Page 29 of One Last Rodeo

“Horrible,” I whisper.

He nods like he’s long made peace with the hurt. “My dad had a choice too, and he chose her. That ended up being his downfall.”

Something inside my chest twists sharply. Jensen is big, capable, strong in ways that have nothing to do with physical appearance or muscle. The idea of a kid like him being left behind makes my heart ache.

For all my parents’ expectations, for all the pressure they've put on me, and I've put on myself, they’ve never abandoned me. AndI know that they never would. In fact, they sacrificed so much for us that we all feel like we owe them something.

I am aware that they love me. Sometimes I think they struggle with knowing how I want to be loved. Likely because I don’t know that answer either.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “That’s terrible.”

He shrugs one shoulder, but his smile is real this time. “Grandma chose me, though. Raised me from about six onward. Taught me how to ride horses in Tennessee, which eventually turned into getting on the back of cattle at Dawson’s ranch, then bull-riding.”

“Wow, you loved riding that much?”

He drags his hand along the back of his neck, suddenly bashful in a way that should not be allowed with the way he looks in that backward cap.

“Ah… yeah, I did. Bull-riding made sense to me.” He flashes me a grin and then a playful wink. “I was always good at staying on top of things. Got real strong hips.”

Heat hits my cheeks so fast I have to look away.

Jensen notices it. I can hear the smile in his voice when he adds quietly, “You okay there, Doc? Should I go try to find that fib you were talking about? I won’t know how to use it, but you seem like you could save yourself if you had to. Or you can talk me through it. I’m good at following directions.”

I take a sip of my drink and stifle a laugh. Jensen has this uncanny ability to go from serious to amusing to shamelessly flirtatious in the span of a few seconds. It should be exhausting, but it isn't. Maybe that's why I feel more comfortable with him than I would with any other man having this conversation.

“It’s called adefibrillator, and I’m fine. I’m concerned if you went asking for one, no one would even know what you’re talking about anyway,” I tease.

He smiles like he’s been waiting for me to dish it back. “I like it when you laugh. You look real pretty.”

I’ve never had a man be so forward with telling me he thinks that I'm pretty. It takes my brain a few seconds to catch up to what he said.

“Anyone ever told you that you look like Jessica Alba?” he asks.

“Yes. I get that a lot. Especially since we share a last name. People think we’re related. Unfortunately, we’re not.”

His grin kicks up a notch. “I had a poster of her hanging up in my room as a teenager.”

“What did Grandma say about that?”

He shrugs. “She stayed out of my room after I hit puberty. Couldn’t stand the smell of it.”

I laugh imagining a teenage Jensen being raised by his grandma. “Was she your first crush?”

“Something like that.” He tilts his head, studying me again. “It’s the one thing I remember from waking up after surgery. Looking up at your face and thinking... wow... damn... I was unconscious and almost missed this…?”

His voice trails off, but I want to know how the rest of that sentence ends. Jensen rarely keeps a thought to himself. Whatever is in his head tends to come straight out of his mouth, consequences be damned. Most of the time, it's infuriating. Lately, though, I find myself looking forward to it.

“So, why surgery then? Did you always know you wanted to cut people open?” he asks, moving the subject into safer territory.

I glance down at my glass and give the amber liquid a good swirl.

“When we were in elementary school and had to write what we wanted to be when we grew up, I always picked whatever sounded the smartest. I wanted to make my parents proud because I knew the homework would get sent home for them to see. Every time I wrote downdoctororsurgeon, they’d see it later, they’d gush in Spanish to each other when they thought I wasn’t listening.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You chose it to impress them?”

I nod. "As you can imagine that gushing was attention that I desperately craved. Doctor and surgeon sounded good, and I think I repeated it so much I eventually believed that’s what I wanted to do.” I shrug. “It might sound foolish, but I lived for their approval.”I still do.

“Thankfully, I ended up loving med school and surgery, so it all worked out.”