Luke's Ride

by Helen DePrima

  She pushed her hair back with a triumphant grin. “Easy-peasy.”

  “Dang, girl. Where’d you learn that trick?”

  “We lived with my grandparents. The visiting nurse taught us that technique after my grandfather had a stroke. He hated asking for help, so we had to get him up a lot when he fell.

  She retrieved her sash from around his knees. “Coffee and gingerbread coming up.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LUKE SAT AT the kitchen table long after Katie had finished her gingerbread and glass of milk and gone back to bed. The nightmare had been as terrifying as ever, and he’d likely have a good shiner from banging his face on his wheelchair.

  He hated showing weakness, especially to a stranger who happened to be an attractive woman. But Katie had come to his aid without hesitation, showing no fear or disgust on finding him flat out in need of help.

  He’d had a lot of time to think, lying in the body cast and later sitting in this chair. He was learning the hard way that putting off important stuff like finding a wife until “someday” was asking for trouble. He’d never lived anywhere but this valley, and finding the right woman in the sparse population would be a challenge.

  He looked at the clock on the mantel—2:00 a.m. was a bad time to ponder his prospects. Somehow tonight, even after the nightmare, the future scared him less than usual.

  * * *

  LUKE WAS UP and had coffee brewing by the time Katie came downstairs. Today he wore sneakers and sweatpants instead of boots and Wranglers.

  She stopped short when she saw his face. “Oh, dear. I should have fixed you an ice pack.”

  “No big deal,” he said, touching his right eye. “It looks worse than it feels.”

  “What’s up for today?”

  “I need a favor. Shelby called earlier—she was supposed to drive me to a physical therapy appointment in Durango at eleven, but their rig broke down north of town. Think you could give me a ride?”

  “Could we use your car? The back of mine is stuffed to the roof with all my worldly possessions. I don’t think I can make room for your chair.”

  “Yeah, sure—my Explorer needs exercise.” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “You could drop me off at the hospital and drive over to the Queen. I’ll be a couple hours, so you could have a cup of coffee and see how the place operates before Lucy starts hounding you.”

  Her eyes brightened. “I’d like that. I was so tired and hungry the first time I stopped there I can’t remember much about it.”

  “All right, then.” Maybe the lunch-hour chaos would turn her off, but better she got a realistic idea of what she was signing on for before Lucy started her pitch.

  “You’re sure you’re okay after your fall? You took an awful whack.”

  “You’re joking, right? You saw those videos.”

  She laughed. “Okay, you just stubbed your toe last night.”

  “I thank you for rescuing me—helluva thing to ask you to do for a stranger.”

  “You’re not a—” A look of confusion flickered across her face. “I mean, I didn’t mind. I’m just glad I knew what to do.”

  “The hardest thing for me to learn in rehab was asking for help—cowboys generally don’t holler unless there’s broken bone ends sticking out. Tom always acted like a bull beating him up was some kind of disgrace. Not me—I played bruises for all they were worth. Women love comforting a wounded hero.” He gave her a droll glance. “Sneaky, huh? What can I get you for breakfast?”

  Katie opted for scrambled eggs with bacon; Luke had eaten warmed-up chicken pie, leaving enough for Jake and Shelby to sample when they got home. He texted Shelby to let her know he had a ride into Durango and that Katie planned to visit the Queen.

  They checked on the horses before leaving. Katie carried fresh water for Ghost and climbed to the loft to throw fresh hay into his manger.

  “Poor Ghost,” she said, stroking his neck. “Does he ever get out to play with the other kids?”

  “Sure he does, but only with the mares. We separate the geldings out first. Mostly he tolerates them, but sometimes he decides they’re rival males. Stallions are notional that way.”

  “Where are your cows?” Katie asked as they left the barn.

  “Over the far side of the creek. We keep them close in till all the calves are on the ground. We work them up here—tagging and vaccinating before we move them to the range we visited yesterday.”

  He looked at his watch. “About time we head into town.” He pulled keys from his jacket and tossed them to Katie as a familiar pickup turned in at the gate and pulled up beside them.

  Mike Farley climbed out and pulled a cardboard file box from the back seat. “I checked your mamas and babies last evening,” he said. “All looking good, although you’ve got a couple ready to drop their calves any minute now.”

  He touched the brim of his straw cowboy hat to Katie. “Is this the company you were expecting?”

  “Mike, meet Katie Gabriel. She drove all the way from Connecticut to bring us a box of letters Mom wrote to her mother.”

  Mike whistled. “That’s some delivery run. I hope you’ll visit long enough to make the trip worth your while.”

  “I’m seriously considering it,” Katie said.

  He turned to Luke. “You said to let you know if I needed more help,” Mike said. He shifted the box in his arms. “This is the same kind of sorting, only from ranches here in the valley. They don’t mind you digging through their accounts. Everyone said pretty much the same thing—if you can’t trust a Cameron, who can you trust?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Luke said, “but right now Katie’s driving me into Durango for PT. Just set the box in the living room and I’ll jump right in when we get back.”

  Mike carried the box into the house and handed Luke a check when he returned. “Don’t give me any crap about not being paid,” he said. “Your notes all checked out perfectly—I’ll be able to get those returns to the guys in time to pay their taxes on schedule.”

  Luke pocketed the check without looking at the numbers. “Maybe I’ll set up in competition with you.”

  “Go for it—there’s plenty to keep both of us busy.” Mike touched his hat to Katie again and drove off.

  “What kind of work are you doing for him?” Katie asked after familiarizing herself with Luke’s vehicle.

  He explained his first assignment for Mike and what he’d be looking for in the ranch records.

  “You’re a real renaissance man, Luke Cameron—cowboy, bullfighter, art critic. And now a budding accountant.”

  “I guess I could be that—gotta be something. I’m too young to sit around in a bar and tell tall tales about bullfighting. And I did enjoy putting order into the mess Mike handed me.”

  He directed her through Hesperus and east toward Durango to Mercy Regional Medical Center. “Give me your cell number,” he said outside the hospital. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

  He wheeled himself inside, mentally crossing his fingers that Lucy could talk Katie into helping out at the Silver Queen. A goodly stint of working at something she enjoyed might go a long way toward healing the damage her husband, whom he labeled the Jerk, had done.

  Doug Pruitt, his physical therapist, whistled when he saw Luke’s shiner. “What’s the other guy look like?”

  “I had bulls chasing me in my sleep last night. I didn’t get very far trying to run away. But say, I learned a new stunt. A gal who’s visiting us got me up off the floor, slick as you please.” Luke described the method Katie had used to lift him.

  “Stabilized your knees and levered you up with her own counterweight—a great home-nursing technique.” Doug led the way to the large open exercise area. “Get out of those pants. We’re going to do something different today.”
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br />   Luke squirmed out of the sweatpants down to his gym shorts and transferred to the padded platform. Doug wheeled an electro stimulator unit to the table and attached patches to Luke’s thighs and calves.

  “Let me know if this gets too painful,” Doug said.

  Luke grimaced. “I’d welcome pain—I can’t feel anything except when a spasm hits, then nothing again when it passes.” He punched his own leg. “Just these damn useless things hanging off me. Creeps me out.”

  “I hear you. I had a shoulder repair a while back—they blocked the whole arm for twenty-four hours. A really freaky feeling.” Doug turned the dial and made some notes on a clipboard while Luke tried to imagine how things were going at the Silver Queen.

  A timer sounded and Doug advanced the dial. Maybe Lucy was overselling the idea of Katie working there. Maybe there would be some kitchen disaster that would be a real turnoff. Maybe—

  Luke bolted upright. “Holy...” He looked over at a grandmotherly lady doing shoulder stretches. “I felt that! My leg jumped.”

  “Yup.” Doug adjusted the dial. “I’ll back off the current and let the muscle rest, then we’ll try it again. You really felt it? Or just the leg moving?”

  “No, I felt the shock.” Luke turned his head to hide his emotion. “Do it again.”

  “Not for a few minutes—we won’t get a true picture if I hit you again so soon. Patience, little grasshopper.”

  Patience—easy for Doug to say. He probably went hiking on weekends and skiing in winter. Luke lay on the table trying to round up his stampeding emotions. Had he felt the shock? His mind ricocheted between foolish optimism and bleak despair. In his darkest moments, he beat at his dead limbs with his fists in impotent fury, as if his legs were parasites draining his future of hope.

  One thing he knew for sure: if he never walked again, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

  Luke started when Doug slapped him on the shoulder. “Once more, Luke. Tell me if you feel anything.”

  More fiddling with the dials and then Luke almost leaped from the table. “I felt it again, thigh and calf, both on the left side. Maybe a little on the right side, too.”

  He and Doug high-fived in elation. “No promises,” Doug said, “but it’s a good sign. Any time you’re bored, try wiggling your toes.” He pulled off the electrodes. “Enough goofing off—time to get on the bike.”

  Luke climbed into his chair and then onto the motorized exercise bike, reveling in movement even though he couldn’t activate the nerves and muscles on his own. Sweat soaked his shirt by the time the bike’s timer signaled the cooldown period; he was shaking as Doug helped him into his chair.

  “I rarely have to tell patients to back off,” Doug said, “but you’re one of those knotheads who don’t know when to quit. Falling on your face if you pass out won’t help your cause.”

  “Moderation has never been my strong point,” Luke said, wiping his face with the towel Doug offered. “I’ve got two speeds—full-out or dead in my tracks.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KATIE PUSHED BACK the strand of hair that had escaped from her bun and blew a loud breath of relief—four orders of green chili with tortillas to the quartet of tourists in the front booth and a BLT, no mayo, for the lady seated alone, reading a novel with the silhouette of a cowboy on the cover.

  Katie grabbed the next order slip from the overhead carousel as Lucy blew by with mugs of coffee and slices of peach pie for two men in Blue Seal caps seated at the antique mahogany bar.

  “More cream at table six,” Lucy said. “And you’re awesome.”

  Katie took a fresh cream pitcher to fill from the carton in the commercial refrigerator—no do-it-yourself minis at the Queen. No sugar packets, either—old-fashioned glass-and-chrome dispensers along with real salt and pepper shakers sat on each oilcloth-covered table. She glanced at the clock on the wall above the pass-through—almost one o’clock. She should be getting a call from Luke soon, but she hated leaving Lucy with orders still to be filled.

  Roger, the grizzled busboy/dishwasher, elbowed his way through the swinging door carrying a tray stacked with dirty dishes. “Booth four is empty,” he said. “Looks like they left a nice tip—you’re doing fine, kid. I haven’t had time to ask—which Cameron are you?”

  “No kind of Cameron,” Katie said, “just a family friend.” Although she already felt like part of the clan. “But I’m sort of looking for work.”

  “Plenty of that here. And heads up—the boss lady just hobbled in.”

  “Lucy will have to take care of her.” Katie squinted at the slip in her hands. “Who eats chicken-fried steak for lunch?”

  “People who raise beef for a living, cookie. The coating mix for the steak is in the fridge—it’s marked chicken, just to confuse you.”

  Katie pounded the seasoned cracker-crumb mixture into two slabs of chuck steak and slid them into an iron skillet on the eight-burner range before peering into the dining room. Lucy stood beside a woman with a halo of white curls seated at a table for two; crutches lay on the floor beside her chair.

  So that was Marge Bowman. On the drive into town, Luke had told her the story of the foolish bandit who had thought to rob an old lady of her day’s receipts. The bad guy had ended up with a minor gunshot wound from Marge’s nickel-plated .38 and his intended victim seated on his back until the police arrived.

  Lucy spotted her peeking through the door and beckoned. Katie held up a finger and turned to flip the steaks before joining them.

  “I guess you’re Lucy’s new patsy,” Marge said, taking the hand Katie offered after wiping it on her apron. “She’s drafted everyone in the Cameron family to help out.”

  “Marge, meet Katie Gabriel,” Lucy said.

  “Garrison, not Gabriel,” Katie said, “although I’ll be going back to my maiden name.”

  “My grandmother had a saying,” Marge said. “‘Change the name but not the letter, change for worse and not for better.’ She was so right. My family name was Barlow before I married Charlie Bowman. He was a sweet man but a lousy provider.”

  “My husband was a great provider, but...” Katie didn’t care to air the grubby details again. “You’ll have to excuse me—I’ve got chicken-fried steak on the stove.”

  “Let Lucy take care of it. Sit down and talk to me. Lucy’s explained the situation?”

  “Just that you had knee surgery and everyone is trying to keep the restaurant open while you’re recuperating.”

  “A little more than that to the story. Jake backed me when I opened the Queen more than twenty years ago, even though he couldn’t have afforded to get stuck for the loan if I failed. Lucy came to work for me when she was just fourteen, right after her mother died. I’d like to think I helped her through a rough time then.”

  Lucy returned from the kitchen with a cup of coffee for Marge, who patted her hand.

  “So the Camerons and I are tighter than fleas on an old dog. I don’t think I’d even try to come back if they weren’t pushing and pulling me up the hill.”

  “Everyone in the family so far has been wonderful, although I still haven’t met Luke’s brother.”

  “Poor Tom—a bull smashed him up pretty bad probably eight or nine years ago. His back still gives out from time to time if he’s not careful. Mighty few cowboys walk away from bull riding without some lasting souvenir.”

  “Why do they do it?” The memory of Luke’s scars rose in Katie’s mind. She leaned forward with her arms on the table. “Luke showed me videos of him and his brother last night. I don’t know how much prize money is involved or how much he got paid but it can’t be enough to justify the risks they take.”

  “I can’t tell you, girl. Raised on loco weed, I guess, but I love ’em. Especially Luke, bless his heart. How’s he doing?”

  “Why don’t you
ask me yourself, darlin’?” Luke wheeled through the door.

  “Lover!” Marge leaned into Luke’s hearty embrace. “Why haven’t you been to see me?”

  “Lucy’s got everyone who can drive working here, and it’s a long haul into town with just these two wheels.” Luke kissed Marge’s hand like a courtier, and she giggled. “And look at your hair—I thought some big-city celeb had stopped in for lunch.”

  Marge fluffed her short ringlets. “The beautician at the nursing home talked me into letting her chop it short—I’ve been skinning it back in a knot so long I forgot how it kinks up.”

  “You’d look beautiful to me bald as an egg, but you’re cute as a baby lamb with those curls.”

  “Seriously, Luke...”

  “Seriously, I’m about to fade away from hunger. A big piece of your peach pie would fix that.” He surveyed Katie’s flour-dusted apron. “I’ll bet your new help could rustle one up for me.”

  Katie beamed at him with her best perky-waitress smile. “Yes, sir, you bet, sir. Ice cream on your pie?”

  He gave her a thumbs-up as she turned on her heel and headed to the kitchen.

  Lucy handed her two plates with the steaks, mashed potatoes, peas and gravy. “Table five,” she said. “I’ll get Luke’s pie—he won’t leave till he has it.”

  The door finally closed behind the last luncheon customers, and Lucy flipped the Open sign to Closed. “Another disaster-free day in the book, thanks to Katie.”

  Luke yanked on Lucy’s apron string as she passed. “So how did you talk Katie into working, Red?”

  She slapped at his hand. “I didn’t talk her into anything. Our regular lunch waitress is home with a sick kid today. When Katie saw how busy I was, she just pitched in. And don’t call me Red.”

  Roger appeared from the kitchen with more coffee cups and a carafe. He poured for everyone and pulled up a chair. “The new kid did real good, boss. And she says she’s looking for a job.”