Page 35 of Seaside Cowboy's Fairy Tale

“What?” His jaw slackened. Rachel loved her job. Her life and her identity revolved around it.

Ms. Bruzlin didn’t have a chance to answer because the door opened, and a nurse stepped out. “One of you can visit Ms. Arvidson.”

Everything in him came to life at the chance to see Rachel. The doctor had already said the surgery was a success, but one never knew what might happen in recovery. Then there was the risk of infection. And a huge part of him was frantic to see her alive after he’d seen her motionless body carried away on a gurney.

Yet he waved to Ms. Bruzlin. “You can go first.”

A sad smile twisted her lips. “No,yougo first. I’m not saying it for you, but for her. She’ll want to see you.”

His heart shifted. What exactly had Rachel told Ms. Bruzlin? He didn’t question it and just rushed inside the room housing the person so incredibly important to him.

Dressed in a faded-blue hospital gown patterned with tiny navy flowers, Rachel was propped on a pillow, her tousled blonde hair spread over it. With her so pale, the dark circles under her eyes looked almost like the mask she’d worn when he met her. And it took all his willpower not to rush to her, take her into his arms, and make sure she was alive and all right. Or as all right as a person could be in this situation.

“The last hours were the most difficult in my life,” he said the words in one breath. After growing up feeling weak because of his father’s abuse, he’d spent a lifetime building physical and inner strength. One didn’t complain about difficulties if one wanted to be a winner. But this time, he didn’t care if he showed vulnerability.

He brought a cheap wood chair close to her bed and sank onto it.

“You shouldn’t have worried. I told you it was just a flesh wound.” Her pale lips lifted slightly.

Here we go again.She was fresh out of surgery, a bullet extracted from her body, and comforting him.

He gestured to the plastic cart-style table holding a pink pitcher, a transparent plastic cup, and a paper-wrapped straw. “Would you like something to drink? Do you... do you need anything?”

“Water, please,” she whispered as if still weak, and seeing her without her former spunk and vivaciousness broke his heart.

He removed the wrapping, placed the straw in the glass, then poured water, his hands shaking. Then he brought the straw to her lips, and she took several sips. He prayed for her again. In the last eight hours, he’d prayed more than in his entire life. Much more.

“A hamburger would be nice, but I’m not allowed to eat yet. I hope to get discharged soon. Otherwise, I need someone to check on my mice and feed them.”

Right, even now, she was more concerned about her pets than about herself.

“I can do that. If you’re okay giving me the key to your place.” He left it at that. “I–I was worried.” Uh-oh. He didn’t sound like he was complaining, did he? “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Her words came out slower than usual. The anesthesia probably hadn’t fully worn off yet. “I’m blessed.”

He stared at her. Was that meds talking?

She continued, “The doctor said the bullet didn’t nick any arteries. It’ll take some time before my arm functions fully, but I’ll manage. It could’ve been much worse.”

He flinched. It could’ve been. He could’ve lost her. Everything in him shuddered at the thought. He already couldn’t imagine his life without her.

Then a practical part of his brain nudged him. “I can help you during recovery. With whatever you need.”

She stared at him, her hazel eyes winging up at the sides with her incredulity, and then she... laughed. Her laughter was quiet, and she coughed a little.

He edged in closer. “Are you all right? Should I call someone?”

She waved him off. “You’re going to nurse me back to health, huh? Are youserious? You don’t even take time for lunch, just gobble up the food while you work.”

Well, that stung. Did she think he’d put his work above her well-being? But then, hadn’t his job always been his priority?

He mentally rearranged his schedule tomorrow, which was Monday, and the rest of the week, and said, “I’m serious.” And he was. About her.

She blinked as if she wasn’t used to kindness or someone taking care of her, and sadly, she wasn’t, which made him even more eager to right that injustice. “You know I come with mice.”

He smiled. “I figured as much. I might ask Mom for help if you’re okay with it. I’m not good at making soup, and she’s awesome at it.”

Her gaze remained fixed on him, unmoving. “Why would you do all that for me?”

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