“I’ll call him on the way over. Where’s your daughter?”
“At a friend’s.”
“Perfect.” He held out his arm. “Your chariot awaits.”
She looked toward the dusty new pickup and let out a feeble grunt. The paleness of her skin frightened him. He’d pick her up and throw her over his shoulder if he thought she wouldn’t put up a fight and hurt herself worse.
Plus, the feeling that coursed through him when she willingly took his arm . . . well, that was worth more than money could buy.
10
Dr. Garvin hung the X-ray on the wall and pointed with his crooked index finger. “Right there.”
“It’s broken?”
“No doubt about it. See here where this hairline runs . . .”
No, no, no, she couldn’t have a broken foot. She had a ranch to run—money to raise, somehow. A daughter to feed and animals that depended on her. God, what are You doing? You’re killing me here.
Shay closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The antiseptic smell choked her. Her foot throbbed despite the painkiller Dr. Garvin had given her. She’d just have to load up on the stuff and hobble around. What choice did she have?
She could do this. How long could it take to heal anyway? A couple weeks? It was just a tiny little hairline break. The worst of it would be facing the I-told-you-so she had coming from Travis when she left the exam room.
“Can you just wrap it or something?”
Dr. Garvin’s hand fell from the X-ray, then he pushed back on his oversized spectacles. She’d interrupted his monologue, but she didn’t care about the fifth metatarsal and whatnot.
“You are your daddy’s girl, Shay. Bottom line, you’ll be in a splint six or seven weeks. You’ll need to stay off the foot for at least a week. After that, crutches.”
“Wait, stay off the foot?”
“Completely off.”
Ha! And who was going to feed her horses and clean the stalls and put out salt blocks and chase the bulls back to their pen and fix the fences they plowed through?
“I know that’s going to be hard, but it’s imperative that you stay off it.”
“And who’s supposed to run my ranch while I lounge around the house?”
“Hire it out, Shay.”
She pressed her lips together. Right. And what was she supposed to pay a hand with—a smile?
She couldn’t make her mortgage payments now. Not to mention she was running up a medical tab she’d be paying off till she retired unless Dr. Garvin accepted payment in the form of barbed wire baskets. She could only pray he wouldn’t charge extra for off-duty hours.
“Listen, I won’t charge you for my time tonight, just the medical supplies and such, if that’ll help you out any.”
The old feelings came back with a rush. Teachers bringing her a pair of jeans because they’d noticed Shay’s inching upward. The cafeteria cashier setting a milk carton on her tray even though she had no milk money that day. She knew she should be grateful for charity, but she hated it. Hated the way it made her feel, like she was lower than everyone else. Like they pitied her. She hated being pitied most of all.
Shay ground her teeth together. Oh, to have the luxury of saying, Don’t be silly. Just put it on my tab, and I’ll settle up when the bill comes.
She pried her teeth apart and forced herself to speak. “Thanks, Dr. Garvin.” The words tasted like wet sawdust.
“Now, let’s get that foot splinted up so you can get home to your girl.”
Thirty minutes later Shay was settled in the passenger side of Travis’s truck, a packet of information in one hand, a bottle of pills in the other, and a set of crutches in the bed behind them.
Travis pulled onto Main Street, his thick fingers wrapped around the vibrating steering wheel. She had to give him credit. When she’d hobbled out to the lobby, there hadn’t been one hint of I-told-you-so.
It was dark now, and the streetlamps twinkled in a long line that reminded her of an airport runway. She’d called Abigail and told her what had happened. Her friend had offered to keep Olivia overnight, but Shay had asked Abigail to bring her home later instead. Shay was going to need her daughter’s help in the morning, like it or not.
They turned out of town, heading toward her place.
“What’re you gonna do?” Travis’s voice seemed deep in the dark cab.
“I’ll manage.”
Was she going to ask her twelve-year-old to do a man’s job? Shay could barely manage herself. Could she ask Manny to come back, promise to pay him later, after she sold off some cattle? That wasn’t fair. He needed money now, not weeks from now.
God, You’ve got to step in here. I can’t do this alone.
She could feel her pulse in her foot, now splinted and throbbing. Why weren’t those painkillers working?
“Listen, I’ve got extra time. God knows the Barr M practically runs itself. I’m basically deadweight—”
“No.” She couldn’t afford to refuse Doc’s help, but she couldn’t afford to accept Travis’s.
“You said Dr. Garvin told you to stay off your feet for a week. He may not know what that means to a rancher, but I do.”
“That’s my problem.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Fine, Travis, be upset. He had no idea what upset was, with his money and privilege and, no doubt, women ’round every corner.
“Beau will give me a hand.” She didn’t know where the words came from. Didn’t know she had the thought until it was out.
“Beau . . .” He huffed, shook his head.
“Got something to say?”
“Not a word.”
“Good.”
Who was he to mock her choices? Not that Beau was her choice. She had no doubt he’d be happy to help, but she couldn’t take advantage. Travis didn’t have to know that, though. She didn’t ask herself why that gave her satisfaction.
“He’s all wrong for you,” Travis said.
“You’re the expert? Last I checked, you resigned from that position.” The pain was making her testy, making her say things she shouldn’t. She clamped down on her lips.
“You’re right. That’s why I came over tonight.” He rubbed his jaw, set his hand back on the wheel. “But that’s for later. You’ve had enough for one day.”
Like she was going to let him leave it at that. “Go ahead. Spill it.”
“Another time, Shay.”
“I’m too cranky, that it? Can’t handle it, McCoy?”
“I can handle you just fine, and we both know it.”
His eyes burned into hers, and she was remembering that night just as he’d no doubt meant her to. The night she’d dared him to kiss her, and he’d wrestled her to the ground and set her lips on fire right there on a haystack in her parents’ barn. She’d put up an honest fight, thinking he liked Marla Jenkins, not her, but he’d taken her down like she was a feather and had her melting in his arms in two seconds flat.
Blast the man. Her cheeks burned, and she tore her eyes from his. She was a grown woman now, and she’d learned plenty along the way. Such as, a man who broke your heart once will surely break it again.
When they finally arrived home, Travis pulled the truck to the porch steps. “Stay there.”
Like she had any choice. She opened the door while he retrieved the crutches. If he had his way, he’d be carrying her, but she wasn’t letting that happen. As it was, she couldn’t get away soon enough.
He handed her the crutches and followed her up the porch steps. She kept her knee bent, her broken foot well off the ground. She was going to take another pill as soon as she got inside.
“Maybe I should stay until your daughter—”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
He opened the door and held it while she hobbled through.
“Thanks for your help.” She turned awkwardly and took hold of the door.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Instead, he touched the brim of his hat, but the f
urrow between his brows said everything his mouth wouldn’t.
It wasn’t until later, foot propped on a foam pillow, daughter tucked in her bed across the hall, that Shay realized Travis never did tell her why he’d come over in the first place.
11
When Travis got home from Shay’s house, he picked up the mail and settled behind his dad’s desk. After tackling the bills, he opened the final letter, addressed to him, and unfolded the document.
He frowned at the certificate. Strange. He leaned back in his father’s chair and looked at the envelope the letter had come in. The county clerk’s office. Why would they be sending him a marriage certificate? Made no sense.
He looked closer at the document and saw his name, his signature. On the next line was Shay’s name, Shay’s signature, and below that . . . he squinted hard . . . Pastor Blevins’s?
A shot of adrenaline rippled through him. He didn’t understand. He turned the paper over, blank on the other side.
He and Shay hadn’t signed anything during the pretend ceremony. He looked closer, looked at the date, and felt the heavy weight of dread sink like a boulder in his stomach.
It was their marriage license, the one they’d filed for fourteen years ago. But how had Pastor Blevins gotten hold of it? And why was the clerk’s office mailing it to him?
He looked up the pastor’s home number and dialed. Voice mail kicked on, and he hung up. He’d have to wait until morning.
He stood and paced the length of the office. Where had that license come from? Surely Shay hadn’t kept it all these years. It was a mistake of some kind. Maybe Miss Lucy knew what happened. He stalked back to the desk and called her at home.
“Hi, Miss Lucy, it’s Travis. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Oh no, dear. The girls and I were just getting ready for bed. What can I do for you?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “This is going to sound strange, but do you know whatever happened to Shay’s and my wedding license?”
“Oh, that. Well, I do, actually. I found it in one of my boxes and—remember that pedestal at the Founders Day reenactment? I set the license there, hoping to jog Shay’s memory. Give her a little nudge, you know. But I don’t think she even noticed it.”
Man, oh, man. Travis rubbed his face.
“Why do you ask, dear?”
“What did you do with it after the ceremony?”
“What did I—Oh dear, I don’t know. I forgot all about it. Did you want to save it? I hope it didn’t blow away.”
“It didn’t blow away.”
“Oh good.”
“Miss Lucy, it arrived in the mail today.”
“Well, isn’t that lucky!”
He rubbed his face. “Shay and I seem to be officially married.”
“Oh my! Congratulations, dear!”
“This is not good, Miss Lucy.” It had to be a mistake. Shay would kill him if it wasn’t. “I mean, the license must’ve expired, right? Anyway, we applied for it in Wyoming, and the wedding was in—Wyoming. But we don’t reside in Wyoming, so that should make it null and void. The clerk’s office just missed it.”
“I don’t know anything about all that—let me ask the girls.” She muffled the phone while she talked to her dolls. Heaven help him.
The Internet. He marched to the computer and typed in a search, then drummed his fingers while the links came up. He clicked on a government site and began skimming.
Must be eighteen years of age or older. Check.
The license must be used in the state of Wyoming. Check.
Any licensed or ordained minister may perform ceremony. Check.
Do not have to be a resident of Wyoming. Check.
“The girls don’t know either, Travis. Oh my, this is all my fault.”
“I’m sure it’s a mistake. The license is fourteen years old. It can’t be any—”
License is valid indefinitely.
Gulp.
“What is it?”
Travis cleared his throat. “A Wyoming license has no expiration date.”
“Oh my.”
He kept reading, looking for something. There had to be something. “This is not good.”
“Not finding anything?”
“Nothing. I’ll call the clerk’s office in the morning and explain.”
“Of course. I’m sure they’ll understand it was all just a silly mistake.” Her confident tone was reassuring. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”
“Of course that’s what I want.”
He wanted this to go away. To make the call, explain the mistake, and have their records incinerated. Poof! Marriage over. And everything would be back to normal. He and Shay would be officially single. She would hate his guts. She would keep seeing Beau Meyers.
That was what he wanted.
Right?
“Travis?”
“I’m here. I’ll call the clerk’s office in the morning. Thanks for your help, Miss Lucy.”
“I’m sure it’ll all work out just as God intends, dear.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
Travis hung up, then went upstairs and went through all the motions of getting ready for bed. But instead of sleeping, he stared at the wood beams running across the ceiling. His mind traveled back two months.
He and Seth had just won the team roping competition, and they were celebrating at Clive’s with their buddies from the circuit. This year had been his biggest windfall yet, and his others hadn’t exactly been shoddy.
Travis took a chunk from the southwestern nachos the server had delivered minutes earlier along with a flirtatious smile. Ella Reynolds was with him, a pretty cowgirl and decent barrel racer in her own right.
She leaned over and kissed his cheek, her blond hair tumbling over her shoulders. The sweet scent of her perfume filled his nostrils, killing his appetite. She had green eyes almost the same color as Shay’s. But something about Ella’s seemed flat, like a mirror with nothing inside, only a reflection. Shay’s eyes were like a mountain stream, deep and mysterious.
But why was he thinking about Shay? She was some other man’s wife and had been for years, since about two seconds after he’d left her in Cody.
“You were something tonight, Trav,” Ella said over the din of chatter. “You and Seth make a great team.”
“Here it is!” one of his friends called, pointing to the big screen in the corner where the replay of today’s rodeo was being broadcast. The air was so smoky, it cast a fog over his view.
Travis watched the screen, watched himself and Seth work together to take down the steer, Travis heading and Seth heeling. Cheers went up when the event ended with their quickest time ever, and his friends raised their mugs to them.
He had everything he wanted. Fourteen years of hard work, and he was practically set for life if he was careful. He had money, a touch of fame, and a pretty filly on his arm.
And yet something was missing. He felt it often, lying in bed after a date, when his apartment was quiet, his body still. But now the emptiness filled him with an ache that spread wide enough to engulf him, almost taking his breath away. Strange that he felt it now, when the din of celebration and the excitement of reaching the record win should’ve left him high and heady.
What is it, God? You’ve blessed me like crazy. I have everything I ever wanted. Why do I feel so . . . alone?
He wasn’t alone. He had God. He had buckets of friends and no shortage of women.
But as soon as the thought trotted through his head, he knew what was wrong. What he tried to deny, tried to shove back deep inside where he didn’t have to think about it. Because thinking about it was useless.
Seth appeared in the seat beside him where Ella had been moments before. “What’s with the long face?”
Travis shrugged. Took a drink.
“It’s a celebration, and we’re the men of the hour. Perk up—we’ll make it to the finals this year for sure.”
Travis had been to the finals half
a dozen times; being a top fifteen earner gave him that privilege. But it would be a first for his best buddy. “Might be right. But December’s a long ways off.”
“We’re way ahead of the others. Shoot, we could sit out awhile and still break the top fifteen.”
Seth was right. Still, it wasn’t the thrill it used to be.
“Ella getting on your nerves?”
Travis searched the room and found her at the jukebox, searching the selections. “Ella’s cool.”
The smoky air was heavy, and the room was too loud. He felt a headache coming on.
“You’ve got that look again, Trav. Tell me this isn’t about Shay Monroe.”
It was Brandenberger now, but he didn’t feel like correcting his friend. His lips tightened.
“Dude.”
Seth should understand. He’d been there when Travis and Shay were together. But he’d never understood how Travis could miss someone he hadn’t seen in years. Travis wasn’t sure he understood it himself. It was like a piece of him was missing, and all the pieces he’d tried to put in its place didn’t fit. Not even close.
“You don’t understand.”
“She belongs to another man.”
That one hurt. Nothing he hadn’t reminded himself of a thousand times, but having it out there, so blunt, was a bitter wakeup call. What kind of jerk was he, longing for someone else’s wife? Not like he hadn’t blown his chance.
He stood abruptly, his chair darting out behind him. Ella was there, a drink in each hand. “Where ya going?”
“I have to go. I have . . . something I gotta do.”
A song kicked on, loud and familiar. The tune they’d danced to the week before.
Her smile drooped at the corners. “Oh.”
“Need a ride?” he asked belatedly. Some date he was.
“Callie can take me home. You’re kinda the guest of honor, Travis.”
He didn’t care at the moment. He had to escape this place before the emptiness ate him alive.
“Call you tomorrow, okay?” He offered what he hoped was an apologetic smile and headed toward the door, barely aware of the conversations around him, of the peanut shells crunching under his boots, the pungent smell of fried onions.
The Accidental Bride Page 6