A Cowboy for the Twins Page 5

  “But I thought you said we had to stay and help,” Millie said, looking very interested in whatever Owen might say.

  “We need to talk, and I’d like you to go,” she said.

  Margaret looked like she was about to protest as well when Mrs. Cosgrove, sensing what Shauntelle wanted, walked over to the girls, taking their hands. “You know, I haven’t been to the Farmer’s Market in a while. Maybe you could show me around. Would that be okay?” she asked Shauntelle.

  “Sure.” Everyone knew everyone here, and the layout wasn’t that large. Shauntelle could keep an eye on them.

  “I’ll come with you,” Noah said.

  “Actually, I wouldn’t mind if you stuck around too,” Owen said.

  Noah frowned but nodded at his mother. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up. But be careful.”

  “I’m not made of glass,” she said with a warning shake of her head. “Shall we go, girls?” she asked, and walked away.

  Shauntelle watched a moment, but the girls seemed very comfortable with Noah’s mother, chattering as they walked alongside her, pointing out the various tables.

  Owen led the way to the empty table, glancing around as he did, but no one was within earshot.

  When they got there, Shauntelle turned back to Owen, her heart slowly increasing its tempo. “So what were you going to say?”

  “The contractor bailed on us,” Owen said, dropping his hands on his hips. “Took his crew and left us in the lurch. It seems to be a recurring theme with this place. Anyhow, I thought I would tell you because you have a stake in the arena. I wanted to let you know in time so maybe you can make other plans.”

  “But he was supposed to help me plan out my restaurant,” Shauntelle cried out. “We’re installing the doors in a week or so, getting the walls put up. He had plans for my benches. My furnishings. The decor.”

  “Well he’s gone, which means that work on the arena has officially come to an end.”

  And wasn’t that just typical, Shauntelle thought, fighting down a wave of anger and bitterness.

  One more man she couldn’t count on.

  * * *

  Noah glanced over at Shauntelle as Owen delivered this piece of news.

  Her face had gone white, and she looked like she was going to fall over. Instinctively he reached out to catch her by the arm and steady her.

  To his surprise, she didn’t protest his holding her up.

  All her attention was on Owen, and he found he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. He loosened his grip slightly, but kept his hand on her arm, supporting her.

  “So what does this mean for us? What are we supposed to do? Will everything get put on hold?” She stopped there, pressing her free hand to her chest, glancing worriedly from Owen to Noah as if seeking answers from them.

  He wanted to put his arm around her to console her, but he was fairly sure she wouldn’t appreciate it.

  Owen rubbed his chin with the knuckles of one hand as he blew out his breath in a sigh. “Sorry for dropping this on you, but I just found out and I thought you should know. Seeing as how you have a pretty big stake in getting this arena done on time.”

  “I was supposed to open in a month and a half,” she murmured. Then, as if she finally realized it, she glanced at Noah’s hand still holding her arm and she pulled away.

  Not that he blamed her, Noah thought. He knew what she thought of him. Each time she had seen him, her expression held a mixture of contempt and anger, which always made him want to explain, to tell her his side of the story.

  Trouble was, he wouldn’t be able to do a very convincing job of it. In spite of what had been reported, he still felt a wrench of guilt each time he thought of Josiah’s death.

  “So now we need to find a new contractor,” Owen was saying. “The insurance policy we’ve got in place and the building permit require that the person overseeing the project have the proper qualifications.”

  “What about you?” Noah asked Owen. “You’ve been working as a carpenter for a while.”

  “I have, but I don’t have my Journeyman’s ticket, or enough experience to satisfy all the requirements.”

  Owen’s intense gaze made Noah uncomfortable, and Noah guessed there was an underlying implication. But he wasn’t biting. His plans weren’t set in stone yet, but he wasn’t changing anything.

  “There’s got to be someone around here who has his ticket or runs a company,” he said, trying to keep his tone conversational.

  “This time of the year, they’re all booked up already. That’s why we went with this guy.”

  “It’s like this arena is never meant to be finished,” Shauntelle said, wrapping her arms around her midsection. “What am I going to do about my restaurant?”

  Noah felt a glimmer of sympathy for her. She’d had so many disappointments in her life already. Now this.

  Don’t volunteer. Don’t volunteer.

  Noah had to remind himself over and over not to try to fix this problem. He knew what Shauntelle and her family thought of him. There was no way he was putting himself through that every day.

  “Couldn’t you consider it?” Owen asked finally, going exactly where Noah suspected he had been headed from the moment he joined them.

  Noah looked over at Shauntelle in time to see the look of dismay flit over her face. She met his gaze and quickly looked away.

  He knew why she felt the way she did, yet it still stung. It also underlined any idea he might entertain of staying longer.

  “No. I’m only here long enough for the wedding. As soon as that’s done I’m gone.”

  “This guy leaving has left a lot of people on the hook,” Owen continued. “Just like the time Rennie left us all hanging.”

  “Well, that isn’t my problem either.” Too late, he realized how harsh that sounded.

  “Could you at least think about it?” Owen asked.

  “Doubt that will make much difference.” He made a show of looking at his watch. “I should go find my mother. She needs her rest.”

  “She’s coming back now,” Owen said, pointing his chin toward Mrs. Cosgrove and the girls, who were chattering at her as they worked their way back through the people toward Shauntelle and Noah.

  Owen said goodbye and, skirting the people wandering slowly past the tables, strode away, a man on a mission.

  Millie pulled away from Mrs. Cosgrove and came running toward them, waving an intricately beaded necklace. “Look what I got.”

  “Millie, you didn’t ask, did you?” Shauntelle said, sounding horrified.

  “No. Neither did Margaret,” Millie protested.

  “I’m sure my mother bought it for them without them saying a peep,” Noah said, glancing over at Shauntelle. “She loves buying stuff for kids. Fulfilling a need for grandchildren, I guess.”

  To his surprise, Shauntelle’s mouth curved in a gentle smile. “She’s mentioned that before. A wish for grandchildren.”

  “Well, that’s not happening anytime soon,” Noah said, then regretted the comment. Too personal.

  “No girls on the horizon?” she asked, surprising him with her interest.

  “Nope. Too busy with my work.”

  “You’re not working now, though? And you’re a general contractor?”

  He guessed she was hinting at Owen’s offer, and for some reason it annoyed him. She had made no secret of her dislike for him, but now she seemed to be asking him to help.

  Trouble was, just for a moment, he’d been tempted. But he would be facing memories of pain, old and new.

  “I am, but I’m only here to visit my mom and attend my cousin’s wedding.” Then he held her gaze, calling her out. “I don’t like to be where I’m not wanted.”

  Her cheeks flushed but she held his gaze, as if challenging him. She looked like she was about to say something, but then someone ca
lled out.

  “She’s falling! Someone catch her!”

  Millie cried out. Margaret screamed.

  And Noah looked back in time to see his mother crumple to the ground. But what seared his soul was her hard cry of pain.

  Chapter Four

  Shauntelle ran over to Mrs. Cosgrove’s side, just as Noah did.

  “What’s happening? What’s wrong?” the twins called out, clinging to the older woman.

  “Please leave Mrs. Cosgrove alone,” Shauntelle ordered her daughters, pulling out her phone to dial 911 as Noah knelt beside his mother.

  “We have a woman down at the arena grounds,” she said when the emergency responders answered. “I think she broke her leg.”

  “Maybe just a sprain,” Mrs. Cosgrove said, trying to sit up.

  “Make sure she stays down,” Shauntelle said to Noah, who nodded, shifting so that his mother’s head rested on his lap. He tenderly pushed her hair away from her face.

  And still Mrs. Cosgrove clung to her hand.

  “It’s okay, Mom. Just rest,” he said, speaking quietly.

  “My leg,” Mrs. Cosgrove called out, moaning. “It hurts so much.”

  “Can you breathe okay?” Noah asked.

  “It’s hard.” Mrs. Cosgrove pulled in a slow, laborious breath. “My leg hurts.”

  Shauntelle looked down and could see her knee lying at a decidedly awkward angle. It looked incredibly painful, but she fought the urge to straighten it, knowing that she might do more harm than good.

  “Don’t talk,” Noah said as Shauntelle spoke to the dispatcher. Shauntelle heard the tension in his voice.

  People were gathering around, and Shauntelle forced herself to concentrate and remain calm. She squeezed Mrs. Cosgrove’s hand back, glancing at Noah, whose attention was on his mother.

  People gathered around and Owen had returned, urging people to stand back. Advice was being tossed around, offers for help.

  Millie and Margaret were still crying quietly, and in her peripheral vision Shauntelle saw Sonya take them by the hand, drawing them away and calming them down. Not that she blamed her daughters for being upset. The sight of Mrs. Cosgrove’s leg was enough to make even a seasoned EMS worker blanch. She wished she dared do something more, but she didn’t even have pain medication on her.

  Her chest tightened, and she clung to Mrs. Cosgrove’s hand. Then Fay Cosgrove’s eyes began rolling upward in her head, and Shauntelle hoped and prayed nothing more serious was going on. The sound of wailing sirens grew closer and Shauntelle prayed harder.

  Dear Lord, please keep this woman safe. I can’t let my children see this.

  She knew her prayer sounded selfish. She should be praying for Noah, but she was a mother too, and right now her main concern was for her daughters. They’d had so much loss and sorrow in their lives.

  Noah’s hand covered hers. She knew he was just trying to connect to his mother, but the feel of his rough palm, the hands of a workingman covering hers produced a surprising ache inside her.

  A tremble of loneliness.

  She wanted to pull her hand away. This was Noah, after all, but she stayed where she was, not wanting to cause Mrs. Cosgrove any further distress.

  Finally, the ambulance pulled up, and the crowd parted as the EMS team rushed toward them.

  Shauntelle slowly extricated her hand from Noah’s and his mother’s and got up to give the paramedics room, but Noah wouldn’t leave.

  The ambulance crew snapped out a few questions as they got Mrs. Cosgrove stabilized. Noah answered them as Millie and Margaret ran to join her, clinging to her hand.

  “Is she going to die?” Millie wailed.

  Shauntelle caught Noah’s panicked glance and she shushed her daughter, shaking her head.

  “No. She’s not,” Shauntelle said, crouching down and pulling her daughter close. “Hush now. You don’t want to make Mrs. Cosgrove upset.”

  Margaret, her less dramatic daughter, simply drifted over to Shauntelle’s side, slipping her arm over her shoulder.

  “I think we should pray for her,” she said.

  Shauntelle pulled her close, nodding. “I think so too.”

  One member of the EMS team pulled Noah away, asking him questions about what happened as the rest stabilized Mrs. Cosgrove’s leg and gently shifted her to a stretcher.

  In minutes, they were wheeling it over the bumpy fairgrounds, Noah striding alongside, his attention on his mother and the distress clearly showing on his face.

  “I hope she doesn’t die,” Millie sniffed, her voice catching.

  “She won’t die,” Shauntelle assured her, holding her close. “She only broke her leg. That’s all.”

  But Shauntelle knew that with someone as frail as Mrs. Cosgrove, there was no “only” to a broken leg. It was probably more serious than that.

  * * *

  “She’ll be off her feet for a couple of days, given her high blood pressure,” the doctor was saying, his hands in the pocket of his lab coat, his faint smile taking in both Noah and his mother, who lay on the hospital bed, her freshly casted leg stretched out in front of her. “I would prefer to keep her here overnight—”

  “No, I want to go home,” his mother said, with a firm shake of her head. “I’m not that sick.”

  “No, but you haven’t been feeling well,” Noah said, wishing his mother would take the doctor’s advice. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being responsible for his mother’s care.

  “If you do want to leave, then we’ll have to arrange for a home care nurse to stop by twice a day for the first week and then every other day until your cast is off.”

  “Which will be when?” Noah asked.

  “About six to eight weeks.”

  “That’s almost two months,” his mother cried out. “How will I plant my garden?”

  “Good thing Noah’s around,” the doctor said. “He can help you.”

  “That’s true,” his mother said, reaching out to take Noah’s arm. “And he’s such a big help to me.”

  They both seemed to assume he was sticking around.

  Trouble was, he knew there was no way he could leave as soon as he had planned.

  “I like to do what I can, where I can,” he said, stifling a sigh.

  This changed and complicated everything. It went without saying that he would cancel his holiday.

  Then he’d have to contact the owner of the trucking company in Vancouver. See if he’d be willing to hold off until he got everything settled here.

  “So we’ll see you in a week,” the doctor said to his mother, and then turned to Noah. “And I’m glad you can stay. This will make your mother very happy.”

  He wasn’t sure if it was the guilt he perpetually felt when it came to his mother that made him feel the doctor was hinting at something more.

  “A happy mother is a peaceful mother,” was all he said.

  The doctor made sure his mother had her prescription for painkillers, advised her about posthospital care, then handed her over to a nurse, who followed up with advice, and then helped his mother into a wheelchair.

  Fifteen minutes later, her prescription was filled, the home care nurse had set up an appointment and his mother was ensconced in the back seat of his truck, her leg stretched out in front of her.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Noah asked, angling his rearview mirror so he could see her better.

  “I’m fine,” she said, and truth to tell, she did look pretty good for having broken her leg only a few hours ago. “We should let Shauntelle know how I’m doing. I’m sure those girls will be concerned. Maybe we could stop by the Farmer’s Market and show them I’m okay?”

  “I’m sure the market is over by now,” Noah said. He wasn’t too keen on facing Shauntelle again.

  “No. It goes until two o’clock. I
t’s only one now. And I forgot to get my cake.”

  “Mom, you just broke your leg. You’re run-down and tired. You need to go straight home and to bed.”

  His mother frowned at that but then nodded, as if finally realizing the wisdom of what he was saying. “Okay. But you have to promise me that you’ll call her as soon as we get home.”

  “I don’t know her number.” And he wasn’t about to call the Rodriguez home to get it.

  “I have it right here,” his mother said, reaching for her purse. “I took one of her business cards.”

  Noah didn’t know if it was the painkillers the doctor prescribed for her or the fact that he was now at her beck and call for eight weeks, but for a woman who had just broken her leg, she seemed awfully chipper.

  “And you can ask her about the cake,” his mother added. “Ah. Here it is.” She pulled out the card and waved it at him. “Here’s her number.”

  “I’ll get it from you when we’re home,” was all he said.

  Thankfully that seemed to satisfy her, and she sat back, humming a quiet song.

  But by the time they got home, the painkillers seemed to have eased off. She wasn’t humming as much. When he helped her out of the truck, she wavered and he decided to forgo the crutches they had picked up at the pharmacy. He ignored her protests, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to the house instead.

  He managed to get the door open one-handed, and when he stepped inside the house his mother sighed.

  “You know, your father carried me over the threshold of this house when we were first married,” she said, smiling a loopy smile. “He was such a romantic.”

  Noah only nodded, unable to reconcile the man he knew with the husband his mother was remembering.

  “He was a good man, you know,” she said, her voice taking on a faintly defensive tone.

  “I’m sure he was,” was all Noah would say as he brought his mother to her bedroom. There was no way they were having this discussion now. He settled her on the bed and went back for her crutches and purse. When he came back, she was staring out the window. He followed the direction of her gaze. The house was set atop a hill, and from her window she could see the barn and the paddocks connected to it. Beyond that he caught a glimpse of one of the pastures. A few cows grazed in the field, a small fraction of the herd that he and his father had taken care of. Which, he knew, was a remnant of the original herd that his mother’s grandfather had, at one time, run. The ranch had fallen far from those glory days. Days his father had tried so hard to return to.