Читать книгу The Cowgirl's Little Secret - Silver James - Страница 9

Three

Jolie tiptoed past the ICU waiting room. Even after a week and at five in the morning, at least one Barron family member was camped out there. She shouldn’t be here. Had no right to slip into his room to check his chart, to stare at him, to miss him so much she couldn’t breathe sometimes.

Cordell Barron was the man she loved to hate. And hated to love. But love him she did, God help her. She remembered the first time she’d seen him as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. Her first day of high school. Standing at the top of the stairs, she’d glimpsed the guys all the freshmen girls were talking about. The Barron brothers. Cord. Chance. And their cousins, Cooper and Boone Tate.

Rooted to the spot, she’d gazed down at him. He’d looked up and snagged her with his gaze. That maddening smile of his had slid across his face and broadened until dimples appeared to bracket his full lips. Love at first sight. But then Boone had said something and Cord’s expression had sharpened before they’d all turned and walked away. She should have seen the truth even then. That was only the first time he’d walked away from her.

As she parted the curtains of his room, the sight of him kicked her in the chest just like that first time. Unshed tears prickled the back of her nose and her throat burned. Her fingers itched to comb his thick hair off his forehead before tangling in the dark silk of it. Why did she come every morning? This was torture. Things hadn’t changed. His father still hated her, still pulled all the strings. And it wasn’t just herself she had to worry about now. There was CJ, too.

“You just gonna stand there or are you gonna come in and say hello?” Cord’s raspy voice raised goose bumps on her arms.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“C’mere.”

“No. I mean...I have to go. My shift starts soon.”

“Jolie. Please.”

Oh, God, how could she ignore the pleading in those beautiful burned-honey eyes of his? Dragging her feet, she approached the bed and stood at its foot. His gaze raked over her, hot and hungry, and...yes, there was the hurt she expected to see. Well, good. Now they were even.

“Thank you.”

She blinked as her jaw dropped a little. Those were not the words she’d expected to fall out of his mouth. “F-for what?”

“For being in the ER. For calling Chance. For staying with me.”

“You remember?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry my old man is such an asshat.” He offered a crooked grin that indented only one cheek with a dimple as he held out the hand not plugged full of needles and tubes. “C’mere, Jolie.”

Her fingers curled and her hand started to reach for him of its own accord. She smoothed her palm against her scrub pants and forced her fingers to grab the cotton instead of his warm flesh. “I can’t, Cord. You know that. I have to go.” She turned to leave but his voice stopped her, the plaintive tone twisting her heart.

“Jolie?”

She listened to him inhale and her shoulders slumped. He sounded so...defeated. Glancing over her shoulder, she forced her feet to remain planted. Everything in her wanted to run to him, to wrap him in her arms. The pain—physical and emotional—on his face almost undid her.

“I...I can’t, Cord. We can’t.” She fled, dashing tears from her eyes as she pushed through the ICU doors only to smack into a very solid chest. Strong arms gripped her biceps, holding her up.

“Jolie? You okay?”

Chance. Just her luck.

The timbre of his voice changed. “Jolie? Is it Cord? Is he okay? Did something happen?”

Oh, yeah. Something happened. She’d fallen in love with a man she couldn’t have, she’d seduced him to get back at him, and then she’d kept a big ole honkin’ secret from him. One that would make him hate her. Breathing deeply to steady her nerves, she blinked away the tears.

“He’s awake, Chance. You can talk to him. I have to go. I’m on shift in a few minutes.” She tried to step around him but he didn’t release her.

“He still loves you, Jolie.”

Her heart ripped just a little more. “No, he doesn’t. If he loved me, he would have never broken my...broken up with me.”

She jerked free and stalked away. She kept her head up and shoulders stiff even though she wanted to hunch over to contain the pain ripping her apart.

* * *

Jolie didn’t come back. Cord was disappointed. And pissed. Was she just teasing him again? Anger washed over him like a big ocean wave, filling him with enough bitterness to choke him. One week rolled over into two weeks, and then the third one dragged by with no sign of her. Fine. He was stupid to think they might have a chance, that she’d visited because she still cared.

He fidgeted, waiting for the doctor to arrive. After a month in the hospital, rumor had it he might be discharged today. He was more than ready to get out. To get away from any reminder of Jolie. She was just a few floors away, down in Trauma One. He’d caught a glimpse of her once, as a physical therapist had wheeled him past the cafeteria. She’d taken one look at him in the wheelchair, blanched, turned and all but ran away.

Yeah. He knew the feeling. He hated the freaking chair. Hated that his legs still didn’t work quite right, that his head felt like a watermelon splattered on hot pavement whenever he looked into a bright light, that he was crippled. Cord wanted to go home, where he no longer had to see pity on the faces surrounding him.

Chance and Cassie arrived, followed closely by the doctor and his entourage of medical students. Ah, the joys of University being a teaching hospital. Not.

Seeing his state of undress, his sister-in-law immediately split, offering to grab coffee from the waiting room. Cord would be damned glad when he could wear clothes again so his dangly bits didn’t offend anyone.

He put up with the poking, prodding, comments and advice. The doctor used a stylus to record stuff on a touch screen tablet, frowning as he filled in blanks. Cord’s heart sank. He was going to be stuck here even longer.

“Meg will bring all the paperwork and go over your therapy plan, Mr. Barron.” The doctor glanced at Chance. “You’ve arranged for a home health aide?”

“Wait,” Cord interrupted. “Does this mean I’m getting out of here?”

“That’s what it means, Mr. Barron.”

“Hot damn. Chance, you better have brought me a pair of pants!”

It took three hours to get out of there. Three freaking hours to clear up all the paperwork, but Cord was finally free. Sort of. He was still stuck in the wheelchair. But he wore real clothes—jeans, boots, a T-shirt that hung a little loose on him. He’d lost weight and muscle tone in the hospital, despite the burgers, fries and pizza his brothers had sneaked in and all the physical therapy exercises. But he could go home now. Get away from the hospital, where he wondered every day if he might catch a glimpse of Jolie, wanting her to come back to see him, needing it as much as a man needed water in the desert. That was how he felt. Parched. He wanted to drink her in, knew he could drown in her presence.

Chance insisted on pushing the wheelchair while Cassie carried the bags of medical supplies, paraphernalia and other stuff he’d accumulated. They rode the elevator down to the first floor in silence. Cassie waited with him while Chance went to get his truck. Once he was settled in the front passenger seat and they were underway, Chance glanced at him.

His brother cleared his throat before saying, “I thought we’d take you to the ranch.”

As much as he wanted to go home to his condo and hide from the whole world, Chance’s suggestion made sense. They had staff at the home place, the Crown B Ranch. Miz Beth and Big John, the caretakers who’d been with the boys for as long as they could remember. And according to the doctor, a home health aide. Cord hated being an invalid. But he’d have the place to himself. The old man, when he was in town, kept an apartment in Barron Towers. His brothers all had their own places. Only staff and Kaden Waite, the ranch manager, would be around.

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.” He swallowed the snarl and added, “But I’m starved. I want a steak before we head out there.”

“Cattlemen’s?”

At his nod, Chance changed lanes and made a left turn to head back toward Stockyards City and the famous steak house.

Chance found a space in the parking lot behind the historic building housing Cattlemen’s Cafe. After some frustrated manipulation, Cord settled into the wheelchair. Cassie insisted Chance push and Cord grimaced.

“I can push myself. I’m not helpless.”

“Of course you aren’t.” Cassie hastened to soothe him. “But this is your chance to make Chance your minion.”

Cord still wasn’t happy, but the way Cassie phrased it took the sting out of the fact that he was stuck. Not for long, though. He fully planned to be rid of the freaking wheelchair as soon as possible, if not before.

They had missed the lunch rush and were too early for the dinner crowd, so they were seated immediately.

While Cord and Chance went for the large filet, Cassie opted for prime rib. Their salads were quickly followed by their entrées, and they dug in like starving people, which Cord was. Beef, for him, was its own food group.

Their meal finished, Cassie maneuvered Cord’s wheelchair through the narrow aisles between seating areas while Chance stepped ahead to handle the door. The entrance to the restaurant consisted of two sets of heavy glass double doors, their handles shaped like the horns of a longhorn steer. They’d just passed through the inner doors only to stop when the exterior doors were opened by a woman wearing scrubs, holding a little boy’s hand.

Jolie.

Cord watched her eyes widen to deer-in-headlights proportions as her gaze darted between him and the child beside her.

Nobody moved until Cassie elbowed Chance and whispered, “I didn’t know Cord had been married.”

Her voice broke the spell and both Cord and Chance stared at her.

“He hasn’t.”

“I haven’t.”

The men answered all but simultaneously.

“Why would you think he had, Cass?” Chance muttered the question.

The kid tugged at Jolie’s hand. “Ow, Mommy, leggo. You’re squeezin’ me too hard.”

Cord stared at Jolie then the boy. Mommy? She had a son? His heart shriveled like mud under a hot August sun. She’d found someone else and married him. Had his child. He relaxed his fists and smoothed damp palms along his thighs, hoping to hide his agitation. And sitting in this damned wheelchair sure didn’t help his ego.

Cassie hissed, “If that little boy isn’t a Barron, then I’m deaf and blind.”

All the color drained from Jolie’s face. Her gaze jerked to the child beside her before returning to meet Cord’s stare. She swallowed convulsively and guilt radiated from her. Cord couldn’t speak for a minute as Cassie’s words sank in.

“Jolie?” Her name rasped across his tongue, which felt like sandpaper.

“Cord.” She blinked several times and her grip on the boy’s hand tightened even more.

People knotted up behind them, wanting out. Cord pushed the chair forward, and Jolie had no place to go but backward onto the sidewalk. Chance and Cassie followed a step behind.

Brown eyes as curious as a chipmunk’s stared at Cord. This time, he was the one who swallowed convulsively. “What’s going on, Jolie?”

“Who’re you?” The boy’s lips pursed and his brows knitted together.

Tilting his head so he could watch both Jolie and the boy, Cord replied, “I’m Cord Barron. Who’re you?”

“I’m CJ. Do you know my mommy?”

“I thought I did.” Cord was pretty sure his voice dripped icicles. Cassie was right. Everything about the kid screamed Barron. His aggressive stance, his expression. Looking at CJ was like seeing a picture of himself as a kid.

“Cord...I...I can explain.”

Jolie looked terrified as he pushed the wheelchair toward her, only to be brought up short by his brother’s hand on his shoulder.

“Easy, Cord. Let me handle this.”

Chance was using his lawyer voice. Rather than shaking off his hand, Cord inhaled deeply. It wouldn’t do to lose his temper. Not here in the middle of the sidewalk. Was it possible CJ was his? He knew nothing about kids, or how to judge their ages, but the boy couldn’t be more than four, five at the oldest. He stopped breathing for a minute. St. Patrick’s Day. Five years ago. The Bricktown Street Party. Hannigan’s Pub. He felt the color drain from his face and now he surged forward, jerking away from his brother.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jolie backed up several steps, dragging the boy with her. CJ pulled free and charged. His little fists hammered Cord’s thighs as Cord jerked the chair to a stop to avoid running over the kid.

“You leave my mommy alone.”

Cord picked him up, hiding the twinge of pain in his ribs, and placed him in his lap, one arm corralling the kid’s legs so he couldn’t kick. Oh, yeah. CJ was all Barron. He had no doubt.

“Cord? Please...”

He glanced around CJ to stare at Jolie. She had her hand raised, reaching toward her son, her eyes pleading with him. Folding the kid in his arms, he settled the child he was pretty damn sure was his son more firmly on his lap. “Is he mine?” He was pleased his voice remained calm and sounded reasonable. Inside he was a seething cauldron of anger.

CJ stopped squirming, as if he sensed something momentous about to happen. His eyes jittered between his mom and Cord.

“I...” Jolie looked away. “Cord... You don’t understand.”

“No. I guess I don’t. Since you didn’t give me a chance. Or explain. But you didn’t answer my question. He is mine, isn’t he?”

Anger cramped his gut, but his touch remained gentle as he held the boy in his lap. His eyes stayed fixed on Jolie, and even though they burned, he didn’t blink. How could she do this to him? Did she hate him that damned much? When he’d caught her crying over him in the ICU, he’d hoped for a second chance, but she’d obviously wiped the slate clean and eradicated him completely. His heart turned to granite when he realized what Jolie had done—and had done deliberately. If he said a word, his face would crack, shattering just like his heart was doing. But he had to know.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Jolie flushed and her chin rose to a stubborn angle. The anger in her green eyes flashed like emeralds lit by firelight. “No, Cord. No, I wasn’t.”