Lou chuckled. “Ryder paid for it later. Sherry kicked her out of the bar when the team came here to celebrate afterward.”
“Sherry kicked her out because she was only seventeen,” Desiree said.
When the left fielder plopped a fourth Howling Dog in front of Bridgette, she shoved it toward Lou. “Three is my limit. I have to go.” She stood and swayed a little.
Desiree’s hand on her arm steadied her. “I think you need to stay a little longer. We’ve ordered a couple of pizzas for the team, and you look like you need to eat something before you drive home.”
Desiree was right. She had been so caught up in painting that she’d eaten nothing all day. “I mean I have to go…literally. I hope the line to the bathroom isn’t too long.” She squeezed Desiree’s hand. “Pizza sounds good. Save my seat for me.”
Her head swam a little from exhaustion and beer, so she concentrated on putting one foot before the other. That’s why she didn’t see the two women until she stumbled into them as she came out of the restroom. Ryder was sandwiched between the wall and one of the blond twins from the team they’d just defeated. The woman had her hands on Ryder’s breasts and her tongue in Ryder’s mouth.
Ryder pushed the woman back and made a diving catch to stop Bridgette’s fall, but they ended up on the floor, Ryder on her back with Bridgette sprawled on top of her.
“Well, if it isn’t Moses come down from the mountain. I mean, out of her art cave.” Ryder’s eyes were hazy and her speech slurred.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” She tried to push up from the floor, but Ryder held her fast.
“Let me buy you a drink, gorgeous.”
“No, thanks. You appear to be otherwise engaged.” She hated the surge of jealousy that burned through her and the instant throbbing in her sex at the feel of Ryder’s body under hers.
Ryder grinned. “I’m not engaged. I was just waiting in line for the bathroom and Lisa stopped by to say hello.”
Ryder’s arms relaxed and she broke free to stand. The blonde had disappeared into the restroom. “That looked like more than a hello, but that’s none of my business.”
She looked down at Ryder still lying on the floor but didn’t offer a hand to help her up. She felt dizzy. Was it the beer still or the overwhelming desire to drag Ryder into a dark corner and kiss her senseless? But the memory of the other woman’s hands on Ryder’s breasts, her body pressed against Ryder’s, soured her impulse. “My dinner’s getting cold,” she said, and turned to push through the crowd.
Her elation from the game and her appetite were gone, but she forced down the slice of pizza Lou handed her. She felt the heat of Ryder’s stare but refused to look toward the table near the mechanical bull where she sat with the twins and other members of the opposing team.
She glanced at her watch. Her earlier need to go home to paint had fled with her appetite, and exhaustion settled over her like a heavy blanket. She needed to sleep. She had to pick Lydia up from the airport in Richmond very early. Shit. She also needed the keys to Eleanor White’s house. She had no choice but to speak to Ryder again before she could leave. She both loathed and relished the anticipation that stirred in her.
Suck it up, LeRoy. The woman is making a huge contribution to the auction.
She glanced across the room. Ryder’s friends were pointing toward the mechanical bull and Ryder was shaking her head, resisting their entreaties. But they were persistent, grabbing her arm and urging her to stand up. Ryder shook her head again. Then one husky woman slapped a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and Ryder raised an eyebrow. The woman pointed to herself, then Ryder, then the bull.
Her anger flared. Why did they encourage her? Were they too stupid to realize how suicidal it was to play with bulls? Even a mechanical bull was dangerous. She would put a stop to this.
Ryder looked up as she approached.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Ryder stood. Her tablemates protested, but she ignored them and cupped Bridgette’s elbow to lead her away. Before Bridgette realized where they were going, she was corralled in a dim corner by an unoccupied pool table. Her back was pressed against the black-painted wall, Ryder’s hands planted on either side of her shoulders. Ryder’s face was inches from hers, and her skin heated at the naked desire in Ryder’s dark eyes, the same desire she remembered from their lovemaking—not tryst—in the mansion the week before.
“I was hoping you would reconsider.” Ryder’s voice was husky, her speech still slurred. The ale on Ryder’s breath mixed with her spicy scent, and Bridgette pushed down the urge to taste those full lips that hovered so close to hers. If she did, she’d be lost. The lazy thump of Ryder’s heart reverberated through her as she put her hand on Ryder’s chest to gently push her back.
“My art broker is flying in tomorrow morning and I need the keys to your grandmother’s house so we can price the paintings.”
Ryder pressed heavily against her hand, resisting her effort to create more space between them. “I think I have them in one of my pockets.” Her eyes lit up as if she suddenly had a great idea. “You have my permission to search for them.”
A roar of cheers rose up from a crowd that was gathering around the mechanical bull. The woman who’d put the twenty on the table was hanging on as the operator twisted and spun the controls to buck her off.
“You’re not going to get on that thing, are you? They’re nearly as dangerous as a live bull.”
“Nah. It’s like riding a tricycle compared to a real bull. Not dangerous at all if you know what you’re doing.”
She frowned. “Don’t be stupid. Just last week, you were using a cane to walk. You’ll injure your leg again.”
Ryder pressed closer. “I can think of something better to do with my time.”
“Marc.” She couldn’t do this. Wouldn’t do this. Each kiss, each touch from Ryder’s hands made her want more. It was a dangerous addiction, more perilous than Ryder’s absurd inclination to risk her neck riding angry bovine.
“I can’t stop thinking about last week—how beautiful you are naked.” Ryder’s gaze was soft and hazy, lost in her reminiscence. The tip of her tongue snaked across her lips. “All I have to do is think about it and I can taste you in my mouth.”
She pushed hard with both hands now, catching Ryder off guard so that she stumbled back a few steps. “Stop. All I need from you are the keys to Eleanor’s house. Do you have them or not?”
Ryder’s expression hardened. “They’re outside.” She drew the keys to her truck out of her pocket. “It’s the blue truck with the equestrian center’s logo on it. Look on the seat.” She tossed the keys at Bridgette.
“I’ll bring these back in a minute.”
“Just leave them at the bar with Sherry.” Ryder turned away, and she watched her walk back to her friends and quickly down two shots of tequila from a tray the waitress had just delivered to their table.
Christ. She didn’t need this kind of drama in her life. Her emotions felt raw and her stomach hollow, despite the pizza she had eaten. She rubbed a hand over her face. She was tired. That’s all. Get the keys, get some sleep, and have a great visit with Lydia tomorrow.
When she returned from the parking lot to leave the truck keys at the bar, the shouting almost deafened her. Most of the tables were vacant and the dance floor empty as everyone crowded around the mechanical bull. Ryder was astride it, one arm raised high overhead for balance and her legs pumping to rake her heels along the leather hide as it bucked and twirled crazily.
“Idiot,” Bridgette muttered.
“She is one crazy muther,” Sherry said, taking the keys. “But she’s got more guts than a slaughterhouse.”
The mechanism slowed and Ryder hopped up to stand on it and take a bow amid catcalls and whistles. She swayed, then caught her balance, grinned and bowed again. She was about to jump down when the bull bucked and whirled, flinging Ryder head over heels beyond the floor padding and into the nearest table.
/> Before Bridgette had time to think, she was kneeling next to Ryder, who groaned and rolled onto her back. She froze. Blood, red and bright, streamed from Ryder’s nose, covering her cheeks and dripping from her chin to soak into her shirt.
“Oh, man, I am so sorry.” Sherry’s partner and co-owner, Jo-Jo, knelt next to Bridgette. “I was reaching for my beer and my elbow accidently hit the controls. You okay?”
“I’m dandy. I’ve got so much tequila in me, it didn’t really hurt.” Ryder sat up, her bloody grin a macabre contradiction to her words. “I think I need to work on my back flip, though. Want to try that again?”
The careless words burned through Bridgette like a fury, and she slapped Ryder so hard the crowd jumped back to avoid the blood spray.
Ryder frowned. “Ow. Now that did hurt. What’d ya slug me for?”
“Trying to knock some sense into you,” she said through clenched teeth. “Get up. I’m going to drive you to the emergency room.”
“I don’t need a doctor, just maybe another shot of Jose.”
“Your nose could be broken.”
“I’ve broken my nose before. This doesn’t feel broken.”
“I don’t think you’re feeling much of anything right now,” Jo-Jo interjected. “Maybe you should listen to Bridgette and go get it checked out. I don’t want you suing me next week because it is broke and you’ve started snoring so bad no woman will sleep with you.”
“I’ll stop by Tory’s and get her to look at it.”
Bridgette huffed. “Tory is a veterinarian, not a doctor. But then you are acting like an ass.”
Jo-Jo laughed and Ryder glared at her. “Shut up and help me get up.”
She struggled to her feet with Jo-Jo and Bridgette’s help, but her face paled. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “I don’t feel so good now,” she muttered.
Bridgette guided Ryder to a chair. “Watch her. I’ll be right back.”
She returned with two clean towels, dampened with ice water. She pressed one against the back of Ryder’s neck and gently cleaned her bloody face with the other. Her nose wasn’t swelling too badly, but Ryder’s eyes were unfocused and clouded with more than alcohol.
“Help me get her in my car, Jo-Jo. She’s going to see a doctor whether she wants to or not.”
Ryder didn’t protest this time as Jo-Jo shouldered under her arm, held her tight around the waist, and shuffled toward the parking lot.
“She okay?” Lou asked.
“I’m going to make sure,” she said, handing her the bloody towels. “Can you get Marc’s keys from Sherry and have someone drive her truck back to Skyler’s place?”
“Sure. Desiree and I’ll take care of it.” Lou wrapped her big hand around Bridgette’s forearm and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t be too hard on her, Bridgette. Showing off and doing crazy things is just Ryder. That’s who she is.”
She nodded, but she didn’t really agree. She was beginning to understand that it was just who Ryder was pretending to be.
Chapter Sixteen
Ryder was afraid that if she opened her eyes, the warm fingers gently clasping her cold hand would withdraw.
Her knee was stiff, but a quick X-ray and examination revealed only a little swelling of the soft tissue. The metal plate and pins holding her newly mended shin together were intact. And while her nose was swollen enough that she had to breathe through her mouth, the cartilage was not broken.
The nausea and pounding in her head, however, were keeping her in the emergency room, now going on four hours. She shivered at the caress of Bridgette’s thumb against the back of her hand.
“Are you cold? I can ask for another blanket.”
She tightened her fingers around Bridgette’s to stop her from pulling free.
“This stupid gown doesn’t cover much, but I don’t want to get too comfortable. I’d rather dress and get out of here. What’s taking that doctor so long?”
“He’s waiting on your MRI results.”
“You don’t have to stay. I know you have to get up early.” Even as she said it, she clung to Bridgette’s hand, pathetically unable to let go.
“How do you think you’ll get home?”
“I can call Skyler or Tory.”
“I’m fine. I’m not going to leave you here alone.”
She sighed. She’d always been alone. That’s why she filled her life with distractions—beautiful women, exciting places, and adrenaline-pumping experiences.
Then she met Bridgette. Something about her made Ryder feel the loneliness again. Made her feel everything.
She’d been embarrassed when giving her medical history. She couldn’t answer the routine questions about heart disease or cancer in her family. She had to explain that, yes, her parents were alive, but, no, she didn’t know exactly where they were currently living. They were probably still in South Africa.
She usually told people her parents were dead. But Bridgette already knew about them and she didn’t want to lie in front of her, no matter how ashamed she was that she knew so little about them.
“Maybe it won’t be much longer.” She was torn between guilt and need. She needed, wanted desperately for Bridgette to stay close. But she felt guilty that her antics were responsible for keeping her from going home and getting some sleep.
They had barely made it out of the bar when she’d pushed away from Jo-Jo and stumbled over to empty her stomach in the shrubbery. It wasn’t the alcohol. She’d consumed a lot more tequila before and never lost her dinner.
She didn’t need a doctor to diagnose her, either. The symptoms were familiar—slightly blurred vision, sensitivity to light, nausea, and a pounding headache. She’d had a lot of concussions during her riding career. Enough to know that a couple days of rest and a handful of pain pills were the only cure.
She was about to ask Bridgette to help her put her pants on when the doctor stepped around the curtain.
“Well, Ms. Ryder. Your MRI scan doesn’t show any swelling or lesions, but your symptoms indicate a mild concussion.” He gave Ryder a disapproving look. “We can’t be sure, however, because your blood-alcohol level also could be responsible for your slurred speech when you arrived in the ER and your nausea and your headache now.”
“Fine. Can I go now?”
“I’m not finished. Your medical history indicates you are an athlete and have experienced multiple concussions since you were a teen. Are you aware that new studies indicate cumulative damage from multiple concussions can cause significant neurological and emotional problems?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen the publicity about pro football players having brain damage.”
“Then I shouldn’t have to caution you further. You know the risks.”
“Yeah, okay.” The lights were too bright and her head hurt. She just wanted to go home.
“I understand you are recovering from recent orthopedic injury. I would caution you against taking any anti-inflammatory prescriptions you may have over the next couple of days because of the risk of intracranial bleeding. You can, however, take acetaminophen for pain.”
She started to nod, which only caused a new wave of nausea. “I know the drill. I’ll pick up some on the way home.”
The doctor handed Bridgette a sheet with instructions. “She shouldn’t drive and someone should keep an eye on her for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. There’s a drugstore across town that stays open all night, or you can take a left at the nurses’ desk, go to the end of the hall, and take a right. The hospital pharmacy is open.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Bridgette took the instructions.
“You can dress, but wait here until the nurse comes back. She’ll give you an injection that will help with the nausea.”
Bridgette watched him leave. “Ready to get dressed?”
Ryder moved slowly. She would have given a hundred bucks for a pair of sunglasses to block the light that was piercing her brain, but she was determined not to dry heave again in front of Bridgette. Sh
e was sweating and shaking by the time they got her clothes on, and she sat on the bed so Bridgette could gently put her boots on for her.
“Maybe this little accident wasn’t such a bad thing after all.”
Ryder lay back and covered her eyes to gather her strength. “You can say that. Your brain isn’t trying to pound its way out of your skull,” she muttered.
“I hope you listen to him and start thinking about a different career.”
“Ain’t gonna happen.” She didn’t want to think about anything while this jackhammer was going off in her head.
“I think your brain is already scrambled. Or maybe you’re just hoping to break your neck and get it over with quickly.”
The venom in Bridgette’s voice startled her.
“I wear safety gear, Bridgette.” She sat up a little too quick and her stomach roiled. When she looked frantically around the room, Bridgette tossed the puke basin into her lap.
“I’ll go get your medicine.”
*
Of all the moronic egomaniacs, why did she get saddled with this one? Bridgette was furious.
She suddenly realized she had always blamed herself in some small way for her brother’s death. She should have guessed what he was up to and insisted that he watch with her from the balcony. But now she knew no amount of logic would have dissuaded him. And that made her furious.
How could Stephan and Ryder be so careless with their lives, with the feelings of the people who cared about them? She stopped in the middle of the hallway. She didn’t care about Ryder. She’d just met her. She was an arrogant, mule-headed, macho prick. Bridgette sighed. She was sexy and charming and sweet and passionate.
A shiver ran through her. Though Ryder was an incredible lover, it was the vulnerable woman she’d only glimpsed that touched her deep inside, made her want to heal and protect. But how could she take on someone else’s baggage when she couldn’t even deal with her own issues? Ryder was just like Stephan. His insane recklessness had both thrilled and terrified her. Still, she’d let herself love him and look how that turned out.
Every Second Counts Page 13
