The Cowboy's Spring Romance

by Shanna Hatfield

  “Not by a long shot,” Travis said, joining in the kidding at Trent’s expense. “Seriously, bro, did you think you could keep up with someone who runs miles every day? Even I’m man enough to admit I couldn’t do it and up until a few months ago, I was running miles every morning.”

  Trent ignored them and continued shoveling in his dinner. If he didn’t say anything, he hoped they’d find some other topic to discuss.

  “Did she really prop you up against a fence post?” Trey asked, causing another round of laughter.

  “Maybe she threw him over her shoulder and carried him home,” said Henry, the oldest of their hands.

  “How did you get home?” Trey asked, ignoring the stern look his wife sent his direction. “Mike wasn’t sure what happened after she left you hanging off the fence at our turnoff.”

  “I drove home,” Trent said, quietly, taking another helping of mashed potatoes and covering them with the thick country gravy.

  “How did you get from the fence post to your pickup?” Travis asked. “Didn’t you drive over to Lindsay’s this morning?”

  Trent muttered something.

  “What was that? We couldn’t quite all hear,” Trey said, leaning forward in his chair.

  “She went and got her car, then came back to get me,” Trent said through clenched teeth.

  The men gathered around the dinner table were laughing so hard, some of them actually had tears rolling down their cheeks. Cass was giggling but didn’t know what was funny and Cady sat shaking her head disapprovingly. Although she thought the story was funny, Cady wasn’t going to add to Trent’s misery by joining in the merriment.

  “Maybe next time Cass can rescue you on her tricycle,” Travis said, throwing them into more fits of laughter.

  Getting up from the table so fast his chair tipped over, Trent stormed out of the house, slamming the back door so hard the kitchen windows rattled. They heard his pickup roar to life and tear down the driveway.

  “I told you guys to knock it off,” Cady said, concerned about Trent. She knew he hadn’t talked to Lindsay yet because her friend called right before dinner to see how Trent was doing. Lindsay thought she’d hear from him at some point during the day and was surprised he hadn’t contacted her. “Who knows what he’ll do now.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Trey said, turning his attention back to his dinner, now that the fun was over.

  “I’m not so sure,” Cady said, sending Trey a very pointed glare.

  Trey realized too late making his wife mad wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

  Accustomed to a wonderful dessert after dinner, tonight Cady quietly cleaned up the dishes, took Cass with her to the parlor and left the men sitting around the table wondering when they would get the sweet finale to their evening meal.

  Taking a deep breath, Trey stuck his head in the parlor door and saw Cady helping Cass with her reading.

  “Darlin’, the guys were wondering what’s for dessert. We can dish it up if you tell me what you’ve got.”

  “Nothing for you bunch of bullies,” Cady stated hotly, not even raising her head to look Trey’s direction.

  “But Mama, you made coconut cake. You said it’s one of Daddy’s favorites,” Cass said, looking between Cady and Trey, trying to figure out what was going on.

  Trey walked into the room and pulled Cady to her feet. He put his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. “Are you holding out on me, darlin’?”

  “Yes, I am. I’m still unhappy with you for heckling Trent,” Cady pulled back, squirming against Trey’s firm hold. “Don’t you think he felt bad enough, being humiliated in front of Lindsay? Now his brothers, the farm hands, and probably half the residents of Sherman County have heard about it.”

  “At least a third of the county,” Trey said, ignoring her protests and kissing her ear. Leaning back, he looked at their little redheaded daughter. “Cass, honey, you go tell Tommy there is cake for dessert and to save me a big piece. Okay?”

  Cass jumped up from her seat and ran out the door. “Okay, Daddy.”

  Cady could hear her telling Tommy about the cake in the refrigerator.

  “You are completely incorrigible, Timothy Andrew Thompson,” Cady said, taking a step back and putting her hands on her hips. Her stance, along with the use of his full name, was a sure sign she was peeved.

  “Be that as it may,” Trey said, pinning her arms to her sides as he enveloped her in a hug, “I’m all yours and I love you madly.”

  The searing kiss he gave her chased away thoughts of Trent, cake, and the laughter from the kitchen. With weakened knees, she clung to Trey, breathing in his spicy scent as she stared into his brilliant blue eyes. It would be a lot easier for her to be mad at him if he wasn’t quite so talented at keeping her distracted.

  “I love you, too, even if you’re mean to your brother,” Cady said, kissing his chin. “I am worried about Trent, though. We had a long talk when he came in this morning. This is really bothering him, Trey. Please, don’t make it any worse. He’s mortified and thinks that Lindsay is going to see him differently, as less of a man, because of what happened.”

  “That’s stupid,” Trey said, burying his face in Cady’s hair, rubbing his hands in soft circles along her back.

  “If it was me who was the runner and you in Trent’s shoes, how would you feel?”

  Trey raised his head with a thoughtful look. “Point taken. I’ll talk to him when he comes home.”

  “Where do you think he went?”

  “He’s probably just driving around, blowing off some steam. He’ll be home before bedtime.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Love is when you take away the feeling, the passion, the romance

  and you find out you still care for that person.

  Unknown

  Trent drove his truck along the highway for miles with no direction in mind. The emotions shooting through him ranged from raw anger to hot humiliation. He would never be able to look Lindsay in the face again. He’d eventually get over the taunting from Trey, Travis, and the hands, but he couldn’t face Lindsay. He just couldn’t.

  Realizing he was halfway to Bend, he turned around and drove back toward the ranch when his cell phone rang. He ignored it and a few minutes later, it rang again. The third time it rang he pulled over and answered it, not checking to see who was calling, assuming it was something important due to the persistence of the caller.

  “What?” he barked in the phone.

  “Trent?” Lindsay asked, uncertain if she had called a wrong number.

  “Lindsay,” he whispered, feeling remorseful for his curt greeting.

  “I need some help, please. There’s something outside by the shed making an awful noise and I’m a little afraid to go investigate. Can you please come over?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Trent asked, thinking she was setting him up so she could tease him. He was in no mood for more ribbing.

  “Trent, please,” she said, fear giving a desperate edge to her voice. “It’s dark enough I can’t see what it is and I’m scared to go out there.”

  “I’ll be right there,” he said, pulling back onto the road and speeding up. “Stay in the house.”

  Exceeding the speed limit, Trent parked in front of Lindsay’s house twenty minutes later. Shining the pickup lights at her shed, he looked around his truck for a weapon and the only thing he could find was a shovel in the back of the pickup. Carrying it like a baseball bat, he cautiously walked up to the shed with a flashlight in his other hand. Not seeing anything at the front of the building, he stood quietly, listening.

  He thought he could hear something like a whimper followed by rustling.

  Edging around the corner of the shed, he shined his light and was surprised to see what appeared to be smears of blood along the bottom wall. Carefully turning the light to the back of the shed, the beam connected with a pair of pain-glazed eyes set in the pitifully thin face of a bedraggled dog.

  Teeth bared, the dog growled
at him, but made no attempt at moving. Talking low and soft, Trent moved slowly, leaning the shovel against the side of the shed before making a move he hoped would appear non-threatening toward the animal. Taking one step at a time, he got close enough he could see that the dog was big in frame, though half-starved, and blood dripped from a wound on its back leg.

  Sweet-talking the dog, Trent kept eye contact with the animal, moving closer so he could better see the wound. The dog continued to growl, but no longer showed its teeth.

  Trent took a couple of steps back and phoned the vet, who was tied up with a prolapsed cow.

  “Well, buddy, it looks like I’m all you’ve got,” Trent said, staring at the dog, trying to decide what to do. If his suspicions were correct, this was probably the animal that mauled their calf and been shot by their neighbor. He was big enough to take a calf down, and a starved dog, especially one running wild, would be emboldened enough to try.

  Finally, he called Lindsay.

  “Lindsay, I’m behind your shed. There’s a dog back here with a bad wound. The vet can’t come so we have three choices. We can put it out of its misery, leave it alone and let nature take its course, or I can try to help it. If you want to go with option three, it’s going to take some work and probably make a mess. I’m afraid if I try to move him to the ranch, he won’t make it. If we treat the wound, it will have to be here.”

  “Oh,” Lindsay said, taking in the details. “Option three, Trent. We can’t let him die without trying to help him. What do I need to do?”

  “Do you have some food we could use for bribery? He isn't the friendliest canine I’ve ever encountered. Maybe just a bowl of warm milk? I’m also going to need to make a muzzle. Do you have any wide ribbon or a roll of gauze?”

  “I’ll be right there,” she said. Lindsay poured milk in a bowl and warmed it while she grabbed a roll of gauze and slipped on a coat. Although it was feeling more like spring during the days, the nights were still cold.

  Walking around the shed, Trent held out a warning hand to her. “Just take it slow and easy,” he said, keeping his eye on the dog as it raised its head and resumed growling. Lindsay sidled up next to Trent and handed him the bowl. With guarded movements, Trent slid the bowl in front of the dog, who snapped at him before sniffing the milk and greedily lapping up the contents.

  “See, buddy, we just want to help you,” Trent said in a soothing tone, getting closer to the dog. Trent sent Lindsay to get everything ready while he waited with the wounded animal.

  Lindsay ran in the house and cleared off the kitchen table, pulling the chairs back out of the way. Covering it with a plastic tablecloth, she filled a large pot with water and put it on to boil. Following Trent’s directions, she gathered up scissors, gauze pads, antibiotic ointment, rubbing alcohol, and needles along with a spool of thread, setting everything on the table. She threaded three needles and poured alcohol over both the needles and thread, poking them into a cotton pad.

  Sliding her hands into a pair of leather gloves, she hurried to retrieve Trent’s gloves out of his pickup and take them to him.

  “Is everything ready?” he asked as he pulled on the gloves.

  “I think so,” Lindsay said, fear making her eyes wide.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? I could call Trey or Travis.”

  “No. I don’t want to make the poor thing suffer any longer. I can do it,” Lindsay said, pulling the roll of gauze from her pocket.

  “Here we go,” Trent said, sidling quietly behind the dog while Lindsay got the dog’s attention and started talking to it softly. When he was certain the dog was focused on Lindsay, he threw himself down on the animal, holding its muzzle shut with both hands while Lindsay wrapped gauze around and around the mouth to keep the dog from biting. When she finished, she stepped back and Trent let go.

  The dog struggled to work the binding loose, but couldn’t and soon gave up the fight. The combination of blood loss and starvation sapped what little strength he had.

  Convinced the dog wouldn’t be able to bite or struggle, Trent gently picked it up in his arms and carried it in the back door into Lindsay’s kitchen.

  Laying the dog on the table, Trent had Lindsay bring in a floor lamp from the living room so he could better see the wound. Taking off his jacket, gloves and hat, he had Lindsay go get some twine from the bed of his pickup and used it to tie the dog down to the table. Where the twine rubbed on the dog’s skin, he cushioned it with cotton pads. Rolling his shirtsleeves up past his elbows, he thoroughly scrubbed his hands then had Lindsay pour alcohol over them.

  Going back to the table, he looked down at the dog. It stared at him with terror in its eyes.

  “It’s okay, buddy. We’ll get your wound treated and then you’ll feel as good as new.” Trent kept up soft murmurings, hoping it would help calm the dog.

  “When I clean the wound, he’s probably not going to like it much and may try to work loose. You’re going to have to hold him down. Top priority is making sure the muzzle stays on,” Trent said, looking at Lindsay.

  “Okay. I can do it,” Lindsay said, trying to convince herself as much as Trent. Blood didn’t generally make her woozy, but then again she’d never seen a bullet wound before. Taking a deep breath she went around the table and prepared to do what was necessary to keep the dog restrained.

  “I know you can,” Trent said, with a hint of a smile. “If you can hum, sing, or just keep talking to him, I’ll get to work.”

  Trent examined the wound and was pleased to see the bullet passed all the way through the dog’s back leg. He cleaned the wound then worked on stitching the bullet holes shut. The dog struggled and fought, but Lindsay did a good job of holding him down and started singing softly as Trent worked. Despite the dog’s blood loss, Trent thought the canine had a good chance at recovery.

  Once it recovered, they’d have to decide what to do with him. They couldn’t just turn the dog loose to wreak havoc on the cattle herds in the area.

  Trent knotted the thread and cut it, swiped his arm across his forehead to wipe off the sweat and looked at Lindsay. She continued to hold onto the dog with tears pouring down her cheeks.

  “He’ll be okay,” Trent said quietly, going to the sink to wash off the blood. When his hands were clean, he removed his blood-splattered shirt and pulled Lindsay into his arms. “I’m proud of you, Princess. You did a great job.”

  Lindsay clung to him and snuffled against his T-shirt clad chest. Trent rubbed his hands comfortingly up and down her back. “Let’s get this guy bandaged up and decide what to do with him next.”

  Working together, they got a bandage on the dog and decided to put him on an old blanket in the utility room just off the kitchen. Trent didn’t like the idea of having him in the house, but he was afraid if they moved him too far, it wouldn’t be good for the dog. With the utility room door closed, the animal wouldn’t be loose in the house, should he work up the strength to actually move. They left the muzzle in place, but Trent dribbled some water in his mouth, rubbing the dog’s head and talking to him in soothing tones.

  With the dog settled, they returned to the kitchen and undertook cleaning up the huge mess there. Trent was glad Lindsay had plenty of bleach wipes and rags. They were much better equipped to handle something like this at the ranch, but he was convinced the dog wouldn’t have made the trip.

  Finished cleaning, Trent finally glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was nearly ten. Picking up his cell phone, he called Travis.

  “Bro, I’m not coming home tonight,” Trent said when Travis answered.

  “Oh, come on, man, get over it. We were only joking,” Travis said. “Where are you?”

  “At Lindsay’s.” Trent wasn’t surprised when Travis was shocked into silence. “The dog Mike shot ended up hiding behind her shed. We did a little doctoring and stitched him up. He’s hurt too bad to move and I don’t want to leave her alone in the house with it, so I’m sleeping on the couch.”

  “Oh,�
� Travis finally managed to say. Unable to stop himself, he had to get in one more jab. “Is Lindsay going to tuck you in and protect you from the big, bad dog?”

  “Just shut up,” Trent said, disconnecting the phone. He lifted his head to find Lindsay’s eyes resting on his face. She raised an eyebrow questioningly.

  “I don’t recall asking you or inviting you to spend the night,” she said, nervously twisting the ring on her finger. “I don’t think it’s one of your best ideas.”

  “I realize that, but I can’t take the dog with me and I’m certainly not leaving you alone in the house with him. He’s proven to be more than a little wild and aggressive.”

  “I’m sure I’d be fine. It’s not like he could open the door and stroll around the house.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Trent said, not wanting to scare her, but also wanting her to be cautious. “Given the opportunity, he will bite you, so just be mindful of that.”

  Lindsay didn’t say anything, but finally nodded her head. Making them both a cup of tea, she put some cookies on a plate and went into the living room, sinking down on the couch. Exhausted, she found herself too wound up to think about sleep.

  “How long will we be able to keep him inside? What will happen to him? Will he still have to be put down?”

  “I don’t know,” Trent said honestly. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

  Lindsay passed the cookies to Trent and he took one. Biting into it, he was surprised by how tasty it was. Freely admitting she wasn’t a very good cook, Trent thought the raspberry bars were delicious.

  “Did you make these?” he asked, taking a second one.

  “Yeah. It’s one of the few things I can make that tastes okay,” Lindsay said, sipping her tea.

  “These are better than okay,” Trent said, finishing the second one and starting on his third. “These are fantastic. I’m partial to raspberry sweets.”

  “Good to know,” Lindsay said, nibbling at a cookie. Taking another sip of tea, she stared at Trent until he felt pulled into her blue eyes. “Trent?”