Tris might just have lied to her. He wasn’t sure he could get up the embankment and into that truck. How much could she help? She was such a little thing.
“Lie back so I can pull you up by your good shoulder.”
He did it. That disturbed his leg. He grunted in pain. At least he didn’t scream. That was sort of an achievement. He saw her blanch. He’d better not scream no matter what happened or she’d faint. But she set her lips and grabbed his good arm, then squatted and got her shoulder under his. He pulled up his good leg. He could manage about one try to get it under him.
“On three,” she said. “One, two, three.”
They heaved up. Tris couldn’t help the wrenching groan as pain stabbed through his leg.
“Ready?” she gasped.
“As I’ll ever be.” God, it’d be really good if I didn’t faint right now.
The first hop forward was hell. His leg screamed at him. Something wrong with his shoulder too. He took one glance up at the bank, saw how steep it was, and didn’t look again.
“You’re doing good,” she lied. Another hop. He squeezed his eyes shut against the jolting pain. He was panting like he’d run five miles. “Really good.”
He held on to the sound of her voice as she crooned encouragement. She’d been right about one thing. She was strong for being little. The heat of her body pressed up against his was calming somehow. They half crawled, half scrabbled up the steep bank, him dragging his bad leg. Was she moaning with his weight? Somebody was moaning. No, that might be him.
When they got to the top, she pulled him up to stand and glanced from the cab of the pickup to the trailer. “We better lay you out in the trailer.”
“No,” he bit out. That would put him far away from her. Suddenly he needed the comfort of her voice, her touch. A lot.
“I can tie you in with lead ropes so you don’t get knocked around.”
“Ride in the cab like a human.”
She looked dubious. “That’s gonna hurt like hell.”
“Cab,” he repeated and hopped to the right. “Everything’ll hurt like hell.” Her choices were to come with him or let him fall. He was kinda glad she came along.
“Stubborn brute,” she muttered under her breath.
But they got there and she opened the cab door. He grabbed the doorframe with his good hand. She shoved at his butt when he hopped up with his good leg. The broken one hit against the running board. That was worth a scream, though he managed to make what came out something less. He sat on the seat of the truck sideways, panting. Her hands shook as she lifted the boot of his broken leg. Pain jolted through him. He bit his lip and somehow emitted only a kind of a grunt. He swiveled into the cab and she set it down against the floorboard. Not enough room to straighten it. She was right. Hurt like a son of a bitch. He sat gingerly back in the seat as she slammed the door and ran around the front, fumbling in her jeans pocket for keys.
She scrambled up into the cab, giving him a wary look. He tried to get control of his breathing. “I won’t puke in your truck.”
“That’s the least of my worries,” she muttered, stabbing the keys into the ignition and grinding the engine to life. She reached over him and pulled his seatbelt harness into the latch.
“Shutting the barn door after the horse is out.” Huh. He’d mustered a horse joke.
“Let’s not make this any worse than it is. Brace yourself. I’m going to go fast.”
He rolled his head in her direction. “This thing, go fast?”
“Don’t dis my Ford,” she warned. “It’s the only thing between you and permanent disability.” She pulled onto the highway, the trailer clattering behind her, and hit the accelerator.
Tris tried to focus on the huge tumbleweeds, bleached white by the lights of the truck, flashing past. The pain was really ramping up now. He was panting, no matter how hard he tried to breathe slowly. Maggie gripped the wheel, the gas pedal plastered to the floorboard. Good thing the road out here was straight as an arrow. Sweat broke out on his forehead even as he got colder. “I might bleed on your upholstery,” he said, trying to focus on anything besides how cold he was. Was he bleeding out? Don’t be dramatic. Just shock setting in.
“I’ll deal,” she replied, her lips tight.
*****
A low sound broke Maggie’s focus on the road. She glanced over at Tris. Great. He was breathing in shallow gasps. Should she have used her belt as a tourniquet? But a tourniquet on his leg for over an hour and he might lose it. She’d seen that on the Discovery Channel.
She glanced over again. His eyes were closed, his brows drawn together into a frown. The obscenely long fringe of dark lashes sweeping his cheek was still discernible in the light from the dash. The most disturbing part about getting him into the truck had been his arm around her shoulder. She’d had to be right up against him. His body was hard and ribbed with muscle. And let’s not talk about having to put a palm on each of those jean pockets and shove. What was she, some kind of perv to be turned on like that?
She hated to see him in pain on some elemental level that made her crazy to do something for him. If she could calm his breathing, maybe he could master the pain.
“Hey,” she said, and chanced moving a hand from the wheel to put her palm on his left thigh. A kick of sensation flooded up her arm, through her heart, and down … there. Definitely a perv. “You’re gonna be okay.” She could kick herself for the remarks about disability and funerals. He opened his eyes. He was shaking. She could feel it in his thigh. Can you spell shock, boys and girls?
“What happened?” He looked confused.
Uh, and concussion. “You got hit by a truck. Let’s just crank up the heater.”
As the old truck began to blast hot air, she realized it felt good to her too. And come to think of it, her chest hurt. Which she wouldn’t think about. Not when he was so much worse.
She was drawn to touch his thigh again. Glutton for punishment. His eyes snapped open and fixed on her hand. “Easy, now,” she said. Somehow the pull between them was more than just sexual. This guy felt … right on such an elemental level it was as if her bones were settling into her ligaments in new and more comfortable ways. She felt heavy, steady, good. Her chest didn’t hurt that bad. He took a huge, shuddering breath. “That’s right. Now let it out.” She glanced between his poor scraped-up face and the road ahead as a kind of sureness saturated with sexuality poured up her hand, into her chest, and down to her loins. It was almost spooky, way out here in the middle of nowhere in the night.
He exhaled. She felt his pain and anxiety seep into the air around her. “You’re okay now,” she said and her words came out in what she always thought of as her “horse” voice. “We’ll get you to Washoe Med. They’ll take care of you.” He breathed in and then out, more calmly.
She took her hand away. His tension ramped up again immediately. And her? She just felt wrong.
“Keep talking,” he said as though the request was torn from him.
“Okay. Okay.” What do you talk about to a man with a bone sticking out of his leg? “So why are you on the run from your family?” He’d implied that in the diner this morning.
He swallowed convulsively. “I don’t belong.”
Interesting. Thus his outsider, bad-boy aura. Actually she was totally shocked he’d admit that. “Brothers, sisters?”
“Three sisters. Two brothers. No, three brothers. Parents took in a distant cousin. He’s like a brother.” Tris was gasping now, speech difficult. Making him talk, maybe not so brilliant.
Panic surged inside her. She couldn’t protect him from the pain and they still had an hour to Washoe Med. What to do?
She reached out and put her palm on his thigh again. Again with the shocking sensation. She felt his pulse between her legs, hammering. And she felt … complete. The hard, muscled flesh under the denim was hot.
Get a grip. This is not about you and your stupid urges. It was about helping him bear the pain he must be in. All
she had was what she tried to do with horses. She made her breathing calm and steady. From somewhere inside her she felt something unlock. She could swear she heard an audible click in her chest. That had never happened before. Her lungs expanded, sucking in air, and as she exhaled she breathed out calm.
“Family is difficult,” she said, but the words came out in her horse voice, only steadier and surer than she’d ever been. “I know.”
He looked at her as though from a distance, with a strangely objective curiosity. His breathing slowed. She felt it synchronize with hers. “Just relax,” she murmured. The tension went out of his muscles, just like the horses when she touched them. But the feeling was much stronger. “I’m going to tell you a story.”
“What kind of a story?” He sounded almost drugged. Good.
Except she had no idea what to tell him. She bit her lip.
“Tell me why you ride bulls.” His eyes were blinking slowly now, but there was no painful grimace between his brows.
She kept her horse voice on, smooth and calm, coming from deep inside her. He was half-conscious. He’d never remember later anything she said now. So it didn’t matter if she told the truth. “To prove a point. To myself, I guess. That I’m brave enough to take on whatever life deals out. And to be good at something. Special.” That hurt to admit. She glanced to his face. His eyes were closed, his brows relaxed. “It’s hard to be so ordinary nobody ever looks twice.” She looked back at the road. The sagebrush flew by, flattened by the truck lights into a streaked black and white photograph. “You wouldn’t know about that. I bet all the women in the room turn and stare anytime you show up. Not so much for me. Easy to overlook. Easier to leave. That’s Maggie O’Brian. But I’m good at riding bulls. I’ve always had something with animals.” She smiled crookedly. “I wish they’d let me ride against the men. Winning the men’s division would be really special.”
His breathing was soft and even. He gazed out at the flashing sagebrush, then over at her. “Would that make you happy?” he asked sleepily.
Would it? She felt raw and open to him, the way she had to be to let the calm out. And open as she was, she had to admit it wouldn’t. What she wanted wasn’t a lonely life wandering from rodeo to rodeo, never connected to anyone. She wanted ... permanence. She wanted to know someone loved her. She wanted to be sure they had a future together and that the someone would never leave. And she wanted to be just as committed, sure she wouldn’t turn out like her mother, leaving devastation in her wake as she grew bored with commitment and moved on. She’d never been so clear. It was as if she’d just glimpsed another, truer version of herself.
Stupid girl. You can’t have that. They leave, just like Phil the Rat left, just like your mama left. Because you aren’t enough to hold them. She couldn’t endure that again. So it didn’t matter what she wanted. It was all about what she could afford to lose. And she’d lose herself entirely if she kept letting people leave her, or hate her as Elroy seemed to do. There’d be nothing left of her.
So she didn’t answer Tris. Instead she sang some nonsense words with the melody of an Irish folk tune her mama had once sung to her. He actually got a smile at that. It was unexpectedly sweet. Satisfaction thrummed inside her. His eyelids drooped shut. This was what she was meant to do and her mama, or Elroy, or Phil the Rat or anybody else couldn’t stop her.
She kept her palm on his thigh for the whole hundred miles into Reno, though he had long ago lost consciousness.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Got him,” Jason reported through his cell from the parking lot of a truck stop. “Piece of cake.” And a relief. The old woman would have no reason to make good on her threat now.
“How?” The old woman’s voice was an eager rasp.
“Semi loaded with hay. He never saw it coming. Haven’t had that much fun in a while.”
“No witnesses?”
“None,” he lied. He shouldn’t have left the girl alive. He should have confirmed that Tremaine was dead. But if he’d gone back, he’d have had to kill her, and then Tremaine’s death might end up looking suspicious. Strictly against the old woman’s orders. All that girl in the beat-up truck could have done was find the body. It was bad luck he’d met Tremaine right when he was passing her old pickup and horse trailer.
He shifted uneasily. That might not be his only bad luck. Why had the engine on his semi cut out right at the last minute? Crazy. It made him lose his concentration. The cloaking failed, so the cycle could swerve. Doesn’t matter, he told himself. No one on a bike could survive being clipped by a semi. “If I don’t see a news report in a couple of days, I’ll go out and confirm the kill.” The girl might not have had the guts to even get out of her truck in the middle of nowhere at night. The body might still be lying there.
“Good work, Jason. Now find another one.”
Damn. He’d done his turn on Tremaine duty. “Hardwick....”
“Hardwick is looking for the Talismans. That’s even more important than your work.”
“Yeah.” These Talisman deals were probably just myth. Lord, she wanted them though. He clicked the phone shut. The old woman was happy with him, at least for the moment. That was good. And Tremaine was dead. If he wasn’t dead, and the old woman found out....
Jason’s mind skittered over the image of the face that still haunted his dreams. The face looked just as it had when he was fifteen, though by now it had long ago rotted into dust. A ripple of terror made his stomach clench. Damn you, you bastard. I got you. He shoved the vision away. “You’re dead,” he whispered, wiping his forehead where it had suddenly beaded with sweat. Once Jason had thought that was enough. But it wasn’t. The old woman had proved it wasn’t.
Jason might be the second-baddest ass he knew, but he had still best keep the old woman happy. Because she was even badder than he was. And he just had made her happy. So it was okay. How long could it be until she kicked the bucket? Then he’d show the others in the Clan; Prentice, Hardwick, just who was boss.
*****
Maggie woke up with a start in the glare of the Washoe Medical Center waiting room. The wall clock said five a.m. She’d been asleep for an hour.
“Miss?” A young woman dressed in those aqua-ish scrubs peered at her.
“Yeah?” Maggie rubbed her eyes. She felt like she’d been kicked by a horse. Or several.
“Mr. Tremaine is just waking up after surgery. He’s going to be fine.”
Maggie sat up. “Oh, good. He’ll walk again and all?”
The young woman sighed. “Full recovery if he’s patient and does the work. Physical therapy is a slow miracle.” She shrugged. “He asked for you.”
“He did?” That sent something very dangerous snaking around in her brain.
“He probably wants to thank you before you leave.”
Leave. Yeah. Two ships passing in the night. “Oh, right.”
“He might not be very coherent. He’s still pretty groggy.” The perky blond spun on her heel and motioned Maggie to follow.
Maggie got up slowly. This day seemed to have gone on forever. Was it just last night she’d driven straight through from Cheyenne? And whatever happened in the cab of her truck getting Tris into Reno had really taken it out of her. She’d been barely coherent herself when she gave her account of the hit and run to the county sheriff and named the mile marker nearest to the wreck. The officer had asked her to repeat the whole thing twice. It did sound strange that Tris didn’t brake and the truck didn’t stop to help. She left out the fact that the truck had disappeared for a while and both the big rig’s engine and the bike’s engine seemed to cut out simultaneously at the last minute. That just sounded crazy. She’d never dare even mention that she thought she’d seen it reappear out of thin air. Had she’d imagined all of it?
Maggie’s boots felt like lead, tromping on linoleum gleaming with wax that wound into the bowels of the hospital. They’d checked out her sternum. It was just bruised. She hadn’t wanted to let them even do that, knowi
ng what ERs cost, but they insisted and she was in no shape to resist. Tris turned out to have insurance, according to his wallet. Lucky him. He’d need it. And Tris was short for Tristram. Nice name.
The nurse or doctor, or whatever she was, pushed open a door marked “Recovery.” At five a.m. only one bed was filled.
He was disheveled. The dark of his stubble and his blackening scabs contrasted starkly with his pale skin. He had on a thin hospital gown with tiny print on it. The sleeves didn’t cover the powerful biceps of the arm without the sling. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he had a tattoo over his upper arm, just visible at the edge the gown. No skulls or knives dripping blood. Not even a naked woman. It was an intricate blue and green design like knots or something. His leg was raised in a contraption that looked like a torture device, all pulleys and wire. Bandages bound his calf under the Velcro straps of the plastic brace.
He rolled his head on the pillow toward her at their approach. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. His eyes were soft as they recognized her. That was a new look for him. And he was so Goddamned handsome, even with scabs all over his face, her heart skipped a beat. Down, girl. Just because you were thrown together by extraordinary circumstances doesn’t mean the laws of the universe don’t still apply. He’ll get off the drugs any minute and wake up to reality.
“So, what’re the damages?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.
“Bike is probably totaled,” he mumbled. His lips were swollen and cut.
“I meant you.”
“Doc here says she fixed me up.” His voice was a little slurred.
So the girl was the surgeon. She’d gotten to ride in the men’s division. Good for her. “Are you going to cough up what’s wrong with you or not?” Maggie folded her arms across her chest.
“I’ll tell you,” the young doctor said, picking up the chart hanging at the foot of the bed.
“Uh, patient privacy?” Tris glowered at the doctor. Even Maggie knew that the doc telling her Tris’s personal medical information was strictly against regulations these days.
01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin Page 4