Page 8 of The Cowboy’s Secret Lover

Faith remembered the moment that the picture had been taken. What did it mean that Kurt had saved the old photo? Yet, she said nothing.

Continuing, Erin said, “You haven’t changed much in twenty years.”

“At least that’s a little bit of good news,” said Faith, trying to make a joke.

Erin gave a wan smile.

“Call me if you need anything,” Faith said again.

“I will.”

Faith walked away. As far as she was concerned, she’d been put in an impossible position. How could she let Kurt Crawford return to bull riding, when his next fall could kill him? All the same, how could she forbid a father from saving his daughter’s life?

* * *

The curtainsaround Kurt’s bed were pulled back, and a young man pushed a wheelchair toward the bed. He wore a nametag on a lanyard. Justin. Nurse’s Assistant.

Just beyond his cubicle, Erin leaned against the wall and dried her eyes. Kurt’s chest tightened as his heart filled with love and concern.

“Are you really K.C.?” Justin asked, using Kurt’s rodeo nickname. “We aren’t supposed to bother the patients with stuff like that, but I grew up watching you every year at the rodeo.”

“I sure am,” he said, sitting up. The pounding in Kurt’s head intensified and white dots floated in and out of his vision.

“Wow. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”

The dots faded to nothing and the pain in his head lessened. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Wish it was under better circumstances, though.”

Before Justin could say anything, Erin pushed from the wall and walked toward Kurt. “You all set, daddy? We need to get you home.”

“And then you’ll go into work. I’m sure Camilla needs all the help she can get at the restaurant with the rodeo in town.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” said Erin. “I’ll call her later.”

Justin slipped his ropey arms under Kurt’s shoulders and lifted him from the bed. A cold sweat covered Kurt’s brow as he settled into the wheelchair. “You don’t need to stay home and babysit me. I’ll be fine on my own.”

The nurse’s assistant maneuvered the chair through the warren of corridors and partitioned beds that made up the emergency treatment center. Erin walked at Kurt’s side.

“I’m not leaving you alone and that’s that,” she said.

“Think about all the tips you won’t be getting.”

Justin stopped the wheelchair in front of the hospital’s door.

“Money doesn’t matter,” she said.

Kurt rose slowly from the wheelchair and realized that his daughter’s view on money was sweetly naïve. As far as Kurt was concerned, money—and the care it could buy—was the only thing he needed right now.

Holding Kurt’s elbow with a grip that was stronger than he imagined, Erin led Kurt to her late model, blue sedan. Each step left Kurt feeling like he was 100 years old. Slipping into the low passenger seat, Kurt grimaced.

“You okay, daddy?”

“Just a little sore,” he said, giving her the biggest understatement of the year. Yet, he didn’t care about his aches or his pains. What Kurt needed was to convince Faith McGregor to give him a medical release so he could ride in the rodeo tomorrow night.

Erin got behind the wheel of the car and slammed the door.

The sound was unnaturally loud, and he winced.

“Are you sure that you’re okay? Maybe I should call Faith and tell her that you shouldn’t be going home.”