Loving A Cowboy (13 page)

Chapter 10

“I need you to take me to the doctor.”

Those were the first words out of Chance’s mouth when Libby went to check on him the next morning.

“I thought your appointment wasn’t until next week.”

“Something doesn’t feel right. I hate to say it, but I need to see that sports medicine guy in Denver.” He threw off the cover and exposed a swollen foot the size of a football. He also exposed his six-pack abs, but at least he had on boxer briefs, though they didn’t really conceal all that much, given Chance was a well-endowed man. Something she knew, but seeing was a potent reminder.

This was all her fault. And though she had planned to tell him she was leaving, having packed her bags the night before, how could she now? He needed her, really needed her, even though she’d been the cause of all this pain.

“Of course I’ll take you. Do you want me to call?”

“I’ll call,” Chance said. “How’s Cowboy doing?”

He was hurt and still asking about Cowboy. “He’s fine. None the worse for it.”

“Hopefully he didn’t get back an appetite for the outdoors. I don’t want to search for him again anytime soon.”

“It won’t happen again.” She’d make sure by leaving, but now was not the time to tell him. First she had to get Chance to the doctor.

* * *

The ride back from the doctor’s felt like they were driving in some funeral procession, given the gloom that had settled in the air. She’d never seen Chance so down as he stared out the passenger window. The doctor had checked out his X-rays, then his swollen foot, and then took more X-rays. The surrounding tissue was inflamed. Not only would pain be a battle, but the doctor had tacked on another two weeks to his prognosis, which was four more weeks than Chance’s timeline.

“The doctor said it would heal.”

Chance didn’t respond.

“Eight weeks isn’t forever.” She tried again.

“It is when it means the end of the rodeo season.”

“It’s just for this year.”

He turned away from the window and toward her, his eyes wide and his frown deep. “You know how much work it takes to get on the top of the standings where I was
before
Cheyenne? You have any idea of the time and effort and sheer luck it took to get there? Next year, none of those things may come together, and I’ll be just one more cowboy back in the pack. This was my year to win the NFR, Libby. My year. And now it’s gone down a sorry drain filled with nothing but pain.”

The defeat in his voice was gut wrenching. This wasn’t like Chance. He’d always been a fighter. Now he sounded like he was ready to give up. The doctor said the foot needed a little rest followed by physical therapy. She’d make sure he did both. Nothing would be more important to her than getting Chance back on his two feet. As soon as they got home, she would call Tom Whitefeather and beg him to come up and see what else he could do for Chance.

“I won’t let that happen, Chance.” She’d have to stay and see him through to recovery—without incident.

“Ain’t nothing you can do about it.”

“Maybe. But one thing you’ve taught me is, you have to try.”

* * *

Chance cringed as he swiped through the rodeo standings on the tablet screen. He’d dropped another slot since last week when he saw the doctor. How could he not when he wasn’t competing? So much work, and a lousy injury was going to make it all for naught. Well, that was rodeo. You were always just one spill away from disaster. But this year the bad news just seemed to pile on, starting with a broken foot and most likely ending with a broken heart.

Oh, he’d been trying to keep things light and casual with Libby. And most times he succeeded. But there were moments when all the feelings for her came back with a vengeance, especially since the kiss they’d shared after he’d found Cowboy. At the time, he’d been under the influence of the painkiller, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t enjoyed every blessed second of it. Since returning from the doctor’s, there hadn’t been a recurrence. Not that he didn’t want to these last few days, especially when she was inches away as she helped him with his exercises. But he’d be inviting more pain and misery than he was in already.

She’d been all business. She’d convinced Tom Whitefeather to come over and do some work on the foot, including cold compresses to reduce the swelling. Chance had even attempted some exercises with Libby’s assistance.

Yup, they were a regular patient-nurse team, and he hated it. Except for fantasizing about her in a tiny nurse’s uniform, making him feel better all over.

Being so close had become nothing short of torture, and that’s how he knew his foot was healing. He could finally focus on something else, and that something else was nothing but problems. She was planning on marrying someone else, for Christ’s sake.

“Time for exercises.” Libby bustled into the room with a pasted-on smile and a bunch of colorful elastic bands and a wet towel in hand. “You need to stop checking your standings every day. It only makes you peevish,” she said, nodding toward the tablet.

She was wearing an especially tight pink T-shirt, one that pulled across her ample chest and outlined her assets. A pair of skin-hugging yoga pants clung to her curvy ass and legs. God save him.

“It’s making me crazy, is what it’s doing.”

“Exactly. There are things you can control and things you can’t. You’ve got to focus on what you can, and that means getting that foot back in shape. How did you do with the cold compresses?”

Right now he’d like to press a cold pack into his junk to stop the blood flow. Instead, he pointed to the nightstand where the two ice packs sat on a paper towel.

“So now we need to loosen things up with a little heat. Ready?” She waved a steaming towel at him.

There were a few things he’d like to loosen up with a little heat. “I’m ready to get on a bronc.”

She shook her head as her eyes narrowed to slits. “You know you aren’t. But you will be if we keep doing these exercises. You have to be patient. Give yourself time to heal.” She unwrapped the soft boot cast from his foot and placed the hot towel around it. Heat felt good.

“I’m not a patient man, Libby. And nothing is going to change that.”

She huffed and reached for his tablet. He’d let her take it, for now. Not looking at it wasn’t going to change what he knew—that with each day he was slipping further and further behind.

She sat on the bed, close to him. He could smell her rose scent, and he took a deep breath. If she sat any closer, he’d be reaching over and pulling her on top of him.

“You will heal. The only question is when. The more we work on your foot, the better that timeline will be.”

“Don’t you have that ‘suit’ to get back to?” The question stuck in his throat, but it had to be asked.

She hesitated, biting her lip. Chance wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear. If she was in love with someone else, she was sending him the wrong message. If she wasn’t, he may be sending her the wrong message.

“We’re taking a break. I’m not sure it is going to work out.” Her tone was resigned, no trace of resentment or regret.

Chance wasn’t sure what to make of the surprising news. It could leave the door open, but for what? Plunging into things with Libby could be a disaster if he wasn’t careful, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist trying, given the news she’d just imparted.

“But I am sure this foot is going to heal, Chance,” she continued. “I know I set you back, what with the grill and Cowboy, but I’m determined to make it up to you.” She glanced back at his foot. “It’s looking better today.”

Would she be amenable to some mutual distraction? His pulse quickened. There was only one way to find out.

“So are you.”

She blushed, her complexion almost matching the pink of her shirt.

“Does that mean I wasn’t looking so good before?”

“No, it means I was in too much pain to do something about it. I’m not in quite as much pain now, and I’m noticing.”

And he could do something about it.

She shifted on the bed and her breasts jiggled. He liked jiggly breasts. He liked Libby’s breast. And her ass. And her legs. He liked Libby. And he was going to do something about it.

Leaning forward, he cupped a hand under her chin and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear with the other.

“What are you noticing?” she said in a hushed breath. Her blue eyes locked on to his. He saw need. The elemental kind. He hoped he was reading her right.

“How sweet you are. How much I’d like to kiss you.” And other things.

He slid his palm along her warm throat, felt her pulse, before sliding his hand to the back of her neck. He was reading her right.

“Kiss me?” her voice went up an octave.

He traced his other thumb along her jaw. Her eyes widened.

“Yeah. Kiss you. Like this.” He leaned in, she leaned forward. Their lips touched. He held her head with one hand while the other cupped her chin as he brushed his lips over hers and then kissed her, deep and consuming. She tasted like sweet tea and steaming pleasure. Her mouth was hot and needy as she shifted her body closer to him. So close he could feel the tips of her breasts brushing against his skin through the fabric of her shirt. Her hands slid up his chest, causing a throb in his groin as her tongue swept into his mouth. He groaned deep in his throat as she fed him kisses.

Her response said she wanted him. He wanted her.

He heard the rattle of the patio door handle. He ignored it. He needed to lock that door. People needed to go away. But instead, the door burst open and Libby pulled back.

Billy stood in the doorway, his mouth open.

“Close the door, Billy,” Chance said, gruffer than he intended as he struggled to rein in his response.

The door closed with a bang.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Billy was thirteen. He knew he was interrupting something.

“Not at all,” Libby said, her husky voice sending Chance’s testosterone soaring. She smoothed down her top as if she was clearing off crumbs. Her foot started to shake.

“I came over to see how Cowboy was doing. Chance had texted that you found him.”

Libby smiled. “He’s fine. Thank you for your concern. Unfortunately, Chance set himself back helping me find Cowboy, so I’m committed to doing everything I can to get him better, starting with these.” She held up the red bands. “We were just getting ready to do some of Chance’s exercises.”

Truth was, Chance was getting ready for a different kind of exercising.

“I can help,” Billy said with enthusiasm.

Libby agreeably walked Billy through the use of the red bands, leaving Chance to ponder what ifs. What if they hadn’t been interrupted? What if Libby was really finished with her suit of a boyfriend? What if she was amenable to taking things on his terms? What if she wasn’t?

“How about I go get you two something to drink and then come back to help with the rest of the exercises,” Libby said, having finished the lesson.

Whether Chance had just lost the perfect opportunity or dodged a bullet, he wasn’t sure.

* * *

She’d finally made a half decent meal, if she did say so herself. Having put away the leftovers of the simple chicken stew she’d made from a recipe in one of the cookbooks, Libby wiped clean the kitchen’s white tiled countertop as she waited for the popcorn to finish popping in the microwave.

That kiss they’d shared was on her mind, and no amount of busywork could shake it from her thoughts. Could he still care? There certainly was a spark there. If only she could fan it into something more, something meaningful…and permanent. She wished she had the self-confidence to woo a man. But the reality was, this wasn’t just any man. This was a man who knew her and all her warts, a man she had hurt badly, a man who hadn’t forgiven her and probably never would.

She wasn’t the kind of girl who dreamed of excitement and adventure. She yearned for cozy and homey. Maybe because after her mother had died, nothing in her life had felt that way.

So why did if feel so right living with Chance, when he’d made it clear he didn’t want a life with Libby? But then there was that kiss. That kiss said he wanted more, but more of what?

Her
feelings for him were growing deeper every day.

Watching Chance struggle through his physical therapy had left her admiring his determination, his perseverance, and strength of character, which had helped him overcome what must have been blistering pain. Those same qualities had gotten him past a mother walking out and a wife walking away.

She needed to show those same qualities to get him back and get past her father’s daily phone call filled with recriminations and threats to call Ben.

Life would be a lot less complicated if she could love Ben in the way he deserved. Soon she’d have to face him and tell him the whole truth—about Chance and what her heart was telling her. She didn’t relish the meeting, but she knew it was only right to do it face-to-face and not over the phone. He deserved a full in-person explanation.

Even though Chance might never forgive her, it wouldn’t be right to marry someone else unless she was truly over Chance. Besides, she wasn’t ready to give up on winning him back. Not yet.

She’d walked out on him and had been too ashamed to face him until she had to. If she’d had an ounce of guts, she would have stood by him. That she hadn’t revealed a flaw in her character, one she’d been trying to correct ever since. Standing up to her father about the job had been part of that correction. Facing Chance had been another part. Meeting with Ben would be yet another.

She had to have the courage to face issues, not run from them. That meant that she needed to explain to Chance her reasons, however inadequate, for doing what she did five years ago and hope he’d show some modicum of understanding, if not forgiveness. Her first attempt in the parking lot of the Cattleman’s Club hadn’t gone so well. She needed to try again.

Her second round of job interviews was scheduled for tomorrow, so she shouldn’t allow herself to be distracted. As it happened, Chance was acquainted with some of the members on the interviewing committee, and he had spent that afternoon prepping her.