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His Country Girl
Jillian Hart
To fulfill a sick boy's wish, rodeo star Tucker Granger surprises little Owen in the hospital. But no one is more surprised than single mother Sierra Baker.She figures the carefree champion for a different kind of man. One who doesn't spend hours talking cowboy code with a hospital-bound child. One who can't have her dreaming of a second chance at love.Somehow, Tucker ropes her heart and fills it with hope. Hope that this country girl and her son can lasso the roaming bronc rider into their family forever.
Her son was on his hands and knees on his hospital bed, watching for the first glimpse of his hero
Sierra let Tucker go in first, love overwhelming her at the happiness chasing across her son’s pale face.
“Tucker!” Owen beamed up at his hero. “You came. You’re really here and everything.”
“Sure I am, buddy.”
If her son’s eyes got any bigger, they would roll right out of his head.
“Mom, it’s Tucker Granger! We saw him on TV when he showed that bull who was boss and set the new record. I saw. He’s the best.”
Tucker’s warm chuckle rang with good humor and not self-importance as she was expecting. “Hold on there, little cowboy, I just had a good day. You didn’t see me a month later getting thrown off a bronc five seconds in and breaking half the bones in my body.”
That was exactly why she couldn’t fall for a man like Tucker.
JILLIAN HART
grew up on her family’s homestead, where she helped raise cattle, rode horses and scribbled stories in her spare time. After earning her English degree from Whitman College, she worked in travel and advertising before selling her first novel. When Jillian isn’t working on her next story, she can be found puttering in her rose garden, curled up with a good book or spending quiet evenings at home with her family.
Jillian Hart
His Country Girl
Direct my steps by Your word.
—Psalms 119:133
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Denver’s January cold had crept into her bones. Sierra Baker shivered, rescued her hand-knit cardigan from the back of the uncomfortable black chair in the hospital’s waiting area and watched a nurse pad down the hall to the busy nurse’s station. No sign of Tucker Granger yet. She wrapped her arms around her middle for comfort and thought of her six-year-old son in his room. He was waiting for a visit from the rodeo rider he’d specifically requested of the children’s wishing charity.
And the man was late. Her stomach had twisted into such a tight knot she could hardly breathe. Minutes had ticked by, minutes which had felt like hours, and anxiety was about to gobble her up.
Remember, God is in charge. That thought comforted her enough that she could settle back into her chair and gather up her knitting. The needles felt cool against her fingertips as she wrapped a strand of soft blue wool around the needle and began a row. It gave her something to focus on other than the fact her son was facing surgery bright and early in the morning.
He’s going to be all right. She had to believe that. Her town pastor had encouraged her to be positive. Owen was in God’s hands. She had to trust that this surgery to cure his heart problem would go flawlessly and he would be well.
“Sierra Baker. Is that you?” A man’s amused baritone boomed across the waiting room, at odds with the somber, hushed tones around her.
Why did it have to be Tucker Granger? Of all the rodeo champions in the West, why did Owen want him? She and Tucker were from the same hometown. They’d gone through school together. She did not like him or the way he bounded into sight with his signature megawatt grin. That grin could make every eligible woman in a five-mile radius dream, but not her. He might be one of the most well-known bronc riders in three states, but her heart rate remained unaffected.
She folded up her knitting and rose from the chair. “You’re late.”
“Fifteen minutes, tops.” Tardiness didn’t concern him, obviously. He simply flashed his double dimples, the ones that could make him outshine a movie star, and the cane he walked with became hardly noticeable. “It was a battle getting from the airport. The planes are grounded. God was watching out for us because my flight was the last to land.”
“I’m grateful, for Owen’s sake.” She didn’t want Tucker to think she was one of the poor, perhaps misguided women who thought a man chasing notoriety and a carefree lifestyle was attractive. Not just a carefree lifestyle, she corrected, glancing at the cane he leaned on, but a dangerous one. The whole town back home had been buzzing with concern when he’d been injured months ago at a competition.
Why did his eyes flash amusement, as if he were laughing at her? That was another thing she didn’t want to like about the man—his perpetual good humor.
“How is the little tyke doing?” He turned serious and jammed his free fist into his leather jacket. Snow dusted the brim of his hat and the wide expanse of his linebacker shoulders. His deep, lapis-blue eyes radiated a genuine concern, reminding her of the boy she used to know when they’d been in the same third grade class. The boy who had given her his lunch when bullies on the playground had taken hers. She’d almost forgotten that boy.
“Owen is doing as well as can be expected.” She took a step toward the nurse’s station. “That’s why I was waiting out here. I want to talk to you before you see him.”
“Sure. What’s up?” He shifted the strap of a backpack on his shoulder.
A child’s backpack, she realized. One with the rodeo association’s logo and a bucking horse and rider printed on it. Thoughtful of him to bring a gift. She slowed her pace, so they wouldn’t arrive at Owen’s room too quickly.
“His surgery is in the morning. I don’t know if Janelle told you.”
“Sure she did. She said Owen’s a pretty sick little boy right now.”
“Yes, but he’s going to get better.” He had to. She set her chin, determined to stay strong. “He’s fragile and we’re trying not to upset him.”
“That’s the last thing I want to do.”
“Please don’t mention his father.”
“You mean Ricky isn’t here?”
“He couldn’t be bothered.” A long, painful story, one she so did not want to get into. “Owen is very sensitive about his dad’s absence.”
“I understand. Anything else I should know?”
“Just that he is really excited about you coming to see him.”
“Hey, it’s the least I can do. You’ve served my family how many meals at the town diner?” Kindness softened the rugged planes of his granite face. How the man could possibly get any more handsome was a complete mystery.
“More meals than I can count.” She had been a waitress in the town’s only diner since high school. “Your family is always so great to me. Your dad is a shamelessly big tipper.”
“He’s generous to a fault.” Affection edged into his voice when he spoke of his father. Everyone knew Frank Granger was one of the good guys. Tucker, who looked nearly identical to his dad, had his mother’s restlessness, as many in the town had said, but he didn’t look restless as he fastened his honest gaze on Sierra. “Everyone in Wild Horse wants me to let you know that they are all praying for Owen. That’s a lot of prayer coming this way.”
“I know. I can feel it.” She didn’t seem as alone. Somehow it was as if all those loving prayers and well wishes wrapped around her like an invisible hug. “There’s nothing like the community of a small town. I would be lost without everyone there.”
“We’re all anxious for you and Owen to come back home safe and sound and well again.” For a happy-go-lucky man, Tucker could be steady and solid. Dark hair tumbled from beneath his hat, which he swept off as he raked the strands out of his eyes. “I’m praying for Owen, too. I was touched that he asked for me. He could have wanted a visit from an ex-president or a celebrity.”
“There’s no accounting for taste.” The quip surprised her. She hadn’t been in a light mood in many months. Tucker’s chuckle rumbled through the sterile hallway like sunshine, causing a nurse and a patient in a wheelchair to turn his way and share a smile.
Owen’s door was open, and the little boy was on his hands and knees on his bed watching for the first glimpse of his hero. Sierra stayed behind and let Tucker go in first, love overwhelming her at the happiness chasing across her son’s pale face.
“Tucker!” Owen beamed up at his hero. His hand swiped at his dark hair falling into his big blue eyes. “You came. You’re really here and everything.”
“Sure I am, buddy. If I remember right, you and I have met before.” The big man swept off his hat, his tone warm and friendly as he stuck out his hand. “Once at church when I was back home for Christmas and a long time ago at the diner.”
“Yep. I was almost done with my chocolate milk-shake when you came in. You had a big shiny belt buckle then, too.” Owen slipped his small pale, bluish hand into Tucker’s sun-browned one and shook like a little man. “Is that cuz you were the champion?”
“You know it. Of course, I haven’t won anything lately.”
“You got thrown off a horse. That’s why you’ve got that cane, right?” If his eyes got any bigger, they would roll right out of his head.
“Goodness, lie back, Owen.” Sierra moved into the room, using her mother’s tone because she was comfortable in that role. It created distance between her and Tucker as she circled entirely too close to him to reach her son’s side. She plumped his pillows and patted the top one. “Come on, you need to take it easy.”
“But, Mom, it’s Tucker Granger! We saw him on TV when he showed that bull who was boss and set the new record. I saw. He’s the best.”
Tucker’s warm chuckle rang with good humor and not self-importance as she’d been expecting. “Hold on there, little cowboy, I just had a good day. You didn’t see me a month later get thrown off a bronc and break a bunch of bones.”
“Wow!” Owen flopped against his stack of pillows, his entire attention focused on his hero. “Did it hurt lots?”
“Sure did. That’s why I’m still walking with this cane. But I’m better now.” Tucker Granger shrugged one big shoulder as if his injuries were no big deal. Of course, in her opinion grown men should not be trying to ride a horse that did not want to be ridden in the first place. Men like that, regardless of how impressive they seemed, were the kind who refused to grow up. She had issues with that sort of a man, since she’d regrettably married one of them.
“I hear you’ve got a big surgery coming up.” Tucker sat on the edge of the bed, his deep blue gaze tender with concern. “Do you know I had some surgeries, too?”
“Wow. Did it hurt?”
“Not too bad, but then I did everything the doctors said to do. And I didn’t have a nice mom to take care of me like you have.” He kept it light, his tone easygoing, but it was impossible to hide the worry. “Look what I brought you.”
“A backpack? Cool!”
“Not just any backpack. It’s an official rodeo association one. I had a few buddies of mine sign it for you.” He gave the pack a turn to show the dozen autographs and read each one aloud.
Okay, that was thoughtful. That had to have taken him a lot of time. But she couldn’t let that influence her opinion of the man—of men like him.
Fine, so she was projecting. She could admit it. But the pain of Ricky’s swift and abrupt abandonment was still raw. He’d been gone for nearly two years, and the wound made by his departure had never healed. She had talked to her pastor, turned to prayer and handed it over to the Lord. Yet the injury remained, one that haunted her.
Tucker Granger was not Ricky, she reminded herself, although her ex-husband’s carefree attitude was not so different.
“Wow! A horse!” Owen had unzipped the backpack and began pulling out treasures. The foot-high plastic sorrel horse with matching mane and tail was beautiful.
“Not just any horse,” Tucker explained. “That’s just like Jack.”
“Jack’s your horse!” It was good to see Owen so happy. “I saw you win with him, too. It was awesome!”
“Thanks, buddy.” Cute kid. Tough to think that tomorrow morning he would be undergoing open-heart surgery. He could see the strain on the mother’s face. Sierra Bolton, Baker since her marriage. He zipped the backpack open wider. “Go ahead and dig in, Owen. There’s more.”
“More?” The little guy didn’t let go of the Jack replica. He plunged his free hand into the depths of the bag, hauling out a rodeo T-shirt in his size, a child’s book about a rodeo horse and several G-rated DVDs Tucker figured the boy might like.
Last of all was a stuffed bull wearing a T-shirt and a nose ring. Something for the boy to cling to when the going got rough. It couldn’t be easy recovering from that kind of surgery. Since he’d spent his share of time in a hospital bed, Tucker could empathize.
As the boy exclaimed over each gift, Tucker’s gaze kept drifting to the woman perched on the edge of an uncomfortable-looking chair. Sierra. He hadn’t given her much thought, not even on the rare occasions he was home and his family dragged him out to dinner in town. He hardly recognized her without her apron and notepad. She’d grown tall and willowy, her girlhood imperfections polished away by time and maturity.
She was a beauty, with those big gray eyes and soft oval face framed by long locks of tumbling blond hair. It was hard not to admire the gentle slope of her nose, her wide-set eyes and delicate bone structure. Hard to believe she’d once been a wallflower hiding behind black-rimmed glasses, the kind of girl who handed her homework in early and landed on the honor roll every semester. The kind of girl who shied away from a boy like him. He figured that was the one thing that hadn’t changed about her.
“Thank you, Tucker.” Her gaze met his like a touch, and the shock bolted through him like lightning, leaving him a bit dazed.
“No problem.” He hoped his grin didn’t falter. He didn’t normally have that reaction to women. In fact, he’d never had anything happen like that before.
“Thanks, Tucker!” Owen’s excitement vibrated through the air. He studied one gift after the next with undisguised amazement. Even though he was on oxygen, it didn’t seem to slow down his enthusiasm. “What’s it like to ride real broncos?”
“I’ll be happy to tell you, but that will be a long tale.” Tucker took in the subtle signs Sierra Baker was trying to hide—the exhaustion bruising the delicate skin beneath her eyes, the tension furrowing her brow and the tight purse of her mouth as if she were doing her level best to keep all her fears inside.
Something told him she hadn’t been getting a whole lot of sleep and probably wouldn’t get much, if any, tonight with the surgery looming. He took in her long hair falling straight and unadorned without a single pin or barrette or doodad. Her clothes looked rumpled, not wrinkled exactly, but as if they’d spent too much time in a suitcase, and they hung on her. A good size too large, he figured, judging by the hem of her sweater sleeve that hit her mid-palm and the cinch of her belt, the old notch where it used to be worn visible.
“Why don’t you go and take some downtime?” He felt sympathy for her. He couldn’t imagine his own mother putting any one of her children’s needs above her own. Not that she had been a bad mother. She just hadn’t been a good one, which was why he appreciated the quiet sacrifice of care Sierra made for her son. She sat on the edge of her seat, ready to leap up in case he needed anything. “I can handle things here. You go grab yourself a latte or a bite to eat. Maybe even a nap.”
“No, I can’t leave him.” With a man she couldn’t count on. She didn’t say this but he could sense it. Her hands curled into small fists. “He might need me.”
“I’m sure he will, but the truth is Owen and me, we need some quality man-time. It’s a guy thing.” He winked, hoping she would mistake his concern for her as something lighthearted. He couldn’t let it get around that fearless Tucker Granger had a soft spot. That would destroy his hard-won tough-as-nails reputation. “No way can I discuss the secrets of my trade in front of a woman.”
