Chapter 20

Cole opened his eyes and looked directly in Shawnee’s, only inches away. Wide awake and sharply aware—of him. And of how very, very aware his body was of her. He half expected her to slam an elbow into his gut, but she was totally relaxed, contemplating his presence with no more concern than if Katie had snuck onto the couch while she was sleeping.

“Make yourself at home,” she said.

He grimaced and turned his head away, catching a glimpse of the clock. Whoa. He’d slept for two hours? He dug in the pocket of his jeans for the plastic box of breath mints he always carried. Popping the top with his thumb, he offered it to her.

“Well, that’s subtle,” she said, but held out her palm.

He shook a couple of mints onto it, then two more into his own mouth before he snapped the top shut and stuffed it back in his pocket, using the delay to mentally rehearse his lines. Despite what Shawnee and certain of his body parts might think, his intentions had been honorable. He’d done for her what his uncle used to do for him in the early years after the accident…but he couldn’t tell her that. He didn’t trust anyone with the knowledge that gruff, burly Steve Jacobs had sometimes crawled into Cole’s bed and wrapped his powerful arms around a devastated teenaged boy. God only knew what Cole might have done to escape the pain if Steve hadn’t been there to stop him.

But there would always be some asshole who chose to interpret it otherwise, if they knew.

He said the first thing that popped into his head. “Sorry. These jeans aren’t the cleanest.”

Her gaze did a lazy stroll down to his chest, then back. “You didn’t have to stay dressed on my account.”

The low purr under her words brought his entire body to attention—waking up more than what was nudging her hip. She felt good against him, soft but substantial, like she would hold up even if someone as big as Cole had to lean on her. He liked how she filled all the space inside his arms. Liked it a lot, which was becoming more painfully obvious the longer he held her.

“Sounds like the patient has made a full recovery,” he said, trying for casual and sounding like a bad soap opera actor.

“Courtesy of my magic potion.” Her voice was flippant, but she shifted onto her back so she didn’t have to look him in the eyes anymore, and he heard a breath mint crunch hard between her teeth. In profile, she wasn’t near as intimidating. Her nose was too small and delicate, and tipped up at the end.

As cute as her toes.

“You take a sedative,” he said, trying to ignore all that softness wiggling against him. “And it’s been so long since you refilled the prescription it’s almost outdated. You don’t have chronic anxiety.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” When he just kept staring at her, waiting, she hunched her shoulders. “My anxiety is not random.”

“The cancer?” he guessed, because it almost had to be either that or Ace. “You’ve been in remission for what, fifteen years? Don’t they consider that cured?”

“Yep. The chances of another bout of Hodgkin’s are pretty slim.”

“But?”

She drew a breath so deep he felt her rib cage expand. “My grandfather died of pancreatic cancer. My great-grandmother died of breast cancer, and my grandmother had a double mastectomy after finding a malignant lump when she was in her forties. And that’s just my immediate family. One uncle is currently in treatment for prostate cancer, another has had polyps removed from his colon, and I won’t even get started on my aunts and cousins. When you add in my personal history, the doctors give me a sixty to eighty percent chance of getting it again. Somewhere.”

Her voice was matter-of-fact, but with their bodies all but plastered together, she couldn’t hide the tension that rippled through her muscles. The light in the trailer seemed to dim, as if the damn disease had swooped in to hover over her. Suddenly, a lot of things about Shawnee made sense.

“I’m…” Sorry? Flabbergasted? Furious? All of those things, and more. “No wonder you hate Tough Enough to Wear Pink nights.”

Her head jerked around in surprise. “Is it that obvious?”

“Because even I noticed?” He shook his head. “I just realized…it’s gotta be hard enough not to obsess without having it shoved in your face.”

“You would know about obsessing.” She shifted toward him, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder as she studied his expression, looking for…what? “It’s a piss-poor attitude on my part when these people are trying to save my life.”

“Maybe.” He pondered for a minute, trying to come up with a decent comparison. “It’s like going to the dentist, I guess. You know it’s for the best and you try not to be a whiner, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna enjoy it.”

Her mouth curled down at the corners. “Make that a mammogram and you nailed it.”

Oh damn. Don’t look at her boobs. Definitely not a good time to look at her boobs.

“You get, um, tested a lot?” he asked, his gaze glued to a spot in the middle of her forehead.

“Every reliable screening on the market.” Her hand skimmed down his arm, where she paused and squeezed his biceps—a warning, not a caress. “I don’t talk about this much.”

As in never. He let his gaze drift down to meet hers. Huh. He’d always thought her eyes were brown, but close up they were lighter, almost gold, like that border collie he’d had before Katie. Probably not a good idea to make that comparison out loud.

“That’s okay. I’m not much for talking.” His body clenched, waiting for her to purr something about what he’d rather do instead. Geezus. All of the ways she’d ever tortured him were nothing compared to this. Especially when Shawnee kept wiggling, shifting, rubbing up against him in the close confines of the couch. Almost like she was doing it on purpose.

Then her eyes narrowed. “You are a much better liar than I thought.”

“Me? When did I ever…” Oh yeah. That thing he’d told the vet…

“Your insurance wouldn’t cover my horse unless he was injured in the line of duty.” She shook her head in disgust. “I can’t believe I fell for it.”

“You were under a lot of stress.” He could feel it building again now, muscle by muscle, as the memories of the previous night played in her mind. What were the chances that he could run his hand over her hair and smooth it out of her face without losing any blood? “Jacobs Livestock is responsible, either way. He was eating our hay, in a pen that I assigned to him.”

“Oh, bullshit. The feed and the pen were fine. We both saw him tip his water bucket. He never drank as much as he should and you heard the vet—that kind of impaction can be caused by dehydration.”

Cole felt his face settling into stubborn lines. “It doesn’t matter. I lied. Therefore, Jacobs Livestock will take full responsibility for the bill.”

“I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to hear that y’all are now the proud owners of a thousand-pound neurotic lab rat.” Shawnee curled her lip at him. “Have you called them yet? Because I would love to hear that explanation.”

“They won’t be surprised.”

But it surprised Shawnee. “You’ve done this before?”

Close enough. On three different occasions, he and his uncle had faced a veterinarian who’d asked the same question—how much are you willing to spend to save this animal, with no guarantees that it would ever buck again? He couldn’t deliver the death sentence then, so how could he stand back and force Shawnee to do it now?

Then he realized what she’d said. “What do you mean, we own him?”

She hitched a shoulder. “I can’t afford to pay you back. So you get the horse.”

“I don’t want that horse.”

“Too bad, so sad. Should’ve thought of that before you opened your trap.” Her words were snarky, but they lacked the usual edge, and the way she was looking at him—he might not be very good at reading people, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t anger. Did she realize that the thumb that had been clamped on his arm was now stroking his biceps, much like she’d stroked Butthead the night before? Except this small, delicious friction wasn’t calming Cole down at all.

“We’ll think of something else.” When he could think at all.

And there it was, the sharp smile, that devilish gleam in her eyes. “Such as?”

He had no idea. His mind was too full of Shawnee. Her heat, the fullness of her body, her scent—okay, that still wasn’t so great, with the smell of sick horse and veterinary antiseptic lingering in her hair. But her mouth. How could a woman so tough have such a soft, sexy mouth?

He didn’t have words for any of those thoughts. So he kissed her instead.

She stiffened, sucked in a breath, but didn’t pull away. Cole took that as a good sign and tilted his head, tracing the curve of her upper lip with his tongue, not brave enough to go any further. Her fingers dug into his arm, and for a second he thought she would pull him closer and take the kiss to another level.

She drew back, but he was gratified to hear that the breath she released wasn’t quite steady. “Well, that was…interesting.”

“I’ve been wanting to do it for a while.” He slid his fingers into the tangle of curls at the nape of her neck, ready to repeat the kiss—or hold her back if she decided to head-butt him. “I was worried you might bite.”

“I still could.”

His stomach sank. “You didn’t like it?”

“That’s not the point.”

That was the only point, as far as Cole was concerned, but Shawnee narrowed her eyes at him again. “We’re not done chatting. You found my horse down and bleeding, and you woke Hank up before me.”

Cole blinked, thrown by the change of subject. “He was closer.”

“Twenty steps, at the most. And then—” She jabbed him hard with one fingertip. “You gave him an injection without asking me first.”

Cole flattened his hand over his chest in self-defense. “Immediate administration of intravenous Banamine is the standard treatment protocol for suspected colic.”

“Which is the only reason I didn’t rip you a new one.” She tapped the scrape on his chin hard enough to make him wince. “You might not have that if I’d been there to handle him.”

Well, hell. She was right, on all counts. Cole tried to imagine what he would do if anyone touched one of his horses without his consent. Visions of the Incredible Hulk raging and roaring and busting out of his clothes came to mind.

“I didn’t think…I mean, I have—”

“A list,” she interrupted. “As always. You can’t help yourself. Yet another reason your arms, legs, and family jewels are all still intact.”

Cole tensed, aware that her knee was dangerously close to the jewels in question. “I’m sorry. We almost never travel with horses that don’t belong to us, so I just followed the usual routine.”

“I understand. But it better not happen again.” She moved abruptly, untangling herself from him and swinging her legs around to sit on the edge of the couch, pushing at the thick, tangled mass of her hair. Cole had always thought it would be a lot more practical if she cut it shorter. Now he wondered if it was one more act of rebellion against the cancer that stalked her.

He reluctantly let his hand fall away from where it still rested on her hip. He should just shut up now, while he was still in one piece. “What about the kiss?”

“I’m gonna have to think on that.” She scrubbed at her face. “Right now, I’m going to take a shower.”

Shawnee stood, took a beat to get her balance, then grabbed her phone off the table. There would be messages waiting from the equine hospital. They’d promised to provide hourly updates after he’d guaranteed them it was either that or have Shawnee banging on their door the minute she could get there after tonight’s rodeo, visiting hours be damned. A photo popped up on the phone and he saw her smile as she shuffled to the bathroom.

Cole pushed up onto one elbow. “What am I supposed to do while you’re making up your mind about the kissing?”

“If you’ve got any sense at all?” She paused to cock an eyebrow at him. “Run like hell.”