LOVE OF A RODEO MAN (MODERN DAY COWBOYS)

by Hutchinson, Bobby

  “It was vile of you not to tell me. Why, I never got a red cent out of her for that operation, and Floyd and I got scratched half to death by her rotten cat.” Sara’s voice was trembling with barely controlled passion.

  “Yes, well.” Doc’s voice became serious. “It was bad of me, I’ll grant you that. But you see, young woman, I was making so many mistakes just then and you were so self-righteous. Half the damned county was telling me what a wonder the new woman vet was. I felt it was only fair that you made a mistake that one time. So I instructed Floyd not to say a word, and old Emily and her cat did the rest.” Ironic amusement filled his voice again. “Don’t feel too bad, young woman. I spayed the damn thing for free, years back. Still got a scar on my wrist.”

  It took a moment, but Sara’s sense of humor finally surfaced. The joke was on her, and she probably deserved it. Like all young people starting a career, she’d thought at times that she knew everything.

  A small giggle escaped her, and suddenly, she and old Doc were laughing uproariously. It was the first time she’d ever heard Doc Stone really laugh hard.

  When it was over, Sara ventured to ask Doc about his eyesight.

  “There’s some newfangled technique they’re going to try on me. I’ll either end up instantly blind or have fairly good vision again. They put permanent lenses right in your eye, or something. The procedure’s slated for next week.”

  Sara quickly thought of all the encouraging things she might say and discarded them. Doc would just grunt and hang up in her ear.

  “Well,” she finally said, “if it works, I warn you I’m not selling you this business back again. But if you ever want a job, you could try me.”

  His grunt came, but it was amused rather than angry. “You need an old, experienced vet around there, young woman. Keep you from being taken in by the likes of Emily Crenshaw, if nothing else.” His voice sharpened. “I heard about young Mitch Carter and his tussle with that bull. Your sister was injured too, wasn’t she? How are they?”

  All the laughter that had filled her moments before disappeared. “Frankie needs plastic surgery, and Mitch...he broke his arm just above the wrist. He’s, ahh, he’s fine, though.”

  He wasn’t fine at all, and neither was Sara, but that wasn’t anything she could explain.

  Doc grunted, and then, as if it was hard to get the words out, he said, “Hear you’re plannin’ on marrying that Carter boy. When the time comes, and if this danged thing works on my eyes, I’ll take over the practice for you for a week or two. As a wedding present,” he added gruffly. “Just don’t delay the marriage too long, I’m not getting any younger,” he added in a sour tone, and then, before Sara could say a word, he hung up.

  Floyd came to announce the arrival of the electrician just then, adding that the man wanted a check in advance. By the time the lights went back on, Sara owed him fifty dollars more than the rent plus the proposed increase.

  Emily had probably won another round.

  Floyd came into her office late that afternoon. Sara was slumped at her desk, utterly drained and on the verge of tears. She was physically exhausted; she’d been at the hospital until the small hours of the morning, and after only a couple of hours’ sleep, she’d hurried back early so she’d be there when Mitch woke up. She was emotionally exhausted from mentally going over and over the way Mitch had acted that morning.

  For some reason, she’d been certain that he’d call her sometime during the day to apologize, and he hadn’t. His behavior hurt deeply, even though she kept telling herself she shouldn’t let it. He’d had an accident, he was likely in a great deal of pain. But why had he been cruel to her? Why had he treated her the way he had?

  The tears spilled over just as Floyd knocked and opened her door. He took one look at her and his ruddy face softened. “If you want to leave early, go on. I’ll tend to the animals in the infirmary and lock up for you. Is your man still in the hospital, Doctor? I was at the rodeo yesterday, it was a terrible thing that happened.”

  Floyd’s kindness brought more tears, and she tried to sniff them away, unsuccessfully.

  “He’s home, Floyd.” She gulped back a sob. “I drove him home this morning.”

  “And your sister? She’s a brave one, that girl. I heard she broke her collarbone.”

  Sara listed Frankie’s injuries and told him about the surgery she’d need, and Floyd nodded thoughtfully. He seemed to consider carefully before he added, “He’ll be feeling bad about it, you know, him causing the accident. He’ll be feeling responsible.”

  Sara shook her head impatiently. “That’s ridiculous. Mitch would never have hurt Frankie deliberately, the whole thing was plain and simply an accident. She was doing her job, and Mitch was, as well. No one in his right mind would blame Mitch for what happened to Frankie. She certainly doesn’t. The first thing she asked when she regained consciousness yesterday was how Mitch was.”

  Floyd nodded again. “Has he talked about it with you, then?”

  Miserably Sara shook her head, giving up all pretense at control and sobbing openly.

  “He was absolutely hateful to me this morning, and he hasn’t called or anything all day.”

  Floyd patted her arm. “I’ll make you a nice cup of tea, and then you ought to go home to bed, you’re tired out, Sara. I’ll finish tonight, and I’ll be sure to come in early tomorrow, so don’t hurry in the mornin’.”

  It was such a relief to have him back to calling her Sara again. She blew her nose hard, told him so and gave him a watery smile. “Thank you, Floyd.”

  “And Sara?” His broad, ruddy face creased in a frown. “Don’t worry your head over me maybe bending my elbow one too many times and not making it in tomorrow. I’ve joined a group. I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf.”

  “Oh, Floyd, I’m so glad. That’s wonderful news, just wonderful.”

  He seemed to puff up with pride, and then he added ingenuously, “Yes, well, Doc said it was either that or he’d sign me into a clinic.”

  Sara didn’t know whether to laugh or begin to cry again.

  She’d bet her stethoscope Floyd’s new leaf wouldn’t last till autumn.

  Sara broke down and phoned Mitch three times the next day, but there was no answer at the ranch. She hurried through the afternoon’s farm calls and then drove hesitantly up the Carter driveway.

  Ruth answered her timid knock, and she greeted Sara with a warm smile. She’d had her hair cut and styled recently, and she was wearing a bright turquoise cotton pantsuit that brought out the blue in her eyes.

  “Sara, dear, come in. I was just making soup and a sandwich for Wilson and me. You’ll have some with us, of course.”

  “Thank you, Ruth.” Where was Mitch?

  Ruth took Sara’s hand and drew her into the kitchen, then busily went about making thick ham sandwiches and stirring a pot of soup as she talked.

  “I’m sure you’re as upset with Mitch as I am, going off like this when he’s barely out of the hospital. Honestly he’s more stubborn than even Wilson ever was, and that’s going some. I told him so before he left, too.”

  Sara could hardly get her breath. She felt as if she’d been hit in the chest. Mitch hadn’t said a single word to her about going anywhere. But then, he hadn’t said a single word, period.

  “I... I didn’t even know he was gone, Ruth,” she finally stammered. “When did he leave? Did he say where he was going or when he’d be back?”

  The desolation that filled her must have shown clearly on her face, because Ruth hurried over and put her arm around Sara’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Sara. I was sure he’d have... you see, he was all ready to leave when I got home today at noon. I went over early this morning to help Adeline at Bitterroot, with Jennie gone there’s so much to do. Anyway, a friend of Mitch’s who owns his own plane came to get Mitch right after I got home, and all Mitchell said was that he had some business to attend to and not to worry about him, he’d be fine. He wouldn’t say when he thought he’d be ho
me or where he was going or anything. I’m very annoyed with him, he was as cross as a bear with me last night.”

  The back door opened and slammed, and Wilson’s voice called from the hall, “Mother? When’s supper going to be?”

  Ruth shook her head fondly and gave Sara’s shoulder a final squeeze as Wilson came into the kitchen.

  “Well, hello there, Sara,” he said jovially. “Gonna stay and have some supper with Mother and me?”

  “Wilson, dear, I’m not your mother,” Ruth said gently but firmly, and even through the pain Sara felt about Mitch’s behavior, she had to marvel at the change in Ruth Carter. A new confidence shone from the older woman. She even walked differently than she had a while ago. Even with the strain of the past few days and the shock of Mitch’s accident, Ruth was firmly in control of her emotions.

  “We’re discussing that son of yours, Wilson,” Ruth added briskly. “He’s gone off with not a word to Sara, and you said he wouldn’t talk much with you, either.”

  Wilson removed his straw hat and hung it on a peg by the door. He ran his fingers through his hair, setting it on edge just the exact way Mitch was in the habit of doing, and pain tore at Sara’s heart.

  If he loved her, how could Mitch go off like this without a word? She remembered his coldness yesterday morning, and her heart plummeted. Perhaps it was all over between them.

  The ruby ring on her finger suddenly felt as heavy as lead. Perhaps he was avoiding her until he figured out a way to tell her.

  Wilson sat down heavily at the table, and Sara noticed the worried lines around his eyes, the deep grooves beside his mouth. Wilson was deeply concerned about his son, Sara realized.

  “Don’t go getting upset about the boy, now, Moth... Ruth,” he said with an obvious effort at using her name. “Every so often a man has to get away, sort himself out. Mitchell’s gone through a lot of changing, last few months, and now he feels bad about this accident and all. He just needs a bit of time.”

  Surprisingly Wilson made a touching attempt all during the simple meal to keep conversation going. He asked Sara about her work and actually passed on a nice remark someone had made at the auction about a horse she’d treated.

  When it came time to leave, he walked companionably across the yard with Sara to her car, telling her in minute detail about a sow he thought might be getting sick. She had some weird mark on her back, and she was off her feed.

  Sara offered to look at the animal, but unexpectedly, Wilson changed the subject. “Gonna surprise Moth... eh, Ruth... and take her on a holiday,” he confided almost shyly. “Her birthday’s comin’ up. I bought the tickets already, thought we’d go visit our daughter-in-law in Seattle, get to know the grandkids again. Haven’t seen ’em since after—” he swallowed hard and tried again “—after our Bob died. Think you could warn Jennie and Adeline that Ruth’ll be gone awhile?” He scowled and added morosely, “She’s likely to refuse to come with me if she thinks that blamed job won’t be waitin’ when she gets back. Never saw a woman so set on a job in my life.”

  “Of course I’ll tell them, but they’d never hire anyone else, they couldn’t manage without Ruth,” Sara assured him.

  “Yeah, well, neither can I,” Wilson admitted baldly. “Thought we’d take off as soon as your mom gets back.”

  “If Frankie’s okay, Mom will probably be home in the next few days. It all depends on the surgery,” Sara said. “I’ll be sure and let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

  “Drive careful,” Wilson ordered as she started the car and began to back up. “Women drivers, none of you ever could drive sand down a rat hole.”

  Sara just gave him a tight-lipped smile. Wilson was incorrigible, but he’d also touched her heart tonight, the gruff old chauvinist. She’d gotten along with him better than she’d ever thought possible.

  Ironic, wasn’t it, that she’d lose Mitch just when Wilson seemed to be ready to accept her as a daughter-in-law? The hurt that she’d been holding tightly inside all evening stabbed at her, and the empty road shimmered as the tears came.

  Mitch, I love you. Why, why are you doing this to us?

  Absolutely the last thing Mitch wanted to do was walk into Frankie’s hospital room in Spokane that evening. Clenching his hand around an enormous bouquet of flowers he’d bought in the lobby, he tried to swallow the dry fear in his throat as he checked the numbers on the doors he passed in the long hallway.

  He stopped before the one with the right number. Hesitantly he moved through the half-open door. There was only one patient in the small room, and Frankie’s mother, Jennie, was sitting on a chair beside the high bed.

  Mitch forced himself to look past her, at the bandaged figure lying there. Horror caught at his throat, and for an instant he was afraid he was going to be sick. The terrible guilt that had been eating at him ever since the rodeo engulfed him all over again, and he fought against it.

  Frankie was a mass of bandages, bruises and intravenous tubes, and the certain knowledge that she looked that way because of him totally unnerved him. He wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel and run, head for the nearest bar and spend the rest of the night.. .the rest of his life... purging his guilt with alcohol.

  Just the way Floyd O’Malley had done. Floyd. Who would have ever thought that Floyd would be the only person to really understand how Mitch was feeling?

  The phone call had come late the night before, and Mitch had already drunk over half a bottle of Scotch when his father tapped on the door of his cabin.

  “Phone call for you, son. You got your cell turned off?”

  “Tell whoever it is that I’m not here,” Mitch had ordered rudely, and pain twisted and turned inside of him because he knew it had to be Sara, and he couldn’t talk to her. He couldn’t talk to anybody.

  “It’s Floyd O’Malley, son.”

  Awful terror filled him, and he lurched for the door. Something terrible had happened to Sara. Why else would Floyd be phoning him at this late hour? His heart was hammering when he picked up the phone, and he cursed Floyd in a steady vicious stream when he finally believed Sara wasn’t injured.

  He was about to slam the phone down when Floyd said evenly, “You’re feelin’ bad over what happened at the rodeo, aren’t you? I hurt someone one time, y’know, just the way you’ve done. Everyone said it was an accident, but I never thought it was.”

  There was something in his voice that caught Mitch’s blurry attention and held it against his will. He listened without a word as Floyd told him the same story Sara had heard from Judy... brother and sister taking the horses, racing them and colliding, Judy falling.

  Floyd believed the injury his sister had sustained was totally his fault. Even now, years afterward, it was plain he believed it implicitly.

  “First, I drank to live with meself,” he admitted baldly. “Then I used what happened as a reason for drinking. It’s terrible hard, you understand, to forgive yourself when you see a person in a wheelchair because of something you’ve done.”

  He paused and added apologetically, “I’m fond of Dr. Sara and I’m not one for preaching usually. But she was crying her heart out this afternoon, and I had to try to help. I’d not like to see you destroy her and yourself over this, Mitch. She’s a fine lady, is Dr. Sara.”

  Mitch had hung up the phone and spent most of the rest of the night sitting out by the corral, smoking one cigarette after another and trying to think instead of feel. The upshot of that sleepless night was the knowledge that he had to come and see Frankie before he did anything else.

  Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure it had been the right decision, either, but he couldn’t just walk out again. Frankie turned her head toward him, and recognition dawned in her unbandaged eye.

  “Hiya, cowboy,” she said in a thin, reedy voice not at all like the one he remembered. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be back in Plains taking care of my big sister.”

  Mitch cleared his throat, tried to speak and had to
try again.

  “Came to see you,” he finally managed. “Hello, Jennie,” he added, and then he stood there, feeling stupid, clutching the damn flowers in his one good hand and not knowing what to do with them or himself.

  “Mitch, you shouldn’t have come all this way. You look as if you ought to be in a hospital bed yourself,” Jennie chided. “Frankie’s fine. We’ve just talked with the plastic surgeon and he says she won’t have hardly a scar to show for this.” She added, “Here, give me those flowers and I’ll go find a nurse and see if we can beg a vase for them.”

  In another moment, Mitch was alone with Frankie. He had to get through it quickly, while his courage held. “I came to apologize, Frankie, for all the good it’ll do,” he burst out harshly. “I’d do anything to change what happened out there, but there’s no way I can, so all I can say is I’m sorry. That’s about all I came to say. That I’m sorry, so goddamned awful sorry for what happened to you. It was my fault, my pride, see, that caused the whole thing. I never should have climbed on that fool bull at all. And I want to thank you, for what you did for me.”

  He’d already made arrangements to have all her medical bills sent to him, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. He half turned to leave, but her angry voice stopped him.

  “What the hell kind of garbage is this, Mitch Carter, walking in here and thanking me for doing my job? Acting like a martyr because I happened to get hurt a little? You know as well as I do that every bullfighter gets hurt sooner or later.”

  Her furious voice rose higher as she went on, “You macho cowboys make me sick. First you give me a bad time for being a female doing what you consider a man’s job, and then you act like it was your duty to protect me instead of the other way around.”

  She was breathing heavily, and Mitch took an anxious step toward the bed. “Frankie, don’t get yourself...”