Come Sundown

by Nora Roberts

  “Right now it feels like you jabbed down to the bone with a hot poker.”

  “Yeah, that’ll ease up. You’re a strong, healthy boy.” Bickers slapped his knee. “And nearly as good-looking as your horse. You can take something over the counter for the pain. You got anything tucked away that’s stronger, you tell me beforehand.”

  “I don’t.”

  “All right. I’ll write all this down for you, leave it, and see you both in the morning.”

  “Thanks.”

  Bickers nodded, tossed away the gloves. “I’d like to know what kind of sick son of a bitch takes a shot at a sweet horse. I guess he was most likely shooting at you, but he hurt the horse more.” She gathered her bag, nodded at Tate. “Your turn.”

  The sheriff stepped forward. “You up to talking to me, Cal?”

  “Yeah, but I’d sure like a beer first.”

  Rory held one out. “Grabbed one for you. I’m supposed to go back, let the others know you and Sundown are okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  Callen took a long, slow pull. “I’ll tell you what I know. Worked a little late, rode home slow. Pretty evening. I figured to give Sundown a run when we came around that first bend on Black Angus. He’d just changed gaits. I felt it hit me, then I heard it, then he stumbled. I had to keep him going. It hurt him, but we were in the open there, and I didn’t know if we were going to get shot again. So I pushed him until we had some cover. I heard an ATV start up and take off.”

  “You sure about that? A truck, a bike?”

  “I know the difference. An ATV. Probably up on the high trail. He had to wait until we came around that bend for a good shot, so he’d be up there, or why not take the shot when we were just standing there or walking? Going into a gallop’s probably what threw the shot off. He had to compensate, change angles fast. Likely not much of a shot.”

  Callen took another long pull on his beer. “As memory serves, Garrett Clintok’s not much of a shot. I’d like to know if he owns an ATV.”

  “You leave that to me.”

  Callen pushed the beer at Bodine, got to his feet. Fury turned his eyes into a storm cloud of fiery blue. “You see that horse? I love him like a brother. Some asshole hides up in the trees, tries to ambush me, and shoots my horse? I don’t leave that up to anybody.”

  “If you go after Garrett, I’ll end up having to arrest you for assault, and that’d be after he kicks your ass because you can’t put all your weight on that leg. Do you think if he did this, I’ll let it go?”

  “I don’t. Do you think if he did this, I will?”

  Tate sighed, rubbed his face. “I’m going to deal with this. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  Because his leg throbbed like a bad tooth, Callen sat again when Tate left.

  “I’ll take care of Clintok for you,” Chase said.

  He looked at Chase, shook his head. “I know you would, but I have to deal with this myself. Tate’s right about getting my ass kicked right now. So I’ll just heal up for a couple days.”

  “Tate’ll have him in jail by then. He’s got an ATV.”

  Callen nodded. “He’ll get out sooner or later. I can wait.”

  “Well. I’ll get you a bedroll.”

  “Get two,” Bodine told her brother before he walked away.

  Callen looked up at her as Chase walked away. “Are you sleeping out here?”

  “What do you think?”

  He pushed himself up again, pulled her to him. “I don’t have it in me to shake you stupid for riding out there that way.”

  “Good. I’d hate to kick your ass under the circumstances. What I will do is go get you the plate I expect Clementine has warming in the oven, and get you another beer. A couple of Motrin.”

  “Four.”

  “Four,” she agreed.

  “Bodine.” As his horse had with him, Callen lowered his head to her shoulder. “Scared the shit out of me.”

  “I know.” Just as she knew he didn’t mean getting shot. He meant coming close to losing his horse. “I’m going to go get your supper.”

  He let her go, limped back to his horse.

  He thought how he’d nearly stopped to pick Bodine wildflowers.

  He wished he had.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Bodine woke snuggled up against Callen. That in itself had become pretty usual. But the fact that they both were pillowed on Sundown’s chest added a brand-new element.

  They’d slept better than she’d anticipated, especially since they’d left the lights on in case they’d needed to deal with any medical issues in a hurry. Right now the stall smelled of hay and horse and antiseptic.

  And the horse snored.

  She took that as a good sign as she eased herself away and sat up. She used her phone to check the time—five-fifteen. No, not bad at all, but her stable companions could use a couple more hours.

  If it wasn’t inside the bedroll, she’d have checked Callen’s leg. Instead, she picked her way around, staying hunkered down to carefully examine Sundown’s wound.

  Nasty, she thought, and there’d be some pain when he woke. But the wound looked clean. She laid a careful hand on Sundown’s belly. Warm, not hot.

  After she crabwalked back, she stood, studied them. Unable to resist, she lifted her phone again, took a couple of pictures. She’d print one out, frame it for Callen. Hell, she might even toss one on the website.

  Thinking of that, and Callen’s fancy riding show, she hunkered down again for another angle. A nice companion shot to the one of Callen, arm thrown up, and Sundown’s forelegs pawing the air.

  “Morning?” Callen mumbled. “Seriously?”

  “Barely. Go back to sleep. He’s fine,” she said as Callen sat up. “I checked the wound. No heat, looks clean. Let me take a look at yours before I go grab a shower.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Then let’s see.”

  He grumbled about it, but worked himself out of the bedroll.

  The bruising, Bodine noted, bloomed glorious, but when she unwrapped the bandages, like Sundown’s, the wound looked clean. No streaks of red, no troubling heat.

  “Got some swelling, but no more than expected. Looks like you’re both on the mend. And you’ve both got the day off to keep mending.”

  “I’m fine. We’ve got a full plate today.”

  “Which the rest of us will handle. Getting shot equals a sick day, horse and rider.” She tapped her finger against Callen’s chest. “I’m the boss of you. You’re not going to want to leave him anyway.”

  She sat back on her heels. “I was so pissed off at you.”

  “For getting shot?” His fingers raked at his hair. “Doesn’t seem quite equitable.”

  “For not saying you’d been shot. And for shoving me away once I realized you had.”

  “I can apologize for that part.”

  “No need. After I stopped being pissed, which was mostly from being scared brainless, I thought about it. I’d have done exactly the same. We’ve got that in common, I guess.”

  “Enough that I’d’ve been pretty pissed at you if the situation’d been reversed.”

  “So we’re good there. Try for some more sleep. I’ll bring some coffee out after I get that shower. Then you can grab one of your own and some breakfast. Dad, Chase, Rory, Mom, any of the hands will stay with him while you get cleaned up and fed.”

  “I know it.”

  She started to stand, but he tugged her into a kiss.

  “I value a woman who’d sleep in a stall with a hurt horse.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time for me, unlikely it’s the last.”

  “I value it.”

  She patted his knee, rose, pulled on her boots. “Stay off that leg.”

  Listening to her boot steps recede, Callen gave Sundown—he knew the horse had waked—a rub. “Looks like I’ve crossed into new territory. She puts an ache in me I don’t know what to do with.”

  He glanced down, met Sundown’s eyes. “
Hurts some, doesn’t it? Well, let’s get up easy, you and me, and see how we stand.”

  * * *

  Seconds after Bodine shut her door, Alice opened hers. She walked quiet and had a quick flash of the girl she’d been sneaking into the house—or trying to—after curfew.

  She knew about the hurt horse. Everyone had jumped up, and there’d been shouting and running. It had scared her at first, scared her that Sir had come to take her back. That he’d hurt her because she’d cut her hair and made it red like Grammy’s.

  But it hadn’t been Sir. Somebody had been mean to a horse, and she wanted to see it. She liked horses. She could remember riding them and brushing them. She even remembered helping one get born once.

  She wanted to see the hurt horse, but everybody said she shouldn’t worry. Everything was fine.

  But she wanted to see the hurt horse, so she would.

  Hardheaded. Mile-wide stubborn streak.

  For some reason hearing those words in her head made her giggle. She had to slap a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound as she crept down the back stairs.

  And she knew, she remembered where the creaky ones were. Oh my gosh, she remembered! Tears swam into her eyes as she navigated around them.

  She hadn’t been outside yet, not once. She hadn’t even gone into the mudroom because she knew a door there led to outside.

  Her stomach hurt, her bad leg hurt, her head hurt.

  She should make tea instead. Some nice tea, and go work on her scarf.

  “No, no, no. Don’t be a scaredy-cat. Don’t be a scaredy-cat. Don’t be a scaredy-cat.”

  She couldn’t stop saying the words, over and over, even when she put her hand over her mouth again. They just kept running out of her.

  When she pushed open the door, she flashed straight back to pushing open the door in the house Sir provided. Now her head swam so she had to brace a hand on the doorjamb. The air blew over her face. Cool, sweet.

  As she had weeks before, she stepped out.

  Stars, so many stars. A world full of stars! She circled under them, arms held high. She remembered dancing—had she danced under a world of stars?

  There was the big barn and there the bunkhouse and there the stables and there the chicken coop. Oh, and there’s where Ma planted her kitchen garden. There was the sister garden.

  She remembered, she remembered.

  But when the dogs Bodine had let out came running, she froze.

  They didn’t bite. They didn’t growl and lunge. They wagged and pranced and rubbed up against her legs. They liked to sleep at her feet while she made scarves. Being outside didn’t mean they’d bite.

  “You’re good dogs,” she whispered. “Not mean. I know you. You’re Chester and you’re Clyde. You come in the house and sleep when I work on my scarf. We’re going to go see the horse.”

  She walked to the stables under a world of stars with the good dogs running in happy circles.

  She tried to open the door quiet—mouse-quiet. She knew the smells here! Nothing scary, nothing mean.

  Horses and hay and manure, saddle soap and linseed oil. Grain and apples.

  She walked mouse-quiet, too, on her house slippers, creeping along in the flannel pajamas she liked so much. So soft.

  A voice made her stop again, push a hand to her heart when it beat hard.

  “You’re going to take your medicine, and no whining. No use giving me that sad look, either. I’m going to take mine. You see me whining and looking pitiful? Fine. I’ll take mine first.”

  She crept down a little more, saw the man. The man who came to the house sometimes to Sunday dinner, to breakfast. Sometimes.

  She’d seen him kiss Bodine, and Bodine didn’t seem to mind at all.

  But if the man made her a little afraid, the horse … Oh the horse was so beautiful. And the beautiful horse propped his beautiful head on the man’s shoulder.

  “I know it hurts.”

  The man’s voice said kindness, said love, said the opposite of anything mean.

  “You didn’t hurt the horse.”

  The man turned around, one hand still stroking the horse’s neck. He had a scruffed-up face and tired eyes, and his hair was all tousled.

  “No, ma’am. I’d never hurt him.”

  “Who did?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Are you cold, Miss Alice? You want my jacket?”

  He shrugged it off, stepped forward. She’d started to step back, step away, but saw he limped a little.

  “I limp, too. Did somebody chain you up?”

  “No. I got a little hurt when Sundown did. This is Sundown. Sundown, this is Miss Alice Bodine.”

  To Alice’s delight, and to Callen’s ridiculous pride, Sundown bent his forelegs into a bow.

  “He’s so pretty!”

  “He sure thinks so. You can pet him. He really likes being petted by a pretty woman.”

  “I used to be pretty. I got old. Bodine cut my hair and made it nice again.”

  “Did she?” More pride. “It looks real fine. A lot like Miss Fancy’s.” He kept talking as she edged closer, lifted a hand to stroke Sundown’s cheek. “You know I’m pretty sweet on Miss Fancy.”

  Alice laughed—a little high, a little rusty. “She’s even older than me!”

  “It doesn’t matter a bit.”

  “Sundown,” Alice murmured. “Your name is Sundown. I like to watch the sun go down. It makes the sky so beautiful. Like magic. I like horses. I remember. Things get so mixed-up in my head, but I remember I like horses. I like riding them, riding fast. I’d be a movie star and have a ranch in the Hollywood Hills. I’d shop on Rodeo Drive.”

  “Here, let’s put this on.” She didn’t jerk away when he helped her into his jacket. “Maybe when he’s better, you’d like to ride Sundown.”

  She pressed her hand to her lips, her eyes wide and full of wonder. “I could?”

  “When he’s better. The doctor needs to tell us when. But you could ride him when she says he can.”

  “I—I might not remember how.”

  “That’s okay. I teach people how. Me and Sundown here. You can think about it.”

  “I can think about it. Nobody can stop me. I can think about it. Where did he get hurt?”

  “Right along his belly. See here?”

  She let out a gasp—and whether or not she remembered how to ride, showed Callen she remembered how to move and act around horses.

  She crouched, one hand soothing Sundown’s flank as she studied the wound. “That’s mean. It’s mean. I know about mean. About mean that chains you up and hits with fists and whips with belts. This is mean that way. He’ll have a scar. I have scars.

  “I’m sorry.” She crooned it as she straightened, moved back to Sundown’s head, stroked. “I’m so sorry somebody hurt you. Somebody mean.”