he started down the aisle. Where had she gone? There weren’t many places to choose from. He settled on the tack room as the most logical one. If she wasn’t there, he could at least tether Hotshot to the post outside the door while he searched elsewhere.
Horses nickered as they went by, some of them stretching their long necks for a sniff or a nip at Hotshot’s hind quarters. He took the attention in stride, displaying yet another good quality.
Cole tied Hotshot to the post and opened the tack room door. It was dark inside, and no one answered when he called out. Maybe Vi had headed to the house. He started back down the aisle, only to stop short at the sound of retching and choking.
“Vi? Is that you?”
He followed the sound three stalls down to the only empty one in the entire stables. Vi was there, bent at the waist, her long hair forming a silky curtain that shielded her face.
“Whoa. Are you okay?”
She coughed and held out a hand as if to ward him off. “Leave me alone.”
Like hell he would. Cole strode forward and reached her just as her knees buckled and she slumped to the ground.
* * *
THIS WASN’T HOW Violet had wanted to start her conversation with Cole, the two of them crammed elbow to elbow in the restroom behind the stables.
He ran the cold water in the tiny sink, wet a paper towel and handed it to her. “Here. You missed a spot.” He motioned to her face.
“I did?” She automatically touched her chin and cringed. Yep, there it was. She quickly wiped her entire face on the chance she’d missed another blob, then tossed the paper towel in the wastebasket. “Sorry.”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
She wondered about that. How many times, exactly, had he seen a woman lose her lunch before collapsing in his arms? Did he make a habit of hurrying them to the nearest bathroom and dispensing wet paper towels? Apparently so, because he was fairly adept at it.
“You don’t say.” She tried not to sound curious.
“On the circuit. There’s always one guy who upchucks after finishing his run.”
Riding a bucking bull or horse. Being tossed through the air and landing hard. That would definitely be a reason to throw up.
She reached for the doorknob, utterly humiliated and more than ready to leave.
He waylaid her with a hand on her arm. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine to me.”
“I’m probably dehydrated.” Violet knew that wasn’t the case, but no way was she telling Cole what ailed her. Not while she wore a vomit-stained shirt and her queasy stomach threatened to revolt again any minute.
Shouldering open the bathroom door, she stepped outside and gulped fresh air like a miner newly released after days in an underground tunnel.
“I’ll take you to the clinic if you want.”
Cole stood beside her. Right beside her. She told herself she was being overly sensitive and that he wasn’t looking her up and down with far too much curiosity.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind.”
Mustang Valley’s one small urgent-care center was open most days. Violet doubted the nurse on duty could do anything for her that she hadn’t done already.
Rubbing her forehead, she inhaled slowly. The air might be fresh, but the sun was hot and stifling. “You don’t have to take me, because I’m not going.”
“Vi, be reasonable. You’re sick.”
“I asked you not to call me that,” she snapped, then gritted her teeth. “Sorry.” She was apologizing a lot today and would again if they continued this conversation.
“You’re right,” he said. “I shouldn’t tease you when you’re not feeling well.”
Did he always have to be so nice to her? Violet suspected he showed her a side of himself he kept from most people. The night they’d spent together was an example of that. He’d been funny and sweet in the bar when they were dancing, attentive and passionate when they’d made love and tender when he’d cradled her in the aftermath.
Were he not Cole Dempsey, they’d probably be dating now. Perhaps optimistic about what the future held for them.
Yet he was Cole Dempsey and wrong for her for too many reasons to list. Not only was he her boss, which in itself was bad enough, but he’d been adamant from the day he arrived that he had no intention of remaining in Mustang Valley. Violet didn’t blame him; she might feel similarly in the same circumstances. But she needed someone who was willing to put down roots.
She certainly wasn’t traipsing after a man whose only interest was the next town and the next rodeo. Not in her condition. Not any time, ever.
Would Cole insist on staying when she told him? Violet had no expectations. The only reason she’d considered saying anything today was because she couldn’t hide her pregnancy much longer. This morning sickness—correction, all-day sickness—was kicking her in the butt and difficult to explain away.
That was new, but not the other symptoms. She’d been pregnant three times previously, back when she was married. She’d miscarried all three times, never making it past week seven. Until now.
She was over eight weeks along. There was no question as to the date of conception or the father’s identity. She’d broken her celibacy streak only once in the past three years, and that was with Cole.
Pregnant from a one-night stand? No one was going to believe her. She hardly believed it herself.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts and returning her to the present.
“That I shouldn’t have eaten chicken salad for lunch.”
She started for her truck, parked near the stables, deciding she’d been wrong to approach Cole today. Better to wait until her second trimester. With her history, the odds of carrying to term weren’t in her favor.
A painful lump promptly formed in Violet’s throat. She wanted this baby with the same intensity she’d wanted all the others. After the last miscarriage, and her marriage falling apart, she’d given up the dream of ever having a big, happy family.
Then, suddenly, she’d been thrown a crumb. A tiny positive sign on the early pregnancy testing wand and a second one a week later, just to be sure.
Could fate be playing another cruel trick on her, or was it answering her prayers at last?
Another wave of nausea struck. Violet reminded herself it was a good sign. The more numerous her symptoms, the stronger they were, the better chance the fetus was thriving. Not like before.
“Are
