can’t find that in my heart. Grant me Your grace. Help me heal the wounds she left behind and keep me from making such a mistake again. For my children’s sake, I beseech You.
If he ever became involved with another woman, it’d be with someone who wanted to be a mother to his children. Someone who’d put the twins first, before anything else, and give them the love they deserved. In spite of his surprising attraction to the woman he had rescued tonight, he knew that a New York ballerina didn’t fit that bill.
Lord, I once let my emotion rule my head and I made a mistake that I’m still paying for. I know that with Your guidance I am wiser now.
He might be wiser, but that didn’t stop him from feeling attracted to his visitor. He appreciated Cheryl’s sharp wit and quick sense of humor. And he couldn’t help but notice that she made a pleasant armful when he held her. He reproached himself for the foolish thought. She was injured, and she needed his help. He turned away from the door, but paused when he heard a noise from inside.
He didn’t want to intrude on her privacy, but he wanted to be sure she was okay. He pressed his ear to the door and heard her muffled sobbing. His heart gave a queer little tug at the sound.
She had every right to a good cry. A night like tonight would have taken the stuffing out of anyone. When she called his name, it had surprised him. He took a deep breath, entered the room and stopped short.
She sat on the edge of the tub wrapped in his large robe. Her injured ankle rested on the tub edge with her dark pants bunched around it.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I c-can’t get m-my pants off o-over my f-foot.”
Each hiccuping sob tore at his heart. He watched her struggle to regain control. She didn’t like to cry in front of him—he could tell by the way she scrubbed at her tears as they fell. He wanted to offer some comfort but sensed that she would rather recover her composure on her own. He turned to the problem at hand, or rather, at foot.
She was right. Her pant leg wouldn’t come off over her swollen ankle. He found a pair of scissors, sat on the tub rim, and began to slit her pant leg up one side.
“The last time I had to do this was when Kayla got a big splinter in her knee. Kayla’s one of my daughters. Lindy is her twin. They turned five last October.
“Anyway, Kayla had a long wooden sliver through her jeans. I had to cut them off before I could see how badly she was hurt. Fortunately, it wasn’t deep. I thought I was doing fine until I put a bandage on Kayla’s knee. Soon as I did, Lindy started wailing.”
“Wh-Why?”
He glanced at Cheryl and grinned. “She said because she and Kayla weren’t ‘’dentical’ anymore. So I had to cut off her jeans and put a bandage on her knee too.”
Cheryl smiled. “Identical twin girls. I’ll bet that’s a handful.”
“Yes, they are, but I wouldn’t have them any other way.” He slipped her pants gently over her foot. “There you go.”
“Th-thanks for your help.”
“Don’t mention it. Mom was a teacher, and she taught me to be gallant at all costs.”
Startled, Cheryl looked up. Her fingers grew icy-cold, and she pushed them into the deep pockets of his robe as fear tightened the muscles in the back of her neck.
“Does your mother teach near here?” she asked, trying to sound as if she was making polite conversation and not desperate to know the answer.
“No, she’s retired.”
Eleanor Hardin had been her junior-high principal. Could Sam be Eleanor’s son? How old had her principal been? Cheryl tried to think, but she could only recall the woman with a child’s vision. “What about your father?” she asked casually.
“He passed away a few years ago. My grandfather lives here with the twins and I. Nobody knows cattle like Gramps does. You’d never know he was seventy-five. He rides almost every day. Well, I should leave you to finish your bath instead of standing here babbling while the water gets cold.” He all but bolted out the door, closing it behind him with a bang.
Relieved at being left alone, Cheryl shed Sam’s robe and sank into the whirlpool, leaving her foot with its ice pack propped on the rim. After all the time she’d spent trying to forget the past, why had she ended up so close to it all again?
Was this what Angie had wanted: to see her big sister exposed and shamed? No, Cheryl didn’t believe that. Angie’s heart was in the right place, and her intentions were good. Cheryl knew she had only herself to blame. She had chosen the road that led to this disaster.
She kneaded her temples trying to ease the headache pounding away inside her skull. She had to think.
Even if Sam was Eleanor’s son, he still had no idea who she was. As long as he continued to think of her as a New York dancer, she’d be safe. And what if he did find out? It wasn’t as if she were wanted for a crime. But people out here had long memories and unforgiving natures; she knew that from personal experience. A lot of them would remember that Hank Thatcher’s oldest daughter had been in reform school for helping her father steal cattle.
If anyone discovered who she really was, the old story would be out in a flash. Her juvenile records might be sealed, but that wouldn’t stop the press from having a field day with the story. No doubt, Grandma Doris would be happy to tell the tale of how her rebellious granddaughter had ended up behind bars. The thought of reliving those painful days made Cheryl feel ill.
It didn’t matter what Angie thought, or what Harriet Steele had intended, Cheryl knew she would never go back to the ranch again. It wasn’t worth the risk. She had worked too long and too hard to let anything jeopardize the career she loved. She rubbed a weary hand over her face. She had to get away from here.
The soothing hot water began to ease her aches and pains. Slowly she relaxed, and her feeling of panic faded. She was safe for tonight. The storm might keep her here, but it would also keep everyone else away. First thing tomorrow, Sam would drive her to Kansas City, and she could leave Flint Hills behind forever.
Feeling somewhat better, she finished her bath and washed her hair, being careful of the lump on her temple. After that, she climbed out of the tub and pulled on the gray sweatpants and sweatshirt Sam had left for her. They were big, but comfortable. A search through his medicine cabinet turned up a roll of wide tape, and she expertly wrapped her foot and ankle. It hurt, but she knew it would feel better once she had it taped.
With that done, she washed out her sweater and was pleasantly surprised to find the bloodstains had come out. She hung it to dry on the towel rack and left the room.
Sam came up the stairs in time to see her crossing his living room. Dressed in his old sweats with a towel wrapped turban-style around her head, he could only marvel that anyone could look so graceful and appealing while she hopped on one foot.
He shook his head in resignation. So much for his stern lecture to himself about caring for helpless, injured women. He headed to the bathroom and rummaged in the medicine cabinet until he found a small bottle of pain pills left over from his last run-in with a moody bull.
She was reclining on the sofa when he entered the living room again. Her face looked freshly scrubbed,
