Emily's Cowboy (3 page)

“Do you like what you see Gareth? Please say you do. Put me out of my misery. I’ve prayed for you to notice the changes in me, hoped that you would want to kiss me as much as I dream of kissing you. Just looking at you, your broad shoulders, your long legs, how strong you have become, makes me crazy. I need to feel you touching me Gareth, kissing me. Please. I don’t want to go insane. Help me.”

And he had kissed her, tentatively at first, their lips joining lightly as they’d explored each other’s taste. They’d caressed and touched places that until that moment in time had been private. But to him, Emily was an extension of himself. Touching her and kissing her had felt like the most natural thing in the world to him, and yet so incredibly pleasing. The feel of her breasts had been such a wondrous thing. There were no words that got close to describing the feel of her soft skin against his.

“Don’t even try, Mitch. He’s gone again, off in some dream world…”

Gareth crashed back to reality as Pippa’s words to Rook about him broke through his thoughts. He was back in real time, back to the world where he now lived—the world without Emily.

“Sorry, guys, I’m finished dreaming. Where’s that beer you promised, Rook?”

“It’s the one that’s gone warm sitting in front of you, mate.”

“Yeah, right. It’ll be fine. Thanks,” Gareth said. He picked up the bottle and took a mouthful of the amber fluid, putting his memories back where they belonged—locked up tightly in his mind where they could not cause him any added pain.

”So what did I miss? What’s the latest on the big day? Any new drama you need your Cowboy to wrangle back under control, Pippa?”

Gareth had been both delighted and horrified when Pippa had asked him to stand up for her as a pseudo-bridesmaid. She had wanted her best friend—Cassie—Riley Walters and Gareth to act as her side of the bridal party. Luckily for Gareth, Riley had been equally horrified at the idea, and so they had been saved from what sounded like an uncomfortable ordeal. Gareth really cherished his newfound friendship with Pippa, but really? Friendship only went so far…

“Huh, you’re just still trying to get back into Pippa’s good books after you refused to be her bridesmaid at our wedding.” Gareth could not miss Rook’s smug grin as he took a gulp of his beer.

It was always like that between Gareth and Rook these days—both trying to score points over one another where Pippa was concerned.

“Look, I just didn’t want Riley to feel too bad over the whole thing, so I sided with the guy. What can I say? I’m sensitive that way.”

The ensuing laughter over his comments helped Gareth banish any residual sorrow from his reminiscing over Emily, and for the rest of the night he kept his mind locked onto the present, enjoying the friendly banter with his friends but still refusing to acknowledge any attention from the female crowd at the popular nightspot.

Gareth was relieved that he and Rook were back to normal. Their friendship had hit a few rough spots during the whole Rook-and-Pippa drama. But they were solid again—even the perpetual teasing was just goodhearted fun. Gareth was thankful for his teammates being the stand-up guys they were, otherwise he would never have been able to deal with the life he now led, the constant training, travelling between each game and Gareth’s biggest nightmare—public appearances.

He did love the fact that through his unasked for notoriety he could do some good in the community. Gareth enjoyed being able to bring some cheer to sick kids with his visits to children’s hospitals, or to assist charities and other good causes with fundraising by lending his services, be it standing around looking stupid or donating some signed piece of memorabilia. That was the upside of his playing footy—that and actually being on the field. Playing rugby league was his life, being pitted against rival teams, revelling in his competitive nature, his desire to be the best. But with all that came the drawbacks—the press, the spotlight, the ever-present groupies and the pain of training.

Thoughts of training had him remembering the following day’s recovery session. Thankfully, Brodie had set it for mid-morning and not the usual crack of dawn schedule that he usually favoured. That probably coincided with the fact Brodie was at the club with his stunning redheaded wife, which was not a usual occurrence of late, as Caitlin had recently given birth to the couple’s second child. Both Brodie and JT were now proud fathers, with a boy and girl each. Gareth loved the days that the team spent surrounded by their kids and partners. They were an extended family of sorts, each member equally protective of the others. Gareth realised that it would be the closest he came to having children of his own. Being an adoptive uncle to the gaggle of children was all that he could hope for. The idea of a child that wasn’t Emily’s was not for consideration.

“I’m heading out, Pippa, Rook. The game’s starting to catch up with me, need to go and grab some shut-eye before tomorrow’s training.” Gareth finished the last of his second beer, the fluid warm and flat, having sat on the table for so long. He was always vigilant about staying below the legal alcohol limit. He didn’t want to chance driving impaired. Alcohol and driving were not a good mix, ever.

“Why, Cowboy? Are you feeling something serious now, something you need me to take a look at?”

Gareth could always count on the physiotherapist in Pippa to jump all over any statement he made about soreness after a game. It was her job, after all. He also knew that she worried about him as a person.

“No, Pippa, nothing to concern you with… Just a general tiredness.”

“Good to know, Cowboy. Thought you were angling for a private massage or something. You know Pip’s a sucker for a strained muscle. She likes to pay particular attention to my groin area, you know.”

“Mitch…”

The blush that stole over Pippa’s cheeks at Rook’s sexual innuendo was a delight to Gareth.

“Yeah, Rook, I bet she does, or maybe she’s just trying to strengthen the muscles. Maybe you’re lacking in some stamina there, bud? Catch you all tomorrow.” Gareth couldn’t resist flinging the last sledge at Rook before he headed back through the throng of party-goers to the club’s exit, looking forward to being away from the blaring noise of the music and relentless hub of the Jetstream. Deep down, Gareth was a country boy, a cowboy. He enjoyed the simple things in life—the quiet of the countryside, the wide open spaces—and even though he did love his footy, he looked forward to the day he could return to the peace and quiet of the land.

Chapter Three

“Son, it’s your mother.”

“Yeah, that was a given, Mum. Not many people call me ‘son’! What’s up? Has something happened? Is Dad okay?”

The phone had awakened Gareth from a dead sleep. Concern for his father was his immediate reaction—he was speaking to his mother, so she was obviously okay.

“No, Gareth, your father is fine.
I’m
fine. It’s Mac. There has been a terrible accident…a tractor rolled. They are transporting him, by plane, to a hospital in Sydney. It’s serious, son. I’m not exactly sure of all the details—all I know is that Emily is with him. I thought you would want to know. She might need a familiar face, some support. I know you two are not… Well… I know things are different. But I just wanted you to know…you know, in case.”

“Which hospital, Mum?”

Gareth could tell his mother was worried, could understand her concern for the Mackenzie family, for Mac and Emily. They had been neighbours and friends forever—close friends, a friendship only those in the rural community could begin to understand. Gareth had appreciated the fact his parents had never made an issue of what had happened between him and Emily, had respected his privacy surrounding the events. But Gareth knew his mother was disappointed. Her heart had been set on he and Emily marrying some day, having her grandchildren, but she had tried to hide her disappointment from him, had been supportive of his decision to move to Sydney and sign with the Jets. And she had been right to call him about what had happened.

He pulled on the nearest clothing he could find, grabbed his keys and phone, then took off at a frantic pace for the hospital. He was thankful for the GPS system installed in his car as it showed him the way, and he arrived as the dawn’s rays heralded the beginning of a new day. All Gareth’s thoughts centred on finding Mac and Emily and being there for them, whatever they needed.

After enquiring at the hospital’s reception and admissions desk in a not so polite or friendly way—more a demand to know where Mac was being cared for—Gareth took off all but running, trying to correctly navigate the maze of corridors and doors that would lead him to his destination. Only to be halted in his desperate undertaking at the last impediment—the entrance to the intensive care ward—by a stern, determined nurse.

“Only family members allowed at this stage, sir, I’m sorry. If you take a seat in the waiting room, I’ll go and find out some information for you about the patient’s welfare, although there is not much I can tell you without the consent of the patient or his family.”

Gareth saw red, so angered by the obstinate nurse denying him entry that he could feel himself shaking.

“That’s just bullshit. Mac is like family to me and his daughter is facing this on her own. They need me with them,” he shouted, his words harsh as frustration joined with the anger he now felt. One set of doors was all that stood between him and Emily. All that was keeping him from her—and Mac—was one stubborn, autocratic hospital employee.

“Be that as it may, sir—and I must insist you refrain from using that type of language—I’m just doing my job, following hospital policy. The policy that states ‘immediate family only’.” The nurse pointed at the sign on the hospital wall that confirmed her stance, but Gareth was not appeased, and growled in frustration as he read the words. “Please, if you sit down and stop shouting at me I can go and get you some information.”

She was right. Gareth had no right to speak to her in such a rude manner. It was just that he was worried sick.

“You’re right. I apologise. Please, if you could go and check on Mac—I mean, Daniel Mackenzie from Gunnedah—I’d be very grateful for your help. Tell them Gareth Andrews is here, if you can.”

Gareth noticed the flicker of recognition in the nurse’s eyes at the mention of his name, and the way she gave him another subtle once-over. But he was relieved she didn’t waste time acknowledging the fact as she hurried off behind those doors, those grey impediments keeping him from getting what he wanted.

* * * *

What on earth was taking so long? Emily could not stand it any longer—the waiting, the not knowing.

Her father, Mac—the larger than life, most important person in her world—was in surgery. Battling for survival. For how long was anyone’s guess. No one had been out to see her for hours. She should have gone searching for him sooner, should have known something had been wrong. Emily was going out of her mind as she replayed the afternoon’s horrible events over and over.

The sight of him lying under the fallen tractor, so still, so pale…if she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget that sight. Her sense of panic, not knowing what she should do first, or if her dad was still alive. Then the utter hopelessness at her inability to free his unconscious, barely breathing body from under the weight of the tractor pinning him to the ground. Her fear she would not be fast enough as she had ridden her horse, without mercy, to the Andrews farm to get help, terrified that he would die out there all alone because she hadn’t got help to him in time.

The call to the emergency services, as she had tried to explain what had happened coherently, was a blur. Emily had thanked the Lord for the help from Malcolm and Gail Andrews, for her neighbours’ aid in not only directing the emergency services to the correct location, but Malcolm’s insistence on returning with her to her father’s side to wait. It had taken an excruciating length of time for the paramedics to reach the paddock her father had lain broken in. Then there had been the wait for the helicopter to land, to airlift her father to the aircraft that would make the flight to Sydney, to the surgeons who were needed to repair her father’s damaged body.

There had been so much waiting, and there was just so much that she hadn’t managed to do. It was all adding up in her brain. She still had not contacted her brother directly. The number Dylan had given her to use in an emergency—and Emily could not think of any worse kind of emergency—had not proven very helpful. The person recording her near hysterical version of events had remained quite emotionless and unable to tell Emily, with any certainty, when Dylan would get her message. He had only said that it would be as soon as possible. What the hell did that mean? As soon as possible—what sort of time frame did that involve? What if her father didn’t pull through surgery before Dyl was informed? What if her brother never had the chance to see their Dad alive again? She should have tried harder, been more demanding, insisted on speaking to someone in authority. But she had just been holding it together as it was, reaching a breaking point, not sure she could stand another second of the torment of not knowing.

The lights and smells of the hospital were making her sick, making her head throb, and even that made her feel guilty. How could she be caring about her own problems when her father was in who knew what condition, what amount of agony? So she continued pacing, her agitation growing with every second.

* * * *

It seemed like hours had passed since the doors had closed behind the nurse with a resounding click. He had already decided that he would just break the doors down if he had to wait much longer. He’d envisioned shoulder-charging them as he would an opponent during a game—after all, it was something he was renowned for. Why not make use of that talent when it could aid him in his quest? He needed to make sure his friends would be okay. Or maybe he just needed to be with them.

When she finally reappeared, Gareth could read nothing in the nurse’s features, nothing that would tell him either way what was happening. He rushed to her.