She led Creamsicle to the arena and mounted. Then she rode her through the cloverleaf formation of barrels at a lope. Everything was going very smoothly until she came out of the third barrel and started to gallop.
Something odd happened so quickly that Rachael barely had an opportunity to react. Creamsicle started bucking and crow-hopping on her way to the finish line coming from the last barrel. One moment Rachael was in the saddle, and the next she was on the ground.
She lay staring at the sky, vaguely realizing it was a beautiful shade of blue. Her chest hurt and felt heavy, as if a ten-pound sack of potatoes were sitting on top of it. Her breath came in short gasps. Then she felt a sharp pain in her head. Wow, does that hurt!
The next thing she knew Travis squatted beside her. “Are you okay?”
“I…can’t…breathe,” she managed, but barely.
“Okay, don’t move. I’ll call an ambulance.”
She tried to grab his arm but failed. “No. I…don’t think…I need one.”
“Can you move your feet, legs, arms?”
“Yes.” She drew a shaky breath. “I think…it just knocked…the wind out of me.”
“What about your hands? Can you wiggle your fingers?”
“Yes. My neck isn’t broken, Travis.” She smiled up at him.
“Okay. Creamsicle planted you pretty hard. But maybe you’re right. She may have just knocked the wind out of you.”
“I think so.”
“Can you sit up?”
“Yes.” When Rachael sat up, she was immediately very dizzy. She grabbed her forehead with her hand and steadied herself with the other. “Maybe sitting up isn’t such a smart idea.”
“I think maybe you hit your head. You could have a concussion.” She heard the concern in his tone. “We should get you to the hospital to have you checked out and see if Creamsicle scrambled your brain.”
Rachael tried to stand up but wobbled.
“Oh, no, you don’t. I’ll carry you,” he insisted. “There’s no way you’re walking anywhere right now.” He scooped her up gently into his arms.
“My mom is in Palm Beach, and my aunt is at a game,” she tried to say but wasn’t sure it was coming out right. She found it difficult to think clearly.
“I’ll take you to the hospital.” Travis carried Rachael to his truck and put her in the front seat. He reclined it a bit. Then he honked the horn several times. Mrs. Baxter and Maysie came running. He told them what had happened. Maysie ran in and came back out with an icepack.
Within five minutes they were all driving to the hospital. On the way there Rachael began to feel very drowsy and started to fall asleep.
“You must try to stay awake, Rachael,” Mrs. Baxter said from the back seat. “Falling asleep could be dangerous.”
“I think I’m going to puke,” Rachael muttered.
“That’s okay. It’s leather, remember? Always cleans up nicely. Mud, manure…even puke.”
Travis talked her ear off for the next twenty minutes or so. About what, exactly, she had no idea.
At the emergency room, Rachael felt as if her head was going to explode. She was triaged and taken back to a room immediately, where she spent only a few minutes before being whisked down a hallway for a CT scan of her head.
When they brought her back to her room she was given something in her IV for pain and nausea.
Rachael sat listening to the hum of the voices talking around her, not really able to follow any of the conversation.
Finally the emergency room doctor came in and advised them she had a moderate concussion and no signs of brain damage. That was one thing Rachael heard loud and clear.
He advised them to take her home and give her plenty of clear fluids and food if she could hold it down. The doctor also recommended an icepack, acetaminophen for pain, and waking her every two hours throughout the night to make sure she didn’t have any additional bleeding on the brain. If they were unable to wake her, she’d need to return to the hospital. And no physical activities for three months, including horseback riding and dance.
Rachael heard that too.
Great. I’m going to turn into a couch potato this summer.
Rachael was released and sent home. The entire Baxter family escorted her there. Mrs. Baxter had called her Aunt Margaret as well as her mother. When Rachael got home, all she wanted to do was sleep. Travis carried her to bed and covered her with a quilt. Then Aunt Margaret came in to check on her. That was all she remembered until morning.
*
When Rachael awoke, her head pounded as if a herd of cattle stampeded right through it. She stumbled out to the family room where she saw Maysie and Travis each sleeping on a couch.
At her approach, Travis stirred. “What are you doing out of bed?” He jumped to his feet to assist her.
“I just needed something for this terrible headache and some coffee.”
“I’ll get it after I put you back in bed.”
Rachael didn’t know how he accomplished it but before she knew it, she was turned around, with Travis supporting most of her weight as she gimped her way back to her room. Travis must have awakened Aunt Margaret because she helped Rachael don a fresh tank top and boxer shorts, then covered her back up with the quilt.
Travis came in with coffee, toast, and some much-needed meds.
“Thanks.”
“Lookin’ good there, cowgirl. Too bad you feel like crap.”
“I feel awful. How long was I on the ground before you got to me?”
“Only about thirty seconds. I was standing in the barn watching you ride. When I saw you go airborne, I started running.”
“It felt like I flew fifty feet in the air! She really launched me.”
“I know. I saw it, remember? I’ve been bucked off twice in my life, and both times it hurt badly. First time I was eight; second time I was ten. After that you learn to hold on to that saddle horn.”
“What happened, exactly?”
“When you came around the last barrel, Creamsicle started to buck. Because you weren’t holding onto the saddle horn or the horse with your legs, you didn’t have a chance of staying in the saddle. But, like all of us, you’ll ride again.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Now that would be disappointing.” He smirked. “You may not think so today, but you’re becoming a really good rider. Just don’t tell Maysie. I don’t want her to think her methodology is actually working.”
“I heard that!” Maysie called from the doorway.
“Oh no, here we go,” Travis jested.
Rachael fell asleep somewhere in the middle of the siblings’ bickering.
*
When she woke, the house was quiet. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was low in the sky. Rachael knew one thing for certain. She was starving.
She crept out to the kitchen and smelled dinner baking in the oven.
Baked chicken. Yellow squash. French bread.
Rachael broke off a chunk of French bread and ate it like a starved beast. She poured herself a glass of milk. She was halfway through drinking it when she heard Travis behind her.
“Feelin’ better, I see.”
“Hey, Travis. Where’s Aunt Margaret?”
“Michael had ball practice. Maysie went home. Let’s just say I’m babysitting.” He grinned.
I guess I’m the baby. Rachael pondered that a moment. Does he really see me as a “baby”—as in baby sister? Or does he mean it as “baby,” as in darling, dear, baby? The first would be bad, the second would be good. Which is it?
Then he added, “Oh, and I fed Taffy and George for you. She has really come along nicely. I led her in the round pen a bit ago. I think I may want her back.”
“Not on your life. She’s a city cow now. She’s used to being fed twice a day and brushed each night. She would never like it in the pasture with the less refined cows.”
“Good. You are feeling better. I can go.”
Rachael s
howed Travis to the door, pausing long enough there to be awkward. Something between them had changed. Rachael didn’t know whether to hug him, slap his arm, or throw her arms around him and kiss him. He merely opened the door and walked outside. She locked it behind him and went back to bed until her Aunt Margaret brought her dinner a few hours later.
I wish I could read his mind. What is he thinking?
I have to do something, but what?
Then it came to her. Something Rachael thought of as Operation: Hook Travis Baxter took shape in her mind.
4
TWO WEEKS LATER AND ON THE MEND FROM HER RIDING ACCIDENT, Rachael stood in the pouring rain watching the Baxters’ barn for any sign of movement. Operation: Hook Travis Baxter was well underway. A scan of the yard and surrounding pastures revealed nothing. Even their house appeared unusually quiet for a Monday afternoon. Rachael climbed through the board fence behind the barn and made her way up to the front porch. She passed Travis’s truck, as well as Maysie’s convertible, both parked in the driveway. She hesitated, then rang the doorbell and waited.
What am I doing? I’ve just walked several miles in the pouring rain…to do what exactly?
I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and no one will answer.
What am I going to say?
“Hi. I’m here because, after a year of complete idiocy and brain-deadened existence, I realize I’m totally in to Travis!”
And what if Maysie answers? Do I tell her I’m here to see Travis? Why? To confess my true feelings? Those same feelings Maysie suspected all along?
Maybe Mrs. Baxter will answer, and I can just say I was stopping by to say hi to both of them. That would be best.
Or maybe I should just leave.
She sighed. This was never so difficult before my recent self-discovery. Am I going to be all weird and stuff around Travis? Yep. I should go.
But right as Rachael whirled to walk away, Gwin Baxter, Levi’s mom, appeared at the door. “Hi, Rachael, it’s good to see you, dear. Can I help you?”
“Hi. I didn’t realize anyone was here. I was just turning to go.”
“Come in, honey, and get dried off. You’re absolutely drenched. Did you walk here?”
“Sure did. Won’t be sixteen for another month, and even then I probably won’t have a car.”
“Ginnie and I are about to have a cup of coffee and some apple pie. I think it will help warm you up some.”
Gwin Baxter, Travis’s aunt, lived on the ranch with his Uncle Phil. During the last school year, Michael and their son, Levi, had become best friends. Ginnie, or Mrs. Baxter as Rachael thought of her, was Travis’s mother—a Southern lady in every way. Elegant, refined, and well-spoken were only a few of the adjectives that came to mind when Rachael thought to describe Mrs. Baxter.
Rachael suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. Before her family’s scandal, Rachael had mingled with women just as refined as Mrs. Baxter in Palm Beach, never feeling any reluctance or inadequacy. Then all of the events of this past year had impacted her. For the first time, standing there soaked to the bone on the Baxters’ front porch, Rachael realized something had changed the way she now viewed herself. Suddenly she felt vulnerable and undeserving of someone as good, kind, and righteous as Travis. Worse yet, she felt inferior to him and his entire family, even though they had never done anything to make her feel that way.
Why?
As Rachael contemplated all this in the foyer, she quickly said, “I should be going. I hadn’t really meant to stay, just wanted to stop by.”
What am I doing? Stop running, Rachael. You can do this.
I refuse to allow anything else to come between us. Today I’m going to tell him exactly how I feel. I have been running from him and my feelings for him for a long time. That stops today.
“Nonsense,” she heard Mrs. Baxter saying from the kitchen. “I insist you come in here and join Gwin and me for some coffee and dessert. We won’t take no for an answer,” she added sweetly.
Rachael was glad when Gwin handed her a sweatshirt, sweatpants, and a dry pair of socks and directed her to the nearest downstairs bathroom. “Are Travis and Maysie at home?” she asked.
“No, honey. They are on a mission trip to the Dominican Republic. They’ll be gone most of the summer.”
“Most of the summer!” Rachael felt as if she’d been sucker-punched.
“Yes, dear. It’s something that came up rather suddenly. The church asked for volunteers, and Mr. Baxter thought it would be a great experience for them to go together.”
“Oh.” Rachael sounded disappointed.
“Don’t worry. They’ll be back right before school starts in the fall.” Gwin turned and walked back into the kitchen.
Great. Right before my dad’s trial. So much for my plan. Operation: Hook Travis Baxter has come to a screeching halt.
Rachael went into the bathroom and closed the door. A glance in the mirror confirmed what she already suspected. I do look like a drenched rat! Maybe it’s better Travis isn’t here. I wouldn’t want him to see me like this.
Since when do I care what I look like for Travis? He has seen me at my worst, and it never bothered me before.
Hmmm. I’m in trouble. I like him more than I suspected.
Rachael slipped on the sweatpants. They were a little long—about three inches too long. She knew instantly they belonged to Maysie.
Maysie and those long legs.
Next Rachael slipped on the sweatshirt. It was huge! It hung off of her arms and hands. The hem of the waistline hung to the tops of her thighs. It was camouflage. Rachael had a hard time visualizing Maysie in this sweatshirt. Across the front it said Monster Buck Hunt Club.
Travis.
Instinctively Rachael pulled the front of the collar up to her nose. It even smells like him. A mixture of soap, fabric softener, and pine trees—like someone who spends a lot of time outdoors. Also, a faint hint of his cologne.
Next Rachael slipped on the socks. They were hot pink with black silhouettes of dancers on them. Definitely Maysie’s. Rachael imagined seeing Travis in those socks. The very idea was hilarious.
Rachael exited the bathroom and followed the scents of fresh coffee and warm apple pie to the kitchen. Gwin and Mrs. Baxter sat at the table.
“Hi, darling. Have a seat,” Mrs. Baxter directed. “I was just telling Gwin that the timing of the missionary trip to the Dominican Republic came as such a surprise, Maysie and Travis had little time to contact any of their friends. We received a call only yesterday that there had been a cancellation and the church was in need of some more help. So my husband asked Maysie and Travis. Of course they said yes, so he booked the airplane tickets last night and they left early this morning. I don’t know what I’m going to do in this big house all alone this summer. I’ll have to depend on you and your Aunt Margaret to keep me company.” She grinned sweetly at Rachael.
“I’d like that.” Rachael’s heart fluttered with trepidation, thinking of spending the summer with Mrs. Baxter. “Of course you’ll have Gwin here as well.”
“No, Gwin is traveling with Levi to north Florida to visit her mother this summer. Phil will still be here helping me to look after the ranch and take care of all of the horses. It may surprise you to learn that I wasn’t born into ranching like my husband and his family,” Mrs. Baxter confided.
“Really?” Rachael was shocked.
“Yes, really. I grew up in a little town called Waycross, Georgia. There was a lot of agriculture there, but my father owned a hardware store where I worked after school and during the summer. The closest I got to a horse before I married Mr. Baxter was at a friend’s house one time where I patted one from across the fence line. I was actually afraid of horses for the longest time, until Mr. Baxter bought me John. That horse wouldn’t hurt a baby.”
Oh, I remember John. He’s the ancient, near dead horse who will barely go or trot or even walk for that matter. I’ve had the pleasure of riding John.
Rachael decid
ed to keep her thoughts about riding dear, old John to herself and simply smiled over the rim of her cup as she sipped her coffee.
The ranching lifestyle seemed to suit Mrs. Baxter so perfectly. Rachael could hardly believe it wasn’t something she had been doing her entire life.
“How did you and Mr. Baxter meet?” Rachael asked.
“One summer at my father’s hardware store.” Mrs. Baxter smiled. “I was working the cash register. He came into the store to buy fence posts, staples, and barbed wire.” At Rachael’s confused stare she added, “Fencing supplies, dear, and trust me, this story is as close to those items as you will ever want to get. Barbed wire is nasty. It cuts your hands deeply. Of course, the men are used to it and don’t even wear gloves. Their hands have gotten tough after years of working with it.”
“Come to think of it,” Rachael mused, “I have noticed Travis has callouses on his palms and fingertips. I thought it was from working in the barn.” She remembered Travis assisting her after she’d been bucked off. Then she recalled his closeness and the way he’d held her when they danced at her Debutante Ball in the spring. Now each of those simple memories held all new meaning.
“Yes, well, it’s from that too,” Mrs. Baxter clarified. “Anyhow, Mr. Baxter came into the store in his black Stetson cowboy hat and his Wrangler jeans, and I thought he was the most handsome guy I had ever seen. I was nineteen, and he was twenty-one. Of course my parents thought he was too old for me. But we corresponded through letters over the next couple of years. We saw each other during the summer and over the holidays when he’d come to work on his uncle’s farm in Waycross. I knew he was the one. Finally, when I finished at the community college there in Georgia, he asked my father if he could marry me. I was twenty-one, and he was twenty-three.”
Mrs. Baxter spoke with such animation, as if the mere thought of Mr. Baxter made her come alive. That’s what real love does, Rachael thought wistfully.
Cowgirl Down (Redneck Debutante) Page 4
