The Cowgirl's Little Secret

After six rings, she was afraid her call would roll over to voice mail. Chance picked up on the eighth ring.

“Dude, this better be important.” His voice held a teasing growl.

Using her most professional voice, Jolie said, “This is University Hospital Trauma One calling. Mr. Chance Barron?”

“What the— How? What the hell’s going on?”

“I’m sorry to inform you, sir, but your brother Cord was critically injured. An accident on an oil rig.”

“Is he... How bad?”

“He’s—” Her voice cracked and she had to swallow around the constriction in her throat. “He’s in surgery, Cha—Mr. Barron.”

She almost blew it, calling him by his first name. After giving him all the information she had, she heard Chance’s barely polite goodbye before he hung up on her. Jolie huddled her shoulders, shaking again. What if Cord died?

* * *

The 11:00 p.m. shift change arrived. Jolie was dead on her feet and emotionally drained. She’d finished her double shift in automatic mode. Standing in the humid air outside the ER, she stared in the direction of the parking garage. She should go home, take a long bubble bath and put everything behind her. But she couldn’t.

Cord Barron had almost died today. Her stomach cramped so hard she had to bend over from the waist. Jolie choked back a whimper. She wanted to hate him. Had tried to hate him. She’d been the one wanting to kill him—with air quotes around that sentiment. Kill ’im dead. Every day since he’d walked out without a word. No goodbye. No explanation. Nothing. Until she had seen him sitting at the bar in Hannigan’s that long ago St. Paddy’s Day. She’d recognized the hungry look in his eyes and the bulge in his jeans. And something had snapped. She’d wanted to hurt him as badly as he’d hurt her.

Oh, yeah. She’d really taught him a lesson that night—spending the night and then slipping out of the penthouse hotel room at dawn. Only she was the one with the constant reminder. Every time she looked into her son’s eyes and he smiled, Cord was right there all over again.

Rubbing her temples, she breathed deeply to hold back nausea. Jolie didn’t head to the parking garage. She pivoted on her heel and headed back inside the hospital. Marching to the elevator, she berated herself for her weakness with each step until it became a mantra.

This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.

Cord was out of surgery, but she had to see for herself. She needed to make sure his injuries weren’t as life threatening as they’d looked when he’d stopped breathing in the ER.

Pushing through the double doors of the ICU ward, Jolie passed her hand under the automatic dispenser for hand sanitizer from force of habit. The hushed whoosh and thump of respiratory machines were a soft counterpoint to the electronic beeps of heart monitors. Bright lights kept shadows confined to corners. Life and death battled here, with medical personnel on the front lines.

She glanced at the board to locate Cord’s room number. Determined to just stick her head in to assess his condition and leave, Jolie parted the curtains of his cubicle. He looked drawn and pale amid the snaking mass of wires and tubes. She glanced at the monitor, judged his heart rate, respirations and blood pressure.

A touch on her shoulder caused Jolie to clap her hand over her mouth to contain a startled scream. The charge nurse offered a crooked smile.

“What brings you up here, Jolie?”

Jolie nodded toward the bed. “He’s a...” A what? Friend? Lover? Ex? More? Definitely less at this point in time. “I know him.” That was a generic-enough response. “I was in the ER when he was brought in. I just wanted to check on him before I head home.”

The nurse studied her for a long silent minute, and then her expression softened with something akin to understanding. “Sure, hon. Take your time.”

When the nurse stepped away and ducked into another room, Jolie logged into the computer station outside Cord’s room and checked his chart. Things were serious but he was no longer at death’s door.

She should go home, but the thought of the empty house waiting for her didn’t appeal. CJ was staying with his grandfather and Mrs. Corcoran, the nanny, was off visiting her sister. Without giving her motives too much thought, she pulled up an uncomfortable-looking chair and sank gratefully into it. She’d never get this opportunity again—the chance to study Cord, to hold his hand, to pretend what might have been. Jolie curled her fingers around his and simply devoured him with her gaze.

Dark hair hung over the bandage circling his head. He still wore it shaggy, though one side had been shaved for the stitches needed to close the gash on his head. More bandages covered his abdomen, and a wound vac clicked with each draining suck. Though his eyes were closed, she knew they were the color of burned honey. His face was sculpted into stark planes. A dark shadow covered his cheeks and chin. Though bristly now, the stubble would be soft by morning. The fingers of her free hand curled and flexed with the effort not to stroke him.

Cord’s bare chest—what she could see of it—and his shoulders had the raw look of a man who worked for a living. He’d always been buff. In high school, it was sports and summers working on the Crown B Ranch. In college, he worked the oil patch, getting a hands-on education supplemented by his classroom studies.

A wide yawn cracked her jaw. She glanced at the wall clock, surprised it was almost 2:00 a.m. She started to pull her hand away, but Cord’s fingers tightened on hers and his eyelids fluttered. Thrilled, her heart and lungs performed Riverdance, but she didn’t want to examine his reaction too closely, choosing to pretend it heralded a change for the better in his condition. Not something else. As if he knew it was her.

“Don’t go.”

His voice rasped across her nerves and Jolie could no longer hide from her feelings. His grip tightened around her fingers, and his respirations and heart rate kicked off alarms on the monitor.

“Please.”

Tears burned behind her eyelids. “Okay.”

Her whispered assurance eased him, evidenced by the way the monitor sounds evened out. One corner of his mouth quirked into a faint semblance of the cocky grin she’d once loved so much.

“Okay.” Darkness dragged him under again.

* * *

The sweet summer scent of mimosa filled Cord with a sense of rightness. Jolie. Jolie always smelled like mimosa. He cracked one eye open, ignoring the obnoxious sounds of his hospital room and the pain. He inhaled again but that sweet aroma was overwhelmed by the stench of antiseptic and alcohol, of sickness and death. Walls painted institutional gray surrounded him but he found his balance. Jolie. Here? He was too groggy to wonder about the how or why of it.

Slumped over, her head resting on the bed, Jolie held his hand. She puffed air softly in her sleep as a sunbeam kissed her cheek. He hadn’t dreamed her. She was here. Touching him. He ached to touch her chestnut hair but knew any movement would do two things: hurt like hell and startle her into letting go. Instead, he remained content to simply be with her. He’d wanted her and here she was. Sleeping in a position guaranteeing a trip to a chiropractor, holding his hand and making those cute breathing noises he still dreamed about.

Five years ago, during their brief and disastrous reunion, despite the fact both of them had had far too much to drink, he’d made love to her and she’d fallen asleep in his arms. He craved the feeling again like an addict falling out of a twelve-step program. He could admit, at least to himself, that he’d loved her since high school. Not that it did him—or her—any good. Jolie was a Davis, her father a rival of his. And Cyrus Barron always made damn sure Cord and his brothers played by his rules. He hated his old man.

A commotion out in the ward ratcheted the noise level up a notch. Speak of the devil himself. Cord slitted his eyelids. Maybe his father would go away if he thought he was still unconscious.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Cyrus Barron bellowed as he entered the room, and would have lunged for the bed if not for Cash restraining him.

* * *

Jolie jerked awake, her heart pounding from the adrenaline rush. Glancing around in an attempt to focus her sleep-fuzzy mind, she remembered. She’d fallen asleep at Cord’s bedside.

The supervising nurse followed Mr. Barron and Cash into the small room. “Keep your voice down, sir, or I’ll ask you to leave.”

Cyrus, red in the face and looking ready for battle, opened his mouth to launch into what promised to be a scathing retort. Cash cut him off.

“Enough, Dad. Cord’s still unconscious. We don’t want to disturb him.”

Lowering his voice, Cyrus issued orders. “Get her out of here. That woman is not to be anywhere near my son. Especially not with her head on his damn bed!”

Jolie bristled, but the nurse replied before she could. “Ms. Davis is doing her job, Mr. Barron. If you interfere with her or any of my personnel, I will have you not only removed right this instant but banned from this hospital.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “I don’t care who you are. This is my department and you will follow my rules. Or else.”

Jolie rolled her lips between her teeth and bit down to hide a grin. No one but no one ever talked to Cyrus Barron that way. The man was completely flummoxed and left speechless for a moment.

“What is your name?” he demanded.

“Meg Dabney, RN.” The nurse arched a brow. “I’m the day-shift supervisor.” Giving Cyrus her back, she stared at Jolie. “Do you have the patient’s vitals, Jolie?”

Meg was giving her an out—thank goodness. Jolie stood up and quickly assessed the monitor numbers, while twisting her hand to make it look as if she’d been taking Cord’s pulse manually. She read off the statistics while the older woman made notes on her electronic pad. Jolie came close to freaking out when something tickled her palm: Cord’s index finger. She peered at him and noticed his eyelids flickering. Faker! He was conscious and enjoying the show. Relief warred with irritation. This was so like the blasted man.

Dropping his hand, Jolie backed away from the bed. Head down, refusing to make eye contact with Cyrus, she slipped around Meg. The brush of a hand on her bare arm startled her and she glanced up. Cash inclined his head in a slight nod and offered a sympathetic smile, which surprised the dickens out of her. Cash hated her. Didn’t he?

Before she could get away, more Barrons crowded in. Chance and a woman she recognized from the society pages as his new bride, Cassidy. Chase, the Mr. Vegas playboy brother, and even Clay, who must have come all the way from DC. All five Barron brothers in the same small space were enough to put a girl into libido overload, as evidenced by the envious looks from the other nurses.

She escaped, but not for long. Chance caught up to her in three strides.

“Jolie?”

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her rumpled scrubs and wished she’d had time to brush her teeth. With her head still down, she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “Hi, Chance. Uh...congratulations on your marriage. You got here quickly.”

“Thanks. The joys of having a fleet of private jets on standby. Are you okay?”

That brought her head up and she met his concerned gaze. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

As Cord’s brother studied her, she tilted her chin and pasted a blank expression on her face.

“How is he, really?”

She’d bet this was not the real question on the tip of his tongue, but Chance had a reputation as one of the best courtroom attorneys in the state. She lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Far better than he has a right to be.”

Chance’s eyes narrowed and a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. Realizing how that sounded, Jolie hastened to explain.

“He almost died, Chance. And probably should have.” A shiver skittered through her. “He coded in the ER last night, but he’s strong. And stubborn.” And far too aware of her presence this morning, damn him. “The doctors are worried about the liver tear and the spinal injury.”

“What about the trauma to his head?”

She choked on an involuntary giggle. “As thick as his skull is?” She sobered and exhaled. “He’ll recover fully from the concussion. The scar will be hidden once his hair grows back out.”

Disconcerted by Chance’s continued scrutiny, she turned away. “I have to go.”

He gripped her shoulder gently, halting her in her tracks. “Thank you, Jolie. Thank you for being here for him, for not leaving him alone. And for calling me.”

She twisted her head around to stare at him. While not as big a playboy as Chase, Chance had been a player and rather shallow, except where his brothers were concerned. The Barron boys were nothing if not absolutely loyal to each other. She glanced toward the blonde, who stood in the doorway of Cord’s room watching them. Cassidy Morgan had changed Chance Barron for the better.

Jolie glanced back into the cubicle where Cord was still faking unconsciousness. Too bad he appeared to be the same old Cord.

Three

Jolie tiptoed past the ICU waiting room. Even after a week and at five in the morning, at least one Barron family member was camped out there. She shouldn’t be here. Had no right to slip into his room to check his chart, to stare at him, to miss him so much she couldn’t breathe sometimes.

Cordell Barron was the man she loved to hate. And hated to love. But love him she did, God help her. She remembered the first time she’d seen him as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. Her first day of high school. Standing at the top of the stairs, she’d glimpsed the guys all the freshmen girls were talking about. The Barron brothers. Cord. Chance. And their cousins, Cooper and Boone Tate.

Rooted to the spot, she’d gazed down at him. He’d looked up and snagged her with his gaze. That maddening smile of his had slid across his face and broadened until dimples appeared to bracket his full lips. Love at first sight. But then Boone had said something and Cord’s expression had sharpened before they’d all turned and walked away. She should have seen the truth even then. That was only the first time he’d walked away from her.

As she parted the curtains of his room, the sight of him kicked her in the chest just like that first time. Unshed tears prickled the back of her nose and her throat burned. Her fingers itched to comb his thick hair off his forehead before tangling in the dark silk of it. Why did she come every morning? This was torture. Things hadn’t changed. His father still hated her, still pulled all the strings. And it wasn’t just herself she had to worry about now. There was CJ, too.

“You just gonna stand there or are you gonna come in and say hello?” Cord’s raspy voice raised goose bumps on her arms.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“C’mere.”

“No. I mean...I have to go. My shift starts soon.”

“Jolie. Please.”

Oh, God, how could she ignore the pleading in those beautiful burned-honey eyes of his? Dragging her feet, she approached the bed and stood at its foot. His gaze raked over her, hot and hungry, and...yes, there was the hurt she expected to see. Well, good. Now they were even.

“Thank you.”

She blinked as her jaw dropped a little. Those were not the words she’d expected to fall out of his mouth. “F-for what?”

“For being in the ER. For calling Chance. For staying with me.”

“You remember?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry my old man is such an asshat.” He offered a crooked grin that indented only one cheek with a dimple as he held out the hand not plugged full of needles and tubes. “C’mere, Jolie.”

Her fingers curled and her hand started to reach for him of its own accord. She smoothed her palm against her scrub pants and forced her fingers to grab the cotton instead of his warm flesh. “I can’t, Cord. You know that. I have to go.” She turned to leave but his voice stopped her, the plaintive tone twisting her heart.

“Jolie?”

She listened to him inhale and her shoulders slumped. He sounded so...defeated. Glancing over her shoulder, she forced her feet to remain planted. Everything in her wanted to run to him, to wrap him in her arms. The pain—physical and emotional—on his face almost undid her.

“I...I can’t, Cord. We can’t.” She fled, dashing tears from her eyes as she pushed through the ICU doors only to smack into a very solid chest. Strong arms gripped her biceps, holding her up.

“Jolie? You okay?”

Chance. Just her luck.

The timbre of his voice changed. “Jolie? Is it Cord? Is he okay? Did something happen?”

Oh, yeah. Something happened. She’d fallen in love with a man she couldn’t have, she’d seduced him to get back at him, and then she’d kept a big ole honkin’ secret from him. One that would make him hate her. Breathing deeply to steady her nerves, she blinked away the tears.

“He’s awake, Chance. You can talk to him. I have to go. I’m on shift in a few minutes.” She tried to step around him but he didn’t release her.

“He still loves you, Jolie.”

Her heart ripped just a little more. “No, he doesn’t. If he loved me, he would have never broken my...broken up with me.”

She jerked free and stalked away. She kept her head up and shoulders stiff even though she wanted to hunch over to contain the pain ripping her apart.

* * *

Jolie didn’t come back. Cord was disappointed. And pissed. Was she just teasing him again? Anger washed over him like a big ocean wave, filling him with enough bitterness to choke him. One week rolled over into two weeks, and then the third one dragged by with no sign of her. Fine. He was stupid to think they might have a chance, that she’d visited because she still cared.

He fidgeted, waiting for the doctor to arrive. After a month in the hospital, rumor had it he might be discharged today. He was more than ready to get out. To get away from any reminder of Jolie. She was just a few floors away, down in Trauma One. He’d caught a glimpse of her once, as a physical therapist had wheeled him past the cafeteria. She’d taken one look at him in the wheelchair, blanched, turned and all but ran away.

Yeah. He knew the feeling. He hated the freaking chair. Hated that his legs still didn’t work quite right, that his head felt like a watermelon splattered on hot pavement whenever he looked into a bright light, that he was crippled. Cord wanted to go home, where he no longer had to see pity on the faces surrounding him.

Chance and Cassie arrived, followed closely by the doctor and his entourage of medical students. Ah, the joys of University being a teaching hospital. Not.

Seeing his state of undress, his sister-in-law immediately split, offering to grab coffee from the waiting room. Cord would be damned glad when he could wear clothes again so his dangly bits didn’t offend anyone.

He put up with the poking, prodding, comments and advice. The doctor used a stylus to record stuff on a touch screen tablet, frowning as he filled in blanks. Cord’s heart sank. He was going to be stuck here even longer.

“Meg will bring all the paperwork and go over your therapy plan, Mr. Barron.” The doctor glanced at Chance. “You’ve arranged for a home health aide?”

“Wait,” Cord interrupted. “Does this mean I’m getting out of here?”

“That’s what it means, Mr. Barron.”

“Hot damn. Chance, you better have brought me a pair of pants!”

It took three hours to get out of there. Three freaking hours to clear up all the paperwork, but Cord was finally free. Sort of. He was still stuck in the wheelchair. But he wore real clothes—jeans, boots, a T-shirt that hung a little loose on him. He’d lost weight and muscle tone in the hospital, despite the burgers, fries and pizza his brothers had sneaked in and all the physical therapy exercises. But he could go home now. Get away from the hospital, where he wondered every day if he might catch a glimpse of Jolie, wanting her to come back to see him, needing it as much as a man needed water in the desert. That was how he felt. Parched. He wanted to drink her in, knew he could drown in her presence.

Chance insisted on pushing the wheelchair while Cassie carried the bags of medical supplies, paraphernalia and other stuff he’d accumulated. They rode the elevator down to the first floor in silence. Cassie waited with him while Chance went to get his truck. Once he was settled in the front passenger seat and they were underway, Chance glanced at him.

His brother cleared his throat before saying, “I thought we’d take you to the ranch.”

As much as he wanted to go home to his condo and hide from the whole world, Chance’s suggestion made sense. They had staff at the home place, the Crown B Ranch. Miz Beth and Big John, the caretakers who’d been with the boys for as long as they could remember. And according to the doctor, a home health aide. Cord hated being an invalid. But he’d have the place to himself. The old man, when he was in town, kept an apartment in Barron Towers. His brothers all had their own places. Only staff and Kaden Waite, the ranch manager, would be around.

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.” He swallowed the snarl and added, “But I’m starved. I want a steak before we head out there.”

“Cattlemen’s?”

At his nod, Chance changed lanes and made a left turn to head back toward Stockyards City and the famous steak house.

Chance found a space in the parking lot behind the historic building housing Cattlemen’s Cafe. After some frustrated manipulation, Cord settled into the wheelchair. Cassie insisted Chance push and Cord grimaced.

“I can push myself. I’m not helpless.”

“Of course you aren’t.” Cassie hastened to soothe him. “But this is your chance to make Chance your minion.”

Cord still wasn’t happy, but the way Cassie phrased it took the sting out of the fact that he was stuck. Not for long, though. He fully planned to be rid of the freaking wheelchair as soon as possible, if not before.

They had missed the lunch rush and were too early for the dinner crowd, so they were seated immediately.

While Cord and Chance went for the large filet, Cassie opted for prime rib. Their salads were quickly followed by their entrées, and they dug in like starving people, which Cord was. Beef, for him, was its own food group.

Their meal finished, Cassie maneuvered Cord’s wheelchair through the narrow aisles between seating areas while Chance stepped ahead to handle the door. The entrance to the restaurant consisted of two sets of heavy glass double doors, their handles shaped like the horns of a longhorn steer. They’d just passed through the inner doors only to stop when the exterior doors were opened by a woman wearing scrubs, holding a little boy’s hand.

Jolie.

Cord watched her eyes widen to deer-in-headlights proportions as her gaze darted between him and the child beside her.

Nobody moved until Cassie elbowed Chance and whispered, “I didn’t know Cord had been married.”

Her voice broke the spell and both Cord and Chance stared at her.

“He hasn’t.”

“I haven’t.”

The men answered all but simultaneously.

“Why would you think he had, Cass?” Chance muttered the question.

The kid tugged at Jolie’s hand. “Ow, Mommy, leggo. You’re squeezin’ me too hard.”

Cord stared at Jolie then the boy. Mommy? She had a son? His heart shriveled like mud under a hot August sun. She’d found someone else and married him. Had his child. He relaxed his fists and smoothed damp palms along his thighs, hoping to hide his agitation. And sitting in this damned wheelchair sure didn’t help his ego.

Cassie hissed, “If that little boy isn’t a Barron, then I’m deaf and blind.”

All the color drained from Jolie’s face. Her gaze jerked to the child beside her before returning to meet Cord’s stare. She swallowed convulsively and guilt radiated from her. Cord couldn’t speak for a minute as Cassie’s words sank in.