Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
The Hospital
“Girlfriend?” I shrieked.
Hadley winced. “Can you keep your voice down? This is a hospital.”
“I don’t care where we are! Girlfriend?” I snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
My twin glared at me. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I was worried you’d overreact.”
“This is un-fucking-believable!” I whirled and stomped out of the waiting room.
Blind rage colored my vision. Emotion blistered my throat and I was ready to spew it at anyone who came near me.
My sister, my own twin, hadn’t told me about our father’s girlfriend.
“Powell,” Bowman called after me.
I didn’t stop when I heard his voice. Instead, I continued to stalk toward the elevator. I pushed the button several times in rapid fire as if that would make it arrive faster.
“Where are you going?” Bowman asked, coming to my side.
“Anywhere but here.”
“You can’t drive,” he said. “Not in the state you’re in.”
I turned and glared at him.
He was there, and had instantly become the target of my rage.
“You’re not the boss of me!”
“Someone needs to be the boss of you.” His tone was mild, but his jaw clenched. “Give me the keys.”
“No!”
“Powell, I’m warning you . . .”
“Oh, you’re warning me?” I placed my hands at my hips and glared up at him. “You sure you want to get in my way?”
He sighed.
And without a word, he bent down, grasped me by my legs and hauled me over his shoulder.
“Bowman!” I screeched. “Put me down!”
“No.”
I smacked his butt.
He swatted mine in return.
“You’re making a scene!” I hissed.
“You started it. Now stop it.”
“You’re horrible.”
“And you’re a brat.”
“People are going to stare,” I whined.
“Should’ve thought of that before you freaked out.”
The elevator doors opened and he walked into the carriage. I almost groaned when I realized we weren’t alone. Two doctors in scrubs were standing next to each other.
“Lobby, please,” Bowman said politely, pretending he didn’t have a hysterical woman dangling over his shoulder.
“Oh,” the female doctor said. “Sure.” She pushed the button and the doors closed.
“Nice weather we’re having,” Bowman said in a conversational tone.
“Yeah.” The male doctor bobbed his head. “It was a rainy spring. Seems to have cleared up though.”
“I love the smell of the rain in the forest,” Bowman remarked.
“Absolutely.” The female doctor flashed a smile.
The carriage came to a stop and the doors opened.
“Well, this is us. Have a good one,” the male doctor said.
“You too,” Bowman replied.
When it was just the two of us again, I intoned, “Please let me down.”
“You promise to behave?”
“No.”
“Behave or I’m carting your ass out of the lobby this way. So far only a few nurses and two doctors have seen you like this. Your choice if you want to draw a crowd.”
I grumbled. “Fine. I’ll be good.”
“Doubtful.” He lowered me to the ground.
I stepped away from him and raised my fist.
His jaw ticked. “Don’t even think about it.”
I lowered my hand.
“Keys.” He held his palm flat. “I’m driving you. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, but you’re not getting behind the wheel.”
I handed over the keys.
The doors to the elevator opened. Bowman gestured for me to go out first, and then he followed, keeping close.
We stepped out of the hospital, and the warm, late Idaho spring air bathed my cheeks. It did nothing to soothe my temper.
“Probably should’ve asked your grandmother where she parked,” Bowman said.
“Look for a rust bucket with no modern safety features. Ah, there it is.” I pointed and immediately began my trek toward the old farm truck.
“That’s not a rust bucket, that’s a liability.”
“Dad bought her a new truck with all the bells and whistles and she hates it. She prefers a truck that doesn’t try to think for her,” I quipped. “Can you handle a stick?”
“If I ask for lessons, will you teach me?” he teased.
“You and I are talking about two different sticks entirely.”
“Yeah, babe, I can handle a stick without a problem. Even the one you have up your ass.”
I glared at him and picked up the pace.
When we got to the truck, Bowman went to the passenger side.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Opening the door for you.”
“Why?”
“Because even though you’re in a mood, I still have manners.”
With a grumble, I climbed into the passenger seat. He shut the door and I buckled myself in.
He started the truck and backed out of the lot. We didn’t speak for a few minutes, and then I asked, “I’ll give you directions to the family ranch.”
“We’re not going to Elk Ridge yet,” he said.
I crossed my arms over my chest and stared out the window. “You said you’d drive me wherever I wanted to go.”
“I lied.”
“Then where are you taking me?”
“To get something to eat. Your blood sugar is low. And after you get something into your system, we’ll talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“You’re right, you want to yell.” He looked at me. “You’re not the least bit embarrassed, are you?”
“Why should I be?” I demanded. “Because the normal thing to do is mash down your feelings and slap a smile on your face and pretend like everything’s okay?”
“Your sister didn’t deserve your anger. But you can’t be angry at the person you really want to be angry at because he’s lying in a hospital bed in a coma.”
I swallowed. “Bowman?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut. Up.”
“Struck a nerve, huh?”
“Let’s play the quiet game. Whoever talks first loses.”
Silence finally reigned in the truck.
“I lose. Let’s play another game.”
I groaned. “No.”
“Why do you hate the idea of your dad having a girlfriend?”
“I don’t.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I whipped my head around to look at him. “Muddy and Hadley—neither of them bothered to mention her.”
“So you’re telling me that if you’d known about her, you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did?”
When I paused, he shot me a wry grin. “Thought so.”
“Arrogance makes you look three inches shorter.”
“Going for the height? Really? I must actually be pissing you off,” he joked. “Now tell me where you want to go for comfort food and I’ll take you there.”
“The Diner,” I said. “Best poutine in the world.”
“Just direct me.”
I smirked. “A man asking for directions. How original.”
“You deserve a good spanking, Powell.”
“You already gave me one, remember? When you carried me over your shoulder like a lumberjack carries a log.”
“I remember,” he said. “That was hardly a spanking. Doubt your ass is red like it needs to be.”
“Should we pull over? And you can give me the spanking you think I deserve?”
“You’d lose the bet. You do remember the bet, don’t you?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” I said as I shook my head. “You would. You’d be the one to put your hands on me on purpose.”
“Yet, you’re the one asking for it.”
“Guess we’re at a stalemate then.”
Twenty minutes later, Bowman and I drove into Huckleberry Hill. The main drag was Silver Street, with cute little retail shops, a bakery, and of course, The Diner.
“There’s no way you grew up here,” he stated.
“Uh yeah, I did.”
“It looks like a movie set. It’s the epitome of small, charming mountain town.”
“Why do you think I left?” I said, a pang flitting through my chest. “There was nothing to do here. There’s still nothing to do here.”
I’d left for other reasons too . . .
He maneuvered the truck into a parking spot.
“There has to be stuff to do here,” Bowman said after we got out of the truck and shut the doors.
“If you’re not old enough to drink at the Copper Mule—the only bar in town—then you either eat at The Diner or grab a pastry from Sweet Teeth.
Not into food? There’s the bank with one teller who loves to gab, or if you need to go shopping, you hit up General Mercantile, which has everything from tractor parts to raw milk.
Lots to do in this town, I’m telling you. ”
“What about festivals? Towns like these always have festivals and seasonal activities.”
“Oh, right. We do have those,” I agreed.
“Spring there’s the Mushroom Festival. In summertime, it’s the Huckleberry Festival.
Autumn is the barn dance and belly basket auction.
Winter we have the Snow Queen pageant, sledding on Maple Mountain, ice skating on Lavender Lake, and fondue at Sweet Teeth. ”
“What’s a belly basket auction?”
“You’ve heard of the time-honored tradition of women making baskets full of food and having men bid on them?”
“In this century?”
I arched a brow. “Well, we do it differently here. Instead, men make baskets and women bid on them.”
Bowman opened the door to The Diner and held it for me. I went inside. The smell of fried food hit me and my stomach growled in adoration.
“Salem Powell!”
A smile greeted my lips. “Mr. Bixby.”
His face was ruddy from the heat of the back kitchen and his balding head had a sheen of sweat. He wiped his hands on his apron as he came around the counter and enveloped me in a bear hug.
“Good to see you, honey. How’s your dad?”
He pulled back and stared at me with solemn brown eyes.
“We just came from the hospital,” I said, my throat tight. “He had brain surgery. Now we’re just waiting a few days, and then they’ll try to wake him up.”
He nodded. “Lucy told me about the surgery.”
“How did—Muddy?”
Mr. Bixby nodded. “I’m making up a care package for you before you leave. You take it home, yeah? And if you need anything, you call.”
“Thank you,” I said, sincerity permeating my tone.
Mr. Bixby dropped his hands from my shoulders and looked at Bowman. “Who’s your friend?”
“I don’t know about friend, but this is Cas Bowman,” I muttered.
Bowman shot me an amused look before turning his attention to Mr. Bixby and holding out his hand. “Cas Bowman. I’m Declan’s best man.”
“Oh, so you’re the famous bull rider, eh? He told me about you!” Mr. Bixby clasped Bowman’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. “Welcome to Huckleberry Hill. Meals are on the house today. You’re lucky you came in when you did. You just missed the noon rush.” He ushered us to a vacant table.
“Usual for you?” Mr. Bixby asked me.
I nodded.
“Cas?”
“Call me Bowman. And I’ll have a burger with everything on it, and a cherry coke.”
“You got it.”
After Mr. Bixby got us our drinks, he went to the back, leaving me and Bowman alone.
“Why do you go by Bowman?”
He shrugged. “I’ve always been called that. Even when I was in school.”
“Were you on the football team?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. That tracks, then.”
“But even my teachers and other students called me Bowman.”
“What’s Cas short for?”
“Guess.”
“Casper.”
“No.”
“Cassian.”
He frowned. “That’s not a name.”
“It’s a name,” I said.
“Of someone real?”
“No one I know,” I admitted with a wry smile. “Caspian?”
“Nope.”
“I’m so calling you Caspian,” I quipped. “Until you tell me what Cas actually stands for.”
He ignored my pronouncement when he said, “You never answered my question.”
His change in conversation gave me whiplash. “What question would that be? About my father’s girlfriend? I thought we weren’t going to talk about that until after I’d been sedated with poutine.”
“Not that. You never answered why you don’t have a boyfriend.”
I raised my brows. “When did you ask me that?”
“We were at the airport and Brock asked you. You never said why.”
“And you’re still thinking about it?”
“Clearly.”
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” I fired back.
“Who says I don’t?”
“Because if you did, you’d be the lowest form of life on this planet for cheating on her.”
He cracked a grin. “No argument there. Cheating is a character flaw I do not have.”
“How reassuring,” I drawled.
“It should be reassuring,” he insisted. “If someone is a cheater, what’s to stop them from cheating at business? Or being a shit friend?”
“Valid,” I admitted. “So, no girlfriend?”
“No. Now answer my question.”
“Say the magic word.”
“Spank.”
A huff of a laugh escaped my lips. “I don’t have a boyfriend because I don’t want a boyfriend. Happy?”
“Hmm. What’s your type?”
“I don’t have a type.”
“Everyone has a type.”
I reached for my soda. “I’m twenty-three. Everyone is my type.”
“Twenty-three. God damn, that’s young.”
I wrinkled my nose. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“Not old enough to be an antique, but definitely vintage,” I quipped.
“Some of the shine has definitely rubbed off,” he joked.
“Thirty-four . . . and you’re still bull riding.”
“Borrowed time,” he stated. “Hate to say it, but I’m one major injury away from retirement. It’s why I took a brand deal.”
“What kind of brand deal?” I asked. “Cigarettes? Liquor? Clothing?”
“Coffee, actually. Have you ever heard of Cowboy Coffee?”
My brow wrinkled. “Sounds familiar.”
“They wanted Declan too,” he said. “But he passed.”
“Ah, I remember now. Hadley mentioned something . . .”
“The coffee company is looking to push various roasts into every smokehouse and BBQ joint in the country. It’s not as simple as a photo shoot and a paycheck. They want the publicity that goes with a rodeo tour. So, when I get back on the circuit, my beans are spoken for.”
Mr. Bixby came out of the kitchen carrying our plates. He set them down in front of us. “Can I get you anything else?”
We shook our heads and Mr. Bixby went into the back again.
I picked up a tater tot and swirled it around in the gravy before placing it in my mouth. I let out a groan that was borderline pornographic.
Bowman raised his brows and smirked, no doubt thinking the exact same thing.
“I thought poutine was with fries,” he said.
“Yep. But I like mine with tater tots.” I shrugged. “Just one of my many quirks.”
My phone chimed. While I was distracted by attempting to find my cell phone at the bottom of my bag, Bowman took his fork and stabbed a gravy drenched tater tot and brought it to his lips.
“Hey, that’s mine.”
The tater tot disappeared into his mouth and he chewed and swallowed. “Damn. That’s good. Better than my burger.”
He reached for my bowl.
I smacked his hand. “Are you trying to lose a finger?”
He grinned. “What if I say please?”
“No.”
“What if I beg?” His gray eyes swirled with heat.
With a sigh, I reluctantly pushed the bowl toward him.
I grabbed my cell and looked at the screen.
Hadley
You still mad at me?
She’d purposefully left out a very important detail about our father’s life.
Damn right I was mad at her.
I didn’t know what to say, so I shoved my phone back into my bag.
Bowman pushed the bowl of poutine back toward me. “You need this more than I do.”