Cattleman's Courtship Read Free Page B

at Cara, then past her. Cara could tell the moment her smile connected with Nicholas. Nicholas always had that effect on women, she thought dully, pushing aside the curtain around her uncle’s bed, her fingers trembling.
    She stepped forward, then faltered at the sight before her.
    Her uncle, a large, strapping man, lay on the bed, his face still obscured by the oxygen mask. Lines attached to circular pads snaked out to a machine beeping out a regular rhythm. His arms lay beside him, bare except for a blood-pressure cuff attached to a machine. Two IVs ran out from his arms.
    He looked like death.
    Cara pressed her hand to her mouth, stopping the faint cry of dismay, her knees buckling beneath her.
    She would have fallen, but strong arms caught her from behind. Held her. Just for those few seconds she allowed herself to drift back against Nicholas’s comforting strength, thankful for his presence.
    We fit so well, Cara thought, letting him support her. His touch, his smell, his warmth felt so familiar it created an ache deep in her chest.
    Then, when she caught her balance, his hands settled on her waist, held a moment and then gently pushed her away.
    As if he couldn’t stand to touch her any longer than he had to.
    Cara disguised the pain of his withdrawal by catching her uncle’s hand and clinging it to it, hoping he would pull through this emergency. She stayed by her uncle’s side a moment longer, then turned away.
    “I want to…go,” she said to Nicholas.
    Aunt Lori sat huddled in the hard plastic chair, her hands kneading each other. As Cara came closer, her head came up. “Is he awake?”

    Cara shook her head.
    “He was working too hard.” Aunt Lori’s voice sounded so small. So wounded.
    Cara stifled the flicker of guilt her aunt’s innocent comment created. It wasn’t her fault, she reminded herself. Even if she had stayed behind and worked at the clinic as her uncle had always envisioned, Alan Morrison wouldn’t have slowed down. Wouldn’t have done less.
    “We should 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