His Rodeo Sweetheart. Pamela Britton
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Название: His Rodeo Sweetheart
Автор: Pamela Britton
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781474040884
isbn:
“Buddy, we’re doing fine, aren’t we?” Claire leaned forward in her rickety wooden chair that’d been in her family for generations and had seen better days. Her whole house had seen better days. “I mean, it’s not near as crazy as before, right? It’s okay.”
Before—when he’d been undergoing treatment. Before her life had fallen apart and the center of her world—her son—had nearly died. Not just once, but twice. Midnight trips to the hospital. Long stays while they fought to get his immune system sorted out. Weeks on end of never sleeping in their own beds.
“At least we’re home more.” She glanced around the kitchen. It was a mess. So were the family room and bedrooms. Adam was still being homeschooled. Until his immune system got back up to normal levels, it was better for him. Honestly, though, she liked him at home. Her life was chaotic. Dogs in the morning, each of whom needed to be taken out and exercised individually, then homeschooling, something she’d thought would be easy but had turned out to be hard, then back to work with the dogs, the office work in the afternoon because her “job” was to place the dogs in her care, and then work at her other job: graphic artist. Then it was back to work with Adam, then dinner, then bed, rinse, repeat. Unless there was a doctor’s appointment—
“Mom?”
She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t even realized her son had spoken, and whatever it was he’d said must have been pretty important judging by the seriousness in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, bud. What did you say?”
She held back a chuckle when he said, “Jeez, were you even listening?” as a teenager would have said. Too much television.
She didn’t bother trying to conceal her guilt. “Nope.”
He released an exaggerated sigh that was so much like the old Adam that she smiled.
“I worry about you, Mommy. You’re doing too much. There’s all that paperwork about Dad. The dogs. Me. I’m not a little boy anymore. I can take care of myself.”
The paperwork for Dad. She was part of a lawsuit against the makers of the vaccine that’d made Marcus so sick. Yes, she admitted, Adam was right. That was a lot of work, too. But he was wrong about one thing. He was still a little boy. He might have seen more in this past year—friends dying, his mom’s grieving, the harsh realities of life—than most people saw in a lifetime, but he would always be her little man. Always.
“Don’t worry about me.” She touched his chin. “I’m doing just fine.”
“That’s what every parent says until they drop dead from a heart attack.”
The words were uttered so seriously and so matter-of-factly that she ended up smiling.
“I’m taking care of myself.” Okay, so maybe she wasn’t. She needed more sleep. Truth be told, she always felt so tired. And she would love some time for herself just as Adam suggested. To know that the dogs were taken care of and Adam looked after so she could escape into town to do a little window-shopping. All things she could hypothetically do right now, except she never did.
“All right.” She sighed deeply. “I’ll tell you what. When Dr. McCall comes over tomorrow morning I’ll let him take care of the dogs for me. You can stay with me and help and I’ll run into town for some errands.”
Her son’s whole face lit up and only in that moment did she truly understand just how much he’d been fretting over her.
“He said to call him Ethan. And that sounds like a deal.”
Yes, she admitted, he had said to call him that, but for some reason, it felt better—safer—to add the doctor title in front of his name. He was here temporarily, after all. She wasn’t going to become friends with him. Well, okay, she’d be friendly, but that was it.
Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.
He slept more soundly than he had in months—at least at first. But then, almost as if his subconscious sensed the rising sun, the nightmares began.
Trevor lay on the ground.
Fire.
BOOM.
He’d shot up, and then as his heart settled into his chest, slipped from bed, walking over to the row of windows that overlooked the old hay barn and wondering, not for the first time, what he was going to do. He wanted to train dogs. He knew that, but he didn’t want to give up being a vet. He hated being a burden almost as much as he hated the nightmares that haunted him.
Focus.
The word had become his mantra. He had the entire upstairs portion—no little space as Colt’s wife had made it sound. The roofline made for shorter walls to his right and left, but dormers had been placed at regular intervals, allowing light to spill in. It was bare. Nothing more than a space that echoed back the sound of his boots against the hardwood floor, but it felt like a mansion compared to his cramped quarters overseas.
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