Chapter 38

Cole dropped a bunch of kale into the shopping cart, wrinkling his nose. “No wonder those things you drink look so disgusting.”

“But that’s where I get my superhuman sex drive.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You should try it.”

He snorted like one of his stud horses. “I’m keepin’ up just fine, thanks.”

Yes. Yes, he was. The memory of just how well gave her a hot flash, even standing in the chilly produce aisle. She’d been playing a dangerous game of house with him—sleeping, shopping, eating dinner together every evening like a real couple. Inviting Joe—and now Beni—to share their meals should have made it less intimate. Instead, she had drawn Cole’s family circle more tightly around her.

And it was a frighteningly comfortable fit.

Talk was easy—of horses and bulls, the best and worst rides of the night before, how the coming night’s cowboys would match up with the stock they’d drawn. There were friendly bets on which bareback rider would have the high score, how many jumps past the end of the gate before Master Assassin drilled the poor fool who’d drawn him.

They argued about scores, and whether a former world champion had been gifted a few points because the shine off that gold buckle got in the judges’ eyes. Lately, Cole had started paying attention to the team roping, asking Shawnee’s opinion of the contestants, their horses, how the headers handled the steers to give their heeler the best shot. His obvious effort to learn her event was touching…and scary.

She tried to tell herself this was just his compulsive side rearing its head. She’d thrown out a challenge and he was incapable of letting it go until he had mastered it to his satisfaction. Hell, maybe she had created a monster. He might be hooked on team roping for life.

Or he might be hooked on her.

Her heart gave a sharp little blip, an annoying habit it had developed lately. Probably lack of sleep and some kind of hormonal imbalance from excess sexual stimulation.

Cole paused in the midst of contemplating watermelons to glance over at her, a thoughtful pleat between his brows. “Is that why you cook your own meals? Because it’s healthier?”

“We’re having fried chicken,” she pointed out.

“In olive oil. With greens. You eat a lot of vegetables and drink those smoothie things. Is it because of the cancer?”

Leave it to Cole to stomp right to the point, no dancing around. She picked through the cartons of strawberries. “If I make it myself, I know what’s in my food.”

And she did try to keep the processed crap to a minimum—as if she could reconstruct her DNA by avoiding Twinkies. But she liked to cook, and who knew? Maybe she could stall the inevitable with a few extra antioxidants.

“That’s what Aunt Iris says, too.” Cole thumped a melon with his knuckle, weighed it in his hands, then hefted it into the cart. “At least you’re not on some crazy diet.”

“For my health…or my weight?” she asked dangerously.

Cole went still, holding four ears of corn in each big hand. After a long, pregnant pause, he sighed. “Nothing I say right now is going to save me, is it?”

“Depends. What are you thinking?”

He clasped the corn to his chest like a shield. “That starving yourself would be dumb. Skinny wouldn’t suit you. Or me.”

The practiced, scathing retort congealed into a lump in her throat. “It wasn’t my best look,” she quipped, without thinking.

“You used to be…” Then comprehension dawned. “When you were sick?”

She forced a mocking smile. “I was practically a supermodel. Not an ounce of fat on me.”

The chubby thighs and round face she’d cursed since she’d been old enough to be teased had melted away, leaving nothing but bone and pasty skin. And now, for her, thin would never be beautiful or sexy. In her mind, knobby wrists and razor-sharp hip bones would always equal sickness. Other people might look at her now and see a fat girl. She saw every meal that hadn’t tasted like copper going down, then turned around and come right back up. Healthy flesh that covered the grotesque skeleton she had become as a result—and probably would be again.

Until then, she was damn well gonna eat.

She thought she’d kept the morbid thoughts off her face, but Cole stepped over and wrapped his arms around her, still holding the stupid corn. She considered resisting on principle, but he felt too damn good. He made her feel good. Quiet. Not weaker, or pitiful, just less…raw. She couldn’t help rubbing her cheek against his chest, that killer combination of baby-soft cotton and hard muscle. “You may be the only cowboy in Texas who isn’t a starch addict.”

His voice rumbled under her ear. “It chafes. Anything that rubs or scratches drives me nuts. When I buy new clothes, the first thing I do is cut off all the tags and run them through the washing machine a dozen times to soften them up.”

That explained why the Jacobs Livestock shirts were silky, instead of the usual stiffly pressed cotton. She mustered her willpower and pushed him away. “Unless you’re planning to do me right here on the apple cart, we should keep moving.”

He grinned as he handed her the corn, and she lost her breath for a moment while her heart did that blipping thing again. Definitely dangerous, playing house with this man. It made her mind wander down garden paths and past picket fences. Made her wish…

Her phone rang. Her mother. Again. When they’d just talked a couple of days ago. And that had been a weird conversation, peppered with more than the usual uncomfortable pauses. Alarms jangled in Shawnee’s head. She shoved the grocery list at Cole and gestured for him to go on without her.

When he had rounded the end of the aisle, she answered, bracing herself for the latest family disaster. “Hey, Ma. Is something wrong?”

“No! I just…I hope I’m not bothering you. Is this a bad time?”

Shawnee glanced over at an old lady who was poking through the bananas. “No. This is fine. What’s up?”

“I was just wondering…well, hoping…I mean, you’re done with the rodeos this weekend, and I know your schedule is pretty tight, but…”

Spit it out, Ma. “I have a little extra time.” She glanced around to be sure Cole hadn’t wandered back into earshot, but lowered her voice anyway. “I plan to swing by for a visit on my way to New York.”

“Oh! That’s great.”

“And…”

“Nothing. I’ve missed you, and you’re going so far away.”

Shawnee fingered the silky tassel of one of the ears of corn, not reassured by her mother’s bright voice. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you and Gran.”

“Well, good. We’ll have dinner, and you can…um, see all the cousins. And stuff.”

“Sure. That’ll be great.”

But Shawnee’s stomach jittered uneasily as they said goodbye. Her mother was wound up. And that rarely meant good news.

* * *

As soon as the groceries were stowed in her trailer and Cole had gone off to find Joe and do boss man stuff, Shawnee snatched up her phone and dialed her grandmother’s number.

“What’s going on with Ma?” she demanded, skipping straight past the how are yous? “She keeps calling me and saying nothing, but I can tell there’s something.”

Gran laughed. “She’s trying to work up the nerve to tell you that she’s seeing someone.”

“Seeing…a…man?” Shawnee collapsed onto the couch, taken out at the knees. Her mother. Dating.

“She wants you to meet him.”

“Wait. This is serious? Like, bring home to meet the daughter serious?”

Her grandmother laughed again, the low, musical sound that had carried them all through the worst of everything. She had always found the humor or flat-out ridiculousness in any situation. One of the best lessons she’d ever taught Shawnee. “First she had to bring him home to meet her mother. And I approve. He’s a good person, and he makes her…steadier. You know?”

Shawnee closed her eyes and thought of that moment in the grocery store, Cole’s arms strong around her. Yes. She knew.

“That’s…wow. I don’t know what to say.”

“Congratulations will suffice.” It was more of an order than a suggestion. “It’s way past time she started living instead of just biding her time, waiting to die. She deserves to have a man who loves her right.” There was a weighty pause. “So do you.”

“Gran—”

“I know.” Her tone was the verbal equivalent of throwing up her hands. “I’m not meddling. Just saying.”

Every one of the uncountable times before, the conversation had ended there. But today the ever-present question would not be muted, even if what came out wasn’t exactly what she wanted to ask. “Are you…happy?”

“More often than I’m not,” Gran said. “And I figure that’s better than a lot of people. I’m not saying I don’t have sad times. You don’t love a man for forty-seven years without feeling like you’ve lost a part of yourself when he’s gone, but I’ve got family and friends all around me. I have a daughter who is one of the sweetest souls I’ve ever known, and a granddaughter who kicks ass.”

Shawnee choked on a laugh. “I get it from you.”

“We’re a tough bunch, Shawnee girl. If you find a man who’s your match, grab him. They’re thin on the ground.”

“It’s a big risk, taking me on.”

“Have you checked the divorce rate lately?” her grandmother asked dryly. “Fifty-fifty, at best.”

“I’m more like drawing to an inside straight.”

Gran laughed softly. “Maybe. But you never let anyone stick around long enough to ante up. A man should get to decide for himself if he’s up for it. And the thing about long odds…when you do win, the payoff is huge.”

After she hung up, Shawnee just sat and stared blankly at the clock on the opposite wall. She’d have to start dinner soon. Fried chicken and all the fixin’s. Cole would wander back this way to shuck corn and slice strawberries for the shortcake. She could count on him. He was the kind of man a woman could always count on. But how could he say the same for her? Next week, next year—the boom could come down at any time. And her precarious health probably wasn’t even the deal breaker.

Cole could be a father, or he could be with her. He couldn’t have both.

But what if he chose her? Fear and elation and a whole raft of emotions she could barely identify raged in her chest at the prospect. Cole was already close enough to decide whether she was worth what he’d have to give up. Who was she to make that choice for him? And really, how much worse could it be if he walked away, compared to never knowing what he might have done if she’d given him a chance?

Tonight. After the rodeo. She would tell him everything.

And then…she’d have to find a way to deal with the consequences, one way or the other.