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I shake my head. “You have enough on your plate, Jenny. You just worry about Tex and yourself. Leave Joey and Rhett to me, okay?”
“Here,” she says, digging her phone out of her purse and shoving it at me. “You can just take mine. I hardly even know why I have the damn thing since I don’t know how to work it. I know his number’s in there somewhere, though.”
I squeeze her leg. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.”
“Okay,” she agrees, looking down at her hands and staring at them mindlessly. I’ve seen this before, with other survivors in emergency scenarios as they come to grips with the fact that their body still functions normally while their loved one’s does not. It takes a minute of silence, but she finally clenches her hands into fists and then claws them into a clasped knot in her lap. “I guess I should go find the administrative office the doctor was talking about and get all the paperwork filled out, huh?” she asks, looking up to meet my eyes with her own. They’re bloodshot, the skin around them mottled, but she still looks like the beautiful, strong woman who came to my door after our near-collision on my very first day at the ranch.
I smile tenderly, placing my hand over hers and rubbing my thumb gently against her skin. “Whenever you’re ready will be fine, Jen. There’s no rush.”
She shakes her head and pats my hand with one of her own before standing up. She slings her small western-style purse over her arm and squares her shoulders resolutely.
“I think I’m better off just doin’ it now,” she says. “Sittin’ here doin’ nothin’ll drive me right crazy anyway.”
Boy, do I understand that.
Idle hands and minds were the precursor to Rhett’s and my almost kiss too, and that had to be temporary insanity—right?
Sure, Leah, tell yourself whatever you need to not to implode from the sheer disappointment that nothing actually got to happen.
After a quick acknowledgment from me that she should do whatever makes her feel best, Jenny disappears down the hallway, and I sit back down in the chair and start scrolling through her contacts list until I find the number I’m looking for under Rhett Jameson.
Some women might have their son’s name in there as a nickname or something cutesy, but not Jenny. And frankly, that’s probably because it’s not Rhett. He’s not the kind of guy you call baby boy or some shit.
He’s all man in a way that even his mama knows it.
Which is a freaking unicorn-like mythical creature in the interactions I’ve had with men and their families in the past. Most of them were bordering on codependent with their mothers, they still had so much growing up to do.
I hit the button to call and put the phone to my ear, waiting nervously as it rings.
The truth is, I don’t even know if Rhett’s got his phone on him. It’s such a different life there on the ranch, from the rest of the urban world. Here in Salt Lake, it’s weird if people don’t have their phones; on the ranch, it’s pretty weird if people do.
Probably the most surprising thing about it all, though, is that I find myself preferring the second.
“’Lo?” Rhett answers on the third ring, his voice deep like always, but with the addition of an extra rasp. If I had to guess, I’d say that he’s tired and emotionally drained, which, of course, makes me feel like it’s all the more important that I called.
“Rhett, it’s Leah. I wanted to let you know that we made it here, to Salt Lake Regional Medical Center, and your dad is with the doctors now. He’s doing well, though, okay? We didn’t have any more major episodes on the flight in, and all of his vitals are stable. They’re going to work to ensure he stays that way, but I promise, you don’t need to stress too much. He’s doing really well, and we acted fast enough that I think we prevented the worst of the damage.”
“Thank God,” he breathes on an exhale that I feel all the way to my soul. Even with the distance, even through the phone—I can feel Rhett’s relief as sure as I could if it were a physical touch. The connection crackles, and I’m not sure, but it might be more about him struggling with his emotion than cell phone service.
While there’s absolutely no boundary for what kind of emotion is acceptable in a man, I’m still careful not to mention that I notice. I’d like to think that Rhett would be comfortable being anything he needs to be in front of me, but I’m also not naïve enough to believe we’re to that stage of our…well, relationship, for lack of a better word.
