Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Her little forehead crinkled, and I pulled her in for a hug. Her arms automatically wrapped around my neck, and I noticed she smelled like apple juice and cookies. She held on tight.
“I miss my mommy,” she said in a soft whine.
“I know, baby girl. I do too. Your daddy does too. So much. But you know what he does every day even though he’s sad?”
She pulled back and looked at me, keeping her little hands around my neck. “Goes to work?”
I nodded. “Yep. And so do I. And so does Grandpa, and so does Granny. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be fair for the little boy who breaks his arm at baseball practice and doesn’t have your daddy there to fix it. And it wouldn’t be fair for the cattle if I wasn’t around to deliver the hay. And you and I would starve every night if Granny was too sad to make her meatloaf, wouldn’t we?”
“It’s not the same.”
“It is the same.” I brushed her bangs back from her face. Her sister Gina had taught me how to braid hair several weeks before when Lois had gone to Dallas for a craft show, but I was terrible at it. One side was twice as thick a braid as the other. Lord only knew why she’d kept mine in from the day before instead of letting her grandmother redo them.
Brenda buried her face in my shirt again for a minute.
“Uncle Major?”
“Yes, sweetie.”
“Daddy said you were going to make me do work and maybe I was going to have to prune mama’s rosebushes.”
“Yep,” I said, pulling back. “Go find the clippers in the tool room and be sure and grab your work gloves too.”
She squeezed me around the neck before letting go and turning toward the tool room.
“Brenda,” I called to her before she got there.
“Yes, sir?” She turned back, knowing she wasn’t getting off that easy with me.
“You owe your daddy an apology too, don’t you?”
Her eyes flicked to the open barn door behind me, and I realized Doc had been probably standing there the whole time watching.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said in a small voice. “But I really was sad, you know.”
Doc’s jaw ticked. I’d known him for almost ten years by then, and I knew he was doing his best to keep steady.
“I know you were, baby. And it’s always okay to be sad. I accept your apology. Now get to work like Uncle Major said.”
She nodded and turned back to fetch her things. I met Doc’s eyes across the dimly lit barn aisle.
There had been a million times by then that Doc and I had communicated without words. It had started back in Vietnam when I was the flight commander and he was the medic. One look from the other and we knew exactly what needed to be done. When I’d come to the ranch, there had been times we’d ridden the herd together and been able to communicate with quick glances and no words. But that day in the barn was the first time I caught a glimpse of what it must have been like to have a spouse, to silently celebrate a milestone together that you both recognized the importance of.
It was such an odd feeling because all at once my heart was so very full.
And emptier than it had ever been.
He wasn’t actually my spouse. With William Wilde I had half a life, everything I ever wanted without the physical intimacy. Over and over again I made the decision that it was enough, that I was willing to accept the lack of a physical relationship with him because it was the only thing missing in a life otherwise damned near perfect.
I could have my physical needs met elsewhere. It was fine. I’d already resigned myself to it many times, but I wouldn’t have said I was happy about it.
So when Doc Wilde interrupted me in the barn early that summer with one of Stan’s new seasonal hands, I was already holding on to my patience with the barest scrap of frayed yarn.
It was the only reason I let it happen. If he was going to take even my private sexual moments from me, he was damned well going to get an eyeful.
Chapter 23
Liam “Doc” Wilde
After Betsy had been gone over eight months, I’d started to finally feel the return of my libido. I woke up hard and aching most mornings and had gotten into the habit of taking myself in hand as quickly and roughly as I could just to get release. I tried not to think of anything—anyone. If I thought of Betsy, the sliver of grief would send my mind tumbling in decidedly unproductive directions.
But then one day that all changed on a dime.
It had been late one night when I’d glanced out the bedroom window and noticed Major’s truck was still parked outside the barn. He’d been working his ass off helping my dad in the evenings on the ranch after a full day spent working the Hobart land.