His Country Girl. Jillian Hart

Owen called out with excitement. “I’d sure like that.”

      “Amen,” he muttered, biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing, noticing that solemn note in Sierra’s quieter amen.

      “This is good pizza.” Owen chomped away, collapsing against his pillows beside Slayer. “The best. So, when do I get a bronco ride?”

      Uh-oh. He immediately felt the pull of the boy’s wish and the mother’s unspoken disapproval. Looked like he was in trouble again. Since all eyes were on him, he swallowed hard, took a sip of cola to wash down the bite of pizza and fashioned what he hoped was a diplomatic answer. “That would be up to your mom.”

      “Thanks.” Sierra shook her head at him and her disapproval didn’t seem as serious as before. “Thank you so much for putting that on me.”

      “You’re entirely welcome. It was my pleasure,” he quipped. “What, you don’t want him to turn out like me?”

      “Do you think I would?” She was laughing now, mostly because Owen was bouncing on the bed again, frail of health but hearty of spirit.

      “I can ride, can’t I, Mom?” Owen begged. “Tucker told me how. I can do it.”

      “So I heard.” She took a sip of soda, buying time, her forehead crinkling a bit as she thought strategically. “We’ll talk about it once we’re home and you have the doctor’s consent.”

      “That means no.” Owen sighed. He slumped, too good a boy to pout at not getting his way, but his disappointment was sincere and palpable.

      “That means you have to heal up first.” Tucker chimed in, figuring he’d better lend Sierra a hand before he fell further into her disfavor. “That’s what I’m doing. I haven’t tried to ride since I got out of the hospital. I haven’t even thought of riding. I’ve got to get this leg back to normal, then I get to deal with what comes next.”

      “Oh. Okay.” Owen took a bite of pizza, scrunching up his face as he considered the possibilities. “I’m gonna be a cowboy one day, just like you, Tucker.”

      “It’s my guess you’ll make a better one.”

      “He’ll be the best, whatever he does,” Sierra chimed in, resolute, watching her son. Her mother’s love was easy to read. It polished her; it made her radiant with an inner beauty that took his breath away.

      He forgot what he’d been about to say. Words vanished on the tip of his tongue, leaving him mute. He’d never seen this side of Sierra before, never really had the chance. One thing was for certain. No other woman had ever intrigued him the way she did with her steadfast love and concern for her child. It touched him down deep, where he never let anything in.

      “Do you got a trailer?” Owen’s enthusiasm broke into Tucker’s thoughts, bringing him back to the conversation. The kid was already working on the crust of his pizza as he awaited the answer.

      “I have an RV.” Tucker realized he was holding a piece of pizza and took a bite. Swallowed. “It’s home to me when I’m on the road, which is a lot.”

      “Did you drive it here?”

      “Nope. It’s parked at home in my family’s garage.”

      “With your dad?” The boy’s eagerness changed into something more, a look of longing and loss. His love for his father remained in spite of his abandonment and the years of separation.

      “Yep, with my dad.” Sympathy filled him. He’d gone through something similar with his mom when she’d been alive. He understood the pain of an inadequate parent. “And with my sisters, too.”

      “Does your dad tuck you into bed at night?” Owen wiped tomato sauce off the corners of his mouth using a napkin and boyish swipes, but there was no missing the longing in his big eyes.

      “Not anymore.” He could feel Sierra’s gaze like a touch against the side of his face. He could feel her worry that he would upset the boy with his answer. Not going to happen. “Do you know why Dad always tucked me in when I was a little guy?”

      Owen shook his head.

      “Because my mom wasn’t there. She decided she didn’t like living on the ranch and doing all that hard work, so she skedaddled. She used to read my bedtime stories and tuck me in, but when Dad took over that was nice, too.”

      “Your mama left?”

      “Sometimes that happens. It’s sad, but you are the luckiest guy I know.” Tucker wadded up his napkin, praying that he said this just right. “God must love you to have blessed you so much.”

      “Really?” That lit the boy up, the sorrow fading and sadness vanishing.

      “He gave you the best mom in the world.” He resisted the need to look at the woman seated so near to him he could hear the slight gasp of her shock. A strange liquid warmth rolled through his chest somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, an emotion he did not want to acknowledge or to feel. “I sure didn’t get a mom like that.”

      “She is a pretty good mom,” Owen agreed, carefully considering his answer.

      “Glad you agree.” Tucker wanted the boy to know that what he had was more important than what he’d lost. Tucker had spent a chunk of his life figuring that out. Might as well save the boy the trouble. “Your mom stays with you no matter what. She’s here with you right now, right? And she’s so cool that I even let her listen to some of my cowboy secrets.”

      “Right.” Owen slowly grinned. “And she lets me pick what’s on TV.”

      “That’s what I figured.” Tucker eased off the bed, his chest tight, his comfort level shattered. He liked to keep a safe distance. He liked things easy and breezy, not weighty and serious, and most of all he didn’t want any entanglements. He cared for the boy. Didn’t know how it had happened, but there it was. An unspeakable pain wedged between his ribs, a sign of more emotion he did not want to feel.

      “Time to go,” he announced, his stay had already gone well beyond the time the charity had requested of him. So it wasn’t a bad thing that he needed to get some fresh air, away from the strange tug this little boy and his mother had on him.

      “Do you have to go?” Owen asked, disappointment setting in.

      “Tell you what. I’ll give you a call when your mom gives the go-ahead to see how you’re healing up after your surgery. How’s that?”

      “Great. Mom, did you hear? Tucker’s gonna call me. We’re friends.”

      “I heard.” Sierra’s voice sounded thick with emotion, layered with feelings that did more than tug at him. He felt them—her worry for her son, her gratefulness that he was happy and her wariness of a has-been rodeo rider making promises she feared he wouldn’t keep.

      “Got a pen?” He snagged a napkin off the stack and waited while she dug into her purse. “I’ll leave my cell number so you can get ahold of me. Let me know what a great job Owen does in surgery.”

      “I’ll be asleep,” Owen laughed.

      “Sure, but you’re going to be the best patient ever. The surgeon is going to be in awe at how well things go.” Tucker didn’t like thinking of the precious little boy undergoing something so serious. Strange and unwelcome pain bored deeper into his chest and it took hard work not to let it show. He grabbed the pen Sierra offered him, seeing the same dread reflected on her beautiful face.

      “This time tomorrow,” he went on, turning his attention to scrawling out numbers on the napkin, “your mom will call and tell me how fantastic you’re doing and that I had better find me a good sheep because you’re ready to start learning the trade.”

      “All right!” Owen clasped his hands together, as if overcome with joy.

      Only then did Tucker realize what he’d done. He’d promised to teach the