entering the room, Becka noticed at once that the cowboy was in a world of hurt: eyes squeezed a little too tight for sleep; lines of stress creasing his richly tanned forehead and bracketing the handsome mouth. The singing, no doubt, was to take his mind off the pain.
“‘Down came the rain,’” he sang through gritted teeth.
“Mr. Garrett,” she said softly.
The singing stopped. His eyelids sprang open. “Jett.”
“All right, Jett. I have a new ice pack for your knee.”
“Bring it on. The old one’s lost its zip.” He started up on one elbow, the sheet sliding down to reveal a sprinkle of black hairs on a brown, well-honed chest. Halfway up he grimaced and slid back onto the pillow.
“Would you like something for pain? Dr. Clayton left orders for an injection if you need it.”
“A shot?” The apprehensive way he asked nearly had her laughing.
“It will ease the pain. I promise.”
“I’m all right.”
“You’ll be better if you don’t play macho man. The physiology of the human body is such that healing takes place much quicker if the muscles are relaxed. Yours are as a tight as the lid on a pickle jar.”
He perked up. Cocking an eyebrow, he smoothed one hand over his six-pack belly. “Been looking at my muscles, huh?”
Becka ignored the little zip of interest. “They’re stellar, I’m sure. Now why don’t you let me get that injection for you so you can rest better?”
“On one condition.”
She eyed him warily. With a wild man like Jett, a woman never knew what “condition” he might think of. “What’s that?”
He indicated the green vinyl chair next to the bed. “You sit here by me afterward and talk to me until the medicine takes effect.”
Surprised, Becka studied a pair of eyes so blue the sky dimmed in comparison. Was this a come-on from a guy accustomed to having his way with any and all women? Or was Jett Garrett, daredevil deluxe, afraid?
The question intrigued her. A glance at her watch revealed her shift would be over in fifteen minutes. She had to go by Sid’s Repair Shop and check on her car before picking up Dylan at day care, so she couldn’t stay later than that. One of the other nurses had offered her a ride—an offer she couldn’t refuse under the circumstances.
However, except for Jett’s, all the patient charts were signed out, and everything was in order and ready for the next shift to take over.
“I only have about fifteen minutes,” she said. “But I’ll stay that long.”
“Deal.” He closed his eyes again and lay back.
She stood there a moment, staring down at a too-handsome man with all the qualities that scared her to death. Restless and unpredictable, Jett lived his life on the edge, ever searching for the next thrill, never staying in one place or with one woman because something else always caught his quicksilver interest. Beyond fearless, wildly exciting, and every inch a man, Jett Garrett exuded an energy, a life force so powerful that he was in danger of burning himself out like a shooting star. And the fool didn’t even know it.
But she knew. Oh, yes, Becka knew, for she had been a willing participant while another man’s flame was extinguished by his own lust for life.
Other than the compassion that made her an excellent nurse, she had no explanation for why she’d agreed to spend an extra fifteen minutes just sitting beside the disturbing cowboy. Sure, she’d done it a hundred times for other patients, but this one was dangerous. Everything about him brought back painful memories that were always just below the surface struggling to rise up and choke her.
Her son’s small, impish face flashed in her head. Dylan. Her heart squeezed painfully. What if she wasn’t cautious enough and the careless genes that were as much a part of her makeup as they were Chris’s resur-faced in him? What if something happened to him, too?
Jett’s lips moved. “You gonna get that shot or kiss me?” He opened lazy eyes and grinned. “Either one is okay with me.”
Disturbed at her troubled thoughts Becka yanked in a startled gasp and swept out of the room, cheeks hot.
Jett Garrett was the kind of man she avoided at all costs. He was dangerous. She knew his kind. Had suffered the consequences of being too enamored with the aura of excitement such men wore like others wore aftershave. Jett Garrett terrified her.
Then why had she experienced this funny little inner twinge when he’d mentioned kissing him? And why was her pulse suddenly racing along like freeway traffic?
Sliding moist palms down the sides of her scrubs, Becka pulled herself under tight control. Certainly, a man like Jett Garrett disturbed her; he was a reminder of things better left alone. But she was a professional. For Dylan’s sake she had learned to handle anything.
She would go right back down to that room and give him the pain injection. She would sit down and talk to him. And she would not notice his perfect body or his handsome face or be affected by his sexy little quips. She would ignore the zip of excitement that threatened to undermine her safety. And by the time she returned tomorrow, Jett would be off to Amarillo and she’d never have to deal with him again.
An hour later when Becka pulled into the sunlit parking lot outside the day care center, she’d managed to push Jett Garrett out of her mind. Or rather Sid, the mechanic, had done the deed for her.
Shutting off the car key, Becka listened with a worried frown to a series of mysterious chugs before the engine wheezed into silence. Sid’s words still rang in her ears.
“I’m not even sure I can get parts for this kind of car anymore. Give it up, Becka, before you get stranded again, or worse, have an accident.”
And on those words she’d driven away, the old Fairlane patched together once more by the expertise of a kind mechanic, knowing full well she had to find a way to buy another vehicle—soon.
Getting out of the car, she opened the gate to the fenced facility and started up the sidewalk toward Kati’s Angels Day Care. The name always made her smile because Kati Garrett, the owner and proprietress, did indeed treat each of her charges like gifts from Heaven. A very protective mother, Becka was thankful to have the serene and loving Kati caring for Dylan.
Inside the long open room, she spotted her son immediately. In the company of three other preschoolers, he ran in frenzied circles around a stack of wooden blocks and toy trucks, making car noises and issuing pretend honks.
Becka stared in disbelief. He shouldn’t be running. He could fall. Hit his head. Be killed.
“Dylan!” she called sharply and started toward him. Anxiety gripped her.
Kati Garrett, having a pretend tea party at a low table with four little girls, rose at the sound of Becka’s voice. Seven months’pregnant, she moved slowly, but her face was filled with concern.
Dylan, too, heard the fear in his mother’s voice. He stopped
