Page 90 of A Nice Day for a Cowboy Wedding

Cora couldn’t figure out why Boone hovered behind Molly, or why the air between the three was all tense, but she didn’t want to. She leaned into Shane, and he rubbed a hand up and down her spine.

She breathed, trying to get control of her tears, of this weird, numb, nonsense feeling. She’d have to get clearer and more in control once Micah was . . .

God. Surgery.

“Cora.”

It was Boone’s voice, and it didn’t escape Cora’s notice that Shane tensed from head to toe. She looked curiously at Shane, but his face was blank and hard.

She turned in the waiting room seat to face Boone, who was holding his hat so tight in his hands he’d fairly crushed it. He stepped forward so that he was standing right in front of her. His gaze flicked to Shane, and his jaw hardened before he turned his attention back to her.

“I wanted to apologize, because as much as Micah’s fall was an accident, I do feel responsible. Shane warned me not to take him on the drive. I thought it’d be fun for him. A snake spooked his horse, and, maybe if I’d been a hundred percent I could have fixed it before he fell off, but . . . Well, anyway, it was irresponsible of me, and I’m sorry Micah had to pay the price. I’m sorry you have to.”

Cora managed a weak smile. “You don’t have to feel responsible, Boone. I know you didn’t—”

“Don’t tell him that,” Shane said, the sentence cold and flat.

Cora blinked over at Shane, utterly confused at that fury in his voice. “Shane, it was an accident. Accidents happen.”

“An accident that would not have happened if he had listened to me for once in his life.”

“Shane . . .” She didn’t know what to say. Her head hurt too much. This was too much complication and emotion and upheaval.

But she had to be the strong one here. God, somebody did, and, maybe for once in her life, it should be her.

Her son was in surgery, yes, but he was in good hands. A broken arm wasn’t a head injury or something truly serious. She sucked in a breath and slowly let it out.

The reason these two men were so angry, well, aside from deep-seated family issues, was because they cared about her son. Cared if he was all right, cared if he was happy. Somehow, the Tylers had opened their arms and accepted Micah and her as part of their circle of concern.

They were a messed up circle of concern, but it was nice to know even the best, most loving families made up of amazing people were a little screwy on the inside.

She met Boone’s gaze, so like Shane’s, and she smiled. “Thank you for apologizing. I appreciate it.”

He nodded and stepped away, taking a seat a few chairs down from her. Molly gave her shoulder a pat, then went to sit next to him. Cora didn’t understand why they’d put so much space between them, until she looked at Shane.

He looked so furious. Which, she supposed, made sense. He was angry at Boone for disobeying him, so to speak, but Shane . . . He took so much responsibility on his own shoulders, he probably felt guilty.

It was something like a relief to have something to focus on other than Micah. She’d comfort Shane, get him to understand this wasn’t the end of the world, and it’d make her feel a little better herself.

She slid her arm around his shoulders. “Shane, I know you blame yourself for what happened to your father, but you shouldn’t, any more than Boone should feel responsible for what happened to Micah. Even if he hadn’t taken Micah on that drive, accidents happen. Boys break bones and hurt themselves. I don’t love it, but it’s . . . Well, there’s a lot worse ways a person can be hurt.”

“You know that pretty well, don’t you?” Shane asked, and there was suchaccusationin his voice.

Something icy and cold rippled down her spine as she slowly met his gaze. “What does that mean?”

His mouth was a grim line, and she’d never seen him like this. At a sort of breaking point. So desperate to keep his control on all those emotions whirling in his dark eyes, but it was all close to the surface. Almost as though there was a visible crack in all his strength.

He looked down at his hands, which were clenched into fists, so tight his knuckles were white. “It doesn’t matter.”

She felt panic flutter in her stomach, just the leading edge of it. “It matters to me. What did you mean by that?”

Slowly, so slowly it felt like slow motion, his gaze moved from his fists to her face. “Micah told me.”

“Told you what?” she whispered, even though she knew. Every hard beat of her heart against her chest knew exactly what he was talking about.

“We shouldn’t . . .” He shook his head, looking away again. “Micah is what’s important right now. We can discuss this later.”

“No, that is not an option.” Later? As if it could just be pushed off. That he . . . “What did my son tell you that made you say that?”

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