The Texan's Cowgirl Bride. Trish Milburn
behind and headed for that much-needed hot shower. If she avoided the topic of Travis for a couple of days, Abby would probably forget all about him.
When Savannah finally stepped under the water, it felt as if a week had passed since she’d left home instead of only half a day. She closed her eyes and let her mind float, and her thoughts drifted to Travis. In the solitude of the shower, she allowed herself to think about him, his striking good looks, the strength she sensed in him, the warmth of his hands as he’d helped her in and out of the SUV.
She ran her hand over the spot on her leg where he’d placed his palm, imagining she could still feel it. As her thoughts meandered down one path and then another, she found herself imagining him in the shower with her, water sluicing over both of their naked bodies as they pressed against each other.
Had her sister Lizzie finding love really sparked some sort of similar desire in Savannah?
She ran the soap over her aching body, picturing Travis’s hands doing it instead. Her skin grew warm and sensitive as she slid her hand up her torso and across her right breast. The image of Travis’s mouth settling against that breast had just formed in her mind when she froze and her eyes popped open.
Her heart skipped a beat as she moved her fingertips back over the area they’d just skimmed and then probed deeper. She bit her lip as the examination found what she’d feared. A lump, and it wasn’t on the side of her injuries.
* * *
HIDING HER CONCERN from Abby proved so difficult that Savannah used her injuries as an excuse the next morning to say she was going to head home. “We’ll plan another weekend soon. Hopefully, I won’t be so accident-prone next time.”
“I’ll forgive you for abandoning me if you ask Travis out and then tell me all about it.”
Savannah gave her friend a friendly punch in the shoulder. “Let it go.”
Abby looked over her shoulder as she cooked breakfast. “Don’t sit there and tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
Savannah remembered her imaginings in the shower the night before, before that lump in her breast had torpedoed her ability to think of anything else.
She didn’t give Abby the satisfaction of a response. Instead, she nabbed a slice of crisp bacon and headed for the door. But as she drove out of Mineral Wells and pointed her truck toward home, she didn’t find any peace in her solitude and wondered if she should have stayed through the second night of competition.
Her thoughts kept drifting to Travis and how nice and easy it had been between them the night before. But then her mind got jerked back to the lump. She imagined it getting larger by the second, making her so anxious she finally pulled over and scrolled through online listings for doctors on her phone. She had a regular doctor as well as a gynecologist, but the irrational fear that her family would find out if she visited either one of them had her searching for another option.
She sat at the rest area making calls until she found not only an office open to take her call but one that could fit her in on Monday. Glad to have a plan of action, it still felt as if Monday were aeons away.
When she pulled up to the barn on the ranch a couple of hours later, her dad was sitting at the entrance in his wheelchair. As if she needed one more thing to worry about. What was he doing, tracking the GPS on her phone?
She forced herself not to wince or make any sounds signaling pain as she slipped out of the truck and approached him. “Hey, Dad. What are you doing out here?”
“Needed to get out of the house. I’m about to go stir crazy.”
That she could understand. If she had shattered bones that prevented her from working, from riding, from even getting around by herself, she’d go bonkers, too.
Savannah looked beyond her father to the interior of the barn and caught the look on her brother Jet’s face. Yeah, just as she thought. Her dad had directed that he be brought to the barn to make sure everything was exactly as he wanted it. She still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t known she would be appearing earlier than she’d mentioned and had set up camp to wait for her.
Choosing not to invite the conversation, she moved to the back of the trailer to let Bluebell out.
“Your brother can take care of that.”
She wanted to take her father up on the offer, but she refused to do anything that would show she was hurt worse than she’d indicated on the phone the night before. Or to give any clue that anything else was wrong.
“I’m good.” As if to negate her words, a sharp pain skewered her side as she opened the trailer. Thankfully, her back was to her father because this time she couldn’t prevent gritting her teeth.
Forcing her expression to relax, she guided Bluebell out of the trailer just as Julieta, her stepmother, pulled up in her SUV.
“You don’t look any worse for wear,” Julieta said as she got out of the vehicle, looking just as lovely in jeans and a casual pink blouse as she did when wearing her sharp business suits at the Baron Energies office. “To listen to your father last night, I expected you to be rolled home in a full body cast.”
Brock huffed. “You are exaggerating.”
Julieta lifted a dark brow at him. “I know what I heard.”
Savannah hid a smile. Julieta might be considerably younger than Brock, but she wasn’t only a pretty face. She could hold her own with her husband despite his tendency to be gruff and demanding. Brock acted put out with Julieta’s sass sometimes, but Savannah knew the truth was he admired it even if he never said so.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Julieta said to Savannah before turning toward her husband. “Now, you, in the car. Time for your follow-up appointment.”
“I’m fine.”
“Then this should go quickly.” Julieta wasn’t letting him talk his way out of going to the doctor as instructed.
Her father was still grumbling as Savannah led Bluebell into the barn. At least his imminent departure would give Savannah a reprieve, however brief, from the conversation about the store.
She ached, was bone tired from not sleeping well the night before, and her stomach was in knots and likely would be until she saw the doctor on Monday.
Jet reached for Bluebell’s reins. “I’ll take care of her.”
“I can do it.”
“You can also go home and get some rest. I know you’re hurting and were hiding it just now.”
Savannah let the facade drop away. “I do sort of feel as if I’ve been body slammed by King Kong.”
He nodded his head toward the barn’s entrance. “Go rest while you can.”
“Thanks.”
But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find anything beyond the most superficial sleep for the rest of the weekend. By Monday morning, she felt dreadful, wrung out like a wet cloth. She was ready to cut the lump out of her breast herself just so she could get away from it.
By the time she was being led back to be examined by a doctor she’d never met, she felt as if she was going to hurl. It suddenly occurred to her that she needed to explain her injuries before a nurse or the doctor thought she had been beaten.
The nurse, a peppy young woman named Becky, led her to an examination room. “There’s a gown on the table. The doctor will be with you shortly.”
“By the way, I have some significant bruising, so tell the doctor not to be shocked. I was in a rodeo Friday night and took a nasty spill.”
A hint of suspicion flickered in the nurse’s eyes, and Savannah couldn’t blame her. She knew lots of women came in with injuries from domestic violence that they tried to pass off as something else.
“You can check with the