McKettricks of Texas: Austin

by Linda Lael Miller

  She had barely regained her balance when the animal did a Man from Snowy River down the steep, rocky bank, pitched her headlong into a midair somersault that seemed to last forever and barely missed trampling her.

  Paige lay flat on her back, the breath knocked out of her, dazed.

  Austin was off the gelding and crouching beside her in what seemed like an instant. “Don’t try to move, okay?” he said quietly. “Just lie still.”

  Don’t try to move.

  The injunction struck Paige as funny. She wanted to laugh, to tell Austin he could quit looking so worried, because she was okay. But what came out of her mouth was a barely audible, “Is Betty all right?”

  Austin was pale behind his cowboy tan, and his blue eyes also revealed his worry, but his mouth crooked up at one corner. “The horse is fine,” he told her. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

  Paige took a thoughtful inventory of her body, starting at the back of her head, which was beginning to throb a little, and scanning down her neck, her spine, across her shoulders, over her stomach and her hips and her pelvis, then both thighs and both knees.

  She didn’t run into trouble until she got to her right ankle.

  “Owwww,” she moaned.

  Austin practically blanched. “What?”

  She answered by sitting up, bending her right knee, and grasping at her ankle. “It’s—probably—just a sprain,” she told him, “but it hurts like holy-be—yahoo.”

  Austin helped her up, and she leaned against him, keeping the injured foot off the ground.

  “Help me get back on the horse,” Paige said.

  He gave a raspy guffaw at that, and there was no humor in it. “Hell, no,” Austin replied, flashing his cell phone. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  Tears of frustration and pain stung the lining of her sinuses and the spaces behind her eyes. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “This is all my fault,” Austin muttered.

  Paige tried again. “No,” she said. “It’s nobody’s fault, Austin. Please, just help me get back on Betty so we can go back to the house—”

  Austin hooked his arm around her waist, clasping her against his side, and, with his free hand, fumbled in his coat pocket for the fancy cell phone. A moment later, he barked, “Garrett? We’re out at the old mining camp and we need help.”

  Paige closed her eyes against a wave of pain-related nausea.

  “No, it’s Paige,” Austin went on. “I think she’s busted her ankle.”

  “It’s only a sprain,” Paige insisted.

  “Yeah,” Austin said in reply to whatever Garrett had said. All Paige could make out was the thrum of a masculine voice on the other end. “Somebody will need to bring the horses back home.” Another pause. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Let’s see if we can make it over to that fallen log over there,” Austin told Paige, after he’d dropped the cell phone back into his pocket. “You ought to sit down.”

  “There might be snakes—or bugs—” Paige fretted, hopping along beside Austin.

  He chuckled. “Snakes might be a concern,” he allowed, “but I can’t see why somebody ready to ride five miles with a bum foot would worry about a few ants and spiders.”

  The landscape tilted a couple of times before she and Austin reached the log. After feeling around for a solid place, he sat her down, leaning over her and taking a firm grasp on her shoulders when she wavered.

  That was when she realized he was wearing a shoulder holster under his jacket. No wonder he wasn’t worried about snakes—he was packing heat.

  “Is that a gun?” she asked. It was a stupid question, she realized as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

  Austin laughed. “No, ma’am,” he lied. “I’m just glad to see you.”

  “Ha-ha,” Paige said, but she couldn’t help smiling.

  He sat down beside her. Dear God, it felt good having that strong arm of his around her.

  “YOU’RE SURE THE HORSE ISN’T HURT?” she asked, rocking slightly because the pain was beginning to say “fracture,” not “sprain.”

  “I’m sure the horse isn’t hurt,” Austin assured her, his voice both gruff and, at the same time, tender. He rested the side of his head against the top of hers. “Paige,” he said, “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was an accident,” she said, almost whimpering the words. If the pain didn’t let up soon, she was probably going to barf all over the man. Talk about making an impression.

  He didn’t answer. He just sat there, holding her until Garrett showed up, having raced overland in a ranch truck, hauling two cowboys along with him.

  All three men—Paige noticed uneasily that one of them was the man she knew only as Reese—came skid-heeling it down the bank in their rough boots, sending pebbles rolling and dust flying.

  Reese and the other cowboy cast a few curious glances in Paige’s direction, then silently mounted the gelding and the mare and started back toward home.

  Garrett crouched in front of Paige, looking up at her, scanning her face with those McKettrick-blue eyes of his. A worried grin kicked up the corner of his mouth and indented a dimple in his cheek.

  “We’ll get you to the clinic in town,” Garrett said gently, and very slowly, because she was having trouble tracking the simplest things. “They’ll patch you up, and you’ll be good as new.”

  Paige bit her lower lip again and nodded. Please God, she prayed silently, don’t let me throw up.

  Garrett straightened and, after a brief glance at Austin, bent to scoop Paige up into his arms.

  Inside the truck, she sat on Austin’s lap. By now, the prayer had become a litany.

  Don’t let me throw up. Please, don’t let me throw up.

  By the time they arrived at the clinic in Blue River—Dr. Colwin and two of the nurses met them in the lobby—the ache in Paige’s ankle was pounding in time with her heartbeat, like a giant toothache.

  “Do something,” she heard Austin bark, probably addressing the doctor. “She’s in pain!”

  “Easy, Austin,” Garrett said.

  There was some jostling—which hurt plenty—and then the prick of a needle in the fleshy part of her arm.

  Surely she hadn’t been given an injection through the thick fabric of the nylon jacket she was wearing. When had they removed her jacket?

  Goose bumps raced up her arms. Yep, definitely bare skin.

  Paige grappled with her situation for a few moments, as if trying to fight her way out of a bad dream. When clarity returned, she realized she was lying on an icy table in the X-ray room.

  “Is it broken?” she asked.

  “Probably,” Dr. Colwin replied calmly, one medical professional addressing another. “Are the pain meds taking effect yet?”

  Paige had to take another inventory, and it was a surprisingly slow process. “I think so,” she said.

  She closed her eyes, just to rest the lids, and when she opened them again, she was in another, warmer place. Mostly warmer, anyhow.

  Someone was tucking a heated blanket around her.

  Bliss.

  “Some people,” a familiar female voice said, “will do anything to get out of wearing a perfectly suitable bridesmaid’s gown.”

  Julie’s face came into focus.

  “What are you doing here?” Paige asked.

  Julie chuckled, smoothed Paige’s hair back from her forehead. “Well,” she said, “it seems my baby sister took a header off a horse. How do you feel, honey?”

  Paige sighed, grateful for the blanket. “Stupid,” she said. “I feel really, really stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid,” Julie informed her. Her tone was sunny, so Paige figured she probably wasn’t dying, or crippled for life. Even if her sister had left work in the middle of the day, which was a drastic step on Julie’s part.

  Paige raised herself up a little, but she couldn’t see her feet.

  “Did they amputate?” she asked.

  Of course sh
e was joking. Almost entirely.

  “No,” Julie said. “As soon as the swelling goes down enough, you’ll have a cast.”

  A belated shiver rattled its way up Paige’s frame. “Cold,” she complained. “Julie, I’m so cold.”

  “That would be the ice packs around your ankle,” Julie told her. Then she piled on another heated blanket, tucked it in around Paige. “You could have broken your neck, you know.” Tears sprang to Julie’s eyes, and she sniffled. “Thank God you’re all right, sis.”

  The swelling took its time going down. By the time Paige’s ankle had been set, she was already sick of being a patient.

  Dr. Colwin—or Joe, as he’d asked her to call him while he was attending to her ankle—seemed amused by her testy mood.

  Julie had left by then, but Libby had taken her place.

  Paige secretly wondered if Austin was around. Probably not, she decided. It was getting dark out, and they’d set out on their fateful horseback ride early in the morning. Conclusion: she’d been at the clinic for hours.

  But when Joe Colwin finally said Paige could leave, and Libby wheeled her out into the reception area in a wheelchair, her gigantic fiberglass-encased foot sticking straight out, Austin was there.

  He looked tired and he needed a shave and Paige could have kissed him for waiting; though, of course, she didn’t.

  “There’ll be some pain,” Joe warned, “once the shots wear off.” He held out a written prescription, and Libby took it. “You’ll want to have this filled before you head home. And I’d like to see Paige again in a couple of days.”

  Paige nodded.

  Garrett came through the front entrance; Paige could see his big extended-cab truck through the glass doors. He shook hands with Joe and landed a brotherly kiss on Paige’s forehead.

  A few moments later, he was lifting Paige out of the wheelchair and into the backseat of the truck, while Libby fussed and flitted around, urging him to be careful.

  Austin climbed in beside Paige, fastened her seat belt for her—a tricky undertaking, as it turned out; she was sitting at an odd angle, in order to accommodate the bulky cast.

  Garrett helped Libby into the passenger seat, then went around to climb behind the wheel. When they stopped to fill the prescription, Austin waited with Paige while Garrett and Libby hurried inside the drugstore.

  “Looks like it’s my turn to take care of you,” Austin said when he and Paige were alone.

  A light, drizzly rain began to fall, forming little beads of moisture on the windshield. The droplets took on the hazy red of the drugstore’s neon sign.

  Paige sighed. “Hardly,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”

  Austin arched one eyebrow. Rubbed a hand over his beard-bristled chin. “Don’t be so damn stubborn,” he said, and while his voice sounded like so many rusted bolts rolling around in the bottom of a bucket, there was a thread of amusement running through it, too.

  Inexplicably, the tears returned. Not that she let them fall. She had that much pride left, anyway. “I’m not being stubborn,” she said.

  “Just cranky as hell,” Austin teased. “That’s okay, though. You have cause to be a little on the cantankerous side.”

  “Gee,” Paige said, widening her wet eyes at him. “Thanks.”

  He laughed, but it was a weary sound. Then he shook his head. “You’re welcome,” he said.

  Garrett and Libby came back to the truck. They’d filled the prescription and Libby had a stack of magazines and a couple of paperback books.

  “You’re going to be laid up for a while,” she told Paige.

  Paige rolled her eyes. She had no intention of being “laid up.” Joe Colwin had given her a pair of crutches before they left the clinic, and she planned to be getting around on them ASAP.

  The windshield wipers made a swipe-swipe-swipe sound as they drove toward the Silver Spur, and all of them kept their thoughts to themselves.

  Back at the ranch house, the windows glowed with golden light, and dogs and kids rushed to greet Paige when Garrett carried her inside.

  “Can I sign your cast, Aunt Paige?” Calvin immediately asked.

  “Can we sign it, too?” Ava wanted to know.

  “Calvin goes first,” Audrey declared.

  Julie had a nice fire going on the big hearth, and she’d cushioned the rocking chair with several timeworn quilts, faded and soft. “Later,” she told the children.

  At a nod from Libby, Garrett set Paige gently in the rocking chair.

  She felt a little leap of gratitude, despite the problems she knew a broken ankle would inevitably present in the days and weeks ahead, because she wasn’t alone. She was in a warm, fragrant kitchen, with a family around her, and a fire crackling in the grate.

  Shep made his way over and rested his muzzle on her thigh, looking up at her as if to say he knew how she felt, with one foot wrapped up tight, compromising her mobility.

  Touched, Paige laid a hand on the dog’s head. When the time came to leave the Silver Spur and get on with her life, she was going to miss Shep something terrible.

  “Dad’s making spaghetti,” Ava told Paige, inching up to her side and peering into her face. “It’s his specialty. Do you like spaghetti?”

  “I love spaghetti,” Paige answered, smiling at the little girl and still stroking Shep’s head. She was aware of Austin in every cell of her body, but she made it a point not to look for him.

  Ava’s eyes—as blue as those of her father and uncles—were solemn behind the lenses of her glasses. “Does your foot hurt?” she asked.

  “Not right now,” Paige answered gently.

  Calvin, after scrounging through several drawers, approached with a marker. “Can I write my name on your leg now?” he asked, beaming.

  Paige laughed. “Sure,” she said.

  Shep gave a little dog sigh and turned to trundle away. He curled up on his blanket pile in front of the fire and settled down to warm his bones.

  Calvin concentrated hard as he printed his first name on Paige’s cast, taking great care with each letter.

  After he was done, Ava signed, then Audrey.

  The kitchen was a busy place for the next hour or so. By the time Paige had eaten as much of Tate’s spaghetti as she could manage and then taken a dose of pain medication, she was ready for the day to be over.

  Libby contributed a warm flannel nightgown from her stash upstairs, and she and Julie helped Paige get ready for bed.

  Each of them bracing her up by putting a shoulder under one arm, they walked her to the room she’d slept in originally.

  Someone had changed the sheets, made the bed up crisply and turned back the covers. A bouquet of pink roses stood on the bureau top, artfully arranged.

  The sight of it all choked Paige up a little.

  Like her sisters, she prided herself on her independence, but that night, it was lovely to have some TLC.

  Of course, she would have to sleep with her casted foot outside the covers, and the thought of going to and from the bathroom during the night was a little daunting, but Paige refused to whine, even to herself.

  The crutches leaned against the wall, between the mattress and the bedside table, within easy reach.

  Libby made sure her pills were handy, too, along with a bottle of water.

  Tired as she was, Paige had a hard time settling down, and when she finally did sleep, she dreamed she was pitching off over the mare’s head again, landing hard on the dirt of the riverbed.

  Startled, she woke with a gasp, flailing her arms in a vain attempt to break the fall.

  The room was dark, except for the shaft of thin moonlight slanting in through the window. It revealed Austin, sitting in the quilt-lined rocking chair that usually lived in the kitchen.

  “You hurting?” he asked in a raspy, waking-up voice.

  “No,” Paige said. Her throat went so tight, she figured she wouldn’t be able to swallow if she tried.

  “Bad dream?”

  She nodded,
though she wasn’t sure he could see her. In fact, she hoped he couldn’t, because she had tears in her eyes. Again.

  What was up with all this crying? She—practical, sensible Paige Remington—seemed to be wearing her heart on her sleeve these days.

  “You know how it is,” she croaked, trying to sound normal, “when you’re asleep and it feels like you’re falling and you have to catch yourself…?”

  “Yep,” he said. “You need anything, Paige?”

  She had to pee like the proverbial racehorse, she suddenly realized, but she’d be damned if she’d let Austin McKettrick, of all people, steer her into the bathroom and wait while she tinkled away.

  “I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea,” she said, not because she needed tea in the middle of the night, but because she wanted him to leave so she could grab the crutches and hop to the toilet.

  Austin unfolded himself from the rocking chair in stages, it seemed to Paige, making that lusty, stretching sound as he raised his arms over his head. He switched on the bedside lamp after that, and Paige saw, without surprise, that Shep was in the room, too, curled up on the hooked rug in front of the big, antique bureau.

  The bulb cast a kerosene lanternlike glow over the room, and Paige had the strange sensation that she and Austin and the dog might have been transported back in time, somehow. Back to a night when the Silver Spur ranch house was much smaller, and new.

  “I’ll be right back with that tea,” Austin said.

  Paige nodded.

  As soon as he was gone, she scrambled out of bed, reached for the crutches and stood up.

  Turned out, using crutches was harder than it looked. She swayed a little, barely caught herself before she would have landed on the floor in a heap. Determination carried the day—or the night—however, and she made it into the bathroom, then returned minutes later to find Austin standing in the middle of the room, waiting for her. His arms were folded and he was grinning.

  With a shake of his head, he took her arm and helped her back into bed. Handed her the steaming cup of tea waiting on the nightstand.

  “You can go now,” Paige told him, after taking a sip from the cup. “I’ll be fine.”

  Austin kicked off one boot, then the other.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he informed her.