Linda Goodnight - Sometimes When We Kiss

“Colt Garret.”

“Oh.” Granddad would trust Colt Garret with his life. If Colt vouched for Jackson, her grandfather wouldn’t blink an eye about handing him the keys to the ranch.

She tried a new tack. “I’m the horse trainer. I don’t need him.”

“Now, Shannon, the man’s studied under John Lyons and you know dang well Lyons is the best there is. Horse breakin’ and trainin’ is a rough job, a man’s job. Why not let Jackson take over the horses so you can concentrate on running the business end of things. You’re a whale of a lot better at figures and purchasing than I am.”

“A man’s job!” Shannon hadn’t heard another word after that little jab. Of all the insults, she hated that one the most. A female doing a man’s job. All her life she’d battled ignorant horsemen who thought she should be more worried about breaking a nail than breaking a horse. Her pulse picked up. Anger lifted the hairs on her arms.

Granddad must have seen the fury in her. He raised a gnarled hand. “I won’t argue about this. Kane is hired and that’s that.”

All the blood in her body rushed to her head. “And I won’t allow it.”

“Now, Shannon—” Granddad stood up, reaching toward her, his tone cajoling. But he’d no more than found his feet when the outstretched hand grabbed for his chest.

“Granddad!” Argument forgotten in concern for the only parent she’d ever known, Shannon rushed forward to wrap her arms around him. “Is it your heart? Are you in pain?”

“Need to sit,” he managed, short of breath to the point of gasping. “My pills.”

Shannon took his arm and, frightened by the cold and clammy skin beneath her fingers, eased him onto the chair. Then she searched frantically through the desk for his medication, discovering the bottle at last beneath a stack of papers.

She shook out a pill, placed the tiny white tablet under his tongue and waited. From the looks of the bottle, this wasn’t the first episode of pain, but it was the first she’d witnessed.

“Should I call an ambulance? Or take you to the hospital?”

Eyes closed, he shook his head. “Get Kane.”

Kane? The request startled her. Why would he ask for Jackson? A sudden jolt of understanding exploded adrenaline into her bloodstream. Granddad thought he might be dying and didn’t want her to be alone.

Terrified to leave him for even a moment, Shannon had no choice. She raced to the back door and screamed out. “Jackson. Hurry. Granddad is sick!”

Waiting only long enough to see the tall Cajun jerk away from the gate and start in a long lope for the house, Shannon rushed back into the office and to her grandfather.

She sank to the floor beside his chair and laid her head against his knee as she’d done a thousand times growing up. Then the action had been to seek comfort from an anchor of a man who had all the answers. Now she needed to be the comforter, the strong one.

Please, God, don’t let me lose him. I’ll never argue with him again. Ever. If hiring Jackson makes him happy, I won’t say another word against him.

The squeak of the storm door and pound of boot steps heralded Jackson’s entry. If she hadn’t been so frightened, she might have been amused. For a big guy, he moved pretty fast.

He stormed into the room, expression concerned but confident. Shannon breathed an undeniable sigh of relief. She didn’t want to face this alone and somehow Jackson’s quiet strength gave her courage.

“What happened?”

“His heart. He had a heart attack about six months ago. He’s been on medication ever since.”

“Hospital,” Granddad managed to say through pale lips, though his eyes remained closed.

Jackson never hesitated. “Get the SUV,” he said to Shannon. “I’ll meet you at the back door.”

Then he scooped her grandfather into his arms as if he were a small child instead of a hundred-and-sixty-pound adult.

Grabbing the keys from the hook on the wall, Shannon raced for the truck.

By the time she pulled around back, Jackson was waiting. She bolted out of the driver’s seat and opened the back door, helping Jackson ease Granddad onto the empty bench seat. She started to close the door, but Jackson stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“You ride back here with him. I’ll drive.”

Unused to taking orders from anyone, Shannon wanted to argue, but the situation was too serious, and he was right. She needed to be with her grandfather. Any fool could drive. Even Jackson Kane.

Jackson stood in the waiting room sucking in the unmistakable odor of antiseptic and sick people as he listened to a white-coated lady doctor explaining Gus Wyoming’s heart condition to Shannon. He’d rather smell the back end of a horse any day than the inside of a hospital.

He shifted from one boot to the other and wished for a dip of snuff, though he’d broken that habit more than two years ago. He hated hospitals. Nearly everyone he ever knew who’d gone into one never came out alive—Jett Garret being the exception. And look what had happened to him. Jackson suppressed a shudder. His poor buddy had gone to the hospital and had ended up losing his dream. Never mind that he was deliriously happy with the cute little nurse he’d found there. Jackson couldn’t imagine anything worse than giving up the dream—especially for a creature as undependable as a woman.

“Your grandfather has some blockage in his carotid arteries,” he heard the doctor say and focused his full attention in that direction.

“Is that what causes his chest pain?”

“Yes. And the blockage also causes the shortness of breath when he overexerts himself.” The doctor removed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them against her coat. “If Mr. Wyoming had seen a doctor when he first began experiencing symptoms…” She stopped and shook her head, apparently seeing the futility in what-might-have-beens. “He doesn’t follow doctor’s orders very well.”

Shannon smiled, though Jackson could see the worry hanging on her like a wet saddle blanket—heavy and miserable. She’d been unfaltering since the moment they tore away from the ranch, her strength and constant upbeat chatter in the back seat of the SUV making the trip into town much calmer for him as well as the old man. There would be no hysterics from this little cowgirl.

Regardless of her sexy, all-woman looks, Shannon Wyoming was as tough as a pine knot. Always had been, but in the years since he’d seen her, she’d grown stronger. She had a set to her chin and steely determination in her blue eyes that said she wouldn’t give up and she wouldn’t give in. Much as he hated to admit it, he admired that. Almost as much as he admired her round little backside in a pair of tight jeans.

Her voice and his own common sense yanked him back into the conversation. Better not let Shannon catch him eyeing her behind.

“That’s Granddad. He doesn’t take orders well from anyone.”

Like his granddaughter, Jackson thought. He shoved off the wall and moved up beside her. “Is he going to need surgery?”

The doctor looked from Shannon to the dark cowboy, her expression questioning.

“This is Jackson Kane,” Shannon said. “Our…He works for my grandfather and me.”

She’d finally admitted he had the job, but Jackson felt no victory in her saying so. If Gus couldn’t carry on as always, she’d be stuck with her new hired hand whether she liked the idea or not. He’d have to deal with her reluctance if his own dreams were to come true.

“Not right now. And if he will do the things I tell him, maybe never. With the right medications we may be able to clear out the blockage or at least part of it. But he needs to make some significant lifestyle changes.”

Jackson knew that wouldn’t set well with a man like Gus, and from the way Shannon fidgeted she knew it, too.

“How can we help?” He didn’t know why he felt compelled to see Shannon through this. Her family, her grandfather was not his business. But the anxiety around Shannon’s mouth gave him the most irrational desire to kiss away her troubles and tell her everything would be all right. Must be a flashback to the good times they’d had when they were randy teenagers.

With a concerted effort, he drew his attention away from Shannon’s mouth and back to the doctor.

The doctor replaced her glasses. “How does your grandfather handle his stress?”

“Handle it?” Shannon huffed. “He doesn’t. He keeps everything bottled up inside so I won’t worry about it.”

Jackson could have told them that. Holding trouble inside was the cowboy way. Although lots of men blew off steam by getting drunk on Saturday night or picking a barroom fight, Gus wasn’t the type. Maybe he had been in his younger days, but not now, not even ten years ago.

“I thought you might say that. While caused by the blockage, his blood-pressure problem is exacerbated by the stress,” said the tiny doctor. “You need to do everything possible to eliminate any areas of tension in his life.”

Shannon frowned, a cute little pucker between her eyes that gave Jackson the strangest desire to slip an arm around her waist and pull her close.

“That is not going to be easy.” She gnawed on her full bottom lip and danged if he didn’t start staring at her mouth again.

“No, I don’t expect it will be. But if Mr. Wyoming is to regain optimal health, he must reduce stress and control his blood pressure. If he behaves himself, he could very well beat this thing. Otherwise, he is looking at some serious complications in the not-too-distant future.”

Shannon swallowed hard, her face blanching. “I can’t let anything happen to my granddad.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to Gus,” Jackson said. “We’ll see to it.”

At his reassurance, Shannon relaxed a little and got that determined jut to her chin. “Okay. You’re right. We are going to get him well. I can handle the business side of the ranch, keep him from seeing any financial problems.” She turned to Jackson. “Jackson, don’t tell Granddad about any problems with the horses or their owners. Okay?”

Lying to a man he respected was not what Jackson had in mind. A man who spent his life working on a ranch, burning his muscles into exhaustion wouldn’t take kindly to two women plotting his retirement to a rockin’ chair by hiding things from him. And if Gus could hear this conversation, he would be one unhappy cowboy.

“Gus’s nobody’s fool.”

“I’d be the first to agree with that. But I don’t want to lose him either. For the sake of his health, we absolutely have to keep him relaxed. So gloss over any problems, only tell him the good things.” She placed a hand on his arm and his pulse rate kicked like a young mule. “Please, Jackson. I need your help.”

When she looked so worried like that, her blue eyes threatening a rainstorm, he was helpless to argue.

“I thought you wanted to fire me.”

She crossed her arms, an action that pushed the front of her tank top up and out. A man could totally lose his concentration at such a sight.

“Don’t rub it in.”

A devilish impulse made him tease. “Admit you’re glad I’m here, and I won’t.”

The good doctor, whom Jackson had completely forgotten, cleared her throat. “If you two will excuse me, I have rounds to make. We’ll talk again before Mr. Wyoming is discharged.”

She bustled away, pager beeping at her waist, nurses armed with charts following her down the long white corridor.

“Seems like a good doctor.”

“She’s terribly overworked, but yes, I trust her.” Wearily she pushed her hair behind one ear. “If Dr. Torrence says Granddad will get well faster if he eats right and isn’t stressed, then I have to find ways to keep him content.”