He shot a sidewise glance at Katie, wondering how she was holding up. It had been a long day, especially for someone not used to riding. She caught his look and gave him a thumbs-up. Good girl—grittier than he’d expected of a gal raised in the East. He had prolonged their day simply for the pleasure of her company.
Following the bull-riding circuit, he’d talked with dozens of people every day—his buddies, the riders and the bull contractors, announcers, fans, and, of course, the buckle bunnies. Now his only contacts outside his family were the physical therapists in Durango. He’d be sorry to see Katie go.
“Luke,” she said as they descended the long slope toward the ranch house, “do you really think staying in Durango to work at the Queen would be a good idea? If that’s what Lucy has in mind, I mean. I need to be useful while I’m sorting things out.”
“I can’t see anything wrong with you pitching in at the Queen,” he said, surprised by the burst of pleasure her question triggered. “Shelby’s a great cook, but not being on the ranch with Dad makes her crazy. He had a heart attack about six, seven years ago, and she still frets something will happen while she’s not here to keep an eye on him. Jo’s a good worker, but she can’t shortchange Missy and JJ, especially since she’s homeschooling. Neither of them has any restaurant experience.”
“And Lucy’s anxious to get to New Hampshire,” Katie said. “How long before she has to leave?”
“Sometime in June—I don’t know just when.” He pulled off his hat and ran his hand through his hair in frustration before clapping it down over his brows.
“I hate dragging you into our little drama, but our family kind of adopted Marge Bowman more than twenty years ago. Dad even cosigned for a loan so she could buy the Queen. She’s good people. Any emergency, a fire or a flood, Marge is right there with food and hot coffee. And she’s never turned away anyone who doesn’t have the price of a meal.”
“If Lucy has to be in New Hampshire the beginning of June, that would give me at least a month to learn the ropes. You think the owner would go for that?”
“I guess you’d have to ask her,” Luke said.
“I guess that’s what I’ll do,” she said with a smile.
At the barn Luke showed her how to unsaddle Rooster and brush him down before turning him out with the other horses. He pulled his own saddle off Dude, who obligingly turned first one side and then the other to be groomed before joining Rooster in the pasture.
“You can go along to the house if you want,” Luke said. “Something I need to do out here for a few minutes.”
“Anything I can do to help?” Katie asked as she slid Rooster’s saddle onto its rack.
Luke flipped a mental coin—should he brush her off and share his fight with her? “I exercise at least once a day,” he said. “More if I can manage it. Dad and Tom installed sort of a gym for me here in the barn. I don’t mind if you stay.”
He turned away for fear of seeing pity or dismissal on her face and wheeled toward the rear of the barn. He locked his chair below a steel bar mounted crossways in a tie stall and began to chin himself, counting under his breath—six, seven...
“Shoot.” He’d lost count.
“That’s nine,” Katie said. “How many more?”
“Eleven,” he said with a grunt.
She counted along with him up to twenty. “What’s next?”
“Standing,” he said. “The doctors say I don’t have much chance of walking again. I plan to make liars out of them.”
He flipped up his footrests and set his boots against two blocks nailed to the floor. Grasping two ends of a thick rope looped around the manger, he pulled himself forward, lifting off the seat of his chair a few inches and then lowering himself again. He had a little control over his legs, but he wobbled almost uncontrollably as soon as he got close to upright. After ten reps, he sat, panting and soaked with sweat.
“That’s it for today,” he said. “Tomorrow I’ll go for fifteen.”
“Sure you will,” Katie said. “You’re doing great.”
The phone rang as they entered the kitchen. “Grab that, will you?” Luke said as he hung his hat and jacket on their hook. “Just say ‘Cameron’s Pride.’”
Katie answered as he directed and then said, “Hi, Jake. We just got back. Your cousin’s bull was on the wrong side of the fence, so we had to herd him to where he belonged and wait for his owner to come get him and mend the fence. Let me get Luke—”
She listened, frowning a little, then her face cleared. “No, of course not. I’m sure we can manage. Enjoy your evening.”
She set the phone on its charger. “Your dad and Shelby are in Durango for a dinner meeting—Cattlemen’s Association, I think he said. Someone wants Shelby to check out their new horse in the morning. They’d like to stay overnight if everything’s okay here. So I guess you get to sample my cooking tonight.”
Luke had a good idea of his dad’s side of the conversation: “You mind keeping an eye on Luke tonight?” He hated being watched and coddled like a child, but he was grateful his folks could enjoy an evening away.
“Fine by me,” he said. “Show me what you can do.”
CHAPTER TEN
“SO WHAT APPEALS to you for dinner?” Katie asked. “Anything you absolutely hate?”
“I’ll eat whatever you feel like making,” Luke said. “Or I can cook. Mom made sure we all learned how. My green chili rules.”
“Lucy mentioned green chili, too—I’ll have to try it sometime. But tonight I’m the chef. Okay if I explore the larder?”
He waved his hand. “Explore away. Check the freezer in the cellar, too. I don’t know what Shelby has stashed down there.”
Katie opened cabinets and poked her head into the walk-in pantry before descending to the cellar to return with a whole chicken.
“How about chicken pot pie?”
“Sounds great—we haven’t had that here since Mom died. Shelby doesn’t do piecrusts. I think Mom used a recipe your mom sent her.”
“Okay then,” Katie said. “I’ll put the chicken in cold water and grab a shower while it thaws.”
Half an hour later she came downstairs with her hair hanging in damp waves. Luke’s flattering comments had canceled out Brad’s complaints that wearing her hair loose made her look like a schoolgirl or a hippie. His wolf whistle when she entered the kitchen reinforced her resolve never to cut her hair. Unless she felt like it.
She put him to work peeling and chopping carrots while she set the chicken to simmer and assembled the ingredients for a piecrust.
They worked together as if they’d been sharing kitchen chores for years, exchanging stories of growing up in such wildly different settings. Luke made her laugh as he described his scrapes with authority as a teen, graduating from high school only by the skin of his teeth.
“I wasn’t dumb,” he said, “but I spent my time in class thinking up new stunts to drive the teachers nuts. Once I started traveling between bull-riding events, I caught up on all the reading I’d skipped in school.”
“I was just the opposite,” Katie said. “I was the dull, plain girl who never blew off an exam and turned in my term papers two days ahead of schedule.”
“You were never plain or dull, just not flashy like the prom queens and cheerleaders. Look at you now.”
She flushed with pleasure and turned away to check the flame on the big gas range. The chicken had cooked to falling-off-the-bone tenderness, so she assembled the filling and shaped the crust over the casserole dish.
“This has to bake about forty-five minutes,” she said. “Any chores I can help with while we wait? Your dad said a neighbor would check the cows.”
“That’ll probably be Mike Farley, Lucy’s fiancé,” Luke said. “Or maybe his dad. They’ll let us know if there’s any problem.
You can come along with me to visit the horses before dark if you like.”
Katie laid aside the apron she’d found hanging in the pantry and followed Luke to the barn. He stopped by the feed room and scooped a handful of nuggets from a metal can before rolling back the side door.
“Dessert time, guys,” he called, and a dozen or so horses, led by Dude, came at a trot. He distributed the treats, stroking each horse’s head and scrutinizing their legs before turning each one away with a slap on the shoulder.
“All present and accounted for,” he said. “One more stop.”
He pulled a plastic baggie from his pocket and wheeled through the barn to a box stall opening out into a separate paddock. A gray horse with a delicately shaped head and dainty ears peered over the stall door. Even with her limited knowledge, Katie could see the difference between this face and those of the horses in the pasture.
“Meet Ghost—he’s Shelby’s horse. She gentled him when he was a young stud running wild and turned him into a top cutting horse. He sires the foals Shelby trains to sell as ranch horses—I guess you’d call them cow ponies.”
“Is he an Arabian?”
“Part, maybe—nothing we can document. Probably a lot of Barb in him, a throwback to the horses the conquistadores brought from Spain.” Luke handed Katie a bit of candy from the bag. “He loves licorice—give him a piece on the flat of your hand.”
Katie held out the treat as Luke had directed her, surprised at the softness of the stallion’s muzzle as he lipped the candy from her palm.
“You’re so lucky growing up with animals,” she said. “My dad was terribly allergic, so the only pets I could have were fish.”
“Pretty hard to cuddle a fish, I guess.” Luke scratched behind Ghost’s ear. “My grandmother took in all kinds of injured birds and animals. We grew up with hawks and owls and baby squirrels and foxes around the house. But they were never pets—Gram made sure we understood they were passing through.”
Katie looked at her watch. “The chicken pie should be about ready.” She led the way through the barn and halted in wonder at the sunset light flooding the valley. To the west, the sky had turned a peachy pink; evening mist, like spun gold, floated over the creek. A few clouds hung above the western horizon, framed in pure light.
“This must be how heaven looks,” she said.
“Could be,” Luke said. “That’s a real Tiepolo sky.”
Katie’s mouth fell open.
“I couldn’t resist,” he said with a grin. “I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler, but I sure like looking at art. Every city on the tour, I’d find the art museum. Most of my downtime, I’d be sitting in front of a painting just sucking it in like a kid with an ice cream soda.” He looked away. “And chasing girls after the event, I gotta be honest.”
“Didn’t you take ribbing about visiting museums?”
“Are you kidding? I never let on. Nobody knew except Tom—he saw the brochures I picked up and some prints I especially liked. You’ve probably noticed the ones in my room.”
“You Camerons are full of surprises—your brother’s a teacher, Lucy’s an actress and you’re an art connoisseur.”
“Yeah, right.” He wheeled past her toward the house. “Come on. That chicken pie is calling my name.”
Luke set the table and put together a salad while Katie carried the casserole from the oven and made fresh coffee.
She spooned a small helping onto Luke’s plate and waited while he tasted it.
“Katie Gabriel,” he said, “this is a mouthful of heaven.”
“My grandmother taught me how to make it. The secret ingredient is Bell’s Poultry Seasoning—I found some in the pantry. I’ve made this recipe so many times I can practically do it with my eyes closed.”
As if on cue, she yawned so widely her jaw cracked. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s been quite a day.”
“You’ve worked hard, and you’re not used to the elevation. Early to bed for both of us, I’d say. I’ve got to tell you, that was the longest I’ve been in the saddle since I got home. And the first time I’ve felt like I did a real day’s work.”
They finished the meal with coffee and slabs of gingerbread Katie found in the freezer.
“Anything you’d like to watch on TV?” he asked after they’d loaded the dishwasher.
“Not really—I’m more of a reader.”
He hesitated, staring at nothing. “You want to see some old videos of Tom and me working? I haven’t felt like watching before this, but if you wouldn’t mind...”
How hard would this be for him, to watch his life as it had been before the accident?
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll join you.”
She sat riveted by the action on the screen, the raw violence, the brute strength of the bulls and the absurd courage of the men attempting to ride them. And the three bullfighters who repeatedly flung themselves in danger’s way to save the riders from the bull’s hooves and horns. Luke’s hand crept toward hers, and they sat with their fingers intertwined.
After nearly an hour, he drew a deep breath and pulled his hand away. “That’s enough,” he said. “Thanks for sitting with me. I haven’t wanted to watch before this, but tonight I was ready.”
She yawned again. “I was glad to keep you company. Can I do anything for you before I turn in?”
“Nope, I take care of myself,” he said with an edge to his voice. “Sleep well.” He spun his chair away and propelled it toward his own room.
She watched him go, a little stung by his abrupt dismissal until she thought again how difficult the last hour must have been for him. The Luke she’d seen on the screen ran and leaped and spun like a gymnast. Watching must have been excruciating for him, confined to a wheelchair like a wild hawk in a cage.
She left a single light on in the kitchen in case she should need to come down during the night, and climbed the stairs. Once in bed, she read a book on local history she had found on a shelf in the living room. She left her door open in case Luke called out.
After a few minutes she closed her book and replayed Jake’s words from their conversation on the phone: “We wouldn’t think about staying in town if Luke was there alone. He has to take pills at night for muscle spasms, and I don’t know how drowsy they make him. If there was a fire...”
Maybe she should have told Luke about his father’s request, but instinct told her to keep it to herself. He was a proud man; seeing her as a babysitter would surely gall him.
And why had he chosen tonight to watch the videos? She was glad if she’d been of some use, but why with her rather than a trusted friend or even alone? Maybe the casual nature of their relationship made it safer, without personal investment.
She yawned again and closed her eyes.
* * *
WHAT HAD WAKENED HER? She lay still, listening. The sound came again, a wordless cry followed by a crash. She shot from her bed and flung her robe over her nightgown as she raced down the stairs.
No light shone from Luke’s room. She hesitated—maybe the sound had come from outside. Then she heard a soft groan and ran barefoot to his door. In the dim light from the hall, she could see the empty bed and the wheelchair toppled on its side.
Luke lay facedown beside the bed. He wore only a pair of gym shorts, the waistband only partially hiding the fresh scar along his lower spine. Katie flew to his side and knelt beside him as he tried to turn over.
“Don’t move. Is anything broken?”
“Just my pride,” he said as he managed to roll onto his back. He touched his face. “Maybe my nose.” Blood seeped from one nostril.
He levered himself to a sitting position against the bed and scrubbed at his eyes with both hands. “Damn dream again. Could you get me a washcloth?”
She fetched a cloth and wrung it out in co
ld water before returning to switch on the bedside lamp. She stifled a gasp as its light revealed older scars on Luke’s abdomen, both knees and both shoulders.
“Lean your head back,” she said and sponged the blood from his face before settling the cloth across his nose and eyes. “What happened?”
“Ol’ Buckshot happened—first time I’ve been close to a bucking bull since my wreck. And then watching those videos. I dreamed the bull was coming at me in the arena and ended up on the floor. I had these nightmares during rehab when an ambulance went by, but not since I got home. Till tonight.”
He lifted the makeshift compress and cocked an eye at her. “I know my dad drafted you for night duty. Sorry I put on such a show for you.”
She felt her face coloring. “He was concerned about you being here alone,” she said. “Are you ready to get into bed?”
“I should, I guess, but I really feel like a cup of coffee and another piece of gingerbread.”
“Coffee at this hour?” She checked the clock beside the lamp. “It’s past midnight.”
“It won’t bother me. I need a little time to chase that bull out of my head.” He reached for the overturned wheelchair and righted it. “Now I’ve got to figure out how to mount up.”
“I can help you.”
“You?” He snorted. “I’m not that heavy, but more than you can lift.”
She eyed him with speculation. “I’ll bet you don’t weigh more than one fifty—one fifty-five, tops.”
“Good guess—one forty-eight at my fighting weight. Okay, smarty, how do we do this?”
She pulled the belt from her robe. “Prop your knees up a little,” she said. “I watched you trying to stand in the barn. I think this will work.” When he had pulled his legs into a flexed position, she tied the soft sash loosely above his knees and set his chair close by.
She stood in front of him with her bare feet bracing his and held out her hands. “Okay, grab on tight.”
They linked their hands and wrists like trapeze artists. She rocked back on her heels, pulling him upright with her own weight, and pivoted him into his chair.
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