His Country Girl. Jillian Hart

      “I know. I can feel it.” She didn’t seem as alone. Somehow it was as if all those loving prayers and well wishes wrapped around her like an invisible hug. “There’s nothing like the community of a small town. I would be lost without everyone there.”

      “We’re all anxious for you and Owen to come back home safe and sound and well again.” For a happy-go-lucky man, Tucker could be steady and solid. Dark hair tumbled from beneath his hat, which he swept off as he raked the strands out of his eyes. “I’m praying for Owen, too. I was touched that he asked for me. He could have wanted a visit from an ex-president or a celebrity.”

      “There’s no accounting for taste.” The quip surprised her. She hadn’t been in a light mood in many months. Tucker’s chuckle rumbled through the sterile hallway like sunshine, causing a nurse and a patient in a wheelchair to turn his way and share a smile.

      Owen’s door was open, and the little boy was on his hands and knees on his bed watching for the first glimpse of his hero. Sierra stayed behind and 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. His hand swiped at his dark hair falling into his big blue eyes. “You came. You’re really here and everything.”

      “Sure I am, buddy. If I remember right, you and I have met before.” The big man swept off his hat, his tone warm and friendly as he stuck out his hand. “Once at church when I was back home for Christmas and a long time ago at the diner.”

      “Yep. I was almost done with my chocolate milk-shake when you came in. You had a big shiny belt buckle then, too.” Owen slipped his small pale, bluish hand into Tucker’s sun-browned one and shook like a little man. “Is that cuz you were the champion?”

      “You know it. Of course, I haven’t won anything lately.”

      “You got thrown off a horse. That’s why you’ve got that cane, right?” If his eyes got any bigger, they would roll right out of his head.

      “Goodness, lie back, Owen.” Sierra moved into the room, using her mother’s tone because she was comfortable in that role. It created distance between her and Tucker as she circled entirely too close to him to reach her son’s side. She plumped his pillows and patted the top one. “Come on, you need to take it easy.”

      “But, 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’d been expecting. “Hold on there, little cowboy, I just had a good day. You didn’t see me a month later get thrown off a bronc and break a bunch of bones.”

      “Wow!” Owen flopped against his stack of pillows, his entire attention focused on his hero. “Did it hurt lots?”

      “Sure did. That’s why I’m still walking with this cane. But I’m better now.” Tucker Granger shrugged one big shoulder as if his injuries were no big deal. Of course, in her opinion grown men should not be trying to ride a horse that did not want to be ridden in the first place. Men like that, regardless of how impressive they seemed, were the kind who refused to grow up. She had issues with that sort of a man, since she’d regrettably married one of them.

      “I hear you’ve got a big surgery coming up.” Tucker sat on the edge of the bed, his deep blue gaze tender with concern. “Do you know I had some surgeries, too?”

      “Wow. Did it hurt?”

      “Not too bad, but then I did everything the doctors said to do. And I didn’t have a nice mom to take care of me like you have.” He kept it light, his tone easygoing, but it was impossible to hide the worry. “Look what I brought you.”

      “A backpack? Cool!”

      “Not just any backpack. It’s an official rodeo association one. I had a few buddies of mine sign it for you.” He gave the pack a turn to show the dozen autographs and read each one aloud.

      Okay, that was thoughtful. That had to have taken him a lot of time. But she couldn’t let that influence her opinion of the man—of men like him.

      Fine, so she was projecting. She could admit it. But the pain of Ricky’s swift and abrupt abandonment was still raw. He’d been gone for nearly two years, and the wound made by his departure had never healed. She had talked to her pastor, turned to prayer and handed it over to the Lord. Yet the injury remained, one that haunted her.

      Tucker Granger was not Ricky, she reminded herself, although her ex-husband’s carefree attitude was not so different.

      “Wow! A horse!” Owen had unzipped the backpack and began pulling out treasures. The foot-high plastic sorrel horse with matching mane and tail was beautiful.

      “Not just any horse,” Tucker explained. “That’s just like Jack.”

      “Jack’s your horse!” It was good to see Owen so happy. “I saw you win with him, too. It was awesome!”

      “Thanks, buddy.” Cute kid. Tough to think that tomorrow morning he would be undergoing open-heart surgery. He could see the strain on the mother’s face. Sierra Bolton, Baker since her marriage. He zipped the backpack open wider. “Go ahead and dig in, Owen. There’s more.”

      “More?” The little guy didn’t let go of the Jack replica. He plunged his free hand into the depths of the bag, hauling out a rodeo T-shirt in his size, a child’s book about a rodeo horse and several G-rated DVDs Tucker figured the boy might like.

      Last of all was a stuffed bull wearing a T-shirt and a nose ring. Something for the boy to cling to when the going got rough. It couldn’t be easy recovering from that kind of surgery. Since he’d spent his share of time in a hospital bed, Tucker could empathize.

      As the boy exclaimed over each gift, Tucker’s gaze kept drifting to the woman perched on the edge of an uncomfortable-looking chair. Sierra. He hadn’t given her much thought, not even on the rare occasions he was home and his family dragged him out to dinner in town. He hardly recognized her without her apron and notepad. She’d grown tall and willowy, her girlhood imperfections polished away by time and maturity.

      She was a beauty, with those big gray eyes and soft oval face framed by long locks of tumbling blond hair. It was hard not to admire the gentle slope of her nose, her wide-set eyes and delicate bone structure. Hard to believe she’d once been a wallflower hiding behind black-rimmed glasses, the kind of girl who handed her homework in early and landed on the honor roll every semester. The kind of girl who shied away from a boy like him. He figured that was the one thing that hadn’t changed about her.

      “Thank you, Tucker.” Her gaze met his like a touch, and the shock bolted through him like lightning, leaving him a bit dazed.

      “No problem.” He hoped his grin didn’t falter. He didn’t normally have that reaction to women. In fact, he’d never had anything happen like that before.

      “Thanks, Tucker!” Owen’s excitement vibrated through the air. He studied one gift after the next with undisguised amazement. Even though he was on oxygen, it didn’t seem to slow down his enthusiasm. “What’s it like to ride real broncos?”

      “I’ll be happy to tell you, but that will be a long tale.” Tucker took in the subtle signs Sierra Baker was trying to hide—the exhaustion bruising the delicate skin beneath her eyes, the tension furrowing her brow and the tight purse of her mouth as if she were doing her level best to keep all her fears inside.

      Something told him she hadn’t been getting a whole lot of sleep and probably wouldn’t get much, if any, tonight with the surgery looming. He took in her long hair falling straight and unadorned without a single pin or barrette or doodad. Her clothes looked rumpled, not wrinkled exactly, but as if they’d spent too much time in a suitcase, and they hung on her. A good size too large, he figured, judging by the hem of her sweater sleeve that hit her mid-palm and the cinch of her belt, the old notch