"I thought I'd never get here!"
     Breathing hard, Joey Fleming pressed both hands against her middle and exhaled. "I've been traveling since this morning, you see, and I had to rent a car in Butte, and then the drive, and I couldn't find the hospital-—"
     The night shift nurse behind the Emergency Room desk assessed her with tired eyes. "Can I help you?"
     "-—And I've been so scared..." Joey'd been on edge all day, reliving a similar trip to an emergency room eleven months ago. But she'd been too late. Only forty and in the best of health, Tom had collapsed at a job site and was dead before he hit the ground. Oh, Poppa, not you, too.
     "Do you need medical help?"
     "No." Joey swallowed her fear. "It's my father, Frank Carpenter. He had a heart attack last night, no, it was the night before last." She heard the quaver in her voice and made herself speak slowly. "Can you tell me how he's doing?"
     With a sigh, the nurse picked up a phone and made a call. Turning back to Joey, she stated, "He's doing as well as can be expected."
     Joey slumped against the counter. "Thank God. Can you tell me anything more?"
     "You'll have to talk to the doctor."
     Joey smoothed her hand down the front of her colorful baseball-style jacket. "You must be able to tell me something," she coaxed.
     "Hospital rules, ma'am."
     "Can't you bend the rules, just a little? Please?"
     "Do you know what time it is?"
     Joey looked at the big wall clock above the nurse's head. "Two forty-seven. AM."
     "Visitor's hours start at ten in the morning."

     Relieved that Sam's accident wasn't as bad as he'd feared, Cole Lassiter strode through the swinging doors and came to an abrupt halt. He blinked, then looked again at the slight, sun-tanned woman with the crop of blonde-streaked curls leaning against the counter at the nurse's station. He stared at her hot pink and purple outfit, blinked again at the long, dangly earrings that looked like-—a bunch of grapes? Crazy things women wore. He eyeballed her as she balanced her weight on one frivolous purple and pink athletic shoe, then the other. Usually, he flicked a glance over a woman, barely noticing what she wore, or what colors, but this woman's get-up screamed for attention. What on earth was a bird of paradise doing in Dillon, Montana? He moved closer, catching the pleading tone to her voice, the strain twisting through the soft tones.
     "Oh, please, I've just flown in from California. I've been traveling all day without any idea if he's still alive. Can't you tell me any more?"
     Cole's lip lifted. California, of course. No wonder the woman looked like a tropical fruit bowl. Drawn despite himself, he moved closer. She barely topped his collar button and smelled good. Damned good. He caught the nurse's eye. "C'mon, Millie. If the little lady's come all this way, no reason you can't help her out."
     California turned quickly, her long, purple earrings dancing against her neck. By damn, they were grapes. This close, he could make out the miniature bunches suspended from a green vine. He stared at the contrast of grape against her smooth, tanned neck. Cole looked down into sea-green eyes rimmed with exhaustion. Automatically, he removed his Stetson. "Uh, did you tell her your husband's name?"
     Not my husband," she corrected him. "My father, and yes, I did."
     Cole nodded and glanced at her hands. Her slender fingers were gripped tightly together, the long nails painted a pink as wild as her outfit. He stared at the sparkly gold stripe running diagonally across each nail. The women he knew had hard working hands, with nails clipped short, often snagged and dirty. He made no bones about staring at her right hand on top of the other, obscuring her ring finger. Serves you right for sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong. He winked at the nurse. "Come on, Millie, be a friend," he cajoled. "Call up and ask how he's doing?"
     Smiling at him, the nurse touched buttons on the phone. She spoke in hushed tones, then listened. Ignoring Joey, she turned to Cole. "Mr. Carpenter is resting comfortably."
     The woman's shoulders drooped. Instinctively, Cole raised an arm to support her, then let it drop. He touched her elbow instead as Millie continued, "Mrs. Carpenter's there. She's coming down to talk to her," she finished with a nod at California.
     "Thank you," the stranger said as he edged her away from the counter toward a row of chairs. Out of the nurse's hearing, he murmured, "Don't let Millie get to you."
     "Some people let a little power go to their heads."
     Cole turned to see Millie staring at them with narrowed eyes. He tipped his hat at her, then turned to the woman at his side. "She's been the boss around here for years." He paused, then offered, "I'm Cole Lassiter."
     "Joey Fleming. Thanks for sticking up for me."
     What kind of name was that for a woman? She was too feminine, too dainty, his mind supplied after a search for the right word. Like a delicate summer wildflower that would wither under the harsh sun. Nodding at the comparison, Cole noted the glimmer of unshed tears. They unsettled him, yet tired as he was, he couldn't just walk away from her.
     Under that bright plumage, he sensed a vulnerability that tapped into a part of himself he'd thought long gone. He'd forgotten what it was like to have a woman to worry about. He'd gotten used to a solitary life, just him and Sam for so long. She made him restless.
     Surprising himself, he asked, "Want me to stay while you wait?"
     For the first time, Joey looked at him, really looked at the man who'd offered unexpected help. Blinking at the size of him, she noted the plaid country-style shirt with the pearled snaps under a jeans jacket, then the dark hairs curling at his throat. Her gaze dropped to the well-worn jeans covering a mile of leg and the scuffed boots. All this in a strong, built-by-hard-work body. Her imagination conjured up a suitably woolly west scenario of bucking broncos and stampeding herds. She looked up, past a firm, lean jaw, to linger at narrow lips smiling quizzically down at her. After what seemed ages, she moved on to brown eyes so warm she could taste maple syrup. The fine webbing of lines around his eyes came from laughter, she decided. Or from squinting into the sun.
     Something about his eyes drew her, made her feel less disoriented, less worn out. She drew the first easy breath she'd taken all day. She found herself instinctively liking this lean, good-looking stranger. What's more, she trusted him. He reminded her of all the Westerns she'd ever seen. He was the good guy and the cavalry, all rolled into one, coming to the rescue. Maybe that accounted for that quick sense of rapport—-all her heroes had been slow-talking, fast-moving, white-hatted cowboys. She couldn't remember how or when her obsession had started, but all through grade school, she'd dreamed of being a cowgirl out on the range, waking before dawn to drink campfire coffee with cattle lowing in the distance. In her dreams, she could almost smell the coffee mingling with the earthy odors of cattle and the trail. She'd refused to wear anything but cowboy gear and answered only to Kid Joey, ignoring her name, Joan. Her parents had arranged for riding lessons and even now, she recalled her love for her favorite mount.
     Warm nostalgia filled her as she remembered the struggle to wear her boots to bed. At nine, she'd been as determined to keep them on as her mother had been to save the sheets. No wonder she felt at ease with this man. He'd been in all her childhood dreams. Smiling slightly at the thought, she heard him repeat his question.
     It took her a moment to transfer to the present. "That's not necessary, but thank you." She ran her left hand through her curls. "I'll be fine, now."
     Cole blinked at the sight of the big diamond twinkling on her finger. "It's no problem. I'll keep you company until your husband gets here."
     Her face paled, making her eyes more vivid, much larger. "He won't be doing that," she said softly. "He died last year."
     Cole's insides twisted. "I'm sorry." He ran his finger under his shirt collar. "I shouldn't have said anything."
     "Don't worry about it. How could you know?"
     "Yeah." It wasn't his place to ask why she was still wearing that rock, but maybe she did it to keep guys like him at arm's length. He could take a hint. He should leave now. Yeah. He should tip his Stetson, turn on his heel and walk out. He had another full day tomorrow, busier now with Sam laid up for God knows how long, and dawn waited for no man. But, damn, he didn't want to just walk away.
     He shifted his weight. "So you're from California?"
     "Yes."
     "First time in Montana?"
     "Yes."
     He cast about for something more to say. "Any trouble?"
     She looked at him quizzically. "No trouble. Just a very long day."
     "For me, too. Sam and I worked hard all day, rounding up some strays."
     "Strays?"
     "Beeves," he clarified, taken back by the expression flitting across her face. She looked like she was trying not to laugh. What was so funny about chasing strays? It was dirty, thankless work. A little gruff, he added, "Didn't expect to end up here tonight, that's for damned sure."
     "Are you all right?"
     He held himself still as she scanned his body for damage. "I'm not hurt. It's Sam-—my son-—who lost an argument with a tree. He's got a concussion. Broke a shoulder, arm and a leg. Couple of ribs, too," he added at her sympathetic look. "Maybe some internal injuries."
     "That's too bad. Will he be all right?"
     "Sam's tough."
     Joey frowned.
     She thought he should be with Sam, he realized. Maybe patting his hand or giving him something to drink. He almost smiled at the idea of molly-coddling his son. Hell. Sam was bigger than him. The surly way he was acting lately, Sam would knock him flat on his butt if he tried. "Betty's with him. His wife. They don't need me hanging around."
     "Is your wife here, too?" she asked.
     He stiffened, as though she'd slapped him. "It's just Sam and me now. And Betty, of course."
     "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know."
     "How could you?" he asked simply, echoing her earlier response. "It was a long time ago."
     Not daring to ask what had happened a long time ago, she studied him, seeing again the good-natured wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes. Her gaze moved on to the lines around his mouth that spread into a grin as he caught her scrutiny. His smile warmed his face, but Joey had the impression that he didn't smile as often as he should. Weather-beaten, craggy and with a jaw strong enough to crack granite, his face was too rugged to be handsome, but more than his looks drew her. Imagine, to run into a real live cowboy, after all these years...
     Intrigued by the faintly amused look on her face, Cole allowed himself his own inspection. From her sun-streaked curls to the tip of her pert little nose, down past those goofy grape earrings, along the smooth lines of her throat, he paused at the vivid colors of her clothing. Bright enough to stop a man's heart. He hadn't felt this kind of concern for a woman in years and wasn't sure he knew how to act anymore. Damn. A man could get into trouble, thinking the thoughts he was thinking.
     Muffled footsteps hurrying down the tiled corridor broke their mutual study. She turned, and at the sight of the woman running toward her, broke into a trot and met the older woman in the middle of the room. Cole watched them greet each other. No kiss in the air stuff here but the real thing. Bear hugs and genuine kisses. These women felt things deeply. There didn't seem to be any artifice in the younger woman, in spite of her wild plumage. She brightened up the night. She held nothing back. He found himself wondering if she was that spontaneous with a man. Had her husband appreciated her? Had their lovemaking been the kind that makes a man smile for three days straight?
     "Oh, Joey..."
     "I'm here, Mom, I'm here. How's Poppa?"
     The older woman dabbed red, swollen eyes and sagged. Joey led her gently to a chair and helped her sit, then sat herself.
     "Poppa?" Cole watched the diamond glitter on her finger as she gripped her mother's hands.      "He's holding his own, they say. They won't know for sure until...oh, Joey, it was so awful! He was in such pain. Only heartburn, he kept saying, but I should have made him stop...should have known..."
     "Don't, Mom. You'll only make yourself sick."
     The older woman ignored her, went on blaming herself, until Joey wrapped her arms around her and rocked her mother as she wept. Cole studied the similarity between them, the same fine bone structure, the tilt of nose and small ears. Where the mother had her silver hair cut smoothly against her head, the daughter's curls bounced and shook with every motion of her body. Mrs. Carpenter wore the same kind of outfit in a dark blue color. Joey rocked her mother in that silent, comforting thing women did.
     Cole remembered Sally rocking Sam like that. He told himself he shouldn't intrude, but nonetheless the emotions he witnessed brought back memories of long ago, how he'd mourned when Sally died, how a part of him had died with her. Even now, it was hard to let go, to accept that anything could replace that deep, abiding love. Seeing the two women give free vent to their worry, he wondered if maybe it would have been easier for him if he'd been able to do the same. Instead of bottling it all up inside, jamming it down so tight he felt crowded out of his skin by raw grief, would it have helped to have someone to cry with?
     He hunkered down at the younger woman's side and touched her elbow, briefly, just enough for her to know that he was there.
     Joey glanced at the cowboy, at the sympathy etched across his lean face. She stared into his deep brown eyes, allowing herself to be reassured by his unspoken and unexpected support. She didn't know why he was still there, why he lingered, but she was glad he did. Strengthened by his wordless support, she unclasped her mother's arms and looked into her ravaged face, then back at the cowboy. "This is my mother, Marie Carpenter."
     "How are you doing, ma'am? Sorry to meet you under these circumstances. I'm Cole Lassiter. I own a cattle spread out of town."
     "Oh? That's nice." Marie yawned.
     Joey tossed him an apologetic smile even as she patted her mother's back. "Mom, you're tired. Why don't you get some sleep? I'll look after things now."
     Marie shivered. "I don't know. I don't like leaving Frank, even though they won't let me see him..."
     Joey began to speak, then hushed when Cole spoke in comforting tones. "You can do that tomorrow. You both look like you could use some sleep. You don't want him to see you like this, do you?"
     Slowly, Marie shook her head. Joey flashed him a grateful smile. Cole liked it. He liked it too damn much. It was a relief when Joey turned to help her mother rise.
     "Where are you staying, Mom? I'll help you get settled."
     Marie gestured vaguely at the outside doors. "The RV."
     "Where is it parked?"
     "Here. A nice young patrolman brought it in after Frank--"
     "That's convenient, isn't it?" Joey urged her mother toward the door. Cole had to tuck his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to her. "Now we can get some rest and be back first thing in the morning."
     "I suppose so," Marie said again but didn't sound convinced.
     At first, Cole thought Joey would leave without saying anything. Then she smiled. "Well, thanks again."
     He thought fast. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow?"
     "Tomorrow?" Her brow wrinkled.
     "Sam, remember?"
     "Oh," she murmured vaguely. "Of course."
     He had to know. Didn't know why, not for sure, but suddenly, it was important. "Tomorrow, then?"

Ready for the next chapter?

Chapter Two -- posted July 27, 1997

Home Page

Last updated: January 4, 1998