Page 91 of Cowboy Seeks Husband
His mother would never have allowed that unless…unless…
Roan darted toward the nearest door. He shoved through a few crew members to the edge of the porch. It was hotter than the devil’s armpit out there, but he didn’t feel it. Shaking all over, he leaned over the banister and puked into the bushes again.
Then suddenly John was there, saying, “Man, oh, crap. I need a medic around back and, oh, hell, someone fly in some mouthwash for Roan.”
“I knew something was wrong,” Roan whispered, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I felt it. In my gut. Last night. All morning.” He puked again, heaving and heaving. John’s hand steadied him, and then someone shoved a bottle of water into his hand.
“Look, calm down,” John said, watching him drink with kind eyes. “It’s going to be okay. Just breathe.” He handed Roan the mouthwash another crew member had brought over, and Roan swished, the alcohol burning his tongue. He spit it into the bushes, too, and then turned to John, pleadingly.
“I need to talk to her. Now. Please.Please.”
John darted anxious looks around, but then he tugged out his cell phone and handed it over. “Okay, but buddy, we gotta film this.”
Roan didn’t give a shit anymore. He took the phone and bolted from the porch, pacing out in the heat, sweat pooling in the small of his back and slipping down the side of his face. The camera guys dogged his heels and walked in front of him. He hated them, but he didn’t have time to tell them to fuck off, and he knew they wouldn’t anyway.
First, he dialed the landline at the house. Nothing. He then dialed his mom’s cell number. Nothing. With shaking hands, he dialed their neighbor Lindsay, grateful she hadn’t changed her number in the last twenty years, not since he’d had to memorize it as an emergency contact for school.
“What’s going on?” he asked as soon as she answered. “How’s Mom?”
Lindsay sighed. “Oh, baby.”
Roan crumpled to his knees in the mud of the yard. He vaguely felt the wetness soak through his favorite black pants. He couldn’t give a shit though. “Lindsay? What? Tell me.”
“She’s not doing well, Roan. You need to get to the nearest airport and come home as soon as you can.”
“Oh my God.” He bent over, pressing his forehead into the mud, his gut trying to turn inside out again. Cameramen squatted next to him. He squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “What happened?” He felt the cameras more than saw them, like a claustrophobic hell surrounding him.
“She collapsed sometime this morning, baby. I found her unconscious on the kitchen floor in the afternoon. The EMTs thought she’d been down there for at least a few hours.”
“Fuck.” He clenched his fist against the wet grass.
“She’s at the hospital, but they don’t have any news for now. She’s having trouble breathing, Roan.”
“No. No, no, no.” His face twisted in agony. Drowning in her own lung fluids was her worse nightmare. “I’m on my way,” he whispered and sat up slowly, handing the phone over to John who had been hovering just out of range of the cameras. Roan’s breath seesawed in his lungs, his ears rang, and the world spun. He allowed himself one moment to sit there with his eyes closed, the heat and humidity stinging his face. Sweat beaded everywhere on his body, but he ignored it, willing the last five minutes to never have happened.
He startled when someone barked, “Andy! Stay back!” from the porch. Roan looked up to see a crowd of people standing up there watching him—all the remaining suitors, the other producers, and half the crew. Andy himself was frozen halfway down the steps in response to that strong order.
Then Walker was there, on the ground next to him, his hand on Roan’s back. “Oh, Jesus, little lion. What’s going on?”
“I have to go home,” Roan whispered. Tears leaked out of his eyes, and Walker cupped his face, catching them with his thumbs.
“Okay. Whatever you need, Roan. What happened? What can I do?”
“I…just need to go. My mom is sick. I never told you, Walker. But she’s really sick. And she’s the only reason I’m here. She…she has cancer. I came here for the money. It was never about you. I needed it for her treatments. But she’s not okay. And…she’s at the hospital. It’s bad. I need to go.”
Walker’s face became carefully blank. “Okay,” he said. “Someone’s going to book you a flight and take you to the airport, even if I have to do it myself.” He shot a hard glare at John and then at Andy, still on the stairs, watching with an odd expression. “And Roan, I really don’t—oh for fuck’s sake, are you kidding me?”
Roan’s head snapped up to see the other suitors crowding around them now, all wearing cloying, sad faces. “Fuck this.”
Jerking away from Walker, he stood up, pushed passed them all, and ran into the house, leaving a trail of tears and mud behind him. He didn’t have time for false sympathy or words of comfort for the sake of this fucking show.
His mom was dying, and he had to get home.
