Cattleman's Courtship. Carolyne Aarsen
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go home,” Cara said quietly, taking her aunt’s arm in hers.
“Can we come back tonight?”
“Of course we can. But you should go home and rest a bit before we do.” Cara took her aunt’s arm and, as they walked to the door, she leaned heavily on Cara.
The air outside smelled fresh, new. The sun shone down with a benevolent spring warmth, but Cara couldn’t stop the chill shivering down her spine.
“My truck is parked over here,” Nicholas said, stepping ahead of them to lead the way.
Cara acknowledged his comment with a nod, following him more slowly, holding her aunt up.
“I made him eat his vegetables. I made him go for walks,” Aunt Lori was saying, clutching Cara’s arm. “I took good care of him.”
“Of course you did,” Cara said quietly, her attention split between her aunt and the man who strode in front of them, leading the way to his truck.
He opened the door and Cara felt a jolt of dismay. The cab had one bench seat with a fold-down console.
Which meant her aunt would be sitting by the window and Cara…right beside Nicholas.
She helped her aunt into the truck, then had to walk around to Nicholas’s side. She began to get in slowly, wishing she’d worn sensible shoes instead of high heels made for walking short distances, not climbing running boards of pickup trucks.
She faltered as she stepped up and Nicholas caught her, his hand on her elbow. She tried to ignore his touch, wished her heart didn’t jump at his nearness.
She settled on the seat beside her aunt, and buckled herself in. Nicholas got in and Cara’s senses heightened.
“Can you move over a bit,” Aunt Lori asked, nudging Cara with her elbow. “I’m feeling claustrophobic.”
Cara shifted as much as she dared. No matter what, though, she sat too close to Nicholas. She felt the warmth of his arm through the sleeve of her sweater and the scent of his cologne drew up older memories of other trips in this truck. Trips when she didn’t mind sitting as close to him as she was now and often tried to sit even closer.
That’s over, she thought.
The trip back to Cochrane was quiet, broken only by the hum of the tires on the pavement, the intermittent noise of the fan sending cooling air over the truck’s occupants.
Cara kept her arms folded over her purse and tried, like her aunt did, to keep her eyes fixed on the road rolling past them.
But she couldn’t stop her awareness of the man sitting next to her. Each curve in the road and each bump in the pavement brought the two of them in contact with each other.
“Did the doctor say anything about what might have caused the heart attack?” Nicholas asked, breaking the heavy silence.
Cara took a breath. “He told me his cholesterol levels were high. And I imagine the stress of working added to that.”
“Did they say how serious it was?”
“A heart attack is serious. Period,” Aunt Lori said in a tone that didn’t encourage any further discussion.
A heavy silence followed her remark. Cara wished she dared turn the radio on. She wished she and her aunt could share casual conversation. Anything to keep the picture of her uncle falling down the stairs out of her mind.
Anything to keep her from being so sensitive to Nicholas’s presence.
The beginnings of a headache pinched her temples and by the time Nicholas pulled up to her aunt and uncle’s home, Cara felt as if a vise gripped her forehead.
“Thanks for all your help,” Aunt Lori said, leaning past Cara to give Nicholas a worn smile. Then she stepped out of the truck and headed up the walk to the house.
Cara slid over and from a safer distance risked a glance at Nicholas.
He draped one arm over the steering wheel, his other across the back of the seat, bringing his fingertips inches from her shoulder.
“Thanks for the ride and for all the help,” Cara said. “I’m so glad you could bring Aunt Lori to the hospital.”
Nicholas didn’t say anything, his eyes holding hers. “Are you going to be okay?” His voice sounded cool, as if he were asking a mere acquaintance.
Cara shrugged and slipped her purse over her arm. “I don’t know.”
Quiet fell again and Cara didn’t have anything more to say. So she slipped out of the truck and trudged up the sidewalk. But before she got to the house, she couldn’t help a glance back over her shoulder.
Nicholas was watching her.
She took a chance and lifted her hand in a small wave, but he started his truck and drove away.
Cara closed her hand and pressed it to her chest, surprised at the jab of hurt.
Did you expect him to come running down the walk, pull you into his arms and beg you to give him another chance? Did you really think he was pining for you the whole time you were gone? He doesn’t care for you anymore.
The words mocked her, and she turned and entered the house.
Aunt Lori sat in her usual chair in the kitchen, her arms wrapped around her midsection.
“Do you want some tea?” Cara asked, walking to the stove.
Aunt Lori nodded.
While she waited for the water to boil, Cara joined her aunt, glancing around the papers piled up on the room table, the dishes scattered over the kitchen counter. She wished she had the energy to start cleaning.
Her aunt was not a housekeeper. She always joked that she preferred to paint walls than wash them and she could always afford to get someone to do it for her.
Though she missed her aunt and uncle, she didn’t miss the mess either in the house or her uncle’s vet clinic. Her mother wasn’t much different and at times Cara wondered if she really was a Morrison. Every time she came back to her aunt and uncle’s place, either from university or visiting, she spent the first few days tidying up.
However, in spite of the chaos, Uncle Alan and Aunt Lori’s home had been Cara’s most stable home since Audra Morrison dropped Cara off at their place. Audra had assumed Cara was old enough to be without her while she followed her conscience and went to work overseas.
Cara still remembered the grim voice of her uncle, trying to plead with his sister, Cara’s mother, to think of Cara.
Her mother’s reply still rang in her ears. Cara had been raised with more privileges than any of the children she left to help. She didn’t need her mother as much as these destitute young orphans in Nicaragua.
And then she left. Aunt Lori had come upstairs and had sat beside Cara, not saying anything, simply holding her close, letting Cara’s tears drench the front of her shirt.
When Cara turned fifteen, everything changed. Cara’s mother was killed flying into the Congo to help yet another group of lost and broken children.
And Cara was alone.
Uncle Alan and Aunt Lori were named her guardians. They paid for all her expenses, bought her a car. Put her through vet school and Uncle Alan offered her a job when she was done.
She started working for her uncle, met Nicholas and she thought her life had finally come to the place she’d been yearning for since she was a young girl.
A home of her own. A family of her own.
And now, her uncle lay in a hospital bed and Nicholas was more removed from her than ever.
“How are you doing?” Cara asked, reaching over and covering her aunt’s icy hands with hers.
“I’m tired. And I’m scared.” Lori