The Cowgirl's Little Secret. Silver James

As if he knew it was her.

      “Don’t go.”

      His voice rasped across her nerves and Jolie could no longer hide from her feelings. His grip tightened around her fingers, and his respirations and heart rate kicked off alarms on the monitor.

      “Please.”

      Tears burned behind her eyelids. “Okay.”

      Her whispered assurance eased him, evidenced by the way the monitor sounds evened out. One corner of his mouth quirked into a faint semblance of the cocky grin she’d once loved so much.

      “Okay.” Darkness dragged him under again.

      * * *

      The sweet summer scent of mimosa filled Cord with a sense of rightness. Jolie. Jolie always smelled like mimosa. He cracked one eye open, ignoring the obnoxious sounds of his hospital room and the pain. He inhaled again but that sweet aroma was overwhelmed by the stench of antiseptic and alcohol, of sickness and death. Walls painted institutional gray surrounded him but he found his balance. Jolie. Here? He was too groggy to wonder about the how or why of it.

      Slumped over, her head resting on the bed, Jolie held his hand. She puffed air softly in her sleep as a sunbeam kissed her cheek. He hadn’t dreamed her. She was here. Touching him. He ached to touch her chestnut hair but knew any movement would do two things: hurt like hell and startle her into letting go. Instead, he remained content to simply be with her. He’d wanted her and here she was. Sleeping in a position guaranteeing a trip to a chiropractor, holding his hand and making those cute breathing noises he still dreamed about.

      Five years ago, during their brief and disastrous reunion, despite the fact both of them had had far too much to drink, he’d made love to her and she’d fallen asleep in his arms. He craved the feeling again like an addict falling out of a twelve-step program. He could admit, at least to himself, that he’d loved her since high school. Not that it did him—or her—any good. Jolie was a Davis, her father a rival of his. And Cyrus Barron always made damn sure Cord and his brothers played by his rules. He hated his old man.

      A commotion out in the ward ratcheted the noise level up a notch. Speak of the devil himself. Cord slitted his eyelids. Maybe his father would go away if he thought he was still unconscious.

      “What the hell is she doing here?” Cyrus Barron bellowed as he entered the room, and would have lunged for the bed if not for Cash restraining him.

      * * *

      Jolie jerked awake, her heart pounding from the adrenaline rush. Glancing around in an attempt to focus her sleep-fuzzy mind, she remembered. She’d fallen asleep at Cord’s bedside.

      The supervising nurse followed Mr. Barron and Cash into the small room. “Keep your voice down, sir, or I’ll ask you to leave.”

      Cyrus, red in the face and looking ready for battle, opened his mouth to launch into what promised to be a scathing retort. Cash cut him off.

      “Enough, Dad. Cord’s still unconscious. We don’t want to disturb him.”

      Lowering his voice, Cyrus issued orders. “Get her out of here. That woman is not to be anywhere near my son. Especially not with her head on his damn bed!”

      Jolie bristled, but the nurse replied before she could. “Ms. Davis is doing her job, Mr. Barron. If you interfere with her or any of my personnel, I will have you not only removed right this instant but banned from this hospital.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “I don’t care who you are. This is my department and you will follow my rules. Or else.”

      Jolie rolled her lips between her teeth and bit down to hide a grin. No one but no one ever talked to Cyrus Barron that way. The man was completely flummoxed and left speechless for a moment.

      “What is your name?” he demanded.

      “Meg Dabney, RN.” The nurse arched a brow. “I’m the day-shift supervisor.” Giving Cyrus her back, she stared at Jolie. “Do you have the patient’s vitals, Jolie?”

      Meg was giving her an out—thank goodness. Jolie stood up and quickly assessed the monitor numbers, while twisting her hand to make it look as if she’d been taking Cord’s pulse manually. She read off the statistics while the older woman made notes on her electronic pad. Jolie came close to freaking out when something tickled her palm: Cord’s index finger. She peered at him and noticed his eyelids flickering. Faker! He was conscious and enjoying the show. Relief warred with irritation. This was so like the blasted man.

      Dropping his hand, Jolie backed away from the bed. Head down, refusing to make eye contact with Cyrus, she slipped around Meg. The brush of a hand on her bare arm startled her and she glanced up. Cash inclined his head in a slight nod and offered a sympathetic smile, which surprised the dickens out of her. Cash hated her. Didn’t he?

      Before she could get away, more Barrons crowded in. Chance and a woman she recognized from the society pages as his new bride, Cassidy. Chase, the Mr. Vegas playboy brother, and even Clay, who must have come all the way from DC. All five Barron brothers in the same small space were enough to put a girl into libido overload, as evidenced by the envious looks from the other nurses.

      She escaped, but not for long. Chance caught up to her in three strides.

      “Jolie?”

      She shoved her hands into the pockets of her rumpled scrubs and wished she’d had time to brush her teeth. With her head still down, she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “Hi, Chance. Uh...congratulations on your marriage. You got here quickly.”

      “Thanks. The joys of having a fleet of private jets on standby. Are you okay?”

      That brought her head up and she met his concerned gaze. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

      As Cord’s brother studied her, she tilted her chin and pasted a blank expression on her face.

      “How is he, really?”

      She’d bet this was not the real question on the tip of his tongue, but Chance had a reputation as one of the best courtroom attorneys in the state. She lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Far better than he has a right to be.”

      Chance’s eyes narrowed and a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. Realizing how that sounded, Jolie hastened to explain.

      “He almost died, Chance. And probably should have.” A shiver skittered through her. “He coded in the ER last night, but he’s strong. And stubborn.” And far too aware of her presence this morning, damn him. “The doctors are worried about the liver tear and the spinal injury.”

      “What about the trauma to his head?”

      She choked on an involuntary giggle. “As thick as his skull is?” She sobered and exhaled. “He’ll recover fully from the concussion. The scar will be hidden once his hair grows back out.”

      Disconcerted by Chance’s continued scrutiny, she turned away. “I have to go.”

      He gripped her shoulder gently, halting her in her tracks. “Thank you, Jolie. Thank you for being here for him, for not leaving him alone. And for calling me.”

      She twisted her head around to stare at him. While not as big a playboy as Chase, Chance had been a player and rather shallow, except where his brothers were concerned. The Barron boys were nothing if not absolutely loyal to each other. She glanced toward the blonde, who stood in the doorway of Cord’s room watching them. Cassidy Morgan had changed Chance Barron for the better.

      Jolie glanced back into the cubicle where Cord was still faking unconsciousness. Too bad he appeared to be the same old Cord.

       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