His Country Girl

“How cute. Owen must be on cloud nine.”

“Pretty much.” She took another sip, but it didn’t steady her or calm the nerves rocking around in her stomach.

“Tucker comes from a fine family.” It was hard to miss that lilt of meaning in her mother’s voice. Jeri Lynn was an optimist. “Honest, hardworking folk. And he’s single.”

“He’s perpetually single.” Tucker Granger married? She couldn’t picture it. That was where the similarity between him and Ricky ended. Marriage had suited Ricky just fine, as he liked being waited on and tended to, until the going had gotten rough. She couldn’t picture Tucker settling down long enough to put a wedding ring on a woman’s finger. “His life is wandering from rodeo to rodeo. You’ll have to find someone a little more stable to marry me off to.”

“Then I’ll keep trying.” Beneath her mother’s breezy quip vibrated the worry for Owen she was fighting to hide.

Sierra knew just what that was like. She’d been battling to do the same for the last six months, as Owen’s health problems had gone from moderate to serious. “You’ll have to try pretty hard,” she quipped back. “It takes a great man to be better than no man at all.”

“I don’t know who quoted that saying to you, but it’s wrong. Your father isn’t a great man, but he’s better than nothing.” She burst into giggles, maybe from stress rather than her gentle joke.

Sierra giggled, too. The tension was definitely getting to her. “Dad is a good man.”

“I know. I just couldn’t seem to help myself.” Recovering, Jeri Lynn gave a sigh, as if she were prepared to compose herself. “Bad news. They’ve cancelled the flight. Unless the Bakers made it in, you’re on your own, baby.”

“I’m not alone, Mom. I can feel your love from here.”

“That’s right, and I’ll keep it coming.”

Silence fell, and Sierra knew what her mom was too choked up to speak. They were never alone, not really. She had never relied more on her faith than during the last few months, especially today. Tomorrow, her faith would be all she had to see her through the surgery to save her son’s life.

“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.

“Just because he and I are adversaries in the pen doesn’t mean it’s personal. He’s one of God’s creations, too.” The lilt remained in Tucker’s voice but his smile disappeared. “That’s one of the first things my dad taught me. You don’t be unkind to an animal. God gave them life for a reason and if He cares about the smallest sparrow, then He cares about all His creatures. He’s watching how you treat them. He’s trusting us to do it right.”

“I learned that in Sunday school.” Owen nodded, seriously. “We learned about sheep and the Shepherd, too.”

Fine, so the cowboy secrets weren’t what she’d expected, but she liked being privy to them. She leaned back in her chair and took another sip of her drink. It was chocolaty and soothing, the room was warm and the last few weeks of little sleep and incredible worry caught up with her. Exhaustion wrapped around her like a welcome hug.

“Sounds like you’re learning the right stuff.” Tucker’s deep voice rang low and pleasant. “The thing about Slayer is he likes putting on a show and acting tough. You can see it in his eyes. He sizes you up before a run, like he’s figuring out how fast he can get you to the ground.”

“But he tries to gore you.” Owen sounded confused.

“Sure, he gets carried away. He doesn’t have reasoning powers the way humans do, but he isn’t out to hurt you. He gets all wound up and his instincts take over. You can’t fault him for that.”

“What about the horse that stomped you?”

Tucker’s voice grew blurry, one word rumbling into the next, hard to discern. Her eyelids felt so heavy. Maybe she should close her eyes. She could listen and rest at the same time, couldn’t she?

The sound of Tucker’s voice murmured pleasantly, growing dimmer and dimmer until there was only silence.

“I learned to ride bulls and broncs on sheep.” It was hard to miss the woman snoozing quietly, her chin tucked to her chest, sitting relaxed and slack and peaceful. She sure must be tired to drift off like that. That chair didn’t even look close to comfortable. She’d been out a good twenty minutes by his count, maybe more.

“On a sheep?” Owen looked a little doubtful. “You can’t ride a sheep.”

“Sure, I can’t now, but that was back when I was a little guy about your age.” The kid seemed to be lapping up his stories, so he figured, why stop? He didn’t want to disappoint the boy. And if he himself were facing heart surgery the next day, he’d want to be distracted, too. “I kept pestering my dad to ride like the rodeo, so he finally caved and borrowed a few of the neighbor’s sheep. I was a mite disappointed, I tell you, when my dad brought me out to the corral all pleased as punch. He figured I’d be real excited but the truth was, I was thinking, a sheep? That’s not the same as bronco riding.”

“A sheep isn’t a horse.” Owen laughed, as if that was obvious.

“Exactly. Then my dad put me on Fluffy’s back. That sheep took off like a wild thing and I slid right off. I landed on my backside in the dirt thinking that was the most fun I’d ever had.” The memory had him laughing. “My dad chuckled and ambled over to me and dusted me off. He said, ‘What did you think of that, son? You think that’s a sissy ride now?’ All I wanted was to get back on that sheep and ride him better each and every time.”

“Wow.” Owen’s face fell and he stared hard at the bull tucked tight against his chest. With his head bowed, his cowlick stuck straight up, making him look both cute and vulnerable. “What’s your daddy like?”

“My dad?” The question startled him. He shot a glance at Sierra, still asleep in the chair. He did his best not to notice what a beautiful woman she was and the pretty picture she made, there in her light pink sweater and well-worn jeans, like a snapshot to be treasured over time. Her warning popped into his head. He knew the boy wasn’t bringing up the issue of his missing father, but it was implied in that question.

How did he handle it? He studied the kid for a second, taking in the downcast look and the wistful tone of his question. Couldn’t hurt to talk about Dad. There wasn’t a better father on this earth than Frank Granger.

“I get my animal sense from him.” Tucker was surprised at the wash of memories that hit. He spent most of his adult life either on the road or keeping up his training. Riding was an art, one that required practice every day and kept him far from his childhood home. That was the way he’d wanted it, so he was hard pressed to explain the beat of longing for family, for his dad.

“Was he a rodeo rider, too?” Owen asked, head up, eyes sad.

“Nope. He is a hardworking rancher. He is a good dad. The kind that’s patient and steady. He listens. He was always there taking care of Mom and us kids. He taught me to whisper to the animals.”

“Whisper? You mean you can talk to them?”

“Sure you can. You just open your mouth and say stuff.”

That bit of humor almost distracted the boy from the father discussion. Owen broke a hesitating smile and rolled his eyes. “I know that. Anybody can talk to ’em. But how do you do it in horse?”

“That’s a good question. Not everyone can.” The memories came quietly and as welcome as a Wyoming summer, breezing through him stirring up images of his dad kneeling down, hands out, baritone rumbling like song. Frank Granger was a big man, several inches over six feet, and he’d seemed like a giant to the six-year-old boy Tucker had once been. A gentle, powerful, able-to-do-anything father he could always lean on.

“The secret is easy.” Tucker said the same words to Owen that his dad had told him. “You put your feelings in your voice and in your hands and you leave the door to your heart wide open.”

Chapter Three

Sierra blinked, staring at the man, his words resounding inside her. Maybe it was sleep clinging to the corners of her mind making things fuzzy, but had Tucker Granger truly said that? She didn’t realize that a man like him—one who was always laughing, carefree and without a single tie in the world to bind him—would know anything about what lived inside the heart.

“Look who is back with us.” His smile warmed his voice, and she’d never thought of a man’s tone as cozy before, but his was. “Sleeping Beauty is awake.”

“Sleeping Beauty. Really?” Groggy she may be, but she wasn’t that out of it. She shook her head. “Is there an off switch to that charm of yours? It’s getting a little much.”

“I’ll turn it down a notch.” Good humor sparkled back at her. The man dazzled, that was for sure, and it was hard not to hold it against him. “Feeling better?”

“A little.” Good thing she’d kept her cup upright. It was tilting a bit but hadn’t spilled. She took a sip of the lukewarm goodness to give her a moment to compose herself.

“Just in time.” He rose, tossing a smile at someone behind her shoulder. “Looks like pizza is here.”

“Pizza?” She hadn’t ordered any. The delicious aroma of dough, red sauce and pepperoni filled the air.

“Pizza!” Owen looked beyond amazed. “Really? Pepperoni and everything?”

“You betcha, little buddy.” Tucker handed over a generous tip and took charge of the boxes and container of drinks. “I can see by that big frown they forgot to clue in your mom. I had Janelle clear this with your team of docs.”

“Oh boy! Goody.” Owen beamed joy. “Thank you, Tucker. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You’re welcome. I’m partial to pizza myself.” He slid the boxes on the bed. “When I’m on the road, I eat way too much of it. I’m on a health kick these days, eating well so I heal up right. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed this stuff.”

“Me, too!” Owen squeezed the stuffed bull in a big hug. “My mom says pizza is not a food group. You’re only supposed to eat food groups.”

“Really? That’s just plain wrong.” He hauled out a cup of cola from the drink holder and handed it over to her. While he was jovial, it was easy enough to read the understanding somberness in his impossibly dreamy eyes. “Pizza has dough, so that’s as good as a whole grain right there.”

“No, it isn’t. This is a white-flour crust,” she argued, laughing, too. “There is a difference between processed flour and the real stuff.”

“Sure,” he said, as if he didn’t believe her one bit, his dimples deepening.

She set her coffee on the floor and reached for the drink he held out to her. Her fingers curled around the cold circumference of the cup and brushed the heat of his calloused, sun-browned hand. A spark snapped down her arm like an electric shock, startling her. He didn’t seem to notice, pulled away and kept on talking, but the charge kept tingling and seemed to dig into the marrow of her bones. What was that? Her imagination? Static electricity in the air?

“There’s the red sauce,” Tucker went on, unaware of her reaction as he flung open one of the boxes. “That’s made with tomatoes or tomato paste or something like that. That counts as a vegetable. And the cheese is dairy. Pepperoni is meat, so that sounds like four food groups to me.”

“Me, too!” Owen was happy to agree, seeing as how he was about to benefit from the argument. “Tucker? Which is the biggest piece?”

“Let’s see.” Tucker grabbed a napkin and considered the pie in front of him. “This one, do you think?”

Owen leaned forward, studying the slice his hero was lifting onto a napkin. Cheese strings stretched and broke, red sauce dripped and pepperoni grease oozed.

“Yep,” the boy said with satisfaction. “That one’s the best piece. Can it go to my mom?”

“Sure, buddy.” What a sweet kid. Tucker held out the piece to Sierra, doing his level best not to be affected by her. It wasn’t her beauty that was getting to him, but something deeper, something he admired more than he wanted to admit. “It’s only right that ladies are served first. I’ve got pineapple and Canadian bacon in the other box if you’d rather have it.”

“This is great.” She didn’t meet his gaze but took the napkin carefully and this time their fingers didn’t touch.

He couldn’t say why that was a letdown. It wasn’t as if he was interested in the woman. He wasn’t looking for a connection or for reasons to like her.

“Which piece for you, cowboy?” he asked the kid, who had already picked out the slice he wanted and pointed. “You’re going to have to put down Jack and Slayer.”

“This is Slayer? Cool.” Owen seemed pleased with that, although he had a hard time putting down either toy. He debated which one to let go of first, carefully released the plastic horse and set him on the bedside table. Then he propped the stuffed bull against the pillows and tucked him beneath the covers, like a good dad would.

After handing over the slice, Tucker took one for himself. “Sierra, something tells me you’re just itching to say grace.”

“I’m more curious to see what you are going to say.” She had the most amazing eyes, the color of rain clouds gleaming in the light of a winter’s dawn. She was softer toward him and there was no mistaking the curiosity playing at the corners of her pretty mouth.

“Don’t worry, I’m not short on prayers.” Truth was, he was a praying man, faithful to the core. He’d been brought up that way, and living on his own had reinforced his beliefs. He bowed his head, realizing his hands were full of food so they couldn’t join hands. It might have been better to pray before doling out the pizza. Although he was a faithful man, he wasn’t a farsighted one.

“Dear Father,” he began, peering through his lashes to make sure Owen was doing the same. Was it his fault that he noticed Sierra, too? She was a wholesome sight, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, true faith poignant on her heart-shaped face. He wondered what silent prayer she sent heavenward, considering tomorrow’s events. “You are so good to us with all the blessings You bestow on us and on this world. I want to thank You for bringing me here today to get better acquainted with Owen. I’m sure You know and love Owen well. He’s got a big day scheduled tomorrow. We ask that You watch over him, so he can get well and run and play again. And, if it’s possible, let him ride a bronco one day.”

“Amen!” Owen called out with excitement. “I’d sure like that.”

“Amen,” he muttered, biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing, noticing that solemn note in Sierra’s quieter amen.

“This is good pizza.” Owen chomped away, collapsing against his pillows beside Slayer. “The best. So, when do I get a bronco ride?”

Uh-oh. He immediately felt the pull of the boy’s wish and the mother’s unspoken disapproval. Looked like he was in trouble again. Since all eyes were on him, he swallowed hard, took a sip of cola to wash down the bite of pizza and fashioned what he hoped was a diplomatic answer. “That would be up to your mom.”

“Thanks.” Sierra shook her head at him and her disapproval didn’t seem as serious as before. “Thank you so much for putting that on me.”

“You’re entirely welcome. It was my pleasure,” he quipped. “What, you don’t want him to turn out like me?”

“Do you think I would?” She was laughing now, mostly because Owen was bouncing on the bed again, frail of health but hearty of spirit.