So far, he’d drunk enough beer that he’d lost track of what number he was on, but not enough to get her face—stubborn and needy, scared and determined—out of his mind. Didn’t help that it was on some screen in this place at any given second, but still.
She’d picked a bull over him. She was a better rider than he’d ever been. She had a family waiting for her and a guaranteed future.
He didn’t give a damn.
Not true, his lone remaining sober brain cell tried to shout into the beer fog. You have a future, too. You have a job.
A job he had because of June.
Damn it all, he couldn’t even get a job without her. What was he going to do now?
Go get her, that brain cell whispered.
Go get her. Go crawling back, begging for forgiveness—for what? For wanting to keep her safe? For wanting to know that he meant more to her than some bull?
For wanting to ride off into the sunset, husband to her wife, for crying out loud?
No, he concluded, he wasn’t crawling back. He had no reason to crawl this time. He hadn’t been an asshole—not even close.
If she wanted him, she had to come get him. Prove that he was more important to her than some damn bull. Any damn bull.
Come get him—where? At his job on her reservation?
“Jesus, what a mess,” he muttered into his glass. Didn’t matter if she’d gotten him the job. It was still a job—a job he needed. A job that, a few days ago, he’d wanted.
A job working for her family—her tribe.
“Hey, buddy, have you seen this chick? Man, she can ride!”
“Shove it,” he tried to growl. If this barfly called her a chick one more time, Travis would show him the hard way that June was nobody’s chick. Not even his.
This time, after the ride, the slo-mo of the ankle, and the interview, the announcer came back on.
“And we’d like to update you on June’s condition.”
Update? Travis had been sitting here for—well, God only knew how long, and not a single one of these interchangeable announcers had said a damn thing about her condition.
“After that interview, June collapsed when she tried to walk. The doctors have her stabilized, but the signs aren’t good for her ankle.”
The jerk had the nerve to run the slo-mo clip again. No doubt about it. The signs weren’t good for her ankle.
What did that mean? All of Travis’s bitter heartache shifted gears right back into terror as the fog lifted. Was she okay? Stable was good—but...
“We’ll have more details as they become available, but it looks like June won’t be back for the next round tomorrow night. Chuck?”
As Chuck blathered about golf highlights, Travis lurched off his stool.
June was at the hospital.
In his drunken haze, Travis remembered the feeling of waking up alone—of knowing that no one was waiting for him in the lounge and no one was waiting for him at home. Of going home and having no way to get into his own house because there was no ramp and no one to carry him. Of being completely, utterly alone.
Forgotten.
Jesus, he was being an asshole. What the hell was he doing here? She was hurt. He hadn’t been there for her when she needed him! That was what mattered—not his wounded pride, not the fight. The stupid fight. She was more important to him than that.
His legs gave under the beer weight. Damn. He couldn’t go, not like this. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, or showered or eaten something besides candy from the vending machine and peanuts at the bar. If he went stumbling in to the hospital like this, he’d be arrested, plain and simple.
So, after the bouncer had deposited his butt in a cab, Travis concluded that his only option was to not go get the girl.
Not yet.
* * *
JUNE FELT NUMB. Just prying her eyes open was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
No, she didn’t recognize where she was, but if she had to guess, she’d go with a hospital room. Even cheap motels had better decorating than this.
“Oh, you’re awake!”
Like she was swimming through petroleum jelly, June looked around to see if she could find the speaker that went with the voice. A nurse was standing over her, fiddling with something. “How are you feeling?”
Her brain was clogged up. “Drugs?”
“More painkillers? Let me call the doctor.”
June tried to shake her head, but the whole thing felt like a pumpkin on a toothpick. “No—no more.”
“Too strong?” The woman clucked. “Now that you’re awake, we can begin to step down the dosage.”
“Travis?”
The nurse’s kind face didn’t even register the name. “Now, your ankle was broken in seven places. The doctors have already put in two rods—but you’ll have to have a few more surgeries. They’ll fit you in a walking boot when you’re a bit more stable—you’ll have to wear it for a while. But don’t worry. You’re not in danger of losing your foot.”
Stability seemed a long way off at the moment. “Oh.” June tried to remember what had happened. “Did I make the time?”
“Goodness, not only did you make the time, you gave a television interview before you passed out. Don’t you remember?”
Not even a little. All she had was the fight with Travis, then getting on the bull. The last thing she had was the Lord’s Prayer.
“I was watching at home. My boy used to ride, back before he got married. You pledged the bonus to Mitch Jenner’s medical fund and asked for donations to help pay his bills. It was marvelous, really.”
That’s right. Mitch had gotten trampled. “Mitch—”
“He’s making amazing progress. He’s already off the ventilator. He’s two floors below you. I check on him every afternoon—his mother is a lovely woman.”
That’s good, June thought as her eyes closed. Whoever this nurse was, she seemed like a good person to keep Caroline calm.
The nurse got her some water before June even realized she was thirsty. “You’re going to be fine, dear.”
Fine? Yeah, she’d get to keep her foot. Mitch was recovering. But— “Travis? Where is he?”
“You’ve gotten some beautiful flowers. Someone dropped off this aloe plant, but I wasn’t here. And the rodeo people sent this huge arrangement...” She held up a vase that must have had a hundred buds in it.
Even through the haze, June knew. She’d walked away from him.
He’d walked away from her.
Travis hadn’t come. Travis wasn’t coming.
Not enough painkillers in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“JUNE. WAKE UP.” Ian shook June’s shoulder. He wasn’t shaking her hard, but she felt it down to the bolts in her ankles. “You’re home.”
“Ow,” she murmured as she tried to get both eyelids to open. A medication-assisted nap had been the only way to get through the two days it had taken to get from Vegas to the rez. “Go away.”
Miracle of miracles, Ian did. June began to slip back into the dreamless dark where she couldn’t feel her ankle and, more importantly, she couldn’t think.
Thinking was worse than the agony of four surgeries in two weeks. Worse than waking up after each one to see that someone had left the TV on, as if that would distract her from waking up alone. Worse than the telephone not ringing. Worse than not even a note.
She’d walked away. He’d walked away.
In a small way, the shattered ankle was a blessing, because the pain and the pain meds made thinking almost impossible. Almost.
She was in no hurry to get out of the SUV. A grown woman rarely was in a hurry to move back in with her mother. She could rest here for a few more moments.
Or
not. The car door swung open, and then her seat belt was unbuckled. Before she could get her eyelids to respond, she was lifted into the air. The change in altitude made her ankle twinge, but something held it up so it didn’t hurt so bad. “I said go away,” she mumbled. It had been years since she’d busted Ian with that girl. When would he get over it?
“Shhh.” Ian? No. Not Ian.
Her head fell to the side and rested against a solid shoulder. Stubble pricked at her forehead, and then she wasn’t in the air anymore, but on something soft and flat that wasn’t moving. The room was comfortably dark. Warm blankets were tucked under her chin. The stubble rubbed against her cheek. “Get some sleep, June. You’re home now.”
For reasons June couldn’t grasp, she wanted to think about that stubble. She wanted to think about the voice that went with it. For the first time she could remember, she wanted to think about something.
The bed shifted next to her, and a warm body curled against her good side. A rough tongue scratched over her hand, then a furry head nuzzled hers. Jeff. She felt herself breathe and tension she hadn’t realized she was holding left her. She’d missed her coydog. At least the mutt had been waiting for her. She managed to curl her fingers into his ruff, and Jeff let out a low sound that was almost a purr. If she could have smiled, she would have. Jeff was happy, and if Jeff was happy, she was happy. Just her and Jeff, like it had always been. The thought was enough to comfort her. She wasn’t alone. She had her dog.
She was well on her way to sleep when the other side of the bed sank down, and a second warm body stretched out along hers. The weight of an arm snaked around her waist, and lips kissed her forehead. She tried to ask who was there—Mom surely wouldn’t sleep in the same bed with her, would she? But all that came out was “Mmmmm?”
“Love you.”
As much as she wanted to see who that voice belonged to, the warmth sank into her body, pushing back the pain until she gave up and slipped into a quiet sleep.
She could think in the morning.
* * *
TWO THINGS HAPPENED at once—June had to pee and she would have sold her soul for some water. The meds had worn off, too, and her ankle was humming with a high whine she could actually hear in her head. On the bright side, her eyes opened on her first attempt.
She expected to be in her twin bed and to see her old posters clinging to the walls with crackling tape. She expected to smell Mom’s fry bread and hear her humming from the kitchen. Ian had brought her home—hadn’t he? She looked around.
She was in a hospital bed, and her leg was at just the right height to take the pressure off her ankle. Not familiar. But the dresser? She knew the dresser—although she didn’t remember the TV being on it. The closet door with the mirror on the back? The picture of the wall of her and...Travis—
The confusion swamped her stomach. Not Mom’s home. Their home.
Silently, the door opened. “You’re awake!” Travis rushed into the room, Jeff trotting on his heels. The mutt plopped his front feet on the bed and waited for an ear rub. Travis had a huge travel mug with a straw in it and a small tray. “Water first, or do you need to get up?”
“Water.” Her throat scratched over the word, taking her shock and shoving it to the side. Everything else would have to wait until she’d had some water and a bathroom break. Those were the only two things she could focus on right now.
Travis stood there, half a smile on his face as she downed most of the mug. He didn’t seem surprised to see her, which bothered her. She wasn’t sure why.
He looked good. So much better than he had the last time she’d seen him. Then, he’d been so mad at her. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Now he looked like the same cowboy she loved—broken-in jeans, a sweatshirt over his flannel shirt, and that satisfied grin. She had half a mind to ask him to turn around so she could see his Wrangler butt.
The water hit her stomach in a rush and made the urge to pee impossible to ignore. She looked at Travis, wondering how the heck she was supposed to bring this up. After all, two and a half weeks ago, she’d been sleeping with him. They’d lived in his cramped little camper together on the road; they’d lived in this house on Joseph’s ranch. But now, the familiarity seemed awkward, at best.
“Ready?”
Before June could process the word, she was in Travis’s arms as he carried her down the hall to the bathroom. The sensation was familiar. It took her a second to wade through the fuzz of her mind before she remembered that someone had carried her into the house last night—and that someone had to have been Travis.
He set her down slowly until he was sure she had her good foot underneath. “You need any help?” That half a smile was back. It was driving her nuts.
“No.” Anything to get him out of here. The situation was growing desperate.
Only after the door was shut did she see that she was wearing an old-fashioned flannel nightgown, the kind with long sleeves and a little bow at the neck. And no underwear. Which did, admittedly, made it easier to do this without assistance, but she was sure she’d had on panties when she’d left the hospital. It took a little work, but she managed to get herself settled with the help of a handrail attached to the wall that she didn’t remember being there. Nor did she remember the rails on the side of the vanity, or the ones that were on all three walls around the tub.
“What happened to the tub?” she said, her head reeling from foggy remains of painkillers, sleep, and not knowing what, exactly, was going on.
“Changed it out,” Travis called from the safety of the other side of the door. “That one’s got jets. It works—I tested it out the other day.”
Instead of clarifying anything, that answer left June with a growing sense of unease. Maybe all those meds had caught up to her, and she was having the mother of all hallucinations? She managed to finish and get herself up on her good foot. By the time she got her hands washed, Travis had the door open, ready to pick her up. She really wasn’t so sure about this—but she couldn’t stand on one foot in the bathroom all day long. Hell, she couldn’t do it for much more than another minute. She was already sweating from the effort.
Travis picked her up with a gentleness she didn’t remember appreciating before. Even though he was literally sweeping her off her feet, he did it with such care that she almost forgot that her ankle was being held together by titanium.
“Why are you here?” she asked as he held her against his chest.
He took a deep breath and edged out of the bathroom, making sure not to smack her legs on the wall. “The wheelchair won’t fit through the doorway. But I picked you out a nice one—wanna see?”
She didn’t think that was the right answer. At least, she was pretty sure that wasn’t the question she’d asked. Her mind was spinning so fast she was dizzy. The next thing she knew, she was being seated in a wheelchair, and Travis was positioning her leg so that the pressure was off her ankle. His hands pushed the hem of her nightgown up, then carefully moved the brace she was screwed into. Only after that did his fingertips skim her calf as he pulled the hem back down. “I got a lightweight model—easier to get it in and out of the house.” Jeff wagged his tail as they began to roll down the hall.
“Don’t we have steps?” Really, this was not the most important question she should be asking. But it was the first thing that came out.
“I built you a ramp.” Without waiting for an answer, he wheeled her over to the front door and opened it.
Jeff shot out of the house, taking the corner on a wide, smooth ramp so fast that his hind legs slid out from underneath him. Then he was gone in the tall grass. June knew she should probably say something complimentary, but the jet tub and ramp and handrails everywhere were not meshing with the two weeks she’d spent devastatingly alone. Not even close.
Then she caught sight of the truck in the drive. It sure looked like Travis’s truc
k—minus the familiar camper. “What...” she started, but her throat caught. All she could do was point.
“The camper? It’s behind the house. I figured it would be easier to get the wheelchair into the truck bed than wrestle it through the door of that thing, although I arranged for the physical therapist to come here for the first few weeks. You don’t want to waste all your energy just getting there. PT is killer.” He closed the door and headed back toward the bedroom. “The home nurse will be by after lunch. If she clears you, the therapist will start tomorrow at ten. Trust me, it’s better to get it out of the way early.”
Two emotions saddled up at the same time. On one hand, she knew those were all things that needed to be taken care of. She’d worried about how Mom would get her to PT without taking too much time off from work. That someone was here, waiting for her, was a relief. On the other hand—Travis? He was going to be helping her bathe? He was the one waiting on her hand and ankle? He was the one taking care of her?
His hands settled around her waist, resting there a beat too long before he lifted her up to move her to the bed.
“Why am I here?” she asked.
That slowed him up—or maybe it was the way he was being extra careful as he placed her back on the hospital bed. June looked around again. No sign of the bed they’d shared. “Because you live here. This is your home.”
“Ian said I was going to my mom’s house.”
“And you believed him?” The chuckle sounded almost sexy coming out of Travis’s chest as he swung her legs over and pulled the blankets up to her waist. “What kind of meds do they have you on, anyway?” Before she could say anything, he gave her that half smile again as he brushed away a few hairs from her forehead. Shivers went down her spine. “I missed you so much. I’ve been waiting for you to get home.”
“You’ve been waiting for me?” She was beginning to think she’d lost her mind, because she was sure he’d made it clear that he wouldn’t even wait five minutes for her.
“Not exactly waiting—that damn tub took three days to get right. Flooded the bathroom the first time. But I got it cleaned up,” he hurried to add. “Now, you want some eggs for breakfast? You can’t take those meds on an empty stomach, but I don’t want you to hurt.” He said it as he rubbed his thumb along her cheek. She felt a flash of heat, but she couldn’t tell if that was desire or if she was mad.
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