But there was nothing there to celebrate. He’d never seen Suze so pale. All the animation was drained from her face. That was her body, there on the cot. But there wasn’t any other sign of the Suze he knew.
He wished to God she’d sit up and yell at him or tease him, or something. Anything—just so he’d know she was still in there.
* * *
Suze lay as still as she could. There wasn’t a single part of her body that didn’t hurt, and everything hurt even more if she tried to move.
She’d checked already to make sure she wasn’t paralyzed. It had been an agonizing process, wiggling her fingers and toes one by one, turning her head and twitching each arm and each leg. It felt like everything except her head was broken. The doctor had run down the list of injuries, but she couldn’t remember what was broken, what was sprained, and what was just torn or bruised.
She couldn’t remember how it had happened, either. The last thing she remembered before waking up in the hospital was flying, and that made everything seem like a dream. She’d flown along for quite a while before hitting some kind of obstacle.
And now she was in the hospital, and someone was beside the bed. It was probably her father, and he was probably mad at her. She’d paid entry fees for rodeos from Fort Worth to Billings, but she wouldn’t be running barrels for a while. Not like this. Her heart ached as bad as any of her broken parts when she thought of Speedo, of how he’d miss her. She wouldn’t be able to work with Bucket, her second-stringer, either.
Worst of all, she’d promised herself this would be Speedo’s last rodeo season. He was getting old, and arthritis was taking its toll. She’d need to go to the Finals again to win enough to buy a new horse, and that was probably impossible now. Bucket wasn’t ready and probably never would be. He was a good horse, but not a great one.
Now she’d be missing income, and she’d have her own medical bills as well as her father’s. She didn’t know how she was going to shovel herself out of this hole. She didn’t even know how she was going to get Speedo’s stall shoveled out. Her dad would have to get out of his chair and miss a few Bonanza reruns for a change. He’d never been a horseman, but he was all she had.
Well, it would do him good. But it wouldn’t help her any to hear him complain about it. She kept her eyes closed and stayed as quiet as she could.
“I’m so sorry. So sorry. You can’t imagine…”
The voice cracked in the middle, and it was so soft she could hardly hear it. It was a male voice, but it didn’t sound like her father. For one thing, he wasn’t big on apologies.
“You know I’d trade places with you if I could.”
It definitely wasn’t her father. He’d never volunteer to take on anyone else’s pain, either. He was too busy complaining about his own.
Whoever it was reached under the blanket and took her hand.
That settled it. This was definitely not her father. He never touched her if he didn’t have to, and she was sure her father’s touch wouldn’t send swirls of warmth through her veins, swirls that turned into butterflies and hummingbirds that fluttered in her heart—and down below too.
Maybe it was a doctor. A sexy doctor who would fall in love with her, marry her, and solve all her problems while he patched her up good as new.
“Oh God, even your fingers got hurt.”
She snuck one eye open just the slightest bit, hoping to catch a glimpse of her visitor without giving herself away. But he was sitting slumped in the chair, his head bowed, and without a better angle, she couldn’t really tell who it was. He had nice brown hair, though, thick with just a touch of sun-kissed gold.
She doubted he was a doctor. If a doctor got that upset about somebody’s fingers being hurt, he’d never make it through the day—especially during rodeo season, when the doctors here had to glue the cowboys back together after they’d been taken apart by the bucking bulls.
She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the gentle hand holding hers. Maybe she had a boyfriend and the knock on the head had made her forget. She tried to remember if she’d kissed anybody lately, but the only man she could think of was Brady Caine, and you’d never get Brady inside a hospital. The nurses might tempt him, but hospitals weren’t fun, and they didn’t sell beer.
“It’ll probably be a while before you can do much.” The voice had a tremble in it now. “A long while. I’m promising you, Suze, I’ll work for you every day. Day and night, if you need me, until you’re back the way you were. Back in the saddle, okay? This was my fault, and I’m going to make it right.”
She edged her eye open again just as her visitor looked up.
It was Brady Caine.
She must be dreaming.
“You can depend on me, Suze.”
She closed her eye, praying he hadn’t seen that she was awake and trying not to laugh. Because what a bunch of bull that was. Nobody could ever depend on Brady Caine.
Now he’d stood up, and he was stroking her hair. Stroking her hair. The last time he’d stroked her hair…
She felt herself blush despite the pain.
“How’s she doing?”
That was a new voice.
“I don’t know, Doc. She looks kind of pale.”
Another hand held hers, feeling her pulse. No butterflies, no hummingbirds. Why couldn’t the doctor make her feel those things, instead of Brady? She didn’t want anything to do with Brady’s butterflies, or his hummingbirds either. They were probably carnivorous or something.
“Tell me again what happened,” the doctor said.
Brady launched into a horrific story where, for some stupid reason, he’d roped her and pulled her off her horse, flinging her into a chute gate.
That’s what had happened?
She was starting to remember now. The strangest pictures flashed through her mind. A candy wrapper fluttering in the weeds at the edge of an empty arena. Brady playing Hi-ho, Silver on some crazy horse. An Arabian.
That couldn’t be right. Brady wouldn’t be caught dead on an Arabian. She must have been dreaming about that part. It was a really weird dream. She remembered getting made up, looking in the mirror and seeing her mother staring back.
Or had that really happened? It felt like one of those memories that was etched so deeply you knew you’d never forget that flash of a moment, what you saw, what you felt.
So part of this was a dream, and part was real. She needed to figure out what was what, but from what he was saying, one thing was for sure: Brady Caine had gone and ruined her life again.
Damn it, he did that every time he came near her. That night in the trailer—he’d stolen her heart, and for a few happy moments she’d believed in him. Believed he’d cared, believed he’d told the truth, believed he’d wanted her for more than one night.
In the morning, reality had returned, and she and Dooley had watched him walk away. But it had been a hard dream to let go of, and her heart still hadn’t recovered.
And now…
She sat up, which just about killed her. Forty-’leven different bones and joints screamed out in agony, but she set her jaw and didn’t make a sound until she could see eye to eye with Brady.
All the pain was worth it to see his tanned face turn white.
“Suze,” he said. “You’re—”
“I’m damn near killed,” she said. “Get the hell out of here, Brady. And don’t ever, ever come near me again.”
Chapter 22
Brady steered his truck down the endless ramps of the hospital parking garage. He’d had to park at the top, which meant the cab was hot enough to bake biscuits, and he’d had to put his bronc saddle in the cab, so it smelled like horses, arena dirt, and sweat.
Following Shane’s orders, he stopped at the ranch and picked up Ridge on the way to the rodeo grounds. The two of them hooked up a horse trailer and hit the road to resc
ue Suze’s horse.
“So old Speedo gave you trouble?” Brady asked.
“Sure did.” Ridge shook his head. “That horse was riled up like a bronc in a chute. It was all I could do to get him into a stall. And that critter of Justin’s?” He shook his head. “That horse needs psychotherapy. Bad. I hope Justin’s picking him up himself.”
“He probably already did,” Brady said. “How’d you know to get ’em, anyway?”
“I didn’t. Stan called and told me what happened, so I went to the rodeo grounds while Shane hit the hospital. He guessed right, I guess. By the time I got to the arena, you were gone, and Stan was trying to deal with two crazy horses. That guy doesn’t know the front end of a horse from the back, does he?”
Brady almost laughed. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Anyway, taking care of the horses seemed like the only way to help.”
“Well, it’s a good thing. I was so worried about Suze I forgot all about ’em.” Brady drove along in silence for a while, his eyes on the road, his mind on Suze.
Ridge gave him a speculative glance. “You’re beating yourself up about this, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Probably. But I’d be wrong. It wasn’t your fault, little brother. From what I heard, the whole thing was Stan’s idea. Suze can probably sue Lariat for everything they’ve got.”
Brady felt himself go pale. “It wasn’t Stan’s fault. Wasn’t anybody’s. We all agreed on what we’d do.”
“There.” Ridge sat back, satisfied as if he’d solved all the world’s problems. “You said it yourself. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”
“But I held on to the rope,” Brady said. “Booger blew up, and I forgot about the rope. I held on a second too long, and it pulled her out of the saddle.”
“Booger?”
“Justin’s horse. His little sister’s horse, actually. That was my first mistake. I never should have used that horse.”
Ridge didn’t speak for the rest of the ride. He was always quiet, and not much for small talk, but Brady knew there was another reason for his silence. He probably hadn’t heard the whole story until now. Now that he knew Brady really was at fault, he didn’t know what to say.
The rodeo grounds stood empty in the summer sun, though Brady would have sworn he could hear the roar of past crowds riding the wind as they headed for the area where contestants kept their horses.
“Shoot.” Ridge rubbed the back of his neck, tilting his hat forward. “I could’ve sworn this was the stall.”
“Hope you didn’t lose him,” Brady joked. “Hard to misplace a sixty-thousand-dollar horse.”
“He must be around the other side.”
They walked past the row of empty stalls and down the next row that backed up against them.
No Speedo.
They backtracked to the first row of stalls. Nothing had changed. No horses occupied the rough wooden enclosures.
Brady had never noticed how quiet a Wyoming summer day could be. A few grasshoppers clicked in the grass, and a few crows called in the distance, but other than that, it was him, his brother, and the wind.
“He’s not here,” Ridge said.
Brady peered into the stall where Ridge said he’d left the horse and felt the bottom drop out of his already shattered world.
“Here’s his saddle and blanket,” Ridge said. “His bridle. It’s definitely the right stall.”
The two cowboys stood there in the hot sun, staring at the ground. After a while, Ridge bent over and traced a line in the gravel and dirt with one hand. “If I’m not mistaken, somebody let down a ramp right here.” He pointed to a spot just beyond it, where the gravel was heaped in random piles. “And there was a little set-to right there.” He stood, brushing the dirt off his hands on his thighs. “Somebody took him.”
Brady felt like someone had punched him in the gut. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.
Speedo. Gone. Stolen.
“You think Justin picked him up? Maybe he thought he was doing you a favor.”
“Justin’s got a one-horse trailer,” Brady said. “There’s no way he took him.” He looked hopelessly up and down the row of stalls, praying that Speedo would miraculously appear. “Why would anyone take him?”
“You said it yourself.” Ridge stroked his chin, staring into the empty stall. “That’s a sixty-thousand-dollar horse. More, probably. We better hope it was Suze’s dad that picked him up, though I don’t know how that could’ve happened. You and me are the only ones that know he was here.”
“Apparently not,” Brady said. “Somebody else knew.” He looked down at the ground, where the signs of a struggle were obvious now that Ridge had pointed them out. “I sure hope it was a friend.”
Chapter 23
Earl Carlyle took a slow sip of coffee and let out a satisfied sigh, then lifted his mug in a silent toast to his wife.
“Nothing like a good cuppa joe in the morning,” he said. “Isn’t that right, Ellen?”
She smiled. She always smiled. She was trapped in a weird smiling limbo, frozen in photographs, forever young, forever happy, forever gone.
Suze’s little dog trotted into the kitchen and sat down a few feet away. Earl could tell the dog was staring at him through his curtain of hair.
“Quit looking at me,” he said. “I know it’s just a picture. But it doesn’t hurt anybody for me to pretend a little, does it?”
The dog cocked his head as if he didn’t understand.
“You wouldn’t get it. You’re not human.” Earl said. “So go ’way and leave me alone. Damn dog.” He turned back to the photo of Ellen he’d propped up in front of his plate. “I tell Suzanne every day how pretty you were. I tell her how smart you were, how successful. She still loves her mama.”
He couldn’t stop a little bitterness from creeping into his tone. He’d never told his daughter everything about her mother.
There was no reason to. A girl needed a mother she could look up to.
“I did it for you, Ellen.” He lifted the cup in another silent toast to the framed photo. “You never asked for anything else.”
The truth was, Ellen hadn’t needed anything else. She was the most self-possessed, independent person he’d ever known. Some women leaned on a man; some worked side by side in partnership. But Ellen ran on ahead, shouting, “Watch this!”
It had driven him crazy. Women were supposed to be fragile. They were supposed to need a man once in a while. But Ellen had never needed him, not a day in her life, until she’d gotten sick. Cancer had destroyed her, bit by bit, and watching her die had just about destroyed him.
He looked down at the dog, who was performing some sort of doggie maintenance on his hindquarters.
“Stop that,” Earl said. “Stop it, and tell me what I’m supposed to do about Suzanne.”
Dooley stood up, shook himself, and walked away, tossing Earl an aggrieved look. So much for animal wisdom.
Earl knew he’d almost lost his daughter yesterday. She was all he had in the world, and the doctors said she could have died from her head injury. Even now, they didn’t know if she’d fully recover.
And yet he felt numb. He knew he ought to be beside her, but he couldn’t bear to set foot in that hospital. Ellen had died there, surrounded by machinery, tended to by kind strangers with faces he couldn’t recall.
Watch this!
He’d watched her, all right. He’d watched her die, just as he’d watched her live. He was useless as ever while she lay there in that hospital bed.
He was sure Suze understood that he simply couldn’t stand to go there. Too many memories.
A rap on the door jolted him out of his reverie. Dooley tore through the hallway and leaped at the door once, twice, three times. The damn dog was made of springs and rubber bands. Bouncing and yapping, yapping and bou
ncing. When nobody was home to watch him, he jumped up on the kitchen counters and ate anything he could find. Loaves of bread, bags of bagels, packages of Oreos—they all went down Dooley’s gullet. And they all came back up later, usually on the furniture.
The dog continued to yap while Earl shoved his chair back from the table. Grunting with effort, he straightened his knees and got his feet working. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he grumbled.
Who the hell came calling this early in the morning? A man didn’t even have time for breakfast with his wife before the world came rushing in and ruined everything.
* * *
Brady stood on the doorstep, waiting for Suze’s father to get around to answering the door. His teeth were clenched together so tightly it hurt, and a muscle was twitching in his jaw.
He’d spent hours the night before calling everyone he knew who’d ever had anything to do with the Grigsby rodeo. No one had seen Speedo. Then he tried local cowboys and cowgirls. No luck.
The horse was gone.
What the hell was he going to do? Suze’s injuries were nothing compared with losing that horse.
All animals were important to people who cared about them. All of them had distinct personalities, idiosyncrasies, and, in Brady’s opinion, souls. But some were more special than others. Speedo was one of those—the horse of a lifetime. For Suze, he was more than a pet, more than a partner. He was her soul mate. Half of her heart.
Somehow, Brady would have to find the horse. And somehow, he’d have to hide the problem from Suze until he did. He had a trusted team of cowboys and cowgirls in three counties looking for Speedo. With a distinctive heart-shaped blaze on his face, he’d be hard to hide.
Meanwhile, Brady wasn’t leaving anything else to chance. Suze might want him to stay away, but he’d headed for the hospital next and discovered no one had been to see her since she’d thrown him out the previous afternoon. No one had been there to answer the doctors’ questions about her past health issues. No one had sat by her bed, held her hand, soothed her pain, distracted her with jokes, or cared for her. No one had brought her magazines to read or clothes to wear. Nobody. She’d lain there, forgotten and abandoned and probably in pain, all night. Alone.
How to Kiss a Cowboy Page 14
