His Country Girl. Jillian Hart

      

      Her son was on his hands and knees on his hospital bed, watching for the first glimpse of his hero

      Sierra let Tucker go in first, love overwhelming her at the happiness chasing across her son’s pale face.

      “Tucker!” Owen beamed up at his hero. “You came. You’re really here and everything.”

      “Sure I am, buddy.”

      If her son’s eyes got any bigger, they would roll right out of his head.

      “Mom, it’s Tucker Granger! We saw him on TV when he showed that bull who was boss and set the new record. I saw. He’s the best.”

      Tucker’s warm chuckle rang with good humor and not self-importance as she was expecting. “Hold on there, little cowboy, I just had a good day. You didn’t see me a month later getting thrown off a bronc five seconds in and breaking half the bones in my body.”

      That was exactly why she couldn’t fall for a man like Tucker.

      JILLIAN HART

      grew up on her family’s homestead, where she helped raise cattle, rode horses and scribbled stories in her spare time. After earning her English degree from Whitman College, she worked in travel and advertising before selling her first novel. When Jillian isn’t working on her next story, she can be found puttering in her rose garden, curled up with a good book or spending quiet evenings at home with her family.

      Jillian Hart

      His Country Girl

      Direct my steps by Your word.

      —Psalms 119:133

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Letter to Reader

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      Denver’s January cold had crept into her bones. Sierra Baker shivered, rescued her hand-knit cardigan from the back of the uncomfortable black chair in the hospital’s waiting area and watched a nurse pad down the hall to the busy nurse’s station. No sign of Tucker Granger yet. She wrapped her arms around her middle for comfort and thought of her six-year-old son in his room. He was waiting for a visit from the rodeo rider he’d specifically requested of the children’s wishing charity.

      And the man was late. Her stomach had twisted into such a tight knot she could hardly breathe. Minutes had ticked by, minutes which had felt like hours, and anxiety was about to gobble her up.

      Remember, God is in charge. That thought comforted her enough that she could settle back into her chair and gather up her knitting. The needles felt cool against her fingertips as she wrapped a strand of soft blue wool around the needle and began a row. It gave her something to focus on other than the fact her son was facing surgery bright and early in the morning.

      He’s going to be all right. She had to believe that. Her town pastor had encouraged her to be positive. Owen was in God’s hands. She had to trust that this surgery to cure his heart problem would go flawlessly and he would be well.

      “Sierra Baker. Is that you?” A man’s amused baritone boomed across the waiting room, at odds with the somber, hushed tones around her.

      Why did it have to be Tucker Granger? Of all the rodeo champions in the West, why did Owen want him? She and Tucker were from the same hometown. They’d gone through school together. She did not like him or the way he bounded into sight with his signature megawatt grin. That grin could make every eligible woman in a five-mile radius dream, but not her. He might be one of the most well-known bronc riders in three states, but her heart rate remained unaffected.

      She folded up her knitting and rose from the chair. “You’re late.”

      “Fifteen minutes, tops.” Tardiness didn’t concern him, obviously. He simply flashed his double dimples, the ones that could make him outshine a movie star, and the cane he walked with became hardly noticeable. “It was a battle getting from the airport. The planes are grounded. God was watching out for us because my flight was the last to land.”

      “I’m grateful, for Owen’s sake.” She didn’t want Tucker to think she was one of the poor, perhaps misguided women who thought a man chasing notoriety and a carefree lifestyle was attractive. Not just a carefree lifestyle, she corrected, glancing at the cane he leaned on, but a dangerous one. The whole town back home had been buzzing with concern when he’d been injured months ago at a competition.

      Why did his eyes flash amusement, as if he were laughing at her? That was another thing she didn’t want to like about the man—his perpetual good humor.

      “How is the little tyke doing?” He turned serious and jammed his free fist into his leather jacket. Snow dusted the brim of his hat and the wide expanse of his linebacker shoulders. His deep, lapis-blue eyes radiated a genuine concern, reminding her of the boy she used to know when they’d been in the same third grade class. The boy who had given her his lunch when bullies on the playground had taken hers. She’d almost forgotten that boy.

      “Owen is doing as well as can be expected.” She took a step toward the nurse’s station. “That’s why I was waiting out here. I want to talk to you before you see him.”

      “Sure. What’s up?” He shifted the strap of a backpack on his shoulder.

      A child’s backpack, she realized. One with the rodeo association’s logo and a bucking horse and rider printed on it. Thoughtful of him to bring a gift. She slowed her pace, so they wouldn’t arrive at Owen’s room too quickly.

      “His surgery is in the morning. I don’t know if Janelle told you.”

      “Sure she did. She said Owen’s a pretty sick little boy right now.”

      “Yes, but he’s going to get better.” He had to. She set her chin, determined to stay strong. “He’s fragile and we’re trying not to upset him.”

      “That’s the last thing I want to do.”

      “Please don’t mention his father.”

      “You mean Ricky isn’t here?”

      “He couldn’t be bothered.” A long, painful story, one she so did not want to get into. “Owen is very sensitive about his dad’s absence.”

      “I understand. Anything else I should know?”

      “Just that he is really excited about you coming to see him.”

      “Hey, it’s the least I can do. You’ve served my family how many meals at the town diner?” Kindness softened the rugged planes of his granite face. How the man could possibly get any more handsome was a complete mystery.

      “More meals than I can count.” She had been a waitress in the town’s only diner since high school. “Your family is always so great to me. Your dad is a shamelessly big tipper.”

      “He’s generous to a fault.” Affection edged into his voice when he spoke of his father. Everyone knew Frank Granger was one of the good guys. Tucker, who looked nearly