It’s not like that
QUINN:
I think I hear a horse that needs saving
I don’t point out that Linden isn’t even a cowboy because that’s not exactly true. I know he helps out at his family’s ranch at Ruby Gulch thanks to what Greta shares, and a series of handsome black and white pictures hang on his walls that capture the cowboy lifestyle so perfectly they should be hanging in a gallery somewhere. A herd of black cows with a sweeping prairie backdrop rising to meet the craggy Bitterroots. A bonfire at dusk surrounded by jean-clad men with weathered faces. A young Greta astride a spotted horse.
A nurse comes in to take more blood, then to my relief she shoos everyone out so she can help me use the bedpan. Then she gets me settled for the night, administers something into my IV, and turns out the lights.
In the stillness, lulled by the beeps and chimes from the machines, I shut my eyes, but the conflicting emotions swirling inside me dominate my thoughts.
Darienne’s little temper tantrum. My dad’s quick departure. The hard planes of Linden’s face. His pledge to take care of me. Even though in no way do I blame him for this.
I meant what I told my friends.It’s not like that.
The man is irritating as hell. And not just the ridiculous t-shirts and his obsession with power tools and practical jokes, he now knows about my private form of self-care.
But it’s even more twisted than that.
I now owe him my life.
Chapter Ten
“Thanks for the donut holes,”Rickie says from her computer terminal behind the nurse’s station. “You want coffee? We’ve got an espresso machine in the break room now.”
“I’m good,” I reply because that break room has a couple of memories I’d rather not revisit. “Did our unwanted guest make another appearance?”
“Nope.” Rickie nibbles a bite from the donuts I brought for the nurses when I visited Meg this morning. “Why were you tree planting, anyways?”
“Just doing my part.” I push back from the counter.
“I’ll bet,” Rickie says with a warm smile.
Rickie and I had some fun together. The adult kind with zero strings. Her idea, which was kind of a mind-bender because it was just after my divorce and I was so dead inside, I would have felt like an asshole asking.
It was a beautiful thing, until she met someone. At least we’ve stayed friends.
“Okay, I’ve requested an assistant to wheel her out,” Rickie says. “Think you’ll need help?”
“No. Thanks.” I rap my knuckle on the counter.
“You take care, Linden.”
I walk toward Meg’s room. A spike of nerves knocks through my insides. I didn’t think twice about hauling her down to the trailhead in my arms, or about holding her hand in the ambulance and stroking her forehead throughout those scary fever dreams when her body was fighting the poison.
A day and a half later, it feels awkward. The only person I let into my space is my daughter.
Fuck fuck fuck!
Before the snake bite, I was content pushing Meg’s buttons and anticipating the way she’d try to push mine.
Now I don’t know what to feel. Meg’s feisty, bossy, and incredibly gorgeous, and I think she enjoys hating me. But hearing her getting herself off combined with the terror I felt yesterday as I held her in my arms is doing things to me. Things I need to turn off, before I can’t.
Meg’s a good girl, a bring-home-to-meet-Mom sweetheart who would absolutely fit in with my ragtag yet fierce-loving family. But she’s had her heart broken, and I’m not the person to fix it. Not only will I never let myself get close to someone like that again, the age difference between me and Meg is a problem. Justthinkingabout touching her should be illegal.
And yet I seem to keep doing it.
When I open Meg’s door, she’s talking on the phone but wraps up her call when I enter her room. She’s sitting in the bed in a t-shirt with the sheet and blankets draped across her lap and right leg. At least the color is back in her cheeks.
