Carolyne Aarsen - Cattleman's Courtship

Though he only worked part-time, Cara knew he’d been under stress lately. The practice had been extremely busy and Alan was called more often to fill in on the large animal work.

Another vet, Gordon Moen, was supposed to be coming to help out, but he wasn’t arriving for another three weeks.

Too late for Uncle Alan.

The stone in her chest shifted and tears thickened her throat.

Please, Lord, don’t take him away, too. You already took my mother, please spare him.

Then she caught herself.

God didn’t listen to prayers. How many had she sent up that her mother would come back to her? Would put her first in her life?

Had God listened when she prayed Nicholas would choose her over his work? Over his ranch?

Sometimes she wondered if her prayers were selfish but she believed that anyone else in her situation would want the same things.

Aunt Lori always said God moved in mysterious ways. Well, they were certainly mysterious to Cara.

Cara rolled her head slightly, chancing a glance at Nicholas, who had stayed at the hospital. The knot of his tie hung below his open collar of his rumpled shirt. She couldn’t help the hitch of her heart at the sight. He looked more approachable now, more like the Nicholas she remembered.

As if aware of her scrutiny, he glanced back at her. And again their gazes locked. He turned, then walked back in her direction.

He sat down in the empty chair beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. “How are you doing?” he asked.

The deep timbre of his voice still made her heart sing. Still swept away her natural reserve. “I’m okay.”

He frowned, as if dissatisfied with her reply. But what else could she say? She felt especially vulnerable now and if she said more, she would start to cry. She needed to maintain what dignity she could. To stay aloof, calm and in control. Nothing had changed in his life and she couldn’t put herself through that emotional wringer once again.

“Here’s your aunt,” he said suddenly, standing up.

Lori came down the hallway, clutching her purse. A nurse walked beside her, talking in hushed tones. As they came closer Cara heard snatches of the conversation.

“He’ll be on the monitors for a couple of days…good pulse…healthy man…”

Lori nodded, but Cara knew she wasn’t absorbing all this.

Cara got up, stretching her tired muscles, and walked toward her aunt.

“How is he?” Cara knew the question was superfluous but she had to ask.

Her aunt shook her head. “He looks so awful with all those things attached to him. You don’t want to see him yet.”

But Cara needed to.

“Can I see him?” she asked the nurse.

“You two can go in,” she said, gesturing at Cara. “But only for a minute. We don’t want to tire him out.”

Cara realized with a start the nurse had included Nicholas in the invitation. She was about to correct her, when the nurse turned, her shoes squeaking on the gleaming floor.

Cara didn’t look back to see if Nicholas was coming, but as she followed the nurse, she could hear his measured tread behind her, slightly slower than her own.

The nurse motioned for Cara to come closer. “You’ve got two minutes then I’ll come and get you.” She smiled 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 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.