Prairie Passion (Cowboys of The Flint Hills #2)

by Tessa Layne

  Slamming the tumbler down, she stomped around the island to wash her hands. She flung on the hot water, shoving her hands under the faucet like it was a lifeline. An odd gurgle rose from the drain.

  Blinding pain exploded in her eyes and across her face, doubling her over. Sound roared in her ears, and she dimly recognized her own screams.

  CHAPTER 37

  Brodie made a beeline for the tool closet in the barn. Damn that woman. She churned him up so bad he couldn’t tell which way was up.

  Snatching the maul, he strode back out to the splitting stump and grabbed a fresh piece of wood. With a grunt, he raised the maul and brought it crashing down with such force the pieces went flying.

  She’d fucking quit.

  Just like that.

  With a hard glint in her eye that brooked no argument.

  Not that she’d get any from him. Not anymore. He was through begging for her affection. If she was going to throw away what they had because he wanted an equal share, then she couldn’t see what was right in front of her eyes.

  He grabbed another log, placed it on the stump, and slammed the maul down again. If he had to stay here the rest of the day to work her out of his system once and for all, then by God, he’d do it.

  Anguish stabbed at his ribs.

  How dare she?

  How dare she quit them with the same nonchalance she quit a job?

  The wood splintered with a crack.

  His heart tore along with the wood.

  He’d been a fool.

  A fool to think he could woo her. A fool to think she thought of him as anything other than a dumbass fix-it guy. Maybe that was all he was good for.

  Sweat began to build across his back.

  Good.

  He heaved at another log, sending it flying, then paused to catch his breath. Who was he kidding? He’d never once been able to work Jamey out of his system. Not with booze or labor. What made him think he could do it now, when she’d just stomped on his heart?

  A blood-curdling scream pierced the air.

  He dropped the maul, instantly alert. “Jamey?”

  The high-pitched scream came again. From the window in the kitchen.

  He broke into a run. “Jamey?”

  He burst through the back door to see her bent over the sink. Inside, her screams were deafening. His heart jumped to his throat. He rushed around the island, reaching for her. “What is it? What happened?”

  “My eyes. Ohmygod I can’t see.” She groped blindly for the faucet.

  Her wails pierced him to the core.

  “Spray my eyes. Oh God. Something got in my eyes.” Her face contorted into a grimace.

  He could see red welts raising on her face and arms. What the hell had happened? He reached for the faucet, turning the water to cold and pulling out the sprayer. He aimed it at her face, not caring he was soaking both of them. She screamed and shut her eyes as the water hit her face.

  “Open your eyes, hon. You’ve gotta open your eyes.”

  She opened her eyes and his heart stopped. The whites were brilliant red. Worse on the left eye than the right. She took a shuddering breath, her eyes glazed with panic.

  “Where’s your phone? I need to call 911.”

  Her arm flailed toward the far counter. “By the fridge.” Her voice was more howl than speech. Every cry stabbed at his heart like a hot poker.

  He fought down his own rising panic, and lowered his voice, like he was talking to a spooked animal. “Sweetheart. Put your hand on mine. I need you to hold the sprayer.”

  She clutched at his hand, still keening. The red welts on her arm were quickly blistering.

  “Keep your eyes open.”

  She nodded. He slipped his hand from hers and lunged for the phone. It seemed like hours before the dispatcher picked up. He quickly identified himself and their location.

  “Brodie. I need you to stay calm and explain what happened.” The dispatcher’s voice conveyed a calm he grasped at.

  “I don’t know. Her eyes are red. Blisters appearing on her arms. She’s spraying her eyes.”

  “Can she explain what happened.”

  “She said she can’t see, that something got in her eyes.”

  “Sounds like a chemical burn. The ambulance will have saline wash on hand to flush her eyes. Stay with her and keep running cold water through her eyes. The medics have been dispatched. They should be on sight in less than fifteen minutes.”

  Brodie’s hand shook as he disconnected the call.

  He rushed back to Jamey, gathering her in his arms and taking the sprayer. The skin around her eyes had turned pink and was puffing up. Whether from the ice-cold water or the injury, he didn’t know.

  “I’m here, now. I’ve got you.” He slid them down the cabinets to the floor, grateful for the extra length of cord from the sprayer.

  Her cries had mostly subsided. Now, she clutched at his shirt and tried to prop her eyes open with her other hand. The planes of her face twisted with pain and fear.

  The minutes stretched and slowed. Could the ambulance take any damned longer? She shook in his lap, water streaming over her face. The hand he was using to help keep her eyes open ached from the cold. He couldn’t imagine what her face must feel like. Finally, he heard Parker Hansen’s voice calling from the great room.

  “In here,” Brodie shouted. “We’re in the kitchen.”

  Three big men crowded in the door. He’d never been so grateful to see a Hansen in his life.

  Parker came around the island and dropped to his knees. “Tell me what happened.”

  Brodie opened his mouth to explain, and nothing came out. Emotion stopped up his throat.

  Jamey sniffed. “I- I-I flipped on the hot water and something gurgled, then something burned my eyes.” Her voice pitched to a wail again. “My eyes. Oh God, my eyes.” Her voice rose at the end, overcome with panic.

  Brodie squeezed her and kept the water trained at her eyes.

  Parker leaned over. “Jamey. I need to examine your eyes. We’re going to turn off the water for a sec, okay?”

  She whimpered her understanding.

  Parker nodded at him, and he squeezed the button on the nozzle, holding the water back. Taking a small flashlight, Parker gently held open her left eye – the reddest, and examined her. He made a small noise in the back of his throat and slid a look his way. “It’s definitely a chemical burn. Anything unusual go down that sink recently?”

  Jamey whimpered.

  “Keep flushing her eyes,” Parker ordered.

  Dread settled in the pit of Brodie’s stomach. “Simon and I cleaned the drain this afternoon,” he volunteered, drawing a shaky breath.

  Parker narrowed his eyes. “What’d you use?”

  He motioned to the cupboard behind him. “The yellow box. In here.” He leaned forward so Parker could pull out the box of washing soda.

  Parker’s mouth pulled into a flat line. “You poured this down the drain?”

  Brodie nodded, quelling a wave of nausea.

  “You realize this can be volatile?”

  He shook his head, going hot and cold at the same time.

  “It can. And it can cause blindness.”

  The glare he received from Parker dissolved his insides to jelly.

  “But it looks like you acted fast. We’ll have to transport her to Manhattan and keep irrigating her eyes. An eye doc will have to look at her.”

  Parker’s mouth kept moving, but the words didn’t register. He’d fixated on the word blindness.

  His stupidity had made Jamey go blind.

  He’d ruined her life.

  Because he couldn’t read.

  He’d done this. He’d hurt the one woman he’d ever loved. She was blind. And it was all his fault.

  Somehow – he wasn’t sure how, he found himself in the ambulance across from Parker, with Jamey on a stretcher between them.

  Parker handed him a tube. “Here. Hold this.” He clipped a bag of saline to a runner ab
ove them. “We need to improvise an irrigation device and then deal with her other burns.”

  It took everything inside him not to lean over and vomit on his boots. He gripped the small bit of tubing as hard as he could to stop his hand from shaking. The shaking just migrated to his knee.

  Parker looked at him sharply. “You okay, man? You’re not gonna pass out or anything, are you?”

  Brodie swallowed rapidly, tasting metal, then shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  He wasn’t fine.

  The ache in his throat was the size of an orange. His heart pummeled his ribs like a pinball machine. He could smell the sharp tang of his sweat through his soaking wet shirt. He’d never forgive himself if she went blind.

  Ever.

  “Hand me that tube now.” Parker held out his hand.

  He let go of the tube, his vision tunneling.

  Parker ripped off a piece of tape. “This is called a cannula. It’s normally used to deliver oxygen, but we’ve jimmied it to drip saline into Jamey’s eyes.” He taped a nose tube down to the bridge of her nose, and adjusted the tubing, securing it in place. “Okay, Jamey, I’m going to turn on the saline. Can you keep your eyes open as wide as possible?”

  Anguish crossed her face and she whimpered her assent. The noise sliced through Brodie. How would he survive a ride to the hospital? Every cry she made, every groan, reminded him that this was his fault.

  He’d done this to her.

  He’d hurt her.

  Maimed her.

  Ruined her.

  Despair boiled up, stealing his breath.

  Parker grabbed his shoulder. “You riding with us?”

  He shook his head and swallowed. “I-I’ll follow.”

  He stumbled out of the ambulance and Parker stuck his head out. “You sure you okay? You don’t look so good.”

  The lump in his throat tightened to the point he could only nod.

  “She’s in good hands. You did the right thing spraying her eyes.”

  Brodie nodded again, focusing on a rock in the dirt. The ambulance door slammed shut and the tires crunched up the gravel drive.

  His legs finally gave way and he welcomed the sharp sting of pebbles hitting his knees. He deserved every pain and more, for what he’d done. A sob ripped from his throat and he fell forward, beating his palm on the ground until his arm went numb.

  CHAPTER 38

  Dark settled over the kitchen. The rest of the day had been a clusterfuck. He’d had every intention of driving up to Manhattan to check on Jamey, but the four guests scheduled for the weekend had arrived early.

  By the time he’d changed, settled the guests, made arrangements for sending them to Gino’s for dinner and Dottie’s for breakfast, it was chore time. He’d called up to the hospital but they wouldn’t tell him anything because he wasn’t family.

  He wanted to go to the hospital. Desperately. But what would Jamey say when he showed up? She’d already quit them, quit him, once today. He wasn’t sure he could take it if she told him to leave.

  He poured a measure of the Redbreast into the glass that had been left on the counter. Jamey must have poured some before she’d turned on the faucet. What had she called it? The Crisis Bottle.

  If there ever was a time.

  He tossed the liquid back in one gulp, tracing the burn all the way to his belly. Sweeter than scotch. Less bite.

  He needed bite.

  He needed a thousand needles poking into him. Though not even that would take away the pain pressing on his chest right now.

  The back door slammed.

  “So you want to explain why you ditched your lady?” Blake strolled into the kitchen, flipping on the light.

  He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden brightness, but not before he’d taken in the tight set of his brother’s mouth. He raised a hand. “If you’re here to lecture me, I already feel like a piece of shit.”

  “I’m not. And I see you’ve dug into Jamey’s crisis bottle.”

  “Maybe because it’s a Goddamned crisis.”

  Blake sighed heavily. “Do you know she’s asked for you nonstop?”

  Fuck.

  He clenched the glass so hard he hoped it would break. His breath stuck in his throat. “Just tell me,” he croaked. “Did I blind her?” All the worry and guilt he’d been holding at bay overwhelmed him. “Oh God.” His voice came out thick and high. “Just tell me she’ll be able to see again.” He scrubbed his hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, his breath coming out in deep gasps. Breaking down in front of Blake only reinforced the shitty theme of the day.

  “I don’t know.” Blake opened cupboards until he found a glass and thunked it down on the island, shoving it across to him. Brodie poured them both a measure.

  Blake took a sip, his gaze boring into him. “What happened?”

  Confessing his shortcomings, again to his brother, made his stomach roil. He’d never be good enough. He shrugged. “I’m not sure. Simon and I had been working off a list she’d given him. Last one was to put some stuff down the drain.”

  Blake pressed his lips together and nodded. “And what stuff did you put down the drain?”

  Brodie could see the gears turning in Blake’s mind. He knocked his chin toward the sink. “Yellow Box.”

  Blake moved around the island and reached under the sink.

  Brodie braced himself for the onslaught. “There was a lot of stuff under there.”

  He spun, holding the offending box. “And you didn’t think to ask a clarifying question?”

  No.

  He hadn’t.

  He’d been thoughtless and proud, and hadn’t wanted Simon to know he couldn’t read. He opened his mouth to defend himself and promptly shut it, bitterness rising in the back of his throat.

  He exhaled a big shuddering breath, pressing the heel of his hand into his brow bone. When he finally spoke, he mumbled, unable to meet Blake’s eyes. “I can’t read. It’s my fault… because I can’t read. I… I-I didn’t want Simon to know.” The last admission came out a whisper.

  Silence stretched between them.

  “How?” Blake finally croaked.

  “Apparently, I’m dyslexic. I think mom knew something was wrong and tried to help.” He risked a glance at his older brother. Shock and horror covered Blake’s face.

  “That explains why–”

  “Why I’m such a fuck-up,” Brodie interrupted.

  “That’s not what I was going to say,” Blake’s voice grew sharp.

  The silence between them grew strained.

  Blake scrubbed his face. “I was going to say, that’s why Jake was so hard on you.” He laughed bitterly and shook his head. “Jake had trouble reading too. It’s how he ran the ranch into the ground. He hid it well, but I started digging into the books after he lost our land to Warren. Well, after Warren and mom made their secret deal.”

  “Great. I’m just like Jake. Thanks bro.” He saluted his brother.

  “Shut up. You don’t have to be, and you know it. Why do you think Ben suggested I put you in charge of the lodge?”

  “That was his idea?”

  “It sure as fuck wasn’t mine.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “You don’t exactly have the best track record. But you’ve done well here. You and Jamey make a great team.”

  “Then why’d she quit us today? Huh? Tell me that.” His heart squeezed in his chest as he took another gulp and slammed the glass on the counter.

  Blake’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t understand.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Blake drummed his fingers on the island, as if he was coming to a decision. “Look. I don’t know what happened this afternoon, but you have to remember, Maddie says Jamey’s a bit of a hothead.”

  He snorted. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He poured them both more whiskey. “Jamey told me this afternoon she quit.”

  “Why?”

  Brodie blew ou
t a breath and stared at the ceiling. Losing his temper over four percent just seemed stupid now. “She showed me a proposal she’d created for the two of us to buy you out in five years. I got pissed because she gave herself a majority stake.”

  “How much of a majority?”

  “Fifty-two, forty-eight.”

  “And you got mad over that?” Blake’s voice sounded incredulous.

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Because she created a proposal tying the two of you together?”

  Well shit.

  He’d never looked at it that way. What an idiot. He’d blown everything over a measly four percent. He shook his head again. “Because it wasn’t even.”

  He rolled his eyes. “And so you went all Sinclaire on her ass.”

  Anger at the injustice flashed again. “It wasn’t–”

  Blake raised a hand, cutting him off. “Come on, be honest. We Sinclaires have a nasty habit of mouthing off or thinking with our fists before we stop and listen.”

  “I don’t need a lecture.”

  “Well, you’re gonna get one now, little brother. First, you and Jamey make a great team. Mason told me repeatedly how impressed he was with the way you handled the guests while he was visiting. And that was after you nearly took him out at the Trading Post. Second, given the sparks that fly between the two of you when you’re together, you probably make a great team elsewhere. Why give up on that?”

  “Because I always fuck it up.”

  “You don’t have to. Come on. You wanna be different than Jake? Cowboy up. Learn to read. Ask for help. You’re not alone, man. There are tutors at the high school, and I’ll talk to Maddie. I’m sure there are services at K-State. You’re smart. Sometimes you stick your head up your ass. But you’re not an idiot.”

  Brodie snorted. “Thanks for that.”

  “Do you love her?” Blake’s voice softened.

  He looked up, meeting his brother’s eyes, surprised by the compassion there. “Jamey?” He nodded slowly. “More than anything. And God, Blake. I ruined her. I ruined everything.” Despair sliced through him like one of Jamey’s sharp knives. He couldn’t breathe. All the emotion in his body seemed to be crammed tight in his throat. “What if she goes blind?”