His Country Girl. Jillian Hart
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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