relaxed her hands, took another deep breath and continued. “It was dark and wet, and in typical Jack fashion, he was driving too fast, putting someone else’s welfare above his own. He hit a curve, the truck slid off the road…” Tears burned her eyelids but she forced herself to continue. “And hit a tree. On his side.” One lone tear slid down her cheek. “He was killed instantly.”

Pain rose up inside of her like a black, choking tide. If only Jack had been more careful.

“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” Ty asked, his voice low and gentle.

She nodded, her throat burning. She bit her lip and looked up at Ty, saw the tender concern in his eyes and almost fell headfirst into his caring gaze….

She looked away. What was wrong with her? Why had she shared her ultimate pain with Ty? He wasn’t her best friend, or a man she would let herself care about. He was her boss, that was all. She had no business sharing such personal feelings with him. She’d already told him too much.

To her surprise, Ty reached out and covered her hand with his large, warm, calloused hand. “Are you angry with him?”

She blinked, trying to ignore how good his hand felt covering hers, how much she wanted to turn her fingers and hold onto him for a very long time. “Of course not—” she blurted, then cut herself off before she said any more, before she let him in on her deepest shame.

He squeezed her hand and cut off her sentence. “It’s natural you would be. He took a risk and left you alone, right?”

Shaking, she stared at him, amazed at his perceptiveness, still ashamed to admit that deep down she resented her dead husband for being an altruistic risk-taker, for putting somebody else’s welfare above his own.

She shifted on the kitchen chair, biting the inside of her lip. She needed to shut up. Right now. “I don’t think that’s any of your—”

Sam’s call from the family room cut her off. Ty put his napkin on the table and rose, holding up a hand. “I’ll be right back.”

Jenny watched him go, admiring his broad shoulders and narrow hips. Realizing what she was doing, she ripped her gaze away from his retreating back, her face flaming, guilt and shame mixing around inside of her like acid.

“What are you thinking?” she muttered to herself. She had no business checking out Ty, just as she had no business opening up to him.

But for some reason, she had confided in him to a degree. And he’d seen inside of her to her true feelings and understood. While her family had been very supportive, nobody seemed to understand how much she resented Jack for taking a risk that had ultimately left her alone to raise their daughter. Heck, she could hardly even acknowledge the feelings, could barely deal with the guilt and shame that tore at her when she analyzed her feelings about what had caused Jack’s death.

To make matters worse, after the short time she’d spent with Ty, she was drawn to him on an emotional level that went beyond how amazingly blue his eyes were or how beguiling his smile was.

And that was far more dangerous than any physical yearning could ever be.

Ty answered his dad’s question about how to operate their new DVD player, then paused outside the entrance to the kitchen, trying to get his thoughts in order before he went back in and sat down next to Jenny.

The truth was, her tears over her husband’s death had landed on him like a snorting, charging bull, bringing out not only his sympathy, but a deeply rooted sense of protectiveness he’d thought long buried. Strangely, he’d wanted to take her in his arms, and soothe her grief and guilt away while wiping away the pain in her beautiful green eyes.

Bad, bad move. The last thing he should be thinking about was letting himself feel even remotely protective of his daughter’s nanny, or attracted to her. On any level. As if to drive that point home, a vision of Andrea popped into his head.

Remember the pain, McCall.

He gave himself a mental slap and reminded himself that women left when the going got tough, period. No way was he going to put himself through that hell again.

So she’d been deeply affected by her husband’s death. So she was vulnerable and more appealing than any woman he’d been around in a long, long time. While he felt bad she’d been hurt, he couldn’t let himself be too affected by her.

He stepped back into the kitchen, his priorities in order, intending to ask her some questions about Morgan’s insulin regimen. Jenny was at the sink, rinsing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher.

“Hey, you don’t have to do that,” he said.

She turned around, her eyebrows arched high, then lifted one slim shoulder and went back to rinsing and loading. “I don’t mind. Sam’s entertaining the girls and you’ve had a long day.” She glanced at his empty chair. “Why don’t you sit down and relax for a while?”

Her consideration of him warmed a cold, empty place inside of him. Liking the feeling, but wary of it, too, he shook his head. “No way am I going to have you doing all the work. Hand me the sponge and I’ll wipe the table down.” Cleaning up in the same room seemed impersonal enough.

She rinsed out the sponge, then handed it to him along with a spray bottle of antibacterial kitchen cleaner. “Spray it down with this, all right?”

He took the sponge and cleaner from her and went to work. Before he could start the discussion about Morgan’s insulin regimen, Jenny jumped in and said, “So, as long as we’re unloading, why don’t you tell me what happened with Morgan’s mother.”

He froze in mid-spray, yanking his brows together. “What do you mean?” he asked, attacking the Formica table with a vengeance.

“Connor told me you’re divorced.” She swiveled around and pinned him in place with her beautiful greenish-brown gaze. “Why?”

Ty stared at her, surprised by her probing question. He squished the sponge in his hand and resumed wiping. “Things didn’t work out,” he said, his jaw clenched. Talk about a major understatement. His marriage to Andrea had been a disaster from the start.

Jenny walked over and gathered the placemats together. “What happened?”

Ty kept wiping, scrubbing at a nonexistent spot on the table. “So, how many units of insulin did you give Morgan today?”

She put her hand on his forearm, sending warmth up his arm and into his body. “I think the table’s clean,” she said, her voice soft and devoid of reproach. “I’m sure you’d like to change the subject, but I think I have the right to know what happened with Morgan’s mom.”

He jerked his brows together, then abruptly straightened, glaring at her. “Oh, really?”

She glared back. “Yes, really. Your ex-wife not only left you, she left Morgan. As her nanny, I think I should know some details.”

He hated to admit it, but she had a point. Even though it raised the bile in his throat to discuss his ex-wife’s appalling actions with anyone, maybe he needed to let Jenny in on what had happened. For Morgan’s sake only, of course.

He paced toward the sink. “Andrea wasn’t happy living way out here.” He flung the sponge into the sink, familiar, overpowering bitterness rising in him. “Said it was boring and dull. Even after Morgan was born, she was restless and took off for Portland every other weekend to shop and visit friends. Still, we had a daughter, and I had hope.” For love. Peace. A happily-ever-after.

He stopped and shook his head. “I was a fool for hoping for anything. The second Morgan was diagnosed with diabetes, Andrea was out of here, saying she couldn’t handle having a child with a chronic disease.” He snorted. “Just like that she left, and I haven’t seen her since.”

Jenny remained quiet for a moment. “She deserted you,” she said in a monotone. It was a bald-faced, razorsharp statement that cut deep.

His hackles shot to the roof. “Dammit,” he ground out, swinging away, floored by her tactless statement. “No kidding she deserted us.”

Jenny placed her small hand on his rigid arm for a moment. “No, that came out wrong. What I meant was that I’m just…incredulous that a woman would willingly throw away her husband and child.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry for being so blunt. It’s just that as a widow who had no control over my loss, I can’t imagine choosing to walk away.”

Slowly his hackles relaxed. “That makes sense,” he said, seeing the pain and contrition in her eyes. “Sorry I overreacted.”

She smiled, then bent down and pushed the dishwasher closed. “I understand. It’s easy to overreact when the wounds are fresh, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I guess it is.” He rolled a shoulder. “Although, I don’t like to think of myself as wounded.”

“I guess that’s my perspective.” She hung the dish towel on its hook on the refrigerator. “Jack’s death left a wound that I’m not sure will ever heal.”

For some reason, the thought of this vibrant woman being wounded for the rest of her life bothered him. “So does that mean you’re never planning on marrying again?” Strange how the question seemed suddenly very important.

She was quiet for a second, then softly said, her voice tinged in sadness, “That’s right. I loved and lost once. I don’t plan on ever doing that again.”

He straightened the chairs around the table, again somehow saddened that a beautiful young woman like Jenny was planning on being alone for the rest of her life. Funny how he could imagine himself that way, but not her. “Hey, I get that.” Boy, did he. “Depending on someone will burn every single time.”

She turned around and leaned back against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest. “Seems we have a lot in common, don’t we?”

Before he could reply to her statement, Ava called out, asking Jenny to come see the funny doggy on TV. With an understanding smile that Ty liked way too much, Jenny left the kitchen, leaving him alone, one disturbing thought running around in his brain.

They did share a connection. She’d been trampled by love, just like he had. She undoubtedly understood him on a level he had never expected, in a way that made him feel open and vulnerable.

And that scared him to death.

Chapter Three

The next day, which had dawned full of blue sky and warm sunshine, Jenny sat on the patio in the backyard, watching the girls play on the yellow-and-green plastic play structure. Again, she was thankful the entire yard was protected by a four-foot-high chain-link fence, keeping the girls in and any dangerous farm animals out. Just the thought of Ava or Morgan escaping into the working part of the ranch and getting hurt—she was thinking large horses and cows and dangerous equipment—sent shivers of dread down her spine.

She’d just fed them a lunch of leftover macaroni and cheese. They’d play for a few more minutes, then she’d put them down for their naps. Given that she’d been awake most of the night, thinking about a certain blue-eyed cowboy, she’d probably take a snooze, too.

Though she’d tried to keep her thoughts on taking care of Ava and Morgan, all day long she’d been repeating her nighttime musings, dwelling instead on what Ty had revealed to her the night before.

His wife had deserted him and Morgan.

And that broke her heart.

As she’d told Ty, because of her personal experience with loss, she had a hard time wrapping her brain around how a woman could willingly walk away from her family. She had no comprehension of what Ty’s wife had done. She doubted she’d ever understand the woman’s heartless actions.

What she did understand was the pain she’d seen clouding Ty’s blue eyes.

They were a lot alike.

That thought quickly led to another, more bothersome, conclusion.

She couldn’t deny that he appealed to her. He was quickly shaping up to be a man whom she was incredibly drawn to, a man who might tempt her down a road she never wanted to travel again. That was a risk she didn’t even want to think about.

She bit her lip and crossed her arms over her chest. Ty was dangerous. As long as she remembered that, she’d be fine. Thank the Lord he didn’t spend much time at home. If she could make it through occasional dinners he showed up for, she could always manage to sneak away into her room the second the girls went to bed.

A screech drew her attention away from her dire thoughts to the girls. Ava was running around with Morgan’s favorite stuffed bunny in her hand and Morgan was chasing her, screaming. Morgan, who was taller and faster, caught up to Ava and ripped the bunny out of her hand with a howl, then turned and ran away with her prize. Ava burst into tears and plopped her diaper-protected bottom onto the ground and sat there, wailing. Morgan ran to the far corner of the fenced yard, then turned around, her bunny clutched close, and glared at Ava. “My bunny!” she shrieked.

Jenny sighed and stood. Nap time. With some soothing words to both overtired kids, Jenny scooped Ava up and took Morgan by the hand and led them inside for their naps.

Luckily, both girls were dead tired. After a quick diaper change, Jenny settled them both into their cribs, Morgan in her room, Ava in Jenny’s, and they both drifted immediately off to sleep.

Intending to nap, too, Jenny went to the kitchen for a glass of water before heading back down the hall to her room. As she was leaving the kitchen, Dusty burst through the front door, his face red, his battered cowboy hat askew.

“Where’s Sam?” he asked, his eyes darting around the front room. “Emergency!”

Jenny’s stomach fell. Before she could react, Sam stepped into the living room. “I’m right here,” he said, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “What’s he done this time?”

“Old Roscoe jammed him in the ribs.” Dusty took off his hat, shook his head, then replaced the dust-coated thing. “Man that bull’s mean.”

Jenny stood frozen, ice-cold panic seeping into her. “A…a bull has hurt Ty?”

Sam moved past her. “Looks like it.”

She swallowed the bitter taste of fear coating her throat. “Where is he?”

Dusty hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Right outside in the back of the rig. I had a helluva time—uh, pardon me, ma’am—getting him in there. Ty wanted to walk back.”

Jenny put herself into motion, hurriedly following a muttering Sam out the front door. Her knees shook. Bulls could gore people, could kill them with one swipe of their horns, could trample a man in seconds. Dear heaven, had that happened to Ty? No, no. Dusty had said Ty wanted to walk. His injury couldn’t be that bad. She hoped.

Dusty had pulled the dented truck right up in front of the house. By the time Jenny arrived, Sam was already lowering the liftgate of the truck to reveal an ashen-faced Ty, strung out on his back in the bed of the truck on a threadbare blanket like a fallen soldier.

Jenny relaxed a bit when she didn’t see blood or any other obvious signs of goring. Aside from the dirt smearing his flannel shirt and jeans, he was relatively clean. Although the scowl on his face and the grim shadows in his eyes made it clear he was angry as well as in a great deal of pain.

Sam climbed into the back of the truck. “What happened?” he asked, kneeling down next to his son.

Ty shifted and tried to lift a broad shoulder, grimacing. “Just dealing with Roscoe.” He gingerly pressed a hand to his lower chest and closed his eyes briefly. “Think my ribs might be broken.”

“Dammit, Ty,” Sam said, his jaw noticeably tight. “Why don’t you let someone else handle that ornery bull once in a while? You know he has it in for you.”

Ty pulled his brows together and shot his dad a searing look. “You know I always handle Roscoe. Don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Jenny stared at Ty, an eerie sense of déjà vu running through her, chilling her from the inside out, creating a dull ache in her chest. How many times had she heard Jack say that very same thing?

With an under-the-breath snort, she cut off her thoughts. What was wrong with her? She was a medical professional. This wasn’t the time to get all clogged up and sentimental thinking about Jack. She needed to be strong and efficient and take care of Ty. With a lift of her chin, she climbed up into the back of the truck and knelt down next to him.

“Where are the girls?” he asked in a low, raspy voice.

“Napping,” she replied with a forced smile. “No need to worry about them.”

He nodded, then sank back onto the bed of the truck. “Good.”

“Let me have a look,” she said, donning her trusty professional veneer.

Ty made noises of argument under his breath, but she ignored him. “Don’t even try to argue. I’ll have to unbutton your shirt to examine you,” she said, briefly meeting his intense blue gaze. She stared him down, telling him, without words, that he better not mess with Nurse Jenny.