“You okay?” Tucker stuck his head into the stables. “Didn’t realize you took off.”
“I’m good.” He braced his shoulders so his voice wouldn’t wheeze. His whole chest ached like a mother, but no one else needed to know that. He couldn’t slow down on his training. Couldn’t lose a day. His longest time all morning had been six seconds and that wasn’t gonna cut it for Worlds.
“That last one was only four,” Tucker informed him. “Not your fault. You got distracted.” The man raised his brows and looked him over. “Not like you to get distracted out there.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not used to hearing women scream,” he grumbled.
“That’s surprising, given your revolving bedroom door,” Tucker said through a hearty laugh.
Lance shook his head. He’d set himself up for that one. Wasn’t worth reminding Tucker that he’d grown up since his early days on the circuit. “I’m not used to hearing Jessa scream.” That was the plain truth of it. It’d scared him, the pain in her voice. Pulled him right out of the zone.
His friend stepped into the shadows, a funny grin on his face. “I like Jessa. She’s good people.”
“Yeah.” Clumsy, but a good person. She’d pretty much be a saint in his book if she could stick it out with his father for the next couple of weeks.
“So…” Tucker leaned against the wall. “Somethin’ goin’ on between you two?”
“No.” Lance dodged past him and headed out the door and into the sunlight. “Nothing’s going on.” At least nothing he needed to discuss with Tucker. “She’s doing me a favor. Staying with Dad so I can train and not worry about him.” Tucker would never give up his secret.
“That all she’s doin’?” Tucker called from behind him.
Lance stopped. “Yes.” He turned. “Why?”
His friend smirked. “She sure seemed worried about you.”
“She’s probably not used to seeing stuff like that.” Most people were shocked the first time they saw a rider get thrown. Usually it looked worse than it was. Not today, but usually. Thankfully she’d walked away before she could see how much pain he was in. Knowing Jessa, she’d force him to go to the hospital to have his ribs looked at. And he sure as hell couldn’t fit that into his schedule today.
“Maybe I’ll ask her out,” his friend said, poking him in the ribs.
Pain splintered through his bones. Motherfucker. Lance sucked in a breath and held it until the stabbing sensation subsided.
“You wouldn’t mind, would ya?”
He didn’t know if his blood ran hot because of the pain he was in or because of the smug look on his friend’s face. He shouldn’t mind. Tucker wasn’t a bad guy. He was funny, as loyal as they came. The man would do anything for anyone who needed help. But he couldn’t stomach the thought of his hands on Jessa. “She’s taking a break from dating,” Lance informed him. “Said she’s sworn off the whole thing so she can focus on the shelter.”
“Don’t seem right. A woman as good-looking as Jessa not dating anyone.”
“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” He was fine with it. Her not dating anyone. Didn’t bother him none. The thought of her dating someone else? Now that was a different story. One he didn’t care to analyze. He straightened his shoulders, battling a wince. “Make sure Ball Buster is ready. I’m going again.”
“You sure?” Tucker stared at him like he’d lost it. “Maybe you ought to call it a day. That was a nasty fall. You’re movin’ kinda slow.”
“I’m going again,” he repeated. And this time, it didn’t matter who screamed. He would hold on for eight seconds.
Chapter Eight
Jessa stood at the kitchen window halfheartedly scrubbing dinner dishes in the sink while she watched the sun slide behind Topaz Mountain. She’d lived in the mountains for almost a year, but the sunsets still stunned her. Darkness had started to spread down the mountain, inviting the sky to come alive with surreal bursts of orange and pink.
She sighed, arms and back weighted with a day of work.
“You don’t gotta do the dishes.” Luis lumbered over to her. “You’re the guest. I can handle it.” He eased the lasagna pan off the counter.
“Don’t be silly.” She turned to smile at him. “I actually like doing the dishes.” Strange. At home, she let them pile up in the sink until she had to do them. But here, after sharing dinner with someone, it made her happy to stand at the sink, the feel of her hands drenched in the warm, sudsy water. It was nice, not being alone for a meal. It felt more purposeful, somehow.
“Fine, then. But I’m on dish duty tomorrow.” Luis set the pan back on the counter. His hands trembled like they had all throughout dinner. Small little tremors she’d pretended not to notice, even when he’d dropped his fork, when he’d knocked over his glass.
Damn arthritis, he’d said, but she’d never noticed tremors before. Stiffness, sure. But not the shaking. She’d casually asked him what his doctor thought about the arthritis, if he was taking anything for it, but he’d quickly changed the subject.
Without turning her head, she stole a quick look at him over her shoulder. While they were eating the lasagna Naomi had brought over, Jessa had noticed the signs of fatigue tugging at his eyes. They’d had polite conversation, but he hadn’t said much. The spark he’d had while hiking and working on the fences earlier seemed to have dimmed.
She turned her attention back to the window, to the sunset. “You can go to bed if you want.” It was almost seven and they’d had a full day. Back when her father was alive and she’d visit, he’d always fall asleep in his chair after dinner. Until she woke him and sent him off to bed. “I can finish up here.”
“You sure you don’t mind?” Luis shocked her by saying. She’d expected an argument. “After all that work, I’m done in for the day.” Weariness softened his typical gruff tenor.
Jessa shook the water off her hands and turned. “I’m sure. I’ll finish up in the kitchen, have a cup of tea, and probably head to bed myself.” Well, maybe not bed, but a little book therapy. After the whole debacle with Lance, she’d downloaded a new book on her Kindle. You Don’t Need Him: How to Make Yourself Believe It. It had gotten three and a half stars…
“All right, then. See you in the morning.” Luis plodded out of the kitchen and disappeared down the hallway.
Jessa did her best to sigh out the concern that knotted her stomach. Luis had every right to be tired. He was almost seventy, after all. The man had earned the right to go to bed before eight o’clock at night. She snatched another plate off the pile, plunging it deep into the sink and scouring until the last bits of tomato sauce had been cleaned off.
Outside, the shadows had deepened. Instead of brilliant colors, the sky had muted into a rose-tinted softness, the mountains forming a jagged, dark silhouette. Inhaling the crisp, wood-scented air through the open window, she finished up the last of the dishes and swiped a towel from the stove to start drying.
A click sounded at the back door, interrupting her soft humming. Lance walked into the kitchen, still dusty from his day out in the corral, although it appeared he’d changed into a clean T-shirt.
“Hey.” She tried to say it casually, but the quick ascent of her heart made her voice effervescent.
“Hey.” He looked around the empty room. “Where’s Dad?”
“He seemed tired,” she said, focusing hard on drying the dish in her hands so she could avoid the insta-blush that plagued her when she looked directly into his eyes. “Are you hungry? I can reheat some of Naomi’s lasagna…”
“Nah. I’m fine, thanks.” He walked over and leaned against the counter next to her. “How’d today go?”
His nearness sent her heart spiraling. Damn infatuation. “Things were good,” she murmured. “Great actually.” Minus the memorable scene of her tackling that man right there. But it was best to make this conversation strictly business. “We were out on the mountain for a good three hours and there were no problems at all,” she reported.<
br />
“Good. That’s great.” Lance stuffed his hands into his pockets and simply stood there gazing at her.
Which made her work extra hard on drying those plates. When she’d finished and stashed them in the cupboard, Lance still stood there. She couldn’t take the silence anymore. “So I’m sorry about the whole falling on you thing,” she babbled. “I didn’t mean to, it just looked like you were hurt—maybe even dead—and I kind of panicked, which I now realize was ridiculous, but at the time I didn’t think it through…” Stop talking. Please stop talking. But her mouth rarely obeyed her brain. “I didn’t mean to land on you. I tripped,” she said, as though he’d demanded an explanation. “There was a rock and I didn’t see it and—”
“It’s fine,” Lance said through the beginning of a smile. “It didn’t bother me.”
Mmm-hmmm. Right. She turned to him, not caring that her face was on fire. “The thing is…it kind of seemed like it did bother you. Like you got all rigid and glared at me. So I wanted you to know, I didn’t mean to make a scene.” Though it seemed to be one of her specialties in life.
“You’re right.” He wore a full-on smile now, the one that quirked his lips and tugged at the corners of his eyes. “I did get all rigid and glare at you.”
Well, at least he admitted it. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.” Because she would keep her distance. No more humiliating herself in front of Lance. Tomorrow was a new day.
Lance said nothing, but his eyes stayed with hers as he started to roll the edge of his T-shirt, up over the button fly of his jeans, up over a carved, tanned six-pack…
Heat sparked in her chest. She shouldn’t be looking. Shouldn’t be ogling. What was he doing? This was highly unfair…
Finally, he rolled the shirt up his chest…
“Holy mother of God.” She gawked at the blood-soaked bandage and the purple and blue splotches that mottled his skin.
“That’s why I was so rigid,” he said, rolling the shirt back down. “And that’s why I glared. It hurt.”
Air hissed out of her mouth. “Lance. Geez.” How in the world was the man even standing? Breathing?
“It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ve had worse.”
Worse? Her ribs ached just thinking about it. She shook her head and tossed the towel aside. “Why do you do that to yourself?” She couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine subjecting herself to pain like that day in and day out.
“Why do you rescue wounded and lost animals?” he asked her pointedly.
“Because I love it.” She did, but that wasn’t the whole reason, and it seemed Lance knew that, because he waited for her to expand.
“And…?” he prompted when she didn’t speak.
Damn, he was more perceptive than she’d given him credit for. “Aaannd,” she sassed. “Because it’s something I can do to carry on my father’s legacy.” It gave her a connection to him, a way to honor him.
“We have a lot in common,” he said as though resting his case.
Maybe so. But dwelling on the things they had in common would not help her put out the flames of infatuation. “You need to redo that bandage,” she said, changing the subject. “Did you even clean the wound?”
“No,” he admitted, standing straighter. “I was training all afternoon.”
Now it was her turn to glare at him. “Training? Your ribs might be broken. And not to mention, that cut should probably be stitched. It’s definitely going to scar.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he insisted stubbornly.
Not a big deal. Ha! He might be perceptive but he was not as smart as she’d thought. “Have you ever heard of infection? You would not believe the infections I’ve treated. Wounds fester, Lance. They get full of bacteria and then they get worse and worse until—”
“Fine,” he interrupted before she could offer him the gory details. “I’ll wash it out.”
“Wash it out.” She shook her head, already heading for the first aid kit she’d seen in the bathroom earlier. “We can’t just wash it out. We’re using the strong stuff.” She marched back into the kitchen and laid out the kit, seeing what she had to work with.
“Take off your shirt,” she ordered.
“Gladly.” That naughty smile of his flashed, but she shamed him with a look. This was not a joke. She’s seen animals go septic as the result of an infected wound.
He peeled off the shirt gingerly, as if every movement caused him pain, and she forced herself not to examine the muscles, the hard flesh. She had to go into full doctor mode.
Leaning in, she carefully removed the bandage and examined the wound. It had started on one side as a puncture wound, then tore across his flesh with jagged margins. “This is going to hurt,” she informed him.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “It already does.”
Jessa glanced around. He wouldn’t make it through this without something…
There. On top of the fridge sat a small collection of Jack Daniel’s bottles. She hurried over and reached for one, then unscrewed the cap. “Here.” She held it out to Lance.
He accepted with a grin. “You trying to get me drunk?”
“Yes,” she confirmed, digging through drawers until she found a clean rag. “Trust me. You’re going to want to be good and drunk for this.” Especially if one of his ribs happened to be cracked underneath that gash. The thought brought on a shiver. How had he trained all afternoon with an injury like this?
“All right, then. Bottoms up.” Lance raised the bottle to his lips and took a hearty gulp.
Jessa ran the washrag underneath scalding hot water and squirted on some of the antibacterial soap. “Take another shot,” she said, inspecting the wound again. A bandage wasn’t gonna cut it. They needed something to hold the edges together.
Lance obeyed, albeit wincing. He set down the bottle and swiped his arm across his mouth. “God, that stuff is awful.”
The words surprised her. “You don’t drink?”
“Sure, a beer once in a while. When I’m not training. But I’ve never liked the hard stuff.”
“Well, you’ll like it now. Trust me.” She nodded toward the bottle.
Making a disgusted face, Lance downed another shot. “Gah.” He pushed it far away. “That’s enough. I’ll be fine.”
“Suit yourself.” Jessa approached him with the cloth. “I’ll start by cleaning the edges of the wound. We have to clear away the dried blood so we can flush it out.” It was best to start prepping him now. This would be the easy part.
Lance straightened his upper body, tensing those carved muscles. “Right. Okay. Go for it.”
Doctor mode, she reminded herself, deliberately overlooking the way his upper body flexed. It was just flesh and muscle. Lots of muscle…
Ahem. She steadied her hands and carefully pressed the cloth against his skin, lightly running it along the cut’s borders.
His chest expanded with a breath, and he let it out slowly.
“Am I hurting you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“No worse than I’ve been hurting,” he answered with gritted teeth.
She pulled back a little. “I’m trying to be careful.” But that would be difficult as soon as she got into the wound. Hence the use of whiskey. “I have to flush it out a bit.” She hurried to the sink and filled a glass with hot water. “This’ll sting,” she warned. Holding a towel beneath the cut, she poured water over the damaged flesh.
Sure enough, Lance flinched, but she kept her hand and the towel strong against his lower chest.
When the cup had emptied, she blotted the wound with the towel. “You really should have this stitched up,” she said again.
“I’m not going to the hospital.” His voice had gotten a bit lazy. It appeared the whiskey had done its job.
“Well, I can try to pull it all together with butterfly strips.” She riffled through the first aid kit until she found the antibacterial ointment, gauze, and tape.
With the cleaning part over,
Lance seemed to relax. “So why did you think I was glaring at you earlier?” he asked, searching out her eyes.
Shrugging, she carefully swabbed the ointment thoroughly over the wound. “I guess I thought you were annoyed.”
His shoulders flinched, but he seemed focused on her instead of the pain. “Why?”
“Because I made a scene.” With a towel, she carefully cleaned off the excess ointment, then cut the gauze. “Because I was worried about you.” Using some butterfly strips, she secured the bandage and pulled the edges of his skin together.
“Why would I mind if you were worried about me?” he asked, gazing down at her, his eyes soft and open.
“I don’t know.” She gently pressed her fingers against the wound, making sure the dressing would hold. “You seemed put off. Just like you were when I accidentally kissed you.”
Lance’s breathing had gone shallow, but he didn’t wince. “I already told you. I didn’t mind the kiss. You’re the one who said you shouldn’t be kissing anyone.”
“I shouldn’t,” she insisted defiantly, peeling the paper off a large bandage, and thanking God she had something to focus on besides his eyes. She plastered the sticky waterproof covering over the dressing and stepped back to admire her work. Yes, her work. Not his pecs…
“Then why did you kiss me?” Lance asked. His voice had deepened, no longer flippant and teasing, but somewhat solemn.
He asked as though he really wanted to know.
Because I couldn’t stop myself. Because he’d been so kind and careful and comforting to her that morning. Because his lips were warm and somehow soft, even though the rest of him was so rugged. She cleared her throat. “I already told you. I was extra emotional that day.”
His eyes narrowed. “You sure that’s all it was?”
Luckiest Cowboy of All--Two full books for the price of one Page 36