Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Her Unexpected Cowboy\His Ideal Match\The Rancher's Secret Son (46 page)

He really wanted to be the one holding her up right now.

A warm feeling spread through his chest, returning his breath even as hers was apparently being stolen. His feelings mattered. The past few years still counted. Even hearing about it secondhand, her reaction proved it—she still felt something, too. If she were as indifferent toward him as she pretended, she'd have cared less at Rachel's admission.

Rachel came out of Buttercup's stall with her bag, her next words too low for Max to catch, and stopped abruptly as their gazes locked. Emma turned, and there they stood, an unlikely triangle, all eyes pointedly fixed on Max.

First he was jealous of the wood propping up Emma, now he was jealous of the horses that got to hide in their stalls. Not that he had any reason to be embarrassed—if anything, Rachel should be, for having slipped personal information about him to a near stranger.

Though, since they'd dated back in his womanizing, desperate-for-distraction days, he probably deserved it.

He adjusted his hat and grinned. “Ladies.” He still had some charm left, somewhere. Not that it would affect either of those two. “How's Buttercup?”

Maybe if he pretended he hadn't heard, they could all save face. But denial had never been his specialty. He might have done a lot of things worse in the past, but lying was never his crutch. He hadn't had anyone trying to keep him accountable in the first place until Emma. His dad couldn't care less what he did, and if Max told him flat out, he'd probably reach for another shot glass and toast him best wishes.

But they knew he'd heard. He could see it in the guilt clouding Rachel's eyes and the mortification lurking in Emma's.

“She needs an X-ray.” Rachel jangled her truck keys as if in proof of her pending deed. “Was just headed to get the machine.”

“And let me know?” An X-ray definitely fell under the unofficial doctor/client relationship they had going, though the question was more to distract from the tension radiating off Emma than from his own personal desire to find out.

“Of course.” Rachel smiled, that gentle, practiced white smile she'd perfected over the years of having to break bad news to animal lovers.

But this time, Max knew the bad news had nothing to do with Buttercup.

“Need help?” She'd say no, but he had to ask anyway. Maybe she'd take pity on him—or Emma, at the least—and give them an excuse to delay the inevitable.

Nope. Rachel Peters owed Max Ringgold no favors. Her smile deepened as she rushed past them. “I've got it.”

Of course she did.

He couldn't resist. Not that he'd call it desperation but... “Are you sure? Emma or I could—”

Rachel stopped, back stiff, and slowly turned. “Emma?”

He pointed, and Emma ducked her head, turning even redder than before. In fact, she was downright burgundy. Clearly, he'd missed a step. He frowned. “Emma Shaver.”

And then the pieces connected. Rachel had been talking to Emma earlier without knowing her name. Obvious, now, by the particular way she'd phrased her tell-all sentence. Too bad he hadn't caught that tiny detail before now. Talk about upping the embarrassment factor.

“I didn't know.” Rachel's apologetic gaze was focused on Emma, not on him. Ouch. Probably some form of girl code he didn't get, either. “Sorry for...well, you know.” She turned without meeting Max's eyes. “I'll just grab that machine now.” Apparently the vet was still clinging to hope that Max hadn't overheard what she'd said. She hurried down the barn aisle and into the sunshine.

“You heard.” Emma pointed out the obvious the second Rachel was out of earshot.

“I heard.” He still couldn't lie—especially not to her eyes.

“So you and Rachel...Dr. Peters...” Emma gestured between him and the empty barn aisle behind him, her hand flopping listlessly like a fish on a bank. “You and she...”

He'd never seen such desperation for someone to fill in a blank. If it'd been anyone else, he'd have teased them a bit. Drawn it out. But she'd been through enough pain, he could tell. Talk about knowing the feeling. “We dated casually.” He made sure to keep his voice down, despite the female campers being across the barn.

Instant relief drained the anxiety from her expression. “So it wasn't serious.”

“Were you jealous?” He really didn't mean to say that out loud, but on second thought, maybe he did. Emma couldn't hold all the cards and leave him with nary a peek.

Her eyes flashed, and she crossed her arms over her chest, the defensive motion one he recognized all too well from her. “You're one to talk. You haven't dated anyone seriously since me.”

“You're right.”

The fight fled from her stance, and she took a tentative step toward him. “Why?”

“Why do you think, Emma?” She was so close. So familiar. He reached out and grazed her arm with his knuckles, her shirtsleeve soft under his touch. Man, that hurt deep. He hadn't realized until that fateful hug how badly he still craved her presence in his life. Craved her arms around him and her head on his shoulder. No one had ever fit like Emma had. But how could he tell her that without losing the tiny splinter of dignity he had left?

She shrugged, but the hope in her eyes left his head spinning. She wanted him to tell her. But could he really hold his heart out for her to trample over a second time?

He yanked off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair and sighed before replacing it. “You're the one who left. Not me.” That was about as straightforward as he could get. Without putting himself on a silver platter and saying “here.” “Remember?”

The hope in her gaze morphed into something colder. “Oh, I remember, all right. I remember you—”

“Miss Shaver!” Katie's panicked cry sent a burst of adrenaline into Max's veins. He'd forgotten they weren't alone in the barn. Had the girls overheard Rachel's confession?

“Help!”

Either way, it didn't matter at the moment. He half caught Katie as she barreled toward them, straw stuck in her hair. His heart raced. “What's wrong?”

“Are you okay?” Emma grabbed for her hands, and Katie squeezed until her knuckles turned white.

“It's Tonya. She's on the floor next to Remington's stall.” She panted for breath, eyes wide with fear. “I think she's unconscious.”

Chapter Ten

E
mma laid a cool washcloth on Tonya's head, gesturing for Katie to back up as she continued to bounce nervously. Apparently her burst of adrenaline over finding Tonya facedown in straw had yet to fade. “Careful now. Let her breathe.”

She could say the same for Max, who didn't seem to care in the least that he was breaking his own rule about staying out of the female dormitory. He hovered over Tonya's bed, frowning down at her pale face, her dark hair stark against the white pillow.

“I still think we need to take her to the hospital.”

Tonya lifted from the pillow, panic highlighting her expression. “No!”

He flinched, and even Katie backed up a step. No way could someone truly ill coax that strong of a tone. Emma raised her eyebrows at Tonya. Something was going on, for sure—had she been faking to get out of barn duties? She needed to run the idea by Max, but not in front of Tonya.

“Why not, Tonya? Afraid of needles?” Stacy spoke up from her spot on her bed across the room, and Tonya glared at her.

“That's enough.” Max's voice left no room for disagreement—or sarcasm. Stacy slumped back against her pillow, but her smug smile didn't fade. Max caught Emma's eye and gestured with his head to the entryway area outside the dorm. He wanted to talk to her alone, too. About Tonya? Or their unfinished conversation?

She wasn't sure how she felt about the interruption earlier. One part grateful and two parts disappointed. She probably shouldn't have finished the sentence she'd been tempted to before Katie arrived panicking, but saying it would have felt
so
good. So relieving.

Sort of like justifying her decision and her secret for the hundredth time.

Great. How healthy was that? There she went again, trying to fix everyone around her while ignoring her own broken pieces. Too bad counseling oneself didn't work nearly as well. Though she knew what she'd tell herself if she were a patient—that truth was always better than lies. That anything worth hiding was worth telling. That relationships built on untruths would only crumble.

Saying it was easy. Living it, not so much. Especially when one's son could potentially go to jail based on the consequences of said truth.

And speaking of secrets, Tonya definitely had one.

Emma adjusted the washrag on the teen's forehead. She didn't feel warm, and her pulse had calmed. Maybe she really had faked it and knew an examination from a professional would rat her out. Still, she'd never been one to shirk out of chores before. If anything, Emma would have expected that behavior from Stacy—not Tonya.

At least the girls didn't seem to have heard the awkward conversation between the adults in the barn. Maybe Tonya passing out cold had been a blessing in one sense.

Max traded places by Tonya's side with Katie. “We'll be right back. Katie, keep this rag cool and come get us if something happens, okay?”

The eager redhead nodded and immediately stood guard and stared at Tonya as though she might fade away into the sheets if she so much as blinked. “Yes, sir.”

Stacy snorted again, but Max let that one go. Emma followed him just outside the bedroom door and lowered her voice as she secured her stance by a potted fern. “So what are you thinking?” Best to let him lead the conversation, or she'd put them right back where they left off in the barn. She still couldn't decide if that would be good or bad.

“She might be faking. And if she is, I want her busted.” Max crossed his arms and sighed, the sleeves of his work shirt pulling taut across his biceps. “On the other hand, she says she just got hot shoveling and forgot to eat breakfast. It could be a blood sugar issue.”

“I sat by her at breakfast. She only nibbled on an orange.” Emma hesitated. “Come to think of it, I don't think she ate much at dinner last night.”

Understanding began to slide across Max's face. “She's the only one that's been on a treadmill since we've been here, too. Have you ever seen her leave the table at a meal for the restroom?”

Surely he didn't think... “Eating disorder?” Emma frowned. “No. Well, maybe. I guess it's possible. What's in her file?”

“Nothing about that. But she's so thin. And I've seen it at this camp before.” He rubbed his jaw, the day's stubble bristling under his fingers. “Let's keep a close eye on her.”

“So, hospital or no hospital?” The heater in the dorm kicked on, sending a brush of warm air across Emma's shoulders. Still, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, fighting a chill that wouldn't go away. If Tonya had a disorder, Emma should have picked up on it. She should have noticed long before the girl fainted. What good was she even doing here?

“I'm not going to make her go this minute. But I do have to call her parents and see what they advise. Legally, I can't ignore this whether Tonya thinks she's fine or not.” Max leaned against the door, his voice nearly a whisper to avoid being overheard from inside. “If they don't insist, then we'll see what happens tomorrow. I'll make her go if she passes out again.”

“Will her parents come get her early? Is that even allowed?”

“It's a disruption, one we try to avoid at all costs. Anytime a parent has to intervene in the program, it typically halts progress.”

A second, more intense shiver skirted up her spine. “And I'm
not
intervening?”

His mouth opened, but Emma pushed ahead, panic driving her words past her control. He'd just said it himself—her nightmare, brought verbally to life. Fear clouded her vision. “I'm Cody's parent first, Max. Before I'm these girls' counselor or your lifesaver or whatever it was you called me when I agreed to this whole crazy thing.” She jabbed her finger at his chest. “I'm his
mother
.”

He wrapped his hand around her pointed finger and gently, but firmly, lowered her hand. Her breath caught, his touch sending small sparks up to her elbow and combating the chill leftover from cold truth. “I know who you are, Emma Shaver.”

And there they were. Back in the barn, with a thousand unspoken words hovering between them. But which ones to speak? And would it accomplish anything other than relieving a bit of stress and then leaving her drenched in regret? She was tired of regret. Tired of wondering. Tired of doubting. Would she ever make it through the rest of the month?

Would Cody?

A sob began to work its way up her chest, and she swallowed it back. She couldn't be that vulnerable in front of Max. It just wasn't right. Not after everything they'd been through. No, she needed walls. Brick ones. Big, tall, brick ones.

“If I thought you were hindering Cody, I wouldn't have let you stay.” Max's confident tone spiked through her fears and left her hoping for...well, hope.

“Are you sure?” Her heart thundered. “Maybe you're just blinded to the facts because of need.”

“Don't pull that textbook stuff out with me.” His smile tempered his words. “I would never sacrifice a teenager because of a camp need. The campers are why I'm here.”

“Then what would you have done if I'd said no?” Emma realized suddenly he hadn't let go of her hand, yet she couldn't force herself to pull it away. She wanted him to let go first.

This time.

“If you had said no, God would have sent someone else.” He squeezed her fingers, and she squeezed back as if on autopilot. “He's sort of on the side of Camp Hope, you know.”

She really didn't know whose side God was on, except that it probably wasn't hers. But no need to get into theology while they had a potentially bulimic girl, a lame horse and a camp full of teenagers needing their supper to deal with. She risked a glance into his face, and her heart clenched at his eyes, so similar to Cody's, gazing down at her with such sincerity. Such honesty. Such compassion.

Where had Max Ringgold gone? The man she knew from days ago was nothing like this. That man had been hard enough to walk away from—but this one...

How could she walk away a second time?

She tugged her hand free. “I'll keep a closer watch on Tonya. I promise.”

“This wasn't your fault.” Max's arm hung limp at his side as if he didn't know what to do with his suddenly empty hand. She could relate, so she hooked her thumbs into her back pockets. “You do know that, right?”

Not her fault. That's what everyone told her about Cody, too, and what she often told parents of wayward children she saw in counseling. But wasn't a piece of it her fault? She had to be responsible to a degree—even if it was the single mistake of going against God's Word and sleeping with Cody's father when she knew better. Knew he wasn't legit. Knew he wouldn't change for her.

But he had changed, and maybe the fact that it
wasn't
for her was what hurt worst of all.

“These teens ultimately have to make their own choices. That goes for Tonya—and Cody.” Max's fingers brushed her shoulder, and she leaned into the warmth before easing away from the touch that so easily got her in trouble. “Emma, you have to believe me.”

His words hit her heart but didn't penetrate, like an arrow flung at a target without enough force to stick. “I know you think that.”

“It's true.”

Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't
her
fault, so much as it was his. Max Ringgold, for however much he'd crossed over to the good side, had once very much occupied the darkness. Weren't bad boy genes hereditary? The Bible even talked about the sins of the father being passed down. Maybe Cody didn't have a chance at all because of his very DNA. Maybe his future was already determined in the negative. Didn't all of it—the vandalism, the fighting, the rebellion—come so naturally to her son?

She'd seen the same thing in his father.

And if she looked really hard—in herself.

“I'm going to go check on Tonya.” She drew a ragged breath before pushing open the dormitory door behind him. “We're done here.”

* * *

She was getting really good at walking away from him. Max stayed in the entryway after the door shut behind her, wondering if he should follow.

Or walk away for good.

But the only way to walk away from Emma Shaver was physically. And he wasn't leaving Camp Hope, and for the time being, neither was she. He somehow had to find a way to stick out this arrangement he'd plopped them both into and move forward for the sake of the kids. This was about the campers—not him. His struggles and dreams and desires were not at stake, but an entire dormful of teenagers' were, including one potentially sick young girl who needed his attention and support. Not his half effort and attention because he was so distracted by Emma.

The heater shut off, leaving a heavy silence surrounding the entryway. He rubbed his temples beneath the rim of his cowboy hat and stared down at the linoleum squares beneath his boots. He should have known. And maybe he had. Maybe God had sparked the idea and arranged for Emma to fill the temporary need of counseling—but hadn't his own heart jumped at the opportunity to spend regular time with her again? He'd bit that bullet a lot more eagerly than he'd tried to convince himself at first.

Hopefully he hadn't jumped ahead of God. He was so used to lingering behind the Lord, dragging his heels and denying his purpose in starting Camp Hope for so long, that he wasn't sure if he'd recognize what it meant to run ahead, to carve his own path and hope it was the same one God wanted him to walk.

Maybe he wasn't supposed to be anything more for Emma right now than a counselor to her son. That would have to be enough—regardless of how good she felt in his arms. Regardless of how his heart ached to atone for the past.

Regardless of how the sight of her walking away from him made him feel like a helpless, love-struck teenager once again.

But they had to come to some kind of truce. He and Emma couldn't keep playing emotional relay, passing the baton of the past back and forth in heated arguments. He glanced toward the door, wishing he could barrel back inside and demand Emma come settle this once and for all. He was sick of elephants crowding their time together and wreaking havoc on his memories.

The door opened, and his heart leaped before realizing it was Stacy. Then it jumped again for a different reason. Had something else happened to Tonya?

“She okay?” His tone sounded more clipped than he meant for it to, and it seemed Stacy picked up on it, as well. Her posture stiffened.

“She's fine. Trust me.” Stacy smirked.

Smug. Too smug. Max narrowed his eyes. “What do you know?”

Her grin faded, and real anxiety flashed across her expression before morphing back into neutral. “Nothing, I swear.”

Yeah, right. “No lying at Camp Hope.”

Stacy snorted. “You do realize that's a dumb rule? Everyone lies. And how will you even know?” She crossed her arms, all rebellion. And probably a bit of jealousy over the attention her roommate was receiving.

Max's spirits sagged. They'd come so far, and now... He withheld the sigh begging for release. “Call it a gift.” Too bad he'd never seen the truth in Emma's eyes before she deserted their relationship years ago. He could have saved himself the pain and embarrassment of all the unanswered calls and emails. Could have avoided the hope that she just got busy at school and would be home for Christmas. Or Valentine's. Or Easter. But the holidays passed, and then spring, and then the entire summer.

He'd never seen it coming. And he would never make that mistake in misreading someone again.

Starting with Tonya—and the stubborn girl standing before him.

“I can tell when someone is lying.” He leaned down slightly and peered right into Stacy's eyes. She backed up a step, brow furrowed, as one hand nervously reached up to wind blond strands around her finger. “Trust
me
.”