The Cowboy's Missing Memory

by Shannon Taylor Vannatter

  “If you fall off, I’ll kill you.” Audrey jabbed a finger at him.

  “Lexie’s trying to make me wear a helmet.”

  “I knew I liked Lexie. She’s a smart girl.”

  Footfalls sounded in the hallway.

  As she stepped into the living room, her pale blue-green long-sleeved top flashed rhinestones. She’d paired it with jeans with spangled pockets and cowgirl boots. He had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. He’d seen her in scrubs and casual clothing, but never cowgirl gear. She looked like something out of a magazine.

  “Thought you might need this.” He held a cowgirl hat toward her. “It’s Carly’s. Keep you from getting a sunburn.”

  “Thanks.” She plopped the hat in place.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded. “We still have to find that helmet.”

  “I was hoping you’d forget.”

  “Clint Rawlins, you’re not leaving this house unless you promise to wear a helmet,” his mom admonished.

  “I won’t let him ride unless he does.” Lexie propped her hands on her hips. “And since we’re going outside, you’ll have to use the walker.”

  “After you.” Clint stepped aside to let her pass. Coconut perfume wafted over him as she slipped her blue jean jacket on. Maybe if he stayed downwind from Lexie, looking at the beefalo instead of her, his heart would survive this ride intact.

  He followed her outside and they slowly made their way to the barn.

  “So which stall is the helmet in?”

  “All the tack and saddles are in the first stall. Mom asked one of the hands to get two horses ready for us. Her saddle should fit you.”

  “Calm horses, right?”

  “You’re not afraid of horses, too, are you?”

  “No. Just cows. I can handle a wild steed, but your noggin can’t.”

  He stepped into the first stall. Two helmets hung on the wall. He chose the larger one.

  “Here we are.” He set it on his head, stepped out of the stall and leaned against it so he could secure the strap under his chin with both hands. But his fingers fumbled. It should be simple, click in place like Cooper’s old car seat. Maybe if he had a mirror...

  “Let me.” She stepped close, placed her hands on each side of the helmet, testing the fit. Then adjusted the dial on the side, making it fit better. “That okay?”

  “Yes.” Except for her proximity stealing his breath.

  She adjusted the strap under his chin and clicked it in place. “There. All set. Want me to wear one, too?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  “Here you go, Mr. Rawlins.” A ranch hand he didn’t recognize led two Sorrels toward them.

  “Thanks.” Try as he might, Clint couldn’t come up with a name. Must be new.

  He took the reins of one mare, while Lexie took the other. The hand tipped his hat, then left them alone.

  “Once you get on the horse, you don’t get to take off. I want to make sure you can balance first.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Think you can manage getting up there on your own?”

  “I’ve done it my whole life.” He leaned against the mare, lifted his left foot and stepped into the stirrup. While holding the reins, he gripped the saddle with his left hand, and then with a little jump, he hauled himself up. Felt a little teeter, but managed to cling to the saddle horn, regain his balance and throw his right leg over the horse’s back. His right foot slipped into the stirrup.

  It might not have been pretty or smooth, but he’d made it. And he was holding his balance pretty well.

  “You’re doing well sitting. Can you stand in the stirrups?”

  He drew in a deep breath, pushed himself up, wobbled a bit. But not much.

  “I think you can do this.”

  “Me, too. Let’s go.”

  She gave him a pointed look. “Just walking, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They reined their horses out of the barn. Behind the structure, the hand waited at the gate and swung it open for them.

  “Thanks.” No name again.

  “Have a good ride.” The hand latched the gate behind them.

  In the open pasture, they rode side by side. Wide open spaces surrounded him. He could breathe better out here and riding gave him the ability to move freely without having to coordinate his awkward limbs. He missed that. Walking without thinking. Picking up something without thinking. Fastening a latch without thinking.

  “Are you taking me in the middle of the herd?”

  “Maybe. Depends on where they are,” he answered.

  “I’m afraid of cows and you’re taking me in the middle of a herd of beefalo.”

  “They’re docile, probably won’t pay us any mind.” He breathed in the scent of hay, horse and fresh air. Wildflowers dotted the path, mostly bluebonnets and crimson Indian paintbrush.

  “Are the mothers protective like cows?” Her voice caught.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t take you too close to the calf.”

  “My mom and dad were riding a four-wheeler once, with me behind them on another. We got too close to a longhorn mama and she came after me. I was screaming, but with the noise of our engines, they didn’t know anything was going on. We were on a narrow path and I nearly rammed the rear end of their four-wheeler trying to get away from her. I felt the shadow of her horns, but I guess we got far enough away, she was happy again and left me alone.”

  Clint chuckled. “So you’ve been chased by a cow three times, then?”

  “I guess I blocked this one from my memory. It was by far the scariest because of the mile-long horns.”

  “I’m sure. Did your parents take the cow’s side that time, too?”

  “Yep, they said I got too close to her baby.”

  “There they are.” He gestured off in the distance where the herd gathered in the middle of an open field. The new mama, with the calf lying down, hung at the edge.

  “Please don’t take me too close.”

  “I won’t. Trust me.”

  She fell silent as they neared the herd. Her tension echoed between them.

  “It looks like a regular calf,” she whispered. “Where’s the hump and the curly forehead?”

  “They’re 17 to 37.5 percent bison blood. Some of them just look like muscled-up cows.” He stopped his horse, close enough to see the cream-colored calf, but far enough away to keep the wary-eyed mother calm. Yet the calf didn’t move. “I think he might be sick. Or injured.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Well, normally, I’d call some of the hands and then sweet-talk the mama while the hands cut her off from the calf before she knew what was happening. I’d see if she’d put up with me picking her calf up, putting him on my horse and taking him back to the barn.” Frustration oozed through him at not being able to do what had to be done.

  “There’s no way I’m letting you get down to even see about it. You don’t need to end up trying to outrun a mad mama beefalo.”

  “I’ll call the hands, let them handle it.” He slipped his phone out of his pocket. But he didn’t know any of their names or numbers. Probably all in his phone, but he wouldn’t recognize the names.

  He’d have to ring the house and get Mom to call a hand. He dialed the number. His mother answered on the third ring.

  “Hey, Mom, I’m with the herd in the south pasture. I think the new calf is sick.”

  “Oh dear, I’ll send some of the hands. How’s the ride?”

  “Really good. I didn’t have any trouble.”

  “I’m glad, sweetheart. You always loved to ride.”

  “See you back at the house in a bit.” He hung up, peered at the calf, then closed his eyes.

  “You’ll get there.” Lexie leaned forward, stroking her horse’s shoul
der. “One day, you’ll be able to take on a mama beefalo. But even then, I hope you won’t do it without backup.”

  He turned and saw four ranch hands riding in the distance. “We’ll stay until they can see where the calf is, then head back. She might get combative and I don’t want to freak you out.”

  “And I don’t want you falling off your horse on my watch.”

  Once the men got close enough, he realized the one in front was Ted. He waved, motioned to where the calf lay, and then headed back toward the ranch house.

  Ted was taking his place. But he couldn’t think about it that way. Ted hadn’t had to come; he could have let the hands take care of the calf. But he’d been at the house, and when Mom had told him what was going on, he must’ve decided to ride there with the hands. Mom needed that. A man willing to help when he wasn’t required to.

  But no matter what Lexie said, Clint felt like a failure. He couldn’t even tend to his cattle. What business did he have thinking about how good she smelled? Or looked. Once again, he reminded himself, he was in no shape to begin a relationship.

  * * *

  “You’re doing great with your balance. Barely even holding on,” Lexie said encouragingly.

  Clint’s phone chimed. He held on to one of the parallel bars, then slipped his phone from his pocket, swiped the screen and focused on it. “So the hands gave the calf penicillin yesterday and he’s up walking around now.”

  “I’m so glad. Poor little fella. I’m glad we went out riding when we did.”

  “The hands would have checked on him before it got dark, but I guess we spared him some suffering.”

  Lexie stepped back until she was a good five feet from the end of the parallel bars. “See if you can walk to me. Without your walker.”

  “You really think I can?”

  “We won’t know until you try.”

  Clint took a big breath. “Here goes nothing.” He stepped out of the cattle chute, as he liked to call it, and took a cautious step toward her. No bobble or swaying. His smile went all the way to his eyes.

  “Come on.” She motioned him toward her with both hands. “But don’t get in a hurry.”

  Another hesitant step, then a series of several. Coming too fast.

  “Not so fast. Take your time.”

  But it was too late—he was already careening to the left.

  She caught him with a hand on each of his biceps, helped him regain his balance. His arms came around her shoulders. Way too close.

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to fall for you.” His gaze caught hers, then dipped to her lips.

  The door opened and Cooper stepped inside. “Why are you hugging Lexie, Uncle Clint? Is she your girlfriend now?”

  “No.” Lexie stepped back, setting the walker in front of him. “We were seeing how well he could walk. I had to support him a little.”

  Carly hurried into the room. “I’m so sorry. Cooper, you’re supposed to knock and I told you to leave Uncle Clint alone until he finishes his therapy for the day.”

  “I was afraid we’d have to leave without seeing him. We have to go because I have homework and if I stay caught up all week, we get to go to the rodeo Friday night. But I’m not supposed to say anything because rodeo is a touchy subject around here.”

  “Cooper!” Carly reprimanded.

  “It’s okay, you can go to the rodeo. I hope you have fun and it won’t bother me.” Clint grinned, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

  Did he miss it? Was he longing to go back to the sport that could kill him? All the more reason to keep her distance.

  “I don’t see why you can’t go, Uncle Clint. You can sit on the bottom bleacher with the old people who can’t climb the stands.”

  “Cooper, please stop talking.” Carly closed her eyes, gave a tiny shake of her head. “Give your uncle a hug and let’s let him get back to work.”

  “Bye, Uncle Clint. I love you.” Cooper hugged Clint’s middle.

  “I love you, too, my main man.” Clint’s eyes went glossy.

  Carly gave him a quick hug and hustled her son out of the room.

  “There’s a rodeo in Medina?” Clint asked, swiping at his eyes.

  Lexie nodded. “My friend Larae started it on her ranch last year. It was outdoor at first, but she opened an indoor facility last summer.”

  “Is it professionally sanctioned?”

  “Yes.”

  “Year round?”

  “Yes.” Interest lit Clint’s eyes. Maybe he wouldn’t have to travel the circuit. He could get his kicks every weekend right down the road. And he was obviously raring to go.

  “I wonder why I didn’t compete there instead of San Antonio?” he mused.

  “The purse is probably bigger in San Antonio, though I think Larae’s rodeo is getting to be a pretty big deal.”

  “Why can’t I go?”

  So he was missing it. “Dr. Arnett thought going places with a lot of people who know you but you don’t remember might be overwhelming.”

  “But it could jog my memory,” Clint countered.

  “I guess it could.”

  He exhaled roughly. “I’ve come to terms with my situation, Lexie. Weeks have passed since I woke up in the hospital. I think I can handle going to the rodeo with my nephew without freaking out.”

  “Tell you what. You work on the balance ball some more, while I go see what your mom thinks. If she’s game, I’ll check with Dr. Arnett. But you’ll have to take your walker.”

  “Deal.” He clunked the walker to the ball, settled on it all by himself. “And I think I’ve earned myself another horseback ride. Maybe tomorrow.”

  The ball tilted and he adjusted his weight, only for it to twist the other direction. No matter what he did, it swayed one way or the other. But at least he could manage the hoppity-hop, as he called it, without it flipping him into the floor now.

  “You’re riding that thing like a pro. And, sure, we could go riding again sometime.” She forced a smile. “I’ll be right back.” She stepped out of the room, shut the door and inhaled deeply.

  If Cooper hadn’t interrupted, would Clint have kissed her? Would she have let him?

  This could not happen. Though his physical condition had greatly improved, he obviously missed the rodeo. And his mental capacity was still off-kilter. She had to keep it professional, finish this job and escape Clint Rawlins.

  Chapter Twelve

  Clint focused on the parallel bars. Not on Lexie. “So it’s treadmill time.”

  “I think you’re up to it.”

  “Here goes nothing.” He thudded his walker over to the only piece of equipment he hadn’t used yet.

  She steadied him while he stepped onto the mat. “Now hold on to the bars and put your feet all the way to the edge on each side, off the track that moves.”

  He followed her instructions.

  “Clip this cord to the hem of your shirt and if you get too far back, the safety key will pull out and automatically kill the engine.”

  “Okay.” He managed the clip by himself.

  “Now, once I turn it on, don’t step on the track until you’ve watched it for a bit, feel the rhythm of it and how fast you’ll have to walk. Here we go.” She turned the motor on and the mat inched along under him.

  “Really? That slow?”

  “To begin with. Yes.”

  He watched the mat, felt the cadence, stepped on with one foot, then slid backward before he could move his other foot. The cord clipped to his shirt tightened until the key pulled out. The track stopped.

  “See, it’s faster than it seems. But you’ll get it.” She waited for him to step off onto the edge, then started the machine again.

  He managed to get both feet on the mat, on the second try. It took all his concentration to keep up. Much harder than he tho
ught.

  “Very good,” Lexie said, turning the treadmill off.

  “That’s all? That was like maybe two minutes.”

  “But it took a lot out of you, didn’t it?”

  His breathing came fast. “Maybe.”

  “Our time’s pretty much up for the day anyway. We’ll do some more tomorrow.” She helped him safely off the torture rack. “And absolutely no trying the treadmill without having someone right here with you. Do I need to take the key home to make certain of that?”

  “Nope. I get it. It’s a lot harder than I thought and I have no desire to get wrapped around it like some cartoon character.”

  “Good. My job here is done.”

  He caught her gaze. “Can you stay for an early supper?”

  “I don’t know... I should probably go on home.” She checked her watch. “It’s Wednesday and I usually go to Bible study.”

  “Exactly why Mom scheduled it early, so we could go. Ted’s coming, along with Carly and the kids. I’m going to officially give him and Mom my blessing. I could use your support.”

  Her eyes softened. “I’m glad. And proud of you. Sure, I’ll stay for that.”

  “Thanks.” He walked across the room without his walker, managing to stay steady.

  “Very good. You’ll be walking on your own before you know it.”

  “Confession, I didn’t use it in the house last night after you left.”

  “I’m impressed,” she said, before checking her watch again. “What time is supper?”

  “Five thirty.”

  “I have a change of clothes in my car as usual.”

  “I assumed. You can use my bathroom.” He settled on the balance ball.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, hurrying out of the room.

  His movements were almost back to normal and he rarely got off balance. Last night, he’d played pitch with Cooper and hadn’t had any trouble throwing or catching the baseball. All of the seemingly insignificant board and card games he’d played with Lexie and Cooper over the last few weeks had retrained his brain. He could walk, eat, dress and clean up after himself.

  But except for recalling the radio preacher, his memory was just as blank as it had been when he’d woken up in the hospital.