child’s backpack, she realized. One with the rodeo association’s logo and a bucking horse and rider printed on it. Thoughtful of him to bring a gift. She slowed her pace, so they wouldn’t arrive at Owen’s room too quickly.
“His surgery is in the morning. I don’t know if Janelle told you.”
“Sure she did. She said Owen’s a pretty sick little boy right now.”
“Yes, but he’s going to get better.” He had to. She set her chin, determined to stay strong. “He’s fragile and we’re trying not to upset him.”
“That’s the last thing I want to do.”
“Please don’t mention his father.”
“You mean Ricky isn’t here?”
“He couldn’t be bothered.” A long, painful story, one she so did not want to get into. “Owen is very sensitive about his dad’s absence.”
“I understand. Anything else I should know?”
“Just that he is really excited about you coming to see him.”
“Hey, it’s the least I can do. You’ve served my family how many meals at the town diner?” Kindness softened the rugged planes of his granite face. How the man could possibly get any more handsome was a complete mystery.
“More meals than I can count.” She had been a waitress in the town’s only diner since high school. “Your family is always so great to me. Your dad is a shamelessly big tipper.”
“He’s generous to a fault.” Affection edged into his voice when he spoke of his father. Everyone knew Frank Granger was one of the good guys. Tucker, who looked nearly identical to his dad, had his mother’s restlessness, as many in the town had said, but he didn’t look restless as he fastened his honest gaze on Sierra. “Everyone in Wild Horse wants me to let you know that they are all praying for Owen. That’s a lot of prayer coming this way.”
“I know. I can feel it.” She didn’t seem as alone. Somehow it was as if all those loving prayers and well wishes wrapped around her like an invisible hug. “There’s nothing like the community of a small town. I would be lost without everyone there.”
“We’re all anxious for you and Owen to come back home safe and sound and well again.” For a happy-go-lucky man, Tucker could be steady and solid. Dark hair tumbled from beneath his hat, which he swept off as he raked the strands out of his eyes. “I’m praying for Owen, too. I was touched that he asked for me. He could have wanted a visit from an ex-president or a celebrity.”
“There’s no accounting for taste.” The quip surprised her. She hadn’t been in a light mood in many months. Tucker’s chuckle rumbled through the sterile hallway like sunshine, causing a nurse and a patient in a wheelchair to turn his way and share a smile.
Owen’s door was open, and the little boy was on his hands and knees on his bed watching for the first glimpse of his hero. Sierra stayed behind and let Tucker go in first, love overwhelming her at the happiness chasing across her son’s pale face.
“Tucker!” Owen beamed up at his hero. His hand swiped at his dark hair falling into his big blue eyes. “You came. You’re really here and everything.”
“Sure I am, buddy. If I remember right, you and I have met before.” The big man swept off his hat, his tone warm and friendly as he stuck out his hand. “Once at church when I was back home for Christmas and a long time ago at the diner.”
“Yep. I was almost done with my chocolate milk-shake when you came in. You had a big shiny belt buckle then, too.” Owen slipped his small pale, bluish hand into Tucker’s sun-browned one and shook like a little man. “Is that cuz you were the champion?”
“You know it. Of course, I haven’t won anything lately.”
“You got thrown off a horse. That’s why you’ve got that cane, right?” If his eyes got any bigger, they would roll right out of his head.
“Goodness, lie back, Owen.” Sierra moved into the room, using her mother’s tone because she was comfortable in that role. It created distance between her and Tucker as she circled entirely too close to him to reach her son’s side. She plumped his pillows and patted the top one. “Come on, you need to take it easy.”
“But, Mom, it’s Tucker Granger! We saw him on TV when he showed that bull who was boss and set the new record. I saw. He’s the best.”
Tucker’s warm chuckle rang with good humor and not self-importance as she’d been expecting. “Hold on there, little cowboy, I just had a good day. You didn’t see me a month later get thrown off a bronc and break a bunch of bones.”
“Wow!” Owen flopped against his stack of pillows, his entire attention focused on his hero. “Did it hurt lots?”
“Sure did. That’s why I’m still walking with this cane. But I’m better now.” Tucker Granger shrugged one big shoulder as if his injuries were no big deal. Of course, in her opinion grown men should not be trying to ride a horse that did not want to be ridden in the first place. Men like that, regardless of how impressive they seemed, were the kind who refused to grow up. She had issues with that sort of a man, since she’d regrettably married one of them.
“I hear you’ve got a big surgery coming up.” Tucker sat on the edge of the bed, his deep blue gaze tender with concern. “Do you know I had some surgeries, too?”
“Wow. Did it hurt?”
“Not too bad, but then I did everything the doctors said to do. And I didn’t have a nice mom to take care of me like you have.” He kept it light, his tone easygoing, but it was impossible to hide the worry. “Look what I brought you.”
“A backpack? Cool!”
“Not just any backpack. It’s an official rodeo association one. I had a few buddies of mine sign it for you.” He gave the pack a turn to show the dozen autographs and read each one aloud.
Okay, that was thoughtful. That had to have taken him a lot of time. But she couldn’t let that influence her opinion of the man—of men like him.
Fine, so she was projecting. She could admit it. But the pain of Ricky’s swift and abrupt abandonment was still raw. He’d been gone for nearly two years, and the wound made by his departure had never healed. She had talked to her pastor, turned to prayer and handed it over to the Lord. Yet the injury remained, one that haunted her.
Tucker Granger was not Ricky, she reminded herself, although her ex-husband’s carefree attitude was not so different.
“Wow! A horse!” Owen had unzipped the backpack and began pulling out treasures. The foot-high plastic sorrel horse with matching mane and tail was beautiful.
“Not just any horse,” Tucker explained. “That’s just like Jack.”
“Jack’s your horse!” It was good to see Owen so happy. “I saw you win with him, too. It was awesome!”
“Thanks, buddy.” Cute kid. Tough to think that tomorrow morning he would be undergoing open-heart surgery. He could see the strain on the mother’s face. Sierra Bolton, Baker since her marriage. He zipped
