by Sharon Sala
Juana also heard complaints from the men about the quiet anger that Chance was letting fester. He was at once swiftly critical of everything and everyone, and then instantly furious with himself for losing control. Everyone was walking on eggshells and Marcus Tyler seemed to be the only one oblivious to the reason.
It was Marcus’s weekly meeting with Chance that stopped their cycle of self-destruction and nearly erupted in chaos. It took every ounce of dignity and self-control Chance had left, not to kill the man Jenny walked in with just as the meeting was coming to an end.
“Marcus,” Jenny said, “Nelson and I are going riding and we thought you might…” She stopped short.
The look of total devastation came and went so quickly that only Chance saw her pain. It was inevitable that this meeting would happen, but it was more than bad luck that she was with this man when it did. He was the only one who’d managed a return engagement in the constant string of men who’d been paraded through the Triple T. His mere presence was a threat to Chance’s sanity.
“Sorry,” she said as her world shattered quietly into tiny pieces, “I didn’t know you were busy.”
“It’s okay, Jenny,” Marcus said, unaware of the tension. “We were just finishing our weekly update. And as for the riding invitation, I’ll have to pass. As soon as Chance and I are through, I’ve got to fly into Dallas for a meeting. I won’t be back until tomorrow.”
Chance saw the look of expectation that swept through Nelson’s eyes when he realized that Jenny would be alone. His fingers curled into fists and he actually took a step forward before the silent plea on Jenny’s face stopped him short.
“Oh hell,” he said softly, not caring who heard him or what interpretation they made of the remark. “I’ll be outside if you have anything else to say to me, boss. I need some air.”
Chance walked past Jenny without saying a word, and left the men staring at each other in stunned surprise.
Pain twisted and coiled around Jenny’s heart. I can’t take much more of this, she thought, sinking limply into the chair beside the doorway.
“I wonder what’s wrong with him?” Marcus mumbled, and then shrugged. His foreman was an enigma he’d long since given up trying to understand. What he cared about was performance, and Chance McCall was one of the best. The Triple T had never run so smoothly.
“You two run along and have your ride. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jenny,” Marcus said, as he began shuffling papers on his desk. “Nelson, you come back soon, you hear? It’s real nice having a young man like you around the place to help out.”
Jenny couldn’t believe it. Nelson Turnbull didn’t know steers from heifers, and barely knew the ass end of a horse. Why couldn’t her father see what was staring him in the face? She had been coming apart for months, and he thought she was having the time of her life.
But Jenny knew it was partially her own fault. She hid her feelings very well. Suddenly her frenetic rebellion of the past few months caught up with her. She sighed, looking up with barely disguised distaste at the man who’d been sniffing at her heels as if she were a bitch in heat. She buried her face in her hands, ashamed of her behavior, and knew that Nelson Turnbull’s time was fast running out. After today, she’d tolerate no more unexpected visits from Marcus’s “friends.”
If he wanted to expand his properties, he could buy more land. Chance didn’t want her and Marcus didn’t know what to do with her. For two cents, she’d move out, take her marketing degree, and put it to use.
“Come on darling,” Nelson urged, “let’s go get our horses. We’ve got several hours of good daylight left before I need to leave.”
Jenny sighed. There was no way to get out of this ride. It had been her idea. “Okay,” she said, “but you have to let me choose your horse this time. Last time you nearly took a header. Cheyenne is too much horse for you.”
“Nonsense,” he argued, getting a look on his face she’d come to recognize as mutiny, “I can handle anything you’ve got.”
Jenny kept her mouth shut. It was one of the few times that she didn’t feel the need to argue with total idiocy. It was probably because she could not have cared less.
“Henry! Saddle Cheyenne,” Nelson ordered, as they entered the stable area.
The wizened cowboy squinted his eyes even tighter than usual and spat. Tobacco juice sliced through the air, landing within inches of the highly polished, obviously new boots that Jenny’s latest dandy had seen fit to wear.
“Sorry. Didn’t see you comin’,” he muttered, watching with satisfaction at the shock and disgust spreading across Nelson Turnbull’s face. He ignored Jenny’s frown. She saw through his opinion of Turnbull, but he didn’t care.
“Indeed!” Nelson said.
“Don’t think you oughta try that horse today, Mr. Turnbull,” Henry said. “He’s been actin’ up some. A couple of the mares are in and he’s more ready to ride them than for you to ride him.”
“My God!” Nelson gasped, and cast a glance toward Jenny who was leaning against the wall trying to pick something off of her pant leg. “You shouldn’t talk of such things in front of the lady.”
“Oh shoot,” Henry said, “Jenny has seen it all, ain’t you darlin’? It’s just part of life on a ranch. She’s gonna inherit all this one day. She has to know how it works.”
“Never mind,” Nelson said. “I’ll saddle him myself.” He pushed past Henry, ignoring his calls of concern, and stomped toward the stall where the stallion was stabled.
The horse tossed his head at the sight of the stranger. Nelson gritted his teeth, yanked a bridle off a peg on the wall, and pulled the door wide.
“Come here, you son-of-a-bitch,” he muttered. “I’ll teach you who’s boss.”
It took Jenny a moment to realize what was happening. She’d only caught the last of Henry’s explanation. But the look of pure panic on the old cowboy’s face was enough to send her running toward Nelson with arms outstretched, yelling frantically for him to stop. It was too late.
Nelson had the stall open and had taken a step inside when the stallion screamed a warning. Nelson jumped back in shock, unaware of the intensity within such an animal when the need to mate was upon it. In reflex and fear, Nelson swung the bridle, catching the horse across the forehead and the tenderest part of its muzzle.
The stallion reared in defense, using the only weapons it had, and pawed the air with iron-shod hooves. Nelson staggered backward in stunned surprise. He felt the wall at his back, saw the horse in his face, and knew his life was in danger.
Jenny ran. She saw Cheyenne roll his eyes in pain and fury and knew what was about to happen. It did.
The stallion was unfamiliar with intentionally inflicted pain. He’d never been struck or beaten in his life. That, and the scent of a stranger, sent him out of control.
“For God’s sake, run,” she screamed, yanking Nelson outside the stall as he stood frozen to the spot, unaware of the deadly hazard he’d unleashed.
Nelson fell to one side, for the moment safely out of the path of the sharp hooves slicing the air. The massive stallion saw daylight through the open door and headed for it with nostrils flaring and teeth bared to anyone who stood in his path. A mare whinnied frantically in the corral outside, sensing the turmoil and smelling the stallion’s presence. Her call only incensed the stallion more.
Henry could see that Jenny was in trouble. The stallion wanted out and Jenny Tyler was in the way. If the horse would just keep going, Jenny would be safe. All they had to do was let the horse have his head. They’d catch him later. The only thing that mattered was getting everyone out of the way unharmed.
Unaware of the unfolding incident, a ranch hand was just about to unload the feed he’d hauled from town. He pulled up to the barn, backed into the open breezeway, and blocked the stallion’s only avenue of escape.
Unfortunately, the horse saw the feed truck about the same time that Henry did. Cheyenne reared, panicked by the shouts and Nelson Turnbull’s erratic
actions as he crawled on hands and knees along the wall, trying to get out of the way. Fear shortened Henry’s life span. The horse was penned in…and it knew it.
“Hellfire,” Henry muttered. “He’ll stomp her for sure.”
He shouted loudly and threw a bucket toward the stallion, hoping to divert its attention from the woman in its path. It was useless. The stallion was upon her, and then there was nothing but dust and screams and the sound of running feet.
Jenny curled tightly into a ball, making herself as small and inconspicuous as possible as she tried unsuccessfully to roll out from under the thrashing hooves of the frantic animal.
Chance came out of nowhere.
Henry didn’t know where he’d been, but he saw where he was going and knew it was suicide.
Henry’s shouts and Jenny’s single scream had sent him running. The sight of Jenny underneath that horse had been terrifying. He knew he wouldn’t be able to move the stallion in time to save her from injury. But he could put himself between her and the hooves. He dived to cover Jenny’s body with his own.
With luck they would survive. Without doubt they still faced serious injury, even death. Yet there was no hesitation in his actions. If she died, he was going with her.
“Don’t fight me!” he yelled, and shuddered with relief as he felt her go limp. His arms tightened around her and they rolled, constantly trying to outguess the direction of the stallion’s hooves. It was useless.
“Jesus bloody Christ,” Henry yelled, and waved at several of the ranch hands who’d come running at the sound of the melee. “Get that damned truck out of the door, and get some rope. That horse is gonna kill them both.”
In a panic, the ranch hand trying to move the truck flooded the motor instead. It remained in position, a metal boundary through which the horse could not run.
The men finally snared the horse, but could not pull him away from the couple on the floor. By now, Cheyenne was crazy with fear. He pawed and bucked, angry at the confining ropes around his neck, intent on nothing but escape and the mares in the corrals nearby.
Chance couldn’t see, but he sensed what was happening. He could think of nothing but protecting Jenny from harm. He kicked and rolled, more than once feeling the slicing blows of the horse’s hooves bouncing off his body. Each time he imagined them to be free from danger, the horse moved and the death dance continued. And then one of the ropes around Cheyenne’s neck slipped. It gave the horse just enough leeway to jump one last time. And when he did, his hooves came down on Chance.
The first blow caught him in the middle of the back. He felt the pain clear down to his toes and groaned as he pulled Jenny even tighter against him. And then lightning flashed behind his eyelids and blackness sent him into hell. He fell limply onto Jenny, his last conscious movement covering her body.
Jenny screamed once. The horse danced above her with thunderous rhythm and then long arms and a strong body pulled her into a haven of safety. Sight was not necessary. She’d know his touch through her whole life. Fear such as she’d never known kept her motionless, allowing Chance the freedom he needed to move them around while dodging the deadly hooves above their heads. And then his groan of pain sent shockwaves of fear rocketing through her body. He went limp and her world came to an end.
Rough hands yanked Jenny out from under his dead weight and pulled her to her feet. She struggled, trying desperately to get away from Nelson Turnbull’s grasp.
“My God, Jenny,” he cried, “be still. Are you hurt? The damned horse is gone now. It’s all over.”
“Chance!” She shoved herself free and started toward him. “Let me see him.”
Nelson tried to turn her away. “It’s not pretty. Let the men take care of him. They’ve called your father. He’ll be here soon and tend to the situation. Let me take you to the house. You must be devastated.”
Jenny went cold. The stupid bastard had caused the entire situation and now he wanted her to just walk away from the man who’d saved her life at his own expense. Her hand flew back and the slap that connected with the side of Nelson’s face resounded in the shocked silence of the men assembled.
“Get out of my sight!” she screamed. “If you’re real smart, you won’t ever show your stupid face in my vicinity again. It’s your fault that this happened, and if Chance dies I’ll kill you, myself. Do you understand?”
Her expression scared Nelson as much as her threat. He sputtered once and then turned and stomped out of the stables, ignoring the ranch hands’ disgusted looks. This wild west atmosphere was not where he belonged. And this wild woman was not his kind, either.
Jenny bit her lip, and dropped to her knees as she ran shaky fingers across Chance’s body, feeling for the injuries she knew were there. Blood came away on her hands and she moaned. A thin, thready pulse signaled the life that hung on with stubborn persistence.
“Thank God,” she muttered, and then yelled, “Henry, get a mattress from the bunkhouse and bring the van!” Her chin quivered as she looked down at the blood on her hands. She wiped them on her jeans. There was no time to cry.
“I’m already there,” he answered, hurrying to do her bidding. Jenny might be a girl, but on the Triple T, she had long ago earned every man’s respect.
“What in hell is going on here?”
Marcus entered the stables. He’d seen Nelson running for his car. When he saw the condition of Jenny’s clothes and the big man lying on the ground, he began to shout. “What happened to Chance? Why is Nelson leaving like that? He wouldn’t talk to me.”
And then he saw the bridle in the dust and a saddle blanket beneath their feet. “Did something happen to Cheyenne?”
“At least you asked about Chance first,” Jenny spat.
Marcus paled. It had been unintentional, but he knew instantly how it had sounded.
“I didn’t mean…”
“Never mind,” Jenny muttered. “Just shut up and help us get him in the van.”
“Let me call an ambulance,” Marcus said, but the look on his daughter’s face stopped him cold.
“No time. Do what I say.”
Marcus stared, dumbfounded by the authority in her voice.
Jenny pivoted wildly, searching for a safe means to move Chance. He had to be immobilized. There was no way of knowing how badly he was injured. She needed something hard and flat and long enough to lay a big man on. The grainery door!
“You men!” She pointed. “Take that door off its hinges…now!”
Marcus stepped forward and was pushed aside by the cowboys hastening to comply with Jenny’s orders. He stared. This Jenny was a stranger. His conscience tugged. She’d always been a stranger.
The men didn’t question her orders, instantly understanding the makeshift spine board that Jenny was going to use. The door came off just as Henry pulled the van up to the stables and backed inside.
“Help me,” Jenny ordered, refusing to relinquish her right to this man who lay too still and pale.
The men carefully moved Chance onto the door, carried him to the van and, at Jenny’s direction, pushed their makeshift gurney onto the mattress.
“Call the hospital!” Jenny ordered. Her fierce stare burned into Marcus’s memory. “Tell them we’re coming! Tell them to be ready!”
His quiet acceptance of her orders was uncommon, but so was Jenny’s protectiveness of the man he’d known only as his foreman.
“Marcus,” she said, just before the van door swung shut on them both, “if Chance dies, I’m going to shoot that horse. Do you understand?”
Marcus nodded. He understood much more than he had moments before. Many things were becoming clear, including the fact that his daughter was in love, past hope, with a dying man.
The van began to move, slowly at first, and then rapidly as Jenny and two of the men who’d come along helped hold Chance safely in place.
“Henry…” Fear was beginning to soak in. Jenny sat on the van floor with Chance’s head held firmly between her hands, her
legs locked on either side of his body to keep it from rolling.
“I know, girl. We’ll get him there. Trust me!” He pressed down on the gas.
5
It was midnight. The hour of uncertainty when life hangs suspended between yesterday and tomorrow, waiting, like Jenny, to see what the new day will bring. For her, time had ceased at the hour Chance went into surgery. All of her energy was focused on the double doors at the end of the long white corridor of Tyler Municipal Hospital.
She sat perched on the edge of the chair, relishing the sharp pinch of the stiff seat on the back of her legs. It reminded her that she was still alive. Jenny was praying…frantically…repeatedly. She’d made so many promises to God that she knew she would never be able to keep them. They conflicted with one another in such a ridiculous fashion, yet she was certain that He understood. After all, He was the only one who knew how desperately she loved Chance McCall.
Jenny sighed as she leaned her head against the cold, hard surface of the wall behind her chair. Please God, just give him back to me.
Her silent prayer stopped along with her breath and heartbeat as the doors swung outward. A man in sweat-stained greens started up the long hallway toward the waiting area. Jenny’s lungs expanded, her legs trembled. She couldn’t have taken a step to save her life.
Dr. Jonah Walker wiped a weary hand across his face as he tried to ignore an overwhelming fatigue. It had been touch and go one too many times tonight for his peace of mind. Then he saw the young woman at the end of the hall. The strain on her face was obvious. He hadn’t been the only one who’d suffered through this long night. Marcus Tyler’s daughter looked haunted.
He’d known Marcus for years. More than once he’d hunted quail on the Triple T. But it was the first time he’d been this close to the daughter. Her beauty startled him. For just a heartbeat he wished…If she was just a bit older or I was a bit younger…Good sense and compassion for the waiting woman shamed him. He quickened his step.