Chapter 5 #2
“If you don’t mind my asking,” I say, surprising myself at my own bravery.
“Where is her mom?” It’s not something that’s been mentioned by anyone since I’ve arrived.
And while it’s most likely very personal information, my job now is to take care of Fern.
What if she asks me something I don’t know the answer to?
What if there are topics off limits or that require a sensitive touch?
My knowing about Fern’s circumstances can only help in my caring for her.
Tate pauses, the bandage already wrapped around my ankle and now partly my foot. For a heart-stopping second, I worry that I’ve pushed too far. That grumpy Tate is only about to get a whole lot grumpier. But then he resumes the wrapping. “She left shortly after Fern was born,” he says simply.
I blink a few times, shocked. “Left?” I echo.
He nods. “Said it was all too overwhelming and didn’t want anything to do with Fern. Or me. I honored her wishes, and we agreed I’d get full custody. And she left. I think she lives in California or something now. Not sure.”
I sit in stunned silence for a moment while Tate finishes wrapping my ankle and then sits back on his heels.
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” I say. “That must have been awful. Not just for Fern, but for you too.”
He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “We didn’t have much of a relationship. Full transparency—Fern was the result of a hookup. We tried to stay together at first, but it just didn’t work out. It’s not my place to judge others for their actions in life, but I do wish Fern had a mother.”
I stare at him for a long moment. He’s busy putting his first aid bag back together and zipping it up. This is the most Tate has spoken to me since arriving here. The most he’s opened up. And he’s opened up a lot. This is heavy stuff. Really heavy stuff.
“She could still have a mother,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m sure there are lots of eligible bachelorettes here in Cedar Ridge.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You sound like my brother.”
“I don’t know which brother you’re talking about, but both seem smart—so I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He laughs outright at that, much to my shock. Just moments ago, I’d been awed by the fact that he simply wasn’t frowning.
He stands, holding a hand out to me. “We should probably get you some ice for that. And you should elevate it. Couch sound good?” he asks.
I nod, taking his hand. I begin to slowly slide off the counter, and Tate wraps an arm around my waist to help me bring my good foot to the floor. Wrapping my arm over his shoulder, he slowly guides us toward the living room.
Again, my brain goes fuzzy once my body makes contact with Tate’s. I try my hardest not to acknowledge how awkward it is to be so close to one another. I can smell him. And surprisingly for someone who’s supposedly been outside with cattle all day, he smells good. Like wood and pine and man.
Shit.
I shouldn’t be thinking about how Tate Thatcher smells. That’s a weird thing to think.
We hobble through his room, down the hallway, and out into the living room.
“Oh my goodness!” I look up to see Theresa coming down the opposite hallway, Fern at her side. “Fern said you’d fallen—I didn’t think it’d be this bad,” she says.
Tate leads me to the couch and helps me sit, and I’m simultaneously relieved and disappointed by our new lack of contact. I clear my throat. “It should be fine,” I reassure her.
Tate silently heads to the kitchen where I see him pulling ice out of the freezer.
Theresa rattles on about promising to help me out with Fern over the next couple days, as well as tips to heal quickly, but I can barely pay attention to her words.
My focus keeps getting pulled back to Tate as he gently wraps the bag of ice around my ankle, lifts my foot, and elevates it on the ottoman.
It’s like every time he touches me, my brain short circuits.
And I can’t quite figure out why. Sure, he’s attractive. In a gritty, cowboy kind of way. But he’s also kind of mean and gruff and angry. Although he hasn’t been that mean in the last twenty minutes or so. In fact, he’s been really … nice.
A strange, warm feeling flutters deep in my belly, and it shocks me enough to send it away.
“Just relax for the rest of the day, dear,” Theresa tells me. “I’ll keep an eye on Fern.”
“Are you sure?” I protest, even though I know it’s futile. What would I even do?
She pats me reassuringly on the shoulder and simply heads off to Fern’s room where I can hear her playing with her plastic ponies again. I glance around the room to realize that Tate is no longer there—probably gone back to work. He didn’t even say goodbye. Not that it matters …
I bite my lip, staring down at my elevated ankle. Hopefully it heals quickly. I pull my phone from my pocket, resigning myself to a day spent scrolling through social media, when a notification on the screen catches my attention.
My heart skips a beat.
A series of text messages from an unknown number grace the screen.
Did you block me??
Where are you?
Answer your phone.
My hands go ice cold as I unlock my phone and scroll through the messages. One after another, again and again. Panic is bubbling up my throat, threatening to spill out of me in tears, but I hold them back. It isn’t until I see the last message that a quiet sob escapes me.
Wherever you are, I’ll find you. Just you wait.