steer’s kick had been like the brush of a feather when compared to the impact of Dylan’s words. His son. She remembered the slight boy she’d hustled out of the corral. Forcing herself to face the inevitable, she opened her eyes and looked past the man still kneeling beside her. Her gaze settled on the skinny kid in black jeans and an orange-and-white University of Texas sweatshirt.
His son. The boy looked to be about nine or ten, with reddish-brown hair and blue eyes. He was slight, with a sweet, earnest expression that made him impossible to hate. Not that she’d planned on hating him—he hadn’t done anything wrong. The circumstances around his birth were unfortunate. At least Sierra had always thought so. But that was never the child’s fault.
Dylan held out a hand to the boy. “Rory, come and say thank you to the lady who saved your life.”
Sierra noticed Dylan’s fingers trembled slightly. She wanted to think he was as affected by their reunion as she was, but that wasn’t it at all. He was still recovering from the shock of Rory falling into the pen with the steers. The natural reaction of a parent when a beloved child was in mortal danger.
As Rory approached, she looked at him closely, trying to find some resemblance to the man in front of her. She didn’t see much, although there was something familiar about the way his mouth tilted up at the corners and the shape of his eyes. But those characteristics didn’t come from Dylan. They belonged to Claire—Rory’s mother.
She hadn’t thought more pain was possible, yet a new wave crashed over her, taking away rational thought and the ability to breathe. All she could do was feel. Not just the agony of this moment, but all that she’d suffered ten years ago. It was as if the time between had never passed. She remembered standing in front of Dylan, listening in disbelief as he swore to her nothing had happened that night. That he and Claire had only been friends. That he still loved her—Sierra.
She’d wanted to believe him, had needed him to be speaking the truth, because anything else was too unthinkable. If Dylan had betrayed her, there was nowhere for her to run and hide. He was her world. So she’d believed because it was easier than facing the truth. But she couldn’t keep believing. Not when the truth stood directly in front of her. Truth in the shape of a nine-year-old boy.
As Rory stopped at his side, Dylan placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Son, this is Sierra Conroy. You and I are going to have a talk about following instructions, but first I want you to thank her. She risked her life to save you, and got a bad cut in the process. That steer could have killed you both.”
Rory didn’t seem to appreciate the gravity of the situation. His face split into a broad grin as his eyes widened. “You’re a real superhero! Just like on TV.”
“A superhero?” Sierra asked, feeling more like roadkill than anything larger-than-life. “That’s a lot nicer than a few other names I’ve been called.”
“You made me fly.”
“I tossed you out of the pen, kid. There’s a difference.”
The boy moved closer to her and grinned. “It felt like flying.”
“I’ll bet it did.”
His gaze swept over her before settling on the makeshift bandage around her arm. His humor faded. “I’m real sorry you got kicked. Does it hurt bad?”
When compared with the shock she was feeling? Hardly at all. But that wasn’t what he was asking. “I’ll recover,” she said. “I’ve had much worse.”
“Really? When? Do you have scars? Can I see them?”
“Rory.” His father spoke in a stern voice. “You’re missing the point, son.”
Rory glanced at his dad and nodded. His chin lowered as he stared at the ground. “I’m real sorry for what happened, Miss Conroy. I didn’t mean to fall in with the steers. I was just sorta watching them, but I couldn’t see anything so I climbed on the fence to get a better look. Then I guess I slipped.”
While she didn’t blame the child for his part in destroying her life, she certainly hadn’t expected to like him. Yet there was something appealing about Rory’s big blue eyes and engaging smile. “Have you been on a ranch before?” she asked.
“Sure.” He grinned. “Sorta. My dad just bought a ranch. We’ve got horses and steers, like this one. And the house is real big, but it’s kinda dark inside.”
A ranch? Sierra tried to imagine the ever-perfect Claire in a ranch setting. It was beyond her mental abilities. “A ranch can be a lot of fun,” she told the boy. “But it can also be dangerous. If I hadn’t come along, there’s no telling what would have happened to you.”
“My dad would have saved me,” he said confidently.
Sierra didn’t voice her private thoughts about what a citified lawyer would do in a corral full of restless cattle. She didn’t doubt that Dylan would have risked his life to save his son, but she doubted either of them would have survived the resulting chaos.
“And if your dad hadn’t heard you calling?” she asked.
Rory thought about that for a second. His mouth twisted and he shoved his hands into his jeans’ pockets. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh. Do you think you could have made it out on your own?”
“No, ma’am.”
“You think you weigh enough to push back those steers?”
“No, ma’am.” His voice got a little softer and smaller.
“You think your parents would like finding you after you’d been trampled?”
This time he just shook his head.
“You think you’re going to remember all this the next time you want to climb a fence you shouldn’t be climbing?”
“Yes.”
She could barely hear the word. “Good. You’ve learned an important lesson. I want you to know that even though it was stupid to climb the fence, you did the right thing when you called out for help. And when I was looking for you, you kept your head. You followed instructions very well. That made a difference. You’re a smart boy. Good for you.”
He grinned. “Yeah? Thanks, Miss Conroy.”
“You can call me Sierra.”
He looked at his father, who nodded at the unspoken question. Sierra felt her heart contract. For those few minutes, she’d been able to forget Dylan was right next to her. Now she was forced to acknowledge him, even if just to herself. She swore silently. Why couldn’t she have forgotten all about him?
She didn’t bother waiting for an answer. If there was one, she wasn’t going to like it anyway. If only he would go away. But the way he was looking at her, as if seeing her was the bright spot in an otherwise dull day, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Seemed as if she was going to have to be the one to end the conversation.
“I’d better get this looked at,” she said, and motioned to her arm.
She braced her right hand on the fence behind her
