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Just you wait, Cody Rafferty. We’re going to burn this place down one night soon.
Sunday morning she woke early and alone, hearing sounds from out in the kitchen. She sat up, very aware of her aloneness here. She looked at the wheelchair beside the bed. Thought of the tremendous effort it would take, moving an inch at a time to edge herself out of bed and into it by herself. It would be very tricky, balancing on her one good leg and with only one hand to take the pressure of bracing herself on the arm of the chair. Even if they were—thankfully—on opposite sides. And if she misjudged or fell, she could set everything back to square one.
The solution was obviously out in the kitchen. It went against her grain to call for help—it was against her grain to need help—but…Cody. That it was Cody made all the difference. Without pausing to analyze the craziness of that, she opened her mouth to call out his name. Then stopped abruptly. What if it wasn’t Cody out there? What if it was Mom, or Dad even, and Cody had gone home? He hadn’t said anything about leaving, but if someone else was here, he might feel like he should. And it would be very like Mom to appear with a bag full of fixings, to prepare her one of her big Sunday breakfasts.
And if it was Mom, she’d fuss and worry. Unlike Cody, who seemed to know to talk about something else, anything else, keeping up a steady stream of conversation about any and everything except what they were doing. As if her limitations weren’t the most important thing, in fact were not even important enough to discuss.
She wondered if he’d learned that from the girl at the con, who had died. “If it was you,” she whispered into the air, “thank you.”
She sat there, indecisively. She raised her hands to push back hair tousled from sleep and falling into her eyes, then stopped her left hand when she remembered she was supposed to move it as little as possible.
Where had all this caution come from? She was Britt Roth, toughest cowgirl around. But she was sitting here like some sort of neurotic worrywart. How had it ended up that she was not wanting to call for help getting up if her own mother was here, but was perfectly comfortable calling the guy who had turned everything upside down?
The guy she had thought she would hate forever. The guy who had been, one way or another, a part of her life since the day she was born.
The guy she wanted to be part of her life from now on.
And pushed by that silent admission, she finally called out his name.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Cody had a pretty good idea what it took her to call for help. And she’d already told him she liked that while he was helping her do what she had to do, he pretty much ignored what they were doing. So that was what he did as he helped her up and into the bathroom.
It wasn’t like him to chatter, especially to a woman, but with this woman he didn’t seem to have any trouble. Which might be the craziest part of all of this. While he waited just outside the bathroom door, he kept up a stream about what his weather station was saying would be a nice morning turning to a stormy evening, that Mark had texted the cast would be ready to go on time, and telling her, with a laugh at her stubbornness, that no, she could not ride all the way to Fort Worth with him when he went to pick it up.
“I’ll be leaving before sunrise. Your folks’ll be here to get you ready to go. I’ll head straight back to the doc’s office, and meet you there with the casts.”
Dr. Reed was enthused enough about this new-to-him process, he’d agreed to stay after his regular office hours if necessary, since it was a good nine hours’ round trip to Fort Worth and back, and Cody had promised Mark that lunch on him. Taking into account city traffic and the possibility of delays, even leaving at six a.m. wouldn’t get him back here much before five.
As he got her back into the chair when she was done, making sure she had the wrist and ankle elevated, she started to speak. “I don’t know how to—”
“If you’re going to thank me, don’t. You don’t owe me a thing.” He heard the edge in his own voice as the thing, the thing he hadn’t yet told her, jabbed at him yet again. No, you don’t owe me. You should blame me. For all of this.
Then she gave him that look, that hot, promising look, and said, “I guess we did agree we’d…handle that later.”
When you’re healed enough that I don’t have to tuck you into bed and then leave, when all I want to do is stay.
He didn’t know why he’d said it last night. But once the words had escaped, he was glad he had. Because her simple response of, “I’d better hurry up on that healing, then,” telling him she felt the same, had been all that had kept him going since.
And he had to admit, kissing her good night was an experience. An incredible, amazing experience he wanted to repeat, repeat, repeat. But the more he kissed her as she lay in her bed, the harder it was for him to leave her there, untouched. Only the sight of the bulky boot immobilizing her ankle and the splint on her wrist stopped him.
When they got out to the kitchen, she looked around in surprise. “Pancakes?”
“I can’t cook much, but I can do that.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Mom made sure we all could at least fix essential food, so we wouldn’t starve on our own. For me, pancakes are essential.”
“Me, too,” she said, smiling back at him.
He went back to the kitchen as she edged up to the table in the dining area. But the moment he was no longer looking into those eyes, his brother’s words slammed into his mind yet again.
Only if you want to live with yourself.
He had to tell her. But he didn’t want to blow this up, this amazing thing that had happened between them. This thing that never would have happened if not for that other thing that was his fault. He was feeling more confused than he could ever remember. Her being hurt was a horrible thing but discovering what had been hiding behind a lifetime of animosity was amazing. Did the one balance out the other?
Not your judgment to make, Rafferty. She’s the one in pain.
He would tell her. He’d already made that silent promise to her. He just couldn’t bear to blow this up. Yet.
Monday. He’d do it once she had the 3D casts on. He’d get her set with those, back home and safe, and then he’d confess. And after that, it was up to her. He had a feeling he knew what would happen. For all the surprising sweetness he’d found here with her, she was still Britt Roth and she still had a temper that could start fires. But was it fierce enough she would throw this, throw them away? Or was he being stupid to even imagine that a week of harmony between them could end a lifetime of aggravation and animosity?
