Finally, he cleared his head a little, centered himself, and checked his rope one last time. Ready, he nodded, heard the bull snort with pure, unadulterated rage, and saw the gate swing open.
(0.00)
Even before leaving the chute, Red Rampage went airborne, jumping straight up into the air. When the monstrous beast’s forelegs struck the dirt, it bounded forward. Wade’s thighs came down beside his fist, wrapped and strapped to the beast, and the feel was right. The animal’s back legs struck dirt, and pitched the cowboy forward, weight shifting subtly ahead of his arm.
(0.34)
As the bull crossed the threshold of the gate, it was in full forward motion. Wade’s kneecap, behind protection, impacted the fencepost with the power of a car moving at 30 miles an hour. The pressure shoved his torso back on the bull, compromising his stance, his arm now a tripod with this thighs, not a centralized point. Wade was envisioning Lilah entangled with Kyle. He cursed. Wade dug his heels into Red Rampage, whose back legs cleared the gate, and pushed the rear of the animal into a counter-clockwise spin.
(1.20)
On the second turn of the spin, Wade noted that the under-turn of the rope had flopped. He fought the urge to use the free hand to fix the problem, succeeded in leaving it alone. The bull sensed a change in the pressure against his midsection and reared back, leaping forward again, landing hard. Wade’s hands slammed into his iron grip, back onto core center like it should be. When the back legs of the beast impacted, he felt the slip, having over-estimated the rotation. He was over his arm, but also left of the monster’s center of gravity.
(2:02)
Up in the stands the crowd gasped, hanging on to the edge of their seats as the cowboy below slipped to the side, fighting to keep his seat. Red Rampage used his namesake, threw his weight to the right, and Wade was off balance. Still, his knees and boots did what they had been trained to do, pulling him onto the animal’s back, digging spurs into tender flesh. He was far off balance, his hand was trapped against the animal, and he was falling.
(2:22)
Once again, the bull twisted viciously and reversed its direction. Like a ragdoll, Wade crashed into the animal. His fall took his body between bull and the fence. The tied wrist was crunched; he mercifully had no feeling, but the cowboys whose job it was to keep him safe could not get to him fast enough. He hit the ground hard with his boots, and the bull freight-trained him into the gate, like manure on the side of a boot, dragged him. From the other side, a rider somehow freed his wrist, and he disappeared between the bull and the fence. He felt all two thousand pounds stomp, then twist hard, all the weight on his right ribs. He wasn’t sure if it was his scream or Red’s bellow that was loudest just then. He saw the fence post, then blackness.
* * *
Somewhere between the arena and the ambulance, Wade fought to wake up. He couldn’t feel his right arm and his hand was screaming at the top of his lungs (or was that him?). Lights, sirens, and he was out again.
Chapter 3
Where am I? What’s that beeping?
Wade regained consciousness in little trickles. A beeping sound, the kind you hear in a hospital, tracking somebody’s vital signs. The pressure on his middle finger, indicating it was his own heartbeat the monitor appeared to be tracking. Dark, cool covers and the crinkle of those horrible hospital gowns against his skin. Dull throbbing pain over most of his body. The intentionally darkened hospital room smelled of ammonia and piss, and it reminded Wade of that surgery last year.
That memory broke his musing revelry, shoved him back into the Here and Now.
“What happened?” he rasped. “Where am I?”
He opened his eyes, tried to sit up better in the curved adjustable bed. As he tried to press his right arm into the mattress, pain shot him fully awake, burning up to his shoulders, down to his fingertips. He felt every bruise in his lower torso and abdomen, and quickly ran through an internal self-check.
His dad, slouched in the low armchair that sat in the corner of the room, beneath the caged and double-secured TV set, came awake with a start, curled up to put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes. With an old-age groan, he pulled on his knees, stood to full height, and stretched. He took the two steps necessary to reach the side of the bed, and put a long calloused hand on Wade’s shoulder, above the L-shaped cast. Relief filled his slate-blue eyes.
“Hey there, son, take it easy. You’re going to be okay. Let me call a nurse.”
Raymond smiled and in a burst of energy, skedaddled out of the room and came back a minute later, having roped a nurse into checking Wade’s condition. She checked his monitors before coming over to see him, a glass of water and a pill dispenser cup in her hands. His father, still with that paternal look of concern, showed his worry in his voice.
“You gave everyone quite a fright.”
The nurse helped Wade take a welcome sip of the cool liquid and helped him down the pills. She pulled the cup back a little early, wiped his chin with a tissue. Imploringly, he turned his gaze to the attendant.
“What’s wrong with me?” he managed to croak around the dryness in his throat, despite the water. The air-conditioning system of the hospital dried the air efficiently as it cooled, but it led to some dryness that felt almost medicinal.
She answered clinically. “You’ve gotten a nastily broken wrist, some bruised and broken ribs, and a pretty serious concussion. The doctor will be in to explain more in the morning. Press the red button on that remote if you need anything else.”
The nurse had barely cleared the doorway when his mother rushed in. “I knew I shouldn’t have left. Wade, you woke up while I was gone.”
He winced as she fell against him, expecting more pain than he got. He held her gently against him with his good arm as she cried, looking distraught. She held his hand like a lifeline.
Wade’s father soothed his wife as he lifted her away from Wade’s broken body and gathered her into a gentle hug. “Cassandra, honey, calm down. You know you needed to get something to eat before you collapsed. Wade is fine. He just woke up.”
As he watched his parents embrace, Wade felt his heart clench. His mother was still a beautiful woman with her trim figure, fashionably styled hair which now showed gray highlights, and a warm, beautiful face. But the lines around her eyes and mouth looked more pronounced than the last time he had seen them, and she looked like she had aged years since he had seen her at Christmas just a few months ago. He knew it was worry for him that had caused it, and he suddenly remembered the distraction that had led to all of this.
Cassandra tore herself from Raymond’s arms and grabbed at the chair he had been sleeping in. She dragged it the few feet to the edge of his bed and sat down, smoothing the hair gently off his forehead, just like she used to do when he was little. It felt just as soothing as it did way back then. She hummed a little bit of a lullaby, then seriousness swept over her face, the love still in her eyes.
“Don’t worry, love. We’ll take good care of you at home while you’re recovering for the next few months. I’ll wait on you hand and foot and you won’t want for anything.”
It wasn’t the words she said; it was the tone, and suddenly, that soothing hand seemed less soothing and more smothering.
“Home? Months? Mama, I’m not going home to live with you and Dad. I’ll be just fine on the circuit. I can rest up in my trailer for a few weeks until I can get a working cast, and I’ll be back on the bulls in no time.”
“We’ll see, dear. Let’s just talk to the doctor in the morning and see what he says.”
But even as Wade protested, he felt how broken his body was and knew the road to healing would be a long one and that he would need help. He closed his eyes and sighed. Looks like he was going home again.
* * *
Wade tuned the radio to his favorite country station as he passed the “Welcome to Montana” sign, on Interstate 15, and sighed with a mixture of disappointment and contentment as the familiar strains of an o
ld Blake Shelton song filled the cab of the rig. He checked the mirrors, drifted out to the right lane, and settled even further into the Indian-rug seat cover he’d put over the leather to protect it.
As expected, of course, his mama had been right about everything. Doctor Frasier, the attending physician and micro surgeon, had been quite clear about the situation.
Wade’s wrist alone would be out of commission for more than three months. Added to the reality that nerve damage was quite possible, he would be safer missing out the rest of the rodeo season altogether, and at the end of the fall, a nerve attenuation test would be necessary to determine whether the damage was permanent; it was a real possibility that he might never get back aboard again at all.
As it was, the surgery that had saved the use of his hand had taken several metal pins, a chunk of composite resin, and several painstaking hours of surgery to fix. The spiffy Mylar cover on the cast made his arm look like a weapon from one of those post-apocalyptic movies he’d seen in the past few years. It even had a “ray gun” external bracket for keeping the bones aligned for proper healing.
Now, though it was only a week later, he could still feel that sharp stab of disappointment and impotence he had felt when he first heard the news. He’d had broken bones and setbacks before, sure, but never when he was this close. It wasn’t just disappointment he was feeling either; there was plenty of “Red Rampage” there too, roiling under the surface, looking for an outlet. He had identified the bull as an icon for his rage. He felt the raw power surge even now. Though he was already well above the legal speed limit, he punched the gas as he tried to work out the anger and frustration he felt.
Lilah was the first focus of the feeling, for her cruel, self-absorbed promiscuity. Next, he struck out at himself for caring, for getting distracted.
Again, he heard his grandfather calling him down for cursing, and he honestly felt bad for it. Still, as he took a deep breath and dialed his speed back down to where he wouldn’t get himself locked up for dangerous driving, he made the same promise
The tune on the radio shifted to an upbeat ballad about dirt roads and good times, and Wade reminded himself that being home wouldn’t be all bad. He rolled his window down as he cruised along and let the crisp freshness of Montana fill his lungs. He couldn’t deny that he loved his home. He never wanted to—eventually—settle down anywhere else. His mama would spoil him with her matchless home cooking, and he would get to spend some long overdue time with his best buddy, Colton Tisdale.
Part of the reason he’d avoided Colton was because of Tommy. He would have to do something about that, if he was going to be up here all summer. Making a last-minute decision, Wade clicked his turn signal on and swung into the slower lane to make the turn at the upcoming off ramp instead of tooling along in the left lane up through to Cherish. He’d stop off and visit Colton on his way through instead. They’d lost enough time these past few years, what with his crazy rodeo schedule and Colton’s always being up to his eyeballs running his ranch single-handed. Since Colton’s folks had headed to Arizona to retire, the Tisdale ranch had been the work of two jobs.
After leaving the highway, it was still a piece of driving to get to the ranch, so Wade ruminated like some old cow on the events of the last time Colton, Tommy, and he had gone up to the Divide with the horses and the pack mule, Augustus. Less than a year later, Tommy would be dead, and it was all Wade’s fault.
* * *
On the east side of the Rocky Mountains, the foothills and ridges often run perpendicular to their mainly north-to-south configuration, with the Great Divide splitting the continent. These ridges form natural boundaries that for centuries have delineated one person’s property from another, or kept their cattle or horses from breaching these borders.
The Triple M Ranch occupied the flat between two of these ridges. To the west and north it was bounded by the Lewis and Clark National Forest, its pine and aspen forests still wild and rich with wildlife and a haven for hikes and exploration. The steep, rocky slope that defined the boundary was spotted with rock outcroppings and sheer cliff walls, a natural separation that didn’t need fences to keep horses penned in.
To the east, the Tisdale property extended to the county-line road, an assayed and clearly defined property divider. With almost 720 acres of range land, the spread was dotted with small herds of horses, with miles of fence line dividing the property from its neighbors. The rolling range land had proven perfectly suited for fattening up cattle before shipping them for slaughter.
Like many of the ranches in the area, the main house and attendant outbuildings of Triple M Ranch were situated in the center of the property, with the house facing east, toward the county road. A two-story structure, fern-green with white trim and shutters, the house’s fireplace and chimney on the north side was river rock and dark mortar, a magical cottage. Trees and bushes encircled the structure like living sentries, intended to mitigate the storms and ravages of Montana winters.
There were several outbuildings, including a garage for the tractor and equipment northeast of the house, the wooden shanty-like smoker behind the main building, and the horse barn and corral all to the southwest.
Despite its apparent age, the barn was the most recent of the structures to be added to the property. It faced the abrupt and abrasive winds of that part of the state. The paddocks, feed supply and horse-related accoutrements that the barn protected and contained were the tools of Colton Tisdale’s trade, and he took good care of them.
Wade was blinking away tears when the truck bounded over the cattle-crossing gate and into the wide parking area in front of the ranch house. He had tried so hard to put that horrible night out of his mind, but missing Tommy was one of his most common pastimes that it just came to him again. Wade scowled and cursed himself for not keeping his composure. He rubbed his eyes.
He turned off the engine and weakly wriggled out of the driver’s seat. The solid armor-like chest piece, holding his ribs in place, brought a groan to his lips as he made a great effort to scramble down from his truck. As his feet hit the dark Montana dust, he saw Colton across the corral, working the horses and shading his eyes, while he looked toward Wade.
* * *
Mallory peered out of the barn where she had just finished saddling her favorite gelding. Who on earth was able to cause her brother to step away from his work? She was about to lead Dusty out of the barn to get a better look when the newcomer nearly fell from behind the truck’s doorframe. Despite the barrel-like armor and the broken-wing arm gizmo, she would no doubt have recognized him, even in a Chicago crowd.
Wade Williamson.
She gasped and pressed back into the shadows of the barn. As she fell back against the barn’s half-opened door, her sand-colored cowboy hat tipped, almost falling from her head. She grabbed it, pulled it off, and compulsively straightened her shoulder-length black hair, picking at the stray strands. Leaning out surreptitiously, Mal blushed as she greedily drank in his tall lean figure, his slightly wavy honey-blond hair and chiseled, manly features.
Her crush on the tall cowboy had started back in junior high school. She’d been madly in love with her older brother’s best friend since she was a gangly, awkward teenager. He had never even noticed her, thought anything of her except as his friend’s little brat of a sister who was always following them around when he came to visit. Her reaction to his appearance on the farm really surprised her, because it had been, what, eight or nine, maybe ten years since she’d even seen him. She had only been a freshman in high school when he’d gotten his permit for the circuit, and then after high school, she had been away in Chicago, getting her own brand of bulldoggin’ education at law school.
She wasn’t sure which bothered her more: that her foolish schoolgirl infatuation was seemingly still intact or that she was acting so stupidly about it. She wasn’t the timid, tongue-tied teen from a decade ago; surely she was an articulate, successful, and independent woman who could see an attractive man wit
hout being reduced to an indecisive, blushing mess.
What a fool. She’d seen the televised ride, his fall, the aftermath. Everyone who knew the Williamson family had been glued to the telecast, saw the young man get crushed, and felt his anguish and pain.…
She peered out of the dark barn, studying the man as he and Colton walked in her direction. Wade was talking animatedly with her brother, swinging his cast-coated arm about like a weapon and comically wincing every time. His twenty-seven-year-old body was as in-shape as any man had a right to be. She took in his clean jaw line, straight nose, and lean hard body. Even in the barrel-like cast, it was clear he was a fine example of the American cowboy, the Wild West personified.
For whatever reason, the surprise visit had taken her breath away, and now recovering Mallory took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and led her horse out of the barn toward her brother and Wade, determined to behave like a rational woman.
“Why, Wade Williamson!” she greeted brightly. “Welcome back to Cherish. We were all sorry to hear about your accident.”
Wade pulled up, stock still. He stared at her for a minute with a puzzled look on his face.
Oh goodness! Do I have something stuck in my teeth? Or worse, a sappy, infatuated look on my face? Her thoughts raced, trying to make sense of his expression.
It was sheer incomprehension on his part.
“Mallory? Little Mallory Tisdale?”
He hadn’t recognized her. Of course, it had been most of a decade, and she had only been fourteen or so back then.…
“You seem surprised to see me. As if some other woman would be leading my gelding out to the trough. Who did you expect to see out here on my own family’s ranch?”
Cherished Love (Cherished Cowboys 1) Page 3