He’d almost screwed the whole thing by lunging at the herd as it thundered down on her.
Probably trying to rescue her or something stupid like that.
Nobody’d ever tried to rescue her. In a lot of ways. It made her feel as unsettled as her very pronounced reaction to having him anywhere near her. Thank God he didn’t know how she reacted to him. Or maybe guys like him always knew.
Dillon raised his hand in salute. “I’ll tell the boys you’ll be here late.”
She made her voice gruff. “I did the whole bunch. You’ll be able to sell the others.”
“Thanks.” Dillon sounded surprised. He would think he knew something about her now. But he would be wrong. Tough girl Maggie O’Brian did not have a soft heart.
She strode over to her trailer. Glancing back to the motorcycle guy, she said, “You good to hold them while I load?”
“Guess I can handle that.”
God, but that baritone made her crazy. Men like that used their looks against you. But not against her. He could just go hang for whatever he wanted.
What exactly did he want? She was so not his type. She wasn’t anybody’s type, not even her mama’s. She tied one mustang to the metal eye at the front of the trailer and took the other one to the back. The doors were already open and clipped back to the sides, the ramps in place.
“Okay, big boy, you ready?” she whispered to the buckskin stallion. She stroked his neck. “You’re going where there’s hay in your stall every day and lots of little girls to bring you carrots.” She pulled the rope already tied to one side of the trailer around his butt. “No coyotes, no helicopters. It’s warm all year and there’s always plenty of water. All you do is carry them around a few hours a day. Piece of cake.” She tugged on the lead with one hand and the rope around his butt with the other as she walked up the metal ramp, careful to exude confidence. If the first one fought, the others would catch the fear.
Buck stepped up on the ramp. The hollow metal clanging under his hooves didn’t faze his calm. He walked into the trailer, sweet as you please. She tied him to the metal ring with a breakaway knot. He poked his nose into the net of hay. “Down payment on your future, big guy.”
She stalked down the ramp and held her hand out. Tris’s expression was guarded as he handed her a lead rope. “Neat trick. You’ll have to tell me how you do it.”
“Don’t have to do anything.” She loaded the bay.
“Maybe … maybe I could buy you lunch in Fallon.”
Not on a bet. She glanced up to his face as she grabbed the next lead rope and saw a look that was almost … reluctant there. Yeah. He was hitting on her as a last resort. “Gotta get this stock to my place so I can come back for the rest.” She led the black up the ramp.
“So you could use some lunch.”
Why was this guy insisting? There were horse groupies out there. But they knew horses. And they didn’t look like movie stars. Was he making fun of her? She narrowed her eyes. “I packed a lunch.” That was a lie. But no way was she going to be the butt of some kind of joke. And she wasn’t going to be a quick lay because he couldn’t find anything better out here in the sticks. She loaded the last horse, swung the trailer doors closed, jammed the latch home.
“Okay then,” he said. But he didn’t sound like he’d given up.
She climbed into her truck. “See you.” But she wouldn’t. That felt … bad. She ducked her head and squeezed her eyes shut as she turned the key in the ignition. How could a guy she’d only seen twice make her feel so … so out of control when she was around him and so desolate knowing he was not for her? She knew who she was. She was the kind a mother left without even a goodbye. Boyfriend, ditto. The love she’d thought was forever. She was the one a father stayed on the road to avoid. But she wasn’t an easy lay for Mr. Movie-star Biker. She eased the truck toward the road and turned out.
She glanced to her rearview mirror and saw him standing in the road, feet apart, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. His disheveled black hair, three-day stubble, and leather jacket all spelled trouble with a capital T. So why was something inside practical Maggie O’Brian telling her to put the truck in park and see if he’d walk up the road to her?
Lord! She was getting desperate in her old age. That man had “love ’em and leave ’em” written all over him. With her history, he was emotional suicide.
She pushed her foot down on the gas pedal a little too hard. The horses shifted in the back.
Well, that was that. Tris didn’t even know her last name.
He watched her trailer disappear around a bend. Was he crazy? She didn’t like him. They had nothing in common. She was into horses and he was into machines. She was way beyond not his type. It was almost comical. But he didn’t feel like laughing. And that was frightening.
He should just go. Twenty miles back to Fallon. Another sixty to Reno. Then what? He strained to find the light feeling he’d had driving out here.
He was stupid. And weak. Weak because he was sorry to disappoint his mother. Real man there, Tris. Weak because he wanted to go after that girl who was connected to horses in some way that made her sure of her purpose, the way he couldn’t manage for himself. She was something all right. He was nothing. The shadows of lethargy seethed inside him, waiting.
He chewed his lip. As long as he was already disgusted with himself, he might as well go after Maggie. He had no idea where she lived. Jake and the old waitress probably did, but he’d come off like a stalker. They’d never tell him. Maybe someone at the sale barn would give him information if he pretended to have business with her.
At least he knew one place she’d be. Back here tonight to load the rest of her horses.
*****
Jason peeled off five crisp hundred-dollar bills and waved them in the Mexican stable hand’s face. Kid’s eyes looked like they might pop. “You call the minute Tremaine heads out. And watch which way he turns.” He needed the kid for the direction and the timing. Couldn’t cover Highway 50 both ways. He hated depending on somebody else.
The kid nodded. Looked around to see if any of his friends could see his haul. They were screened by a line of old cottonwood trees from the rest of the stable yard.
Jason let his eyes go dead. That always scared regular people shitless. Keep the kid in line. Tremaine had been asking after a girl named Maggie at the ranch, according to this wetback boy. Tremaine was waiting for her there now. She was supposed to come back tonight. Had some horses to get to LA. The kid said she was from Austin, where Tremaine looked this ranch up on his cell phone. So Tremaine had come here after the girl. Man was following his dick. Looked like she’d ditched him. That meant Tremaine would head east to Austin after that girl tonight when she didn’t show. Jason would bet his life on it.
Death was better than what lay in store from the old woman if he was wrong.
He swallowed. Okay. Okay. He wasn’t wrong. But a lot depended on this kid. He narrowed his eyes. “You fail me, boy, I’ll come after that five hundred. You won’t live through how I take it back.”
The kid’s eyes widened. “N-no sir, I’ll, uh, I’ll call for sure.”
Jason turned his back before the kid wet his pants, and got into his rental car. Time to get in position. He’d get the old woman what she wanted, or die trying.
CHAPTER THREE
Heading west, Maggie blinked against the lights from an oncoming car, the first she’d seen in a while. There was a reason this stretch of Highway 50 was called “the loneliest road in America.” She was later than she’d planned getting back to pick up the remaining horses. Of course, Elroy had been drunk. And she’d had to get him some food, all while he screamed at her, and put him to bed. How much longer could she face that shack or his alcoholic rages? But she had to. Couldn’t just leave him to die like somebody who didn’t have a daughter. That would be abandoning him, and she’d be just like her mama. She had to fight that.
Now she was empty, exhausted by trying to keep her anger from
destroying her. He was broke by Mama leaving us, she said, like a mantra. He can’t make it out of the bottle right now. She’d been saying that since she was eight. If he couldn’t quit after the doc said he had cirrhosis, he never would. Time to face facts.
She was so tired the white line grew mesmerizing. Dillon would be long abed. She’d wake him and his boys up by clattering in and loading horses. But those were the breaks. She’d said she’d be back tonight and she would. A promise was a promise for Maggie O’Brian.
When had that big rig come up behind her? Little too close, asshole. She shook her head and turned up the radio as she hit the accelerator. The country station 105.5 was playing Chris Young. Best baritone in country music. Only right now that voice reminded her of somebody else. The song was about a husband and wife so eager to make love they bailed on a night out at a fancy restaurant. Listening to it felt like looking in the window at the candy store, knowing you didn’t have money to buy.
A single headlight flared ahead. Motorcycle. That broke her out of her trance. Cycles had her full attention today.
Behind her, the big rig swung out of their lane. Was he passing?
Things started to move either too fast or too slow. Didn’t the trucker see the cycle? Side by side like this, the truck and her rig formed an impenetrable barrier. The cycle had nowhere to go but to swerve off the road at high speed. She glanced to the semi.
It wasn’t there. Had she imagined it starting to pass? She glanced to her rearview mirror. Not there. The cycle came on full speed. But something was wrong. She could still hear the semi’s engine. Acting on instinct, she jammed her foot down on her brake pedal, swerving to the right. No horses to worry about in the back. Then the roar of the semi’s engine and the whine of the cycle both cut out, leaving only the squeal of her brakes. Right before her eyes, the semi popped into view in the left lane, now slowing. The cycle swerved, the handlebars jerking out of the rider’s hands, as though with a mind of their own. But it was too late. The cycle clipped the inside corner of the big rig. The sickening crunch of metal was audible even over her Ford’s squealing brakes. Two objects flew almost over her hood in an arc of spokes and.…
Oh, God. The other flying object had a helmet on. Her truck swerved as she struggled with control. The big rig’s engine roared to life and it barreled away into the night. The semi driver must have felt the impact. The smell of burning rubber and brake lining filled her nostrils. Her chest hit the steering wheel as her truck screeched to a stop.
For a long minute she just sat there, trying to get her breath. Her sternum hurt. But it was kind of a vague feeling. The highway was empty. The semi was only fading red taillights in the distance. Her breath came fast and uneven. How had she not seen that truck? And why didn’t the driver stop to help? Help.…
The guy on the motorcycle.… Nobody could have lived through that. Could they?
What to do? No cell coverage out here. She craned around to check the highway. No lights in either direction. Oh, boy. She was going to have to get out and look for the rider. Hands shaking, she pulled her rig slowly off to the shoulder. She swallowed past a lump in her throat and got out of the cab into the cool air of the high desert night. She had to steady herself with a palm on the side of her Ford. Her knees were wobbly. She took a couple of panicky breaths.
Get hold of yourself. You weren’t the one hit, for God’s sake.
No moon. The usual blanket of stars had been shaken across the black sky, but they didn’t shed much light. The hulking shadows of tumbleweeds and creosote bushes lined the road. Flashlight. She’d need a flashlight. She leaned back into her truck and popped the glove compartment. The flashlight felt solid in her hand. She flipped it on and began walking back, swinging the beam. It wouldn’t be him. It couldn’t.
Skid marks. Plenty from her Ford. None from the semi or the cycle. The bike had swerved only at the last minute. Hadn’t the rider seen the rig swing out? The driver of the semi hadn’t braked at all. She’d heard only the engine cutting out, not brakes. Hadn’t she?
Low moaning drifted up toward her. She swallowed. Moaning is good. At least the rider isn’t dead. She cast her light down the shallow embankment. It caught a twisted mass of black and silver metal. The cycle’s front wheel was canted at the wrong angle. It spun almost silently.
She stalked ahead, determined to be angry at being put in this situation, not weak or timid. She really, really didn’t want to see what that lump was in the sagebrush just beyond the bike. The flashlight stuttered over leather, helmet, jeans, boots. Uh-oh. One leg had an odd angle in it.
I won’t think about that. She breathed in and out through her mouth. She glanced up the highway in both directions again. Not a headlight in sight.
Damn, damn, damn! She stumbled over the edge of the asphalt, sliding down the sandy dirt. As she got closer, she quit fighting her instincts. It would be her beautiful biker guy. She knew it. She shone her light onto the figure.
Did I have to be right? He blinked against the light, the green of his eyes startling. They were swimming right now. He raised one hand ineffectually to block—what? Her? Did he think she was the one who’d hit him and was coming to finish the job? One leg was clearly bent at an unnatural angle below the knee. Was that something white poking out of his jeans? Bad. Very, very bad. She battled her rising gorge. Damn it, Maggie! You’re strong. Anger helped. Damn the asshole driver of that big rig. And damn her motorcycle guy for being in this situation.
His cheek was scraped. Blood dripped toward his jawline. Lip split, chin scraped too. “It’s Maggie,” she said stupidly. “That truck hit you.” Understatement of the year.
“Truck?”
Of course he’d hit his head with a fall like that. Probably just as well he didn’t remember. She wasn’t even sure she remembered exactly what happened. Had she been asleep at the wheel? Is that why she didn’t see the semi? She pushed through sagebrush and knelt in the dirt. This close she could smell the rich, metallic scent of blood. “You … you need an ambulance. I’ll … I’ll.…” What? What would she do with no cell phone coverage and no cars in sight? Leave him alone to get help? It was a good half hour into Fallon, even if she drove like a bat out of hell. The ambulance had to muster out and then a half an hour back here, maybe more. Time to stabilize and load him. The little Fallon hospital had closed. Damn for-profit chain probably wasn’t making enough money in such a small town. They’d have to take him into Washoe Med in Reno. Sixty miles on from Fallon. Two and a half, three hours, any way you figured.
A trucker’s CB could radio ahead. That’d save half an hour. If one magically appeared. Loneliest road in America, after all. If one did appear she might not be able to flag it down.
She turned back to the injured man. Wait for someone? Or try it herself? Awful choice. He could bleed to death. Could he die of shock? Or get paralyzed if she tried to move him. “You, uh, you feel any pain in your back or your neck?”
“Just …” His voice was a croak. He cleared his throat and started again. “Just the leg.”
“Well, at least you can feel your extremities. Could be worse.” Better to make light of it. “Let’s get this helmet off.” She released the chinstrap and gently lifted the helmet. “That okay?”
“Yeah,” he whispered. His eyes closed slowly and reopened, as if he couldn’t quite get it together to blink.
She tossed the helmet behind her. “Look, I can go for an ambulance. I figure you’re only alone out here for a little over an hour max. Maybe three hours total to get you to the ER. Or …” She almost couldn’t offer it. “If we can get you into the truck, I can take you. Maybe an hour and fifteen total to the ER.” She shrugged helplessly.
“Gee, what should I choose?” he said, lips tight. He seemed more aware now.
“We could screw you up worse trying to get you into my truck.” Truth in advertising.
“In ten minutes, I’ll start to feel this,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t wanna be alone. Cal
l me chicken.”
“I wouldn’t call you that.” He must know how painful getting to the truck would be. She looked up to the road. How the hell would she get him up the embankment? “Okay. How about I get my loading ramp? You roll on it and I drag you up the embankment?”
“You got a horse in there to pull it? I’m six-four, two twenty-five. Plus the ramp.”
“You could push with your good leg,” she said doubtfully.
He rolled his eyes to her. “You’re what, a hundred pounds?”
“A hundred and ten, all muscle.” Well, a hundred and six. That rounded up to ten.
“Get real.” In the baleful glare of the flashlight his pale, sweating face looked green. “I can hop if you can get me up.”
That would hurt like hell. “Your funeral.” Not the best metaphor. “Let me get the truck.” She scrambled up the bank, trying not to think too far ahead, and ran for her truck, fumbled with the keys, and backed it up to where the cycle had gone over the edge.
As she slid down the bank again she could see that he had pushed himself up on one arm. His other arm hung limp from his shoulder. Not good. He hung his head. “Go away,” he rasped. Then he vomited into the dirt. She turned away lest her own stomach rebel in sympathy. Poor guy couldn’t even wipe his mouth with one arm out of action. She stripped off the flannel shirt she wore over her tee and knelt beside him.
He turned his head away, but she cupped his cheek to pull him back around. The jolt that shot through her was like she’d touched a battery cable. Well, not quite. The charge was definitely sexual. What the hell was that? Slow down, girl. You’re kneeling in the dirt next to an injured guy who just lost it all over the desert. Not exactly sexy. She set her lips and wiped his mouth and then used the other sleeve to wipe the sheen of sweat from his forehead.
“We’d best get to it,” he gasped.
She surveyed the situation. Okay. Damaged shoulder was on the opposite side of the broken leg. Don’t think about how much this is going to hurt him.
01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin Page 3