The mare took off, galloping over the rise, the reins dragging along the ground.
“Milly! Milly!” Brooke called, then tried to whistle as she sat up. She hissed at the pain in her wrist and shoulder. Nothing was broken, but her arm ached fiercely. She was sure she was bruised all over.
She tried to stand up, and cried out as her ankle crumpled under her weight, sending sharp, stabbing pain up her leg as she fell back to the ground.
Oh no. She moved her leg, wincing as more pain ricocheted around in her ankle. Ouch. She pulled her jeans up to inspect the damage. Her leg seemed fine, but the area above her boot looked a little discolored. That was going to bruise. She bit her lip as she gently touched the swelling, pulling her fingers back at the resulting pain. She couldn’t walk on that.
“Thorne! Thorne!” She threw her head back and yelled until she coughed, hoping that somehow, Thorne would hear her above the mooing protests of the cows, the barking of the dogs and the thunder of hooves. She realized, though, that if Thorne had had to ride up to her side to be heard over the mustered cattle, her screams from several miles away wouldn’t have a chance.
She glanced around, hoping to see Milly trotting back over the hill. No such luck. She watched as the shadows started to lengthen and the valley darkened. Thorne thought she was on her way home, if she wasn’t already. He wouldn’t notice her missing until he returned home just after sunset—not unless Milly ran right up to him. For the next while she was stuck right where she was, sitting on the ground with rocks digging at her bottom and hip, her ankle swelling as the sun slowly set. Once it got dark, it would be dangerous to ride. Thorne would find it very difficult to find her in the night, and would probably have to wait until morning to conduct a search.
She could be stuck here for the night. She glanced around, wide eyed. Heck—were there coyotes in this area? Wolves? Bobcats? Brooke swallowed noisily.
*
Thorne closed the gate on the cattle, satisfied all the pregnant cows were in a safe place. Silas waved at him as he drove off; the ranch manager was going to spend the evening with his daughter and grandson in Austin. Major sat at his feet, his tongue lolling out. If Thorne wasn’t mistaken, his dog looked very happy with himself. He leaned over and patted the pup. He’d been worried how the dog would behave on the muster, whether he’d spook the animals, whether he would get run over by cow or horse, whether he’d find the wrong end of a horn, but Major had performed very well.
“Home,” he told the pup, and Major took off, darting across the fields to the house in the distance. Thorne climbed into Buck’s saddle and trotted to the barn. He’d told Brooke to have a warm bath, and was thinking that sounded like good advice, right about now. It had been a day of hard riding, and his body ached pleasantly. A bath, a good meal and a good sleep, in that order, were exactly what he needed.
He got his horse settled for the night, and turned to leave, then halted. He frowned as he looked at the stall opposite Buck’s. It was empty. Maybe Brooke had taken Milly out for another quick ride. He paused at the stall that housed Liberty and the young horse approached the door. He smiled as he patted her on the forehead. She was slowly settling into her new home. The vet had given her the all-clear after her trip, and tomorrow Thorne was going to put her out into a pasture by herself. He already had some horses in the next paddock, and he was hoping that time in her own enclosure would give her a chance to form bonds with the other horses, but still provide some safe distance as the herd adjusted to the new arrival. He’d have to keep an eye on her, see which horse seemed the friendliest toward her, and perhaps pull that one into the smaller paddock, give them enough time to form a stronger bond before putting Liberty into the larger group.
He sighed. When he’d first looked into ranching, he’d been fascinated by animal behavior, and the relationship dynamics of the cows and horses—especially the horses. Once he understood the driving factors, he’d noticed the correlations between horse behavior and that of humans. His lips twisted. Yes, he’d learned a lot about his relationship with his brothers and father from watching his horses, watching the herd mentality, the dominance of the stronger animal.
He’d learned so much about his own mistakes in asserting his independence within his “herd.” He gave the painted filly one farewell pat, and sauntered out.
The thunder of hooves made him pause. He turned around, but couldn’t see the source. Must be coming from the other side of the house. He leaned against the fence, waiting for Brooke to come into view.
His body tightened when Milly raced around the side of the house, her sides shining with sweat, reins dangling.
There was nothing so chilling as watching a horse arrive riderless.
He swore as he jogged up to the horse, caught the reins and pulled her to a stop. He spoke to her quietly; nonsense words, but in a tone set to calm her.
He finally got close enough to put his hand on her forehead, his stomach tight with worry. “Where is she, Milly? What’s happened to Brooke?”
Milly stood there, trembling. The horse was exhausted. He couldn’t ride her. He led her into the barn, removed her saddle and put her into the stall, giving her a very quick, light brush as she started to cool down.
God, he hoped Brooke was all right. He pulled Buck out and saddled him again, tying a rolled-up blanket to the back of the saddle, and putting the first aid kit in one of the saddle bags, along with some other emergency supplies. He’d attended a memorial in town a few months ago to mark the one-year anniversary of the death of a teenage girl from the local community. She was just fifteen years old when she’d fallen off her horse in a jump, breaking her neck. She’d died instantly.
He was almost out of the barn when he thought of a torch and ran back for one. Then he mounted his horse and started trotting out to where he’d last seen Brooke, praying she was okay as concern gripped his heart.
Chapter Nine
Brooke huddled in the darkness. Her tears had long since dried on her cheeks. Something rustled in the bushes nearby, and she startled, peering into the inky blackness, fearful of a predator launching at her. She swallowed, relaxing her shoulders after a moment of silence and no threat. Probably another darn bird.
She squinted, trying to see her ankle in the darkness. It throbbed painfully. She desperately needed ice. And a cup of tea. Her stomach growled. Okay, maybe a massive steak, still steaming, would be good, too. She started to undo the laces of her boot. She’d thought to keep it on, knowing that once she took it off she wouldn’t be able to get it on again, but now it felt unbearably tight. She sucked a breath in as she gently eased the boot off, new tears forming as the pain increased. She panted once she got the boot free and clear, sagging in relief, although the throbbing seemed to grow in intensity. She tried to wriggle her toes, and was rewarded by a pale blur moving in the darkness. Thank goodness she hadn’t broken anything.
She could see the occasional sparkle of water in the darkness as the stars shone above, could hear the trickle of the river close by. She’d managed to crawl a little closer, and now she could smell it, the clean, clear scent of fresh water. She slowly edged in the direction of the sound, gasping when her bare foot came in contact with the cold water. She rolled her jeans up and moved just a little closer, grimacing at the squelch of mud, then hissed as she lowered her foot into the cold water. It was the best she could do for an icepack under the circumstances.
She stared into the darkness, her foot slowly going numb in the water. She kept hoping Thorne would come swooping down to rescue her. She sniffed. She couldn’t help it. She was tired, she was sore—oh, so sore—and she was stuck in the middle of nowhere in the dark. She was starting to feel a little sorry for herself.
Even her horse had abandoned her.
She was in a bit of a bind, and had to depend on herself—wasn’t that what she’d been working toward since Ridge had left her? She’d once told Donna that she’d realized she couldn’t rely on a man to make her happy, but if Thorne r
ode down over that ridge, she couldn’t help it—she’d be ecstatic. Not so much if it was Ridge, though. She leaned back on her arms, then winced at the pang in her wrist and shoulder. She shifted her weight to the other arm. When had Thorne beaten Ridge to the forefront of her mind?
She shifted again, trying to find a comfortable position. She sat up, sighing. God, what a mess her life had become. How was it that she could so easily complicate something that should be so simple? You found love, and hopefully it was reciprocated.
For a moment she gave in to her self-pity party. She always felt like the one chasing, the one left behind. Her mouth turned down at the corners. How many times had Ridge left her? She’d lost count. How many times had they reunited? Again, she’d lost count. They were stuck in this continual cycle of catch-and-release. She couldn’t remember a time as painful, though, as this recent breakup. Maybe it was because she was already feeling pretty bad about her association with Bill Spencer—or maybe it was because Ridge had chosen Katie, and not some distant figure she could easily dislike and plot against. She couldn’t campaign against the woman she’d spent a lifetime loving. Nor could she scratch her eyes out—Katie was beautiful, inside and out, was kind spirited and generous. Brooke couldn’t hate her sister, nor could she fault Ridge for selecting her. Why couldn’t he think Brooke was a great catch?
She’d disappointed him, she understood that. Message received loud and clear. She lifted her hip and dislodged a rock that was digging painfully into her flesh. Well, here’s a newsflash—he’d disappointed her.
She picked up the rock and threw it into the river, satisfied with the small plop that came back to her in the darkness. Why did she make so many allowances for Ridge? Yes, she could be forgiving, but just lately, she’d felt more like a doormat, beaten down with shame and humiliation. She’d been so desperate to give her son the family life she believed he needed, but Ridge hadn’t loved her—at least, not enough.
And perhaps there was just a tiny seed inside her that was still spitting mad at what Ridge had done to her, the hurt, the loss … Had he really expected her to hang her hopes on the remote possibility that he might come back? She had yearned for him for months after their wedding. As time had worn on, it had seemed less and less likely—could Ridge really blame her for moving on with her life?
Apparently he could.
How was it that she always handed him the power to rip her heart to shreds?
Her thoughts turned to Thorne. There was something about the man. When he wasn’t building the fires of passion between them, his presence was reassuring and solid. Was that what drew her to him? His reliability? His dependability? It sounded so tame, and paled in comparison to the riveting sexual heat he also created. He’d never made her feel less than. He’d always been honest with her, had always been open in his communication. She never had to guess where she stood with Thorne.
She was resigned to Ridge loving her sister. And now she knew she was falling for Thorne—literally, right off the back of a horse.
When Thorne had left the family company, she’d come and sought him out, in an effort to convince him to come back with her. She’d mended fences, she’d mucked out stables, she’d stepped in God-only-knows what, she’d swallowed enough dirt to create her own zip code, and yet now she knew she would do more to convince him to stay in her life.
She gaped into the darkness at the surprising insight. She loved Thorne—and she was prepared to do whatever it took to get him back.
Was this falling into the same old patterns, though? Did loving Thorne help or hinder Brooke 2.0? Since her arrival at the Lonesome Oak, she’d grown in confidence with her proposal, had become more self-reliant, more resourceful; she was more independent, yet felt more connected to a man than ever before—and it felt healthy and positive.
How could she not have seen this before? She hadn’t been about to accept Thorne’s disappearance from her life, and had pursued him.
She couldn’t—wouldn’t let Thorne go.
Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could hear his voice, calling to her in a baritone that enthraled her. She closed her eyes, lifting her head into the breeze.
“Brooke!”
She blinked. “Thorne! Help! I’m over here!”
“Keep talking, honey.” His deep voice echoed through the night, and she whimpered in relief. He sounded heavenly.
“I’m down by the river. I’ve hurt my foot.” She dashed the tears from her face. She wasn’t going to be a miserable mess, not anymore.
“I’m coming, sweetheart.”
Now she could hear the careful clop clop of hooves. “You’re really close,” she called, trying to twist around to look in the direction of the sound. A hazy glow appeared over the rise, and then the glare of a powerful flashlight caught her, nearly blinding her.
“Oh, thank god,” Thorne said as he rode down to her.
*
Thorne sat back on his heels, satisfied with the now blazing fire. He’d found a bundle of branches and sticks in the brush, and had a good supply for the night. He glanced over at Brooke, who hadn’t stopped beaming since he’d found her.
“It looks like we’re going to have to spend the night,” he said. “It’s too dangerous for us both to ride one horse through the dark, especially if you’re already hurt. Even if I walk, it’s still risky.”
She nodded. “I understand. I don’t think I’ve broken anything, just twisted my ankle.”
And maybe something with her left arm, from the way she favored it, but he didn’t comment. He walked over to Buck. He’d tethered his horse securely near a small copse of trees, with plenty of ground cover to munch on. He removed the saddle and blankets, leaving just the halter, and walked back to the fire. He dropped the saddle to the ground, then rummaged through the saddle bags.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked.
Brooke shook her head. “No, I filled my canteen just before Milly bolted, and I’ve pretty much been sitting with my foot in the river ever since. I haven’t run out of water yet.”
He nodded. His hands shook, and he took a calming breath as he withdrew the first aid kit. She was okay. She was going to be okay. Brooke was alive.
“Let’s take a look at this ankle, shall we?”
He’d picked her up and moved her back from the bank, and now kneeled at her feet to gently inspect her injured ankle. It was slowly turning a deep purple color. He winced. “How does it feel?”
“Sore,” Brooke said, laughing huskily. He smiled, nodding. “Can you wiggle your toes?”
He watched her dainty, pink-tipped toes wriggle slowly. “Great. I’m just going to move it around, just a little.” He turned her ankle until she sucked in a quick breath.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry.” He was pleased with her movement. It was a nasty sprain, but he didn’t think anything was broken. Her skin was cold though, and he gently clasped her foot between his hands in an effort to warm her up.
“Putting your foot in the river was a good idea,” he observed. “Your ankle is definitely swollen, but it could have been worse.” He took the instant ice pack out of the kit and squeezed it for a few moments, before shaking the pouch to evenly distribute the temperature, and placed it on her ankle. Only a twisted ankle—she was so lucky.
“How’s your arm?”
She grimaced. “I landed on it when I fell. Again, nothing broken, just some bruising.” He checked her arm’s range of movement, then inspected as much of her body as possible without undressing her, finally satisfied that she wasn’t trying to minimize the extent of injuries.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. She’d been stuck out here for hours. Her face was a little dusty, and he could see the tracks made by her tears on her cheeks. Her eyes brightened.
“Oh, I’m starving.”
He dug inside the saddle bag for two of the protein bars he’d brought along. “It’s not gourmet,” he said apologetically.
“I don’t care.” She ripped the wrapp
er with her teeth before biting off a chunk. “Thank you,” she said as an afterthought. She clasped one arm to her chest and rubbed it as though warding off a chill.
Thorne stood and busied himself around the fire, setting up the saddle behind her as a rather firm pillow, and shaking out the blanket. He draped it over her shoulders, and she smiled her thanks.
“How is Milly?” she asked him as she snuggled into the blanket. “Is she okay?”
“She was a little spooked, but seemed fine enough. What happened?”
“A darn bird happened,” Brooke grumbled, and he couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. “Flew out of a bush, startled both of us.”
“Darn bird.”
She smiled, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen her look more beautiful to him, all dirt-streaked and happy. She shuddered a little and he frowned. “Cold?”
She nodded, and he hoped she wasn’t going into shock. He crawled over to her, settling himself between her and the saddle, so that she leaned back against him, his legs either side of her hips.
“Better?” he asked, cradling her in his arms. She nodded, huddling into his embrace.
“I’m so sorry, Thorne,” she whispered.
He frowned. “What do you mean? I’m sorry you’ve had to experience this—it was my horse, my ranch—my darn bird.”
“No, but I’ve dragged you out in the dark—did you secure the cattle?”
“Yes, Brooke, I secured the cattle,” he replied. “And don’t you know I will always come looking for you?”
Silence met his remark, and he couldn’t see her reaction. He meant it—he’d nearly had heart failure when he’d realized she was in trouble, and the deep-seated panic had curled inside him, growing bigger with every minute that passed and he hadn’t located her.
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