Page 60 of Take Me Away, Cowboy

Another weight lifted off his chest as well. He’d been so worried—not just about being gentle with Paige while she healed, but what would happen to her, to him, if she didn’t get the news she’d been given the day before. He wouldn’t allow himself to feel that too deeply the past few weeks, afraid that if he did, he’d wallow and be unable to support her.

Now, though, he released all of that secret fear, let it seep into the mattress. He shuddered as he imagined her thin body—the one he’d had on top of him a good portion of the afternoon—getting frail and brittle as cancer consumed her…

He shook his head, ran his hands through his hair and tried not to think about the way that would have rocked his world.

He didn’t have a shadow of a doubt that he’d fallen for Paige, which didn’t seem like the liability it was even yesterday. She would be around for a while and maybe in more ways than one.

Owen finally sat up. Finding Paige held priority over lingering in bed. He could hear the shower running and—wait. Was she singing? He hopped out of bed with the energy of a teenager and tiptoed towards the bathroom.

You’re my baaaaaaby, baby, she wailed behind the door. Owen stifled a laugh. Paige was so many things—a stunningly beautiful woman, an accomplished physician, a loving sister, daughter, and friend, and certainly not least a passionate lover.

But she wasnota good singer, not by a long shot.

He chuckled as he pulled on his discarded clothes. Maybe he’d duck out while she showered and grab them something to eat. His small garden had taken off over the summer—tomatoes, green onions, cilantro—and he had fresh eggs from the hens. A dinner omelet is just what the lovely doctor needed after an afternoon of sex and sleep. His mouth watered, more in response to the image of a naked Paige than to the idea of food, but his stomach rumbled, threatening mutiny if he didn’t satisfy its needs as well.

There would be time to have what he was really hungry for later.

He should probably leave Paige a note in case she got out of the shower and found him gone. He didn’t like the idea of her thinking—even for a minute—that he wasn’t into her now that they’d slept together. It was actually the opposite. And as much as he wanted to prove that to her by joining her in the shower again, he didn’t think his body would handle that kind of play without sustenance first.

Owen went to her desk to try and find something to write a note on. Maybe he’d leave it on the pillow with one of the daisies he’d brought her earlier. She turned him into a sap, and he didn’t mind a bit.

Rifling around for a notepad over the outdated calendar to scrawl on, Owen finally found a stack of what appeared to be scrap pieces of paper previously printed on in the back of the desk drawer. Other than a pen, some staples, and a rusted pair of scissors, that’s all that was in the drawer.

An alarm rang somewhere deep within Owen. It had been so long since he’d heard it, he almost didn’t recognize it.

In his past life, the life he forgot more and more each day he spent with Paige, he would hear the alarm when something bad was about to happen. It would alert him to any danger to himself, his men, or both, and it was never wrong. In fact, Owen contributed his coming home in one piece to that alarm.

He looked down at the empty drawer with only a few fragments of life within—nothing that showed any permanence. He shook his head. That couldn’t be it. So, she didn’t have office supplies just sitting around. That didn’t mean anything.

He’d opened the fridge earlier to more of the same, but he’d expected that. There hadn’t been anything in there besides the staple condiments since he’d started seeing her, so why should there be now? It only meant she didn’t cook anything other than key lime pie, a fact he’d learned without spying on her.

Still, something moved him forward to her closet.

Only two pairs of pants, a dress, and some blouses hung on any of the hangers. Nothing he’d ever seen her wear before. He was frantic, until he found her suitcase. It was still packed, ready to be zipped up and carted off at a moment’s notice with everything he’d ever seen her wear, use, buy.

She did her laundry and put it back in her suitcase. She wasn’t going to unpack.

She was never going to stay.

Owen crumpled the papers in his hands, stress creeping back into his body, starting in his shoulders, moving down to his hands that shook again, this time with rage.

He’d write her a note still, but he wasn’t sure he was coming back. Not today anyway. He was pretty sure how the confrontation would go if he left his emotions unchecked, how his PTSD manifested when he got to fight or flight like he was now. The alarm bells rang like they did on deployment and his throttle reached red.

He went back to the desk, hands trembling, and smoothed out the papers face up.

What the—

They were all applications to hospitals, not a damn one of them in the United States. In fact, not one of them was in a country he hadn’t been sent to bomb at one point or another in his career.

Jesus effing Christ. This woman wouldn’t only be the death of him, but of herself as well. She wasn’t going to tell him she was leaving, either. Probably not until she got on a plane and he was left there to pick up the pieces of his heart, alone.

Shit.

The door opened behind him. He turned to face her, the fan of papers in front of him.

“Oh,” was all she said. He tried to ignore how damn hot she looked coming out of the shower, body dripping wet, her hair longer than when he’d first met her, falling in front of her eyes. He liked it, but that was no longer important. “What were you doing going through my stuff?” she asked.

Her hands went to her hips, Owen slightly disappointed that her towel remained wrapped around her. For many reasons. It would have been nice for her to be as exposed as he felt in that moment.

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