Cooper nodded, and he reached out. Took her by the arm and pulled her to him.
Almost immediately, she felt him stiffen, and he no doubt would have stepped away from her if Jessa hadnât caught on to him. Why, she didnât know.
Okay, she did.
It was because that brief moment in his arms had felt darn good. Reassuring. And safe. She hadnât felt safe in days, but it was a mistake to look for that safety in Cooperâs arms. And the sound that rumbled in his throat let her know that he agreed.
But he didnât move.
Neither did she.
Jessa just stood there with one of his arms hooked around her. Their gazes met. Held. And she felt that tug again. The one deep in her belly that she didnât want to feel.
âThis is not going to happen between us,â she reminded him, and herself. âIt canât.â
Chapter One
The moment Sheriff Cooper McKinnon stepped through the hospitalâs emergency room doors, he spotted the woman running toward him. Not hurrying.
Flat-out running.
Heâd only known the running woman, Jessa Wells, for a few months now. Since sheâd moved to Sweetwater Springs to take the job as the townâs assistant district attorney. A move that continued to be a thorn in Cooperâs professional and personal sides.
Like the woman herself.
But that wasnât a thorny look she was giving Cooper now. She was a mess.
Her light brown hair was tangled on her shoulders, and there were small nicks and cuts on her face. White powder from a carâs deployed air bag was clinging like dust to her already pale gray skirt and top. Everything about her expression was an emotion he knew all too well.
Fear.
Remembering that fear, and the panic, it felt as if someone had just punched him in the gut. Mercy. Despite his feelings about Jessa, Cooper prayed her situation turned out better than his.
One lost child was enough.
âHurry,â Jessa insisted, catching his arm and practically dragging him out of the E.R. waiting room and into a side corridor. âDr. Howlandâs ready to draw your blood.â
She was ashy paleâthe only spots of color were those wide blue eyes. Desperate eyes.
Yet something else Cooper understood.
âItâs my son,â she said, though he didnât know how she managed to speak with her breath gusting like that. She was dragging in air through her mouth at a much too fast rate.
âYeah. When the doctor called me, he said your boy, Liam, was two years old and that heâd been hurt.â
Jessa managed a shaky nod. âWe were in a car accident. Someone sideswiped me.â She gave a hoarse groan. âAnd his spleen ruptured. I didnât even know that could happen to a toddler.â
Lots of bad things could happen to babies and toddlers, and Cooper wished he didnât know that firsthand.
She threw open the door to an examining room. Not an empty one, but there was no sign of her son inside. Just Dr. Howland, his nurse Tammy Karnes and a table set up for Cooper to give blood.
Other than the panicked mother and the feeling of urgency, this was familiar ground for Cooper, since Dr. Howland often called him to donate blood. This was a first, howeverâa child who might literally die without it.
âThanks for coming so fast,â Dr. Howland greeted.
The doc looked every day of his sixty-plus years this morning. Heaven knew how many life-and-death situations like this heâd faced over his long career as a small-town doctor. How many babies heâd delivered.
And saved.
Heck, heâd delivered Cooper and his two brothers and had saved them a time or two over their years as law enforcement officers. He hoped the doc could do the same for Jessaâs little boy.
Cooper took off his Stetson and got on the table, his belt holster and gun clattering against the metal side. The nurse didnât waste any time swabbing his finger. All routine. She jabbed it to get the drops of blood that she needed for a quick test to make sure he wasnât too anemic to donate. While she scurried away to do that, the doctor rubbed his arm with antiseptic and inserted the needle.
The wait began.
It wouldnât be long, but it would no doubt seem like a lifetime to Jessa. She stood at the end of the table, her gaze firing all around, mumbling a prayer under her breath.