Inhaling to stifle her nerves, she pasted on a smile, then glanced at the cowboy standing by the window watching the horses gallop across the pasture. His back was to her, his wide shoulders rigid, his hands clenching the window edge so tightly she could see the veins bulging in his broad, tanned hands.
She cleared her throat. “Mr. McGregor?”
The subtle lift of his shoulders indicated he’d heard her, then he hissed something low and indiscernible between his teeth and slowly turned to face her. Dark brown hair like his son’s, except his was shaggy and unkempt, framed a face chiseled in stone. His jawbones were high, his face square, his eyes the color of a sunset, brown and orange and gold, rich with color, but...dead.
That was the only word to describe the emptiness she saw there.
He removed his Stetson, then walked toward her and held out a work-roughened hand that looked strong enough to break rocks. Everything about the man, from his muscular build, his towering height, his broad shoulders and those muscular thighs, screamed of masculinity.
And a raw sexuality that made her heart begin to flutter.
But anger also simmered beneath the surface of his calm, anger and something lethal, like a bloodthirsty need for revenge.
She didn’t know all the details about his relationship to Timmy’s mother, but she understood that anger. She also knew where it led...to nothing good.
“I’m Jordan Keys,” she said, finally finding her voice. “Nice to meet you.”
“There’s nothing nice right now,” he said in a gruff voice.
Jordan stiffened slightly. Obviously he was in pain, but did that mean he didn’t want her help? A lot of men thought counseling was bogus, for sissies...beneath them.
“Maybe not, but you’re here now, and I see you brought your little boy.” She gestured toward Timmy, who still remained oblivious to her appearance. “So let’s talk.”
He worked his mouth from side to side as if he wanted to say something, but he finally gave a nod. “Brody filled you in?”
“Briefly. But I’d like to hear the details from you.”
“Of course. We’ve seen doctors—”
“Not in front of Timmy,” Jordan said, cutting him off. “Let me talk to him for a minute, then we can step outside and discuss the situation.”
His mouth tightened into a grim line, but he nodded again. This man didn’t like to be ordered around, didn’t like to be out of control.
And he had no control right now.
Which was obviously killing him.
She understood that feeling as well.
She slowly walked over and knelt beside the child. “Timmy, my name is Miss Jordan. I’m glad you came to the BBL. We have horses here and other kids to play with and lots of fun things planned.”
His eye twitched, but he didn’t reply or look at her.
“Why don’t you sit at the table? There are markers and paper. Maybe you can draw about Christmas.”
Again, he didn’t move.
Miles touched his son’s shoulder. “Why don’t you draw the bike Santa brought you?”
Again, no response.
“Come on, sport.” Miles took his arm and led the boy to the table. Timmy slumped down in the chair, but he didn’t pick up the markers. He simply stared at the blank paper as if he was too weighted down to move.
“I need to talk to your daddy for a minute,” Jordan said, giving his arm a soft pat. “We’ll be outside that door if you need us, all right?”
His eyes twitched sideways toward her this time. Frightened.
She rubbed his shoulder gently. “I promise. We’re not going anywhere but right outside the room.” She gestured toward a glass partition. “See that glass? We’ll be in there so if you need us, just call or tap on the glass and we’ll come back.”