goodness to give her a moment to compose herself.
“Just in time.” He rose, tossing a smile at someone behind her shoulder. “Looks like pizza is here.”
“Pizza?” She hadn’t ordered any. The delicious aroma of dough, red sauce and pepperoni filled the air.
“Pizza!” Owen looked beyond amazed. “Really? Pepperoni and everything?”
“You betcha, little buddy.” Tucker handed over a generous tip and took charge of the boxes and container of drinks. “I can see by that big frown they forgot to clue in your mom. I had Janelle clear this with your team of docs.”
“Oh boy! Goody.” Owen beamed joy. “Thank you, Tucker. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome. I’m partial to pizza myself.” He slid the boxes on the bed. “When I’m on the road, I eat way too much of it. I’m on a health kick these days, eating well so I heal up right. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed this stuff.”
“Me, too!” Owen squeezed the stuffed bull in a big hug. “My mom says pizza is not a food group. You’re only supposed to eat food groups.”
“Really? That’s just plain wrong.” He hauled out a cup of cola from the drink holder and handed it over to her. While he was jovial, it was easy enough to read the understanding somberness in his impossibly dreamy eyes. “Pizza has dough, so that’s as good as a whole grain right there.”
“No, it isn’t. This is a white-flour crust,” she argued, laughing, too. “There is a difference between processed flour and the real stuff.”
“Sure,” he said, as if he didn’t believe her one bit, his dimples deepening.
She set her coffee on the floor and reached for the drink he held out to her. Her fingers curled around the cold circumference of the cup and brushed the heat of his calloused, sun-browned hand. A spark snapped down her arm like an electric shock, startling her. He didn’t seem to notice, pulled away and kept on talking, but the charge kept tingling and seemed to dig into the marrow of her bones. What was that? Her imagination? Static electricity in the air?
“There’s the red sauce,” Tucker went on, unaware of her reaction as he flung open one of the boxes. “That’s made with tomatoes or tomato paste or something like that. That counts as a vegetable. And the cheese is dairy. Pepperoni is meat, so that sounds like four food groups to me.”
“Me, too!” Owen was happy to agree, seeing as how he was about to benefit from the argument. “Tucker? Which is the biggest piece?”
“Let’s see.” Tucker grabbed a napkin and considered the pie in front of him. “This one, do you think?”
Owen leaned forward, studying the slice his hero was lifting onto a napkin. Cheese strings stretched and broke, red sauce dripped and pepperoni grease oozed.
“Yep,” the boy said with satisfaction. “That one’s the best piece. Can it go to my mom?”
“Sure, buddy.” What a sweet kid. Tucker held out the piece to Sierra, doing his level best not to be affected by her. It wasn’t her beauty that was getting to him, but something deeper, something he admired more than he wanted to admit. “It’s only right that ladies are served first. I’ve got pineapple and Canadian bacon in the other box if you’d rather have it.”
“This is great.” She didn’t meet his gaze but took the napkin carefully and this time their fingers didn’t touch.
He couldn’t say why that was a letdown. It wasn’t as if he was interested in the woman. He wasn’t looking for a connection or for reasons to like her.
“Which piece for you, cowboy?” he asked the kid, who had already picked out the slice he wanted and pointed. “You’re going to have to put down Jack and Slayer.”
“This is Slayer? Cool.” Owen seemed pleased with that, although he had a hard time putting down either toy. He debated which one to let go of first, carefully released the plastic horse and set him on the bedside table. Then he propped the stuffed bull against the pillows and tucked him beneath the covers, like a good dad would.
After handing over the slice, Tucker took one for himself. “Sierra, something tells me you’re just itching to say grace.”
“I’m more curious to see what you are going to say.” She had the most amazing eyes, the color of rain clouds gleaming in the light of a winter’s dawn. She was softer toward him and there was no mistaking the curiosity playing at the corners of her pretty mouth.
“Don’t worry, I’m not short on prayers.” Truth was, he was a praying man, faithful to the core. He’d been brought up that way, and living on his own had reinforced his beliefs. He bowed his head, realizing his hands were full of food so they couldn’t join hands. It might have been better to pray before doling out the pizza. Although he was a faithful man, he wasn’t a farsighted one.
“Dear Father,” he began, peering through his lashes to make sure Owen was doing the same. Was it his fault that he noticed Sierra, too? She was a wholesome sight, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, true faith poignant on her heart-shaped face. He wondered what silent prayer she sent heavenward, considering tomorrow’s events. “You are so good to us with all the blessings You bestow on us and on this world. I want to thank You for bringing me here today to get better acquainted with Owen. I’m sure You know and love Owen well. He’s got a big day scheduled tomorrow. We ask that You watch over him, so he can get well and run and play again. And, if it’s possible, let him ride a bronco one day.”
“Amen!” Owen called out with excitement. “I’d sure like that.”
“Amen,” he muttered, biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing, noticing that solemn note in Sierra’s quieter amen.
“This is good pizza.” Owen chomped away, collapsing against his pillows beside Slayer. “The best. So, when do I get a bronco ride?”
Uh-oh. He immediately felt the pull of the boy’s wish and the mother’s unspoken disapproval. Looked like he was in trouble again. Since all eyes were on him, he swallowed hard, took a sip of cola to wash down the bite of pizza and fashioned what he hoped was a diplomatic answer. “That would be up to your mom.”
“Thanks.” Sierra shook her head at him and her disapproval didn’t seem as serious as before. “Thank you so much for putting that on me.”
“You’re entirely welcome. It was my pleasure,” he quipped. “What, you don’t want him to turn out like me?”
“Do you think I would?” She was laughing now, mostly because Owen was bouncing on the bed again, frail of health but hearty of spirit.
“I can ride, can’t I, Mom?” Owen begged. “Tucker told me how. I can do it.”
“So I heard.” She took a sip of soda, buying time, her forehead crinkling a bit as she thought strategically. “We’ll talk about it once we’re home and you have the doctor’s consent.”
“That means no.” Owen sighed. He slumped, too good a boy to pout at not getting his way, but his disappointment was sincere and palpable.
“That means you have to heal up first.”
