A Cowboy for Clementine (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Floyd, Susan

  He pressed his hands on her ribs.

  “Sore?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “That hurt?” He probed her abdomen.

  She shook her head.

  “Take a deep breath,” he ordered.

  She sucked in air and he pressed down.

  “Any discomfort?”

  “No. You sound like a doctor.”

  “Nope. Just used to injuries. This is part of the job description.”

  He took the handkerchief from her forehead. “Good, the bleeding’s stopped. You might need a stitch or two.”

  “I think I can ride home,” she gasped.

  “I don’t think so.” Dexter smiled down at her.

  “I want to stand,” she insisted.

  Still supporting her back, Dexter helped her to her feet.

  Bad idea.

  The world tipped back and forth like a seesaw. She teetered backward and Dexter caught her. He lowered her to the ground, and she leaned up against him. Tears slipped from her eyes, and she started to shake again.

  Dexter pulled her close.

  “Now, none of that crying,” he whispered into her hair.

  She couldn’t stop. She knew it wasn’t just the spill that was making her cry. She was crying for the mess her life was in, for her helplessness. She hated the fact she was weak.

  “Cowboys don’t cry,” Dexter said with a smile.

  “This one does,” she said with a sniff.

  “Just stay put, Clem. Rest. Once you get your wind back, you’ll be fine.” His voice was very close to her ear; she could feel his lips on her temple.

  A small rest sounded like a good idea. It would allow her to find the energy to get up and climb up on Archie.

  Five minutes later, her tears were dry, and she decided she’d rested long enough. If they hurried, they could probably finish their herding. She furrowed her brow and struggled to break out of Dexter’s grasp.

  “Don’t you ever do a damn thing I say?” Dexter’s voice sliced into her, and she moved her head a little to quickly for its liking. The trees whirled around her.

  Before they steadied, Ryan was on her other side, holding a black first aid kit. “Randy’s just up the road.”

  Dexter nodded. “Let’s try to get you standing. It might hurt a little bit. Let us know if there’s a lot of discomfort.”

  Clem protested. “No, I can stand. Let me try. What about the cows?”

  But before she could make herself obey, she was lifted to her feet. The trees moved up and down, and she felt as if she was going to throw up. Dexter put one strong hand on her elbow, the other on the small of her back. Then he moved her to stand against the bank of the ravine.

  “I want to put something on that cut,” Dexter told Ryan, as he took the first aid kit and began to rummage through it. “The cows are fine,” he reassured her, “You hired good men.”

  Clem was relieved.

  Ryan frowned. “It might be better to get an ambulance out here for her.”

  “We can get her to the hospital quicker than the ambulance,” Dexter said. “It would take them a while to even find us.”

  “There’s no need for the hospital,” Clem said, annoyed that her teeth were chattering.

  “Shock’s making you feel cold,” he told her. “Just concentrate on breathing.”

  “It doesn’t hurt that much,” she lied. “I just got the wind knocked out of me. Where’s Ryan going?”

  “He’s going to find out where Randy is with that damn truck.”

  Some gravel fell on her head and she looked up to see Archie on the edge of the ravine, staring down at her. More loose rock came down, but she ignored it.

  “You could at least thank me,” she muttered.

  “For what?” Dexter looked amused. He flexed his wrist. “I damn near broke my arm trying to hold on to that cow.” He ripped open an antiseptic towelette. “Here, hold this.”

  “I’m fine,” Clem insisted, but she held out her hand as he draped the towelette on it. He pulled out another hanky and poured water from his canteen on it.

  “What happened to the cow?” Clem asked, wincing as he did a gross-scale rinse of her forehead. “You have to let it go?” She knew she sounded wistful.

  “It was either the cow or you. I guess I’d rather have you. Ryan caught it farther down.”

  Clem smiled against her will and then winced as he dabbed none too gently at her cut with the antiseptic. It hurt enough to send stinging prickles shooting down the back of her neck.

  “Hey!” Clem protested. “You’re making it hurt on purpose.”

  “You’ve got debris embedded in there.” He studied the wound, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. “You’re definitely going to need stitches. But these should help.”

  He pulled out a set of butterfly bandages and applied them with the hand of an experienced healer.

  “You do that well.”

  “You learn if you’re the only one to do it.” He nodded at his handiwork. “That should keep you until we get you to the hospital.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “This isn’t something we’re going to debate. I want an X ray of those ribs.”

  Clem was silent. Suddenly she didn’t have the energy to argue. She closed her eyes.

  Dexter gently shook her. “Clem. Don’t go to sleep.”

  “I’m not going to sleep.”

  “Open your eyes.”

  She opened the one that wasn’t starting to swell shut. “It’s too bright.”

  He transferred his hat onto her head, but she still had the overwhelming urge to sleep.

  “Clem, did I tell you about the time that Randy and Ryan tied me up to a cactus buck-naked?”

  Her good eye popped open and she giggled. “Really?”

  “No, but I thought that would wake you up.”

  “You’d have been picking stickers out for weeks,” she murmured.

  “Clem, don’t go to sleep. Stay awake. For me, please.”

  She heard footsteps, then Ryan said something about a concussion.

  She peered at him. “No concussion. Tired.”

  “I know you’re tired. But stay awake until we get you to the hospital.”

  “Just a nap.”

  “No.”

  “Walk?”

  “If it’ll keep you awake.”

  “Okay,” Clem said, and yawned. She tried to move off the bank. If Dexter’s hand hadn’t been right under her elbow, she would have fallen down, her legs seeming incapable to support her.

  “I don’t think so.” Doubt filled his eyes.

  “Let’s get to the road,” she suggested, and yawned again. “Ow, my head hurts.”

  He didn’t smile.

  She wobbled toward a slight slope that would take her out of the ravine to where Archie was nibbling on grass. He didn’t look remorseful at all.

  She bent over to clamber up and winced.

  “Hell.” Dexter muttered, and with the ease of a weight lifter, scooped her off the ground in a movement so quick she only knew what he was doing when the world swirled around her. He’d easily got them both up to the bank, carrying her the few yards to the road.

  She pressed her lips together, her ribs aching.

  “You look like you’re going to pass out,” Dexter observed. He didn’t let go of her.

  “I’m not going to pass out.” She tried to make her voice stronger, but she couldn’t. “I’m really tired.”

  “I still don’t know what the hell you were trying to do.” The edge of his voice caught her consciousness and she realized that she had drifted again.

  “Oh,” Clem observed. “I suppose you’d rather I had just let you go over.”

  He couldn’t know the cost of those words, but he seemed to be heartened by the fact that she was still feisty.

  “I wasn’t going to go over, until you came barreling in like the cavalry,” he said mildly. “Jeez, Clem. I told you to stay out of my way. I know what I’m
doing and you don’t.”

  Dexter’s tone, his fright, worked their way into her consciousness. With great effort, she struggled to stay awake.

  “Look,” she said, trying as hard as she could not to gasp with each breath. “I’m sorry. I thought you were about to go down the ravine.”

  They sat in silence. Dexter’s hold on her never loosened.

  Finally, he said, “You scared the hell out of me. When you went over, I didn’t know what I was going to find.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Clem felt strong hands lift her into the truck. She tried to sit up, but found that leaning against Dexter was much more comfortable. She could feel his chin resting on her head. And as hard as she tried to stay conscious, the rumbling of the masculine voices had a lulling effect on her.

  “Horses?” she asked suddenly.

  “Ryan’s going to take them back.”

  “Oh.”

  She felt a shake, and far away heard Dexter command, “Stay awake.”

  “Then talk to me,” Clem said. “Tell me about yourself. I promise to stay awake.”

  SO DEXTER SCOTT TALKED. He found himself talking more than he’d ever talked in his life. He told Clem about meeting Ben Thorton and how much he missed working with him. He told her about Randy and Ryan. He talked and talked and talked. Clem asked questions here and there just to let him know she was listening and he knew what an effort it was. His throat was sore when they arrived at the emergency room.

  DEXTER SAT IN THE WAITING room. He hated hospitals more than he hated walking. The antiseptic smell was overwhelming. The hospital personnel had swept Clem away and told him to wait. He glanced at his watch. He’d been waiting nearly two hours.

  Randy had gone back to the ranch to put up the horses and the dogs.

  He jammed his hat deeper on his head and pretended to read a magazine. Every fifteen minutes, he inquired at the desk. “Any news about Clementine Wells?”

  The nurse looked at him sympathetically. “When we know something, we’ll tell you.”

  “They’re going to do X rays of her ribs, right?”

  “I don’t know what the doctor has decided to do, sir. Have you notified her closest relatives?”

  He shook his head. “Is it that bad?”

  The nurse was evasive. “You might want to contact them.”

  With his heart in his throat, Dexter drove back to the ranch house. There wasn’t much he did know about Clem’s condition, but one thing was for certain—her cow-chasing days were over. He’d already buried one. He wasn’t going to bury another. He rifled through the desk, looking for a phone number for her parents. He didn’t even know their names.

  He didn’t find anything, but he remembered there was a notepad by the phone. He went to the kitchen and saw that he’d guessed right.

  His fingers trembled as he dialed the number. The phone rang once, twice.

  “Hello?” a female asked.

  “Mrs. Wells?” He could barely speak.

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Dexter Scott. I’m sorry to call you, but your daughter Clem’s been in an accident.”

  CLEM’S HEAD THROBBED AS IF someone was pounding on it with a rubber mallet. She opened one eye and couldn’t place herself. It took a minute for her to understand that she was in a hospital room.

  She tried to sit up and groaned, her hand coming up to her head, where she felt a bandage.

  “Hi.”

  The voice startled her and she turned to find its speaker, but before she could, the room began to swing around her.

  “Whoa.” Was that her voice? She sounded like a toad.

  When she opened her eyes again, Dexter stood over her, his face ashen. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in a long time.

  “Hi,” he repeated as he bestowed a sweet smile on her. “It’s about time you woke up.”

  “What time?”

  “About ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “Morning? Where are the cows?”

  “Where we left them, I imagine.” He sat down next to her. “Water?”

  She nodded. He stuck a straw into a plastic cup and brought it to her mouth.

  She sipped and then lay back down. “You look awful,” she said.

  “You look worse.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Archie?” Clem asked.

  “He’s fine. Taking the day off.”

  Day off. Clem stared at Dexter. “Where is everyone else?”

  “They’re working.”

  “You’re not working.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not. I needed to know that you’re going to be okay.”

  “Am I going to be okay?”

  He nodded with a grim smile. “Bumps, bruised ribs. X ray came out fine, no internal injuries. That was what we were really worried about, and the concussion. Plus you’ve got quite a shiner.”

  “Concussion? I don’t remember hitting my head.”

  “That’s the reason you’re here. They wanted to make sure you’d be able to wake up.”

  “When can I leave?” She looked down and realized she was in a standard-issue hospital gown.

  “Maybe this afternoon, depending on how you feel. Your folks should be here by then.”

  Clem struggled to sit up. “What?”

  “Your parents.”

  “My parents?”

  “Yes.”

  She fell back against the pillows. “Please tell me you didn’t call my parents.” She reached for her locket. It wasn’t there.

  “I did,” Dexter said quietly. “I thought they should know.”

  “It was just a little spill.” She tried to change the subject. “Did you take my locket?”

  “It was a little more than a spill, and I thought it would be prudent for your parents to know.” He paused. “I didn’t see your locket.”

  Clem was overwhelmed by contradicting feelings. Loss of her locket battled with deep resentment that Dexter had called her parents. He couldn’t know how hard it was for her to be independent around her parents. “I wish you hadn’t.”

  Dexter’s voice was hard. “Well, I did. Deal with it.”

  CLEMENTINE LEANED FORWARD as Claire ran a comb through her hair. She’d had mixed feelings seeing her mother’s still-smooth face in the hospital room’s doorway. She hadn’t been able to hold back the tears, and Claire had rushed to hug her, giving Clem the comfort that only a mother can offer. But Clem had known there was an enormous cost for that comfort. With each moment Claire’s arms had been around her, Clementine had felt herself losing control of her life. Her mother had brought with her fresh clothes from the ranch. Pink, no less. Clem had frowned at the color.

  “It was in your closet,” Claire had said, her voice dry. “I was in a hurry. What can I say?”

  “Pink?”

  “Oh, it’s just until you get home.”

  Claire tugged on a snarl, and the room tilted. Clem was relieved that the doctor said her vertigo would probably disappear in a day or two.

  “I can do my own hair, Mom,” Clementine said wryly, feeling like she was six years old.

  “I know that, honey. Humor your old mother. Let me fuss over you. You had us all very worried.”

  “It was just a little tumble,” Clem muttered, watching her mother open a bobby pin with her mouth, then jab it into Clem’s hair to keep it out of her face. Clem didn’t even have the energy to protest.

  “A concussion and a set of bruised ribs is more than a little tumble.” Her mother’s voice was concerned.

  “When am I being released?”

  “Your dad’s arranging that now.”

  “Where’s Dexter?”

  “That nice young man who called us? The poor boy seemed out of his mind with worry for you.”

  Clem pressed her lips together. She didn’t want him to be out of his mind with worry. She wanted him to be here. She wanted to be wearing something other than pink and not have bobby pins in her hair.

  �
�Where is he?”

  “He said something about going back to work. He wanted to get something done before it got dark.”

  Clem couldn’t help but feel a little deserted.

  “We’ve worked so hard with those cows,” she said after a while.

  “That’s what I’m told.”

  Her father walked in the room and bestowed a gentle kiss on the only part of Clem’s forehead that wasn’t visibly bruised. Jim Wells was a very good-looking man and aging even better. A thick mane of white hair and a face creased from too many days in the sun were the only things that revealed Jim Wells’s age.

  “What are you doing here, Dad? I wasn’t expecting you until Thanksgiving.”

  “We couldn’t not come once we got the phone call.” Jim Wells gave her a charming smile that in the past had gentled the toughest horse or the orneriest cow. “You’re going to need someone to help now that you’re out of commission. You’ll be able to sleep in your own bed and get the rest you need.”

  “I’m okay,” Clem said, but the thought of sitting back and letting her father do the job was beginning to tempt.

  “You took quite a spill,” her mother observed.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Clem muttered. “Dad?”

  “Yes, honey?”

  “I lost my locket.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll get you a new one.”

  “It must have come off when I fell.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Everything is going to be all right. You’re going to be just fine.”

  But Clem wasn’t too sure about that.

  She hated how relieved she was that her father was here. She hadn’t wanted Dex to call her parents—not because of what they’d do, but because of her own desire to relinquish all control, to have her father just make everything right again. Jim Wells was used to working with men like Dexter, Randy and Ryan. If she knew her father, he’d be treating them like the sons he’d never had before the day was out.

  She would never be missed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT WAS COMFORTING to be in her own bed with her mother fussing over her. Just as Clementine had predicted, her father stepped into her place, filling her spot on the team as easily as if he’d been an original member. In the mornings, she heard the cowboys hitching up the trailers, loading the saddles and the dogs. With Jim Wells back, many of the hired men had decided to stay on at the bunkhouse until the job had ended, and Claire had her hands full trying to cook for the crew. At first, because of her vertigo, Clem wasn’t much of a help, but as the days wore on, she began to feel stronger and stronger and more able to assist her mother.