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MARI’S HEAD SNAPPED up, her eyes meeting a grey-eyed glower. She swallowed her gasp. “Oh. Good. You’re awake.”
Travis attempted to sit up but collapsed against the pillows, his face twisting in pain.
She lunged from the chair and rushed to the bedside. “No. Don’t get up. You shouldn’t move too much.”
“What happened?” For a few seconds, he appeared genuinely confused, as if he’d forgotten why he was in bed. And then memories resurfaced. His red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes widened with fresh shock and grief. A gut-wrenching groan, rife with agony, sprang from deep inside of him. He flung one arm across his eyes; his hand clenched. “Oh, God. No. Tash.”
It felt like a hand reached inside Mari’s chest, grabbed her heart and squeezed it tight. Her visceral reaction to this man’s anguish was like nothing she’d ever experienced. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, comfort him, ease his hurt. That yearning was shocking in its unfamiliarity.
Her arms hung helpless at her sides; her hands balled into fists. Through a veil of tears, she watched his chest heave with a dry, racking sound that was almost a sob. Then he went still. Arm still blocking his eyes, he asked in a rough voice, “How long have I been asleep?”
“I’m not sure.” Her voice shook. “It was three-thirty when we arrived. Now it’s after eight.”
“We?”
“Jonathan was here.”
Travis’s arm fell away from his eyes as he tried to sit up again. “My horses,” he said. “I need to take care of my horses.”
Her hand shot out, palm flattening on his chest to push him back down. His chest was like a rock, hard and resistant. “Squeak and Mutt are taking care of your horses,” she said in a soothing tone. “They’re staying here until you’re better.”
“I need to see them. Dusty Lady and Faithful are ready to foal.” He yanked at the comforter, tossing it aside as he tried to get out of bed. When he moved his legs, a sharp hiss escaped his lips; his face took on a greyish cast, white around his mouth.
“Stay put!” This time, when she pushed his chest, he fell against the pillows. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. “Everything’s okay,” she said. She dug her cell phone from her jeans pocket. “I’m calling Squeak. He’ll tell you.”
Squeak answered on the second ring.
“He’s awake,” Mari said, aware of Travis’s tense gaze. “Can you come tell him how the horses are doing?”
She shoved the phone into her pocket. Her eyes met his, flitted away for a second before re-landing.
“Why are you here?” Confusion mingled with discomfort in his question.
“Because... I had nothing else to do.”
His brief laugh was sharp and without humor. “I remember locking the door.”
“Why? You need help.”
Thick blond lashes lowered over his eyes. His mouth screwed into a grimace. A minute passed before he said, “Sometimes a man needs to be alone to grieve.”
Squeak shuffled into the bedroom.
“Well, now. Look who’s awake! How’re you holding up, bucko?” The old cowboy came to stand beside Mari. He picked up Travis’s hand and squeezed. “Scared the h—, uh, heck out of us yesterday, you know. I sure am sorry about Tash. Mighty sorry. He was a good horse. Smarter than a cow, that one.”
Travis swallowed; his bleak eyes held Squeak’s. A silent communication passed between the men.
Neither of them appeared to notice Mari backing away from the bed and retreating to the other room.
In a kind of daze, she went to the fireplace and stared into the flames. Witnessing the obvious close bond between Travis and Squeak rekindled emotions of loss and longing that had been her companions since she was old enough to remember. From what she’d gathered from Sage and others, Squeak and Mutt had lived and worked at the Hollister outfit, Bar H, for over fifty years. They were like uncles to Travis and his brother. They were family. How amazing it must have been to grow up in such a close, loving environment.
Yes, Jonathan was her family, but three months of knowing him was nothing compared to a lifetime.
Low, rumbling voices drifted from the bedroom, one voice anxious, the other reassuring.
She gave herself a mental shake; her own feelings didn’t matter at the moment.
The framed photos on the accent table beside the fireplace caught her eye. The smallest one showed a little boy—four or five years old—sitting on a horse. He wore chaps, cowboy boots and hat, western shirt and a smile as big as the sky above him. Mari had seen those dimples before. Was the horse Tash? She traced a finger over the horse’s face. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
Another photo showed Travis and Spence as teenagers. They were sitting together on a fence, cows grazing in the background. The last photo was the most recent; it depicted what she assumed to be the entire Hollister family. Spence and his daughter Whitney, Travis, and an older couple. They all stood in front of a Christmas tree. She guessed someone had taken that photo the year before last; Travis didn’t have a bandage on his hand.
Mari released a pensive sigh and turned away from the photos. She sank into an armchair, retrieved her cell phone and thumbed another text to her cousin.
He’s awake. Squeak’s with him.
You heading back now?
Still need to feed him. He’s in a lot of pain.
Understandable. Do what you need. Pam’s gone to bed. I’ll leave the phone on.
A clunking, shuffling sound came from the bedroom. Mari raised her head.
Travis stood in the doorway, braced on the crutches, his face stark white. Squeak hovered behind him.
She sprang from the chair. “You shouldn’t be moving!”
“Simmer down there, young lady,” Squeak said, amused. “Nature’s calling.” He rolled his eyes towards the bathroom.
Embarrassment flooded her cheeks. “Oh. Right.” She tore her gaze from the men and returned to the armchair.
Squeak chortled. “Last time I helped this bucko use the outhouse, he was still in britches.”
Travis made a harsh, shushing sound, punctuated with a grunt of pain. “This is humiliating enough without your color commentary,” he said with a snap.
Mari winced at every slow clunk of the crutches and the accompanying grunts from Travis’s mouth. Naturally, he would need to use the bathroom. He should take a shower too. She bit down on voicing that suggestion out loud. A shower could wait until tomorrow when she wasn’t here. She’d ask Squeak or Mutt to help him.
The bathroom door shut. More clunks ensued, a thud, a soft bellow, then a few snickers and chortles. She could just imagine what was happening. Actually, she didn’t want to know. Yet she couldn’t help glancing in their direction when the men emerged. Red tinged Travis’s cheeks; he looked almost bashful. Squeak’s grin was wide as a mile.
“We were so bedazzled by that squeaky-clean floor and shiny sink, we almost didn’t find the toilet.”
“You didn’t have to clean the bathroom,” Travis said. “But thanks.”
His small offering of praise filled her to bursting, like a spring flower reaching its petals to the sun. “You’re welcome.”
She sat on her hands while the men returned to the bedroom. When Squeak came back at last, she jumped from her chair. “Is everything okay? Is he comfortable?”
“As comfortable as he can be.” Squeak winked at her. “Heard his stomach growling, but he says he’s not hungry. Bet you can change his mind.”
“I’ll bring him some soup.”
“Shovel it down his throat if you have to. A full stomach helps ease the ache.” He gave her a brisk nod before leaving the cabin.
Mari ladled a generous portion of chicken soup into a mug and set the mug on a plate. Tomorrow, she’d ask around for a lap tray.
Travis had his eyes closed when she entered the bedroom. He sat propped against the headboard, his face weary and wan. It was clear the trek to the bathroom had wrung out the little strength he had. At the sound of her footsteps, he tugged his eyes open to half-mast, his focus narrowing on the plate in her hand. “I’m not hungry,” he said in a gruff tone.
She pulled in a fortifying breath. “Remember about two weeks ago when you said you needed to catch a cold just so you could try Shawna’s chicken soup? Here’s your chance.”
His expression turned truculent, but his well-defined nose twitched as she came closer.
“Smells good, doesn’t it?” She kept her voice light. “I detect Cajun spices.”
“Guess you would know.” His eyes opened wider, assessing her features. “You’re from that part of the country, aren’t you?”
“I was born in Louisiana. Lived there until I was fifteen.” Mari assumed it common knowledge around Hollister by now, although no one but Jonathan and Pam had details beyond that.
She hesitated as she realized there wasn’t anywhere to put the plate. “Guess I’ll put this on your lap.”
“I said I’m not hungry.”
She didn’t bother concealing the exasperation in her sigh as she sat on the edge of the bed next to his hip and angled her body towards him. “Fine. I’ll hold it.” She scooped the spoon into the soup and lifted it to his closed mouth. “Open.”
He barked out a laugh, a glint sparking life in his eyes. “Are you gonna feed me like a baby?”
“Why not? You’re acting like one.”
His scowl deepened before his face relaxed into a reluctant smile. “Guess I deserved that.”
“No, you didn’t. I’m sorry. You have every reason. Here. Try it.”
Eyes locked on hers, he parted his lips, allowing her to slip the spoon between them.
He blinked. “Holy Moses. That tastes good. Here. Give me the mug.”
Her relief mingled with disappointment. She’d wanted to feed him. Her desire to nurture and comfort this man grew stronger every second she remained in his cabin. Reluctance concealed, she handed him the mug. When his fingers brushed against hers, she pulled away. Too quickly. Soup spattered onto his tee shirt.
“Sorry!” She scrambled to her feet, almost dropping the plate she forgot she still held in one hand. “I’ll bring this to the kitchen.” She hurried from the room.
She stood in the kitchen and stared out the window into the black night. Her reflection stared back. Confusion warred with her sense of obligation. It wasn’t fear that caused her to pull away from Travis. His fingers had felt so warm, almost electrifying. His touch made her yearn for more. But more what exactly? It couldn’t be physical attraction. She scarcely knew him, and romance wasn’t on her list of immediate priorities. Maybe it was simply an emotional tug, her hunger to belong. That’s all.
It was better she stayed in the kitchen until she had her emotions under control. She filled a glass with water and sat at the table. She pulled out her cell phone and saw it was almost ten. Once Travis finished eating, she’d leave.
“Mari?” Travis’s voice seemed to echo in the quiet cabin.
She couldn’t recall him speaking her name before. “Yes?”
“Can I have more?”
A pleased smile tugged at her mouth. “Be right there!”
The bashful expression was back on his face when she hurried into the bedroom. “Guess I was hungry.”
She took the empty mug from his outstretched hand, careful not to touch him this time. “Do you feel any better?”
“It’s clearing up my sinuses. Shawna should bottle this stuff and sell it.”
“She made plenty to last through tomorrow,” Mari said over her shoulder as she left the room. “I’ll ask her to make more if you like?”
“Please.”
When she returned with a full mug, he took it and then nodded at the armchair. “Please sit. I have some questions.”
She stiffened, defenses bristling. “Like what?”
“Squeak says you’re planning to come here every day for the next week? How did this all come about?”
Her tension loosened a notch. She settled into the armchair and explained, keeping the details brief.
Travis flashed a grin at her account of Sage’s tactics to ward off Viv Jacobsen. “Viv has good intentions. Her heart’s in the right place, but five minutes of conversation with her is about all I can handle. Sometimes, I wonder how Lou and Elias do.”
“Squeak says Lou married her for her cooking.”
His short laugh ended on a wince. His face turned somber. “Listen, I find all these plans to take care of me thoughtful. But I can take care of myself. I can hobble around on these crutches just fine.”
“No, you can’t.”
He arched one eyebrow at her fierce tone.
She ignored the warning in his eyes. “The doctor said you need to keep that leg as immobile as possible for at least three days. If you move around too much, it’ll take longer to heal.”
“I can’t lie in bed all day like a helpless invalid. I have work to do.”
“Squeak and Mutt are—”
“Squeak and Mutt don’t know my horses like I do.” Anxiety filtered into his voice. “I have half a dozen colts to start, weanlings to halter-break...” His words trailed off as he stared into the middle distance; the thought of everything he had to do clearly overwhelming him.
“Squeak and Mutt can’t handle those things?”
He shrugged, returning his attention to her. “Well, sure. But there’s a bond you form with a horse from the start. A trust that builds. I hate to break the consistency.”
His openness secretly thrilled her; he spoke to her as an equal, as though she understood all he was saying. “I know nothing about horses,” she said. “But I’m guessing they won’t forget you. Once that bond starts, isn’t it always there?”
Sudden, renewed agony crashed over his face. With a bitter sigh, he set the spoon in the half-empty mug. “I’m finished.”
She knew he was thinking about his horse. Tash. “I’m sorry,” she said in a hushed voice.
His eyes blinked rapidly; he swung his face away from her sympathetic gaze. “Here.” He thrust the mug toward her. “Take this.”
Reluctant feet carried her to the doorway. She paused when he said, “There’s a bottle of whiskey above the fridge. Bring it back with you... Please.”
She took her time returning; he needed space to regain his composure. So, she admitted, did she. When she walked into the bedroom again, a pair of opaque eyes observed her from a stoic face. He stretched out a hand for the bottle and shot glass she carried, but she held them out of his reach. “I’m not positive this is a good idea,” she said in a cautioning tone. “I read the prescription label. No alcohol.”
“I’m not taking those d—those dang pills anymore. I don’t like how woozy they make me.”
She worried her lower lip. “So, you plan to drink the pain away?” She didn’t mask her disapproval.
He flicked an impatient hand, beckoning her closer. “No. I’ll have one glass to help me sleep.” When she still hesitated, he said in a tone laced with irritation and reluctant amusement, “Why are you so agitated?”
“I don’t like drunks.”
His chuckle faded under her grim look. “I’m not a drunk, Mari,” he said, his voice pitched low. “Fact is, I don’t drink much at all. A beer on a hot summer day, the occasional whiskey on poker night with the boys... And on nights when I have a broken leg because I had to climb down a canyon to...shoot my horse.”