by Meghan March
Fuck. It’s gonna run him right over.
Hesitation could mean his skull being crushed in the dirt, so I don’t think. I bolt toward him, throwing myself at him like I used to in football practice. I swear I see the whites of the bull’s eyes before my body connects with Lou’s, shoving him out of the way.
The animal turns and bucks, spinning toward us.
Something hard cracks against my head before everything goes black.
28
Ripley
It’s like one of those Caught on Video shows where you know something horrible is going to happen. You don’t want to watch, but you can’t take your eyes off the screen.
A bull charges from the chute as the rodeo clowns come out, and people start screaming. The guy in his hot-pink suspenders from earlier doesn’t turn. Doesn’t look. Doesn’t see the massive beast charging at him.
But Boone sees it.
“Please, God, no!” Mrs. Thrasher’s hand is over her mouth.
Everything happens so fast, I barely have time to comprehend what I’m seeing.
Boone dives at the man and the bull changes direction, its hooves flying, and one catches Boone in the head. He goes down, landing limply on top of the man who was such an asshole to him when we arrived.
I don’t even think about moving. Next thing I know, I’m out of my seat and running down the bleacher stairs, then throwing myself over the fence. I land on my hands and knees in the dirt and scramble up to take off in a sprint. The other rodeo cowboys and two men on horses are rounding up the bull and corralling it toward the pen, but all I see is Boone’s unmoving body on the ground.
People scream, sirens wail, but my mind goes blank when I see the blood dripping down the side of his face.
Red. The same color as the puddle on the bathroom floor around my mama.
No. I can’t lose him too.
“Boone!”
I’m terrified to touch him. Terrified to move him, in case he has some sort of head or neck injury. My limited first aid knowledge comes back to me, and I rip off my long-sleeved shirt and hold it to his head to stop the bleeding.
“Ma’am, you have to move. You can’t be in here.” Someone touches my shoulder, but I slap them away with the other hand.
“What the fuck happened?” The body beneath Boone’s shifts, and Boone’s head lolls to the side.
“Don’t fucking move, asshole. Stay right there.” My voice snaps out with the order.
“Paramedics are coming. Ambulance was already here in case of an emergency.”
Someone else drops to his knees beside me in the dirt. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” Even from our limited acquaintance, I recognize the voice. It’s Boone’s brother. “Hold on, little brother. You’re gonna be just fine. Wake up, Boone. Come on, man.”
The paramedics run into the arena with a backboard but I don’t move the shirt, now soaked with blood, from Boone’s head.
“Ma’am, we need you to move so the paramedics can help. They’re gonna take good care of him. I promise.”
My body is frozen in place, the blood staining my hands.
“Ripley, come on, we gotta let them help.” Grant lays his hand over mine, breaking me loose from my paralysis.
I jerk my gaze away from Boone to meet blue eyes so much like his. “I . . . He—”
Grant wraps both arms around me and pulls me to my feet as the paramedics drop the backboard and get to work.
“I know. I know. He’s gonna be okay. He’s got a hard head. He’s a tough son of a bitch. They don’t grow ’em any stronger than the Thrashers. I promise you. Let’s get over to the ambulance.”
My hands shake as all the discordant thoughts crash together in my head. My eyes stay fixed on Boone as Grant drags me away. Tears stream down my face as they move him off Lou and start to work on him.
“He’s gonna be fine. I swear.” Grant repeats the words over and over as he walks us toward the gate where the ambulance is waiting.
A crowd rushes the fence, all eyes on Boone.
“Ma!”
Mr. and Mrs. Thrasher shove their way through the people to get to the gate.
“Is he—”
“Unconscious. Who’s going in the ambulance?”
“I’m going to get my truck. Grant, give me your keys,” Mr. Thrasher says, and Grant throws his keys to him. “I’ll give them to Wendy so she can take Ky home and wait for us to call.”
“One of you give this girl a shirt,” Mrs. Thrasher says, staring down at my tank top. I didn’t even notice the chill bumps prickling my arms.
“It’s okay. I’m fine.” My focus is on the backboard they’re carrying toward us.
“Someone’s gotta go with him. Ma?”
My heart twists at the thought of letting Boone out of my sight for a single second.
“Ripley? You want to go?”
Boone’s mom’s voice catches me off guard, and I tear my gaze away from him to look at her.
I shake my head. “You go, ma’am. I don’t know his blood type or if he’s allergic to any drugs. They’ll need the best information they can get, and as much as I want to crawl in there beside him and not take my eyes off him, he needs you more.”
Something passes over her face, but it’s gone before I can identify it. She gives me a nod. “We’ll see you at the hospital. My boy is tough. He’s gonna be just fine. You’ll see.”
“I know. He has to be. There’s no other option.”
Mrs. Thrasher rushes away from us to the open doors of the ambulance and climbs in.
Grant wraps an arm around me. “Let’s go. Dad’ll pick us up at the entrance.”
With Grant at my side, we push through the crowd, not giving a damn that people are trying to talk to us and ask us what’s going on. Hell, we don’t even take an extra second to be polite. We’re likeminded in one single purpose—to get to the truck and then to Boone.
Mr. Thrasher’s truck is idling at the gate, and Grant pulls me around to the passenger side and yanks open the door. “Get in.”
I climb up and he hops into the backseat. Once the doors are closed, Mr. Thrasher takes off, steering around the people in the parking lot.
“Bet you can beat ’em there, Dad.”
“We’ll get there at the same time. I ain’t taking chances with either of you two.”
Tense silence chokes up the cab of the truck until Grant finally breaks it.
“Fuck, I’m going to have to apologize to him if this is anything like he felt while I was being airlifted to Germany.”
I remember Boone saying he was on a USO tour when his brother was injured in Afghanistan.
“That was the hand of God making sure my boy wasn’t alone in his time of need.”
“Where was the hand of God tonight with the hoof of that fucking bull?”
Mr. Thrasher shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter as long as he’s okay, and he’s gonna be okay.”
When we pull up in front of the hospital fifteen minutes later, Grant and I both jump out of the truck like it’s on fire. The ambulance is already parked at the doors to the ER, so we rush inside. Boone’s mom is standing in the waiting room, her arms wrapped around herself.
“They took him back to be examined. Told me to wait out here for a few minutes.” She looks at me. “Grant, give Ripley your sweatshirt. Poor thing is freezing.”
I’m shivering, but it’s not because of the cold. “It’s fine. I’m okay.” I look down at my hands, streaked with dried blood from Boone’s head, just like they’d been covered with blood from my mama.
I have to get it off. I have to get it off.
I jerk my head around, looking for the sign to the restroom. When I see it, I look at Grant and Mrs. Thrasher. “I’ll be right back. If they come out . . . please . . .”
Grant glances down at my bloodstained hands and then meets my eyes. He nods at me like he gets it. “We’ll wait for you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper before making a beeline toward the ladies’ room door
.
No one else is inside the institutional white bathroom, and I’m thankful for the privacy. I pump soap from the dispenser and flip on the water, scrubbing my hands together harder than necessary, but I have to get it off.
I look into the mirror as I rinse, my eyes wild.
I could lose him. In the flash of a moment, the possibility slaps me in the face again. I haven’t even decided if I want to make this real, and I could already lose him. A tear breaks free and tracks down my face. I drop my gaze. I can’t watch myself cry because I’ll end up bawling like a baby, curled into the corner, and Boone deserves better than that.
That thought doesn’t stop another tear from sliding down or the vise that binds my chest, crushing it and stealing my breath. I can’t lose him. His family can’t lose him.
The tears come faster now, and the blood still hasn’t come off my hands. I get more soap from the dispenser and keep scrubbing to try to take my mind off the path where it was headed, but I can’t.
My reflection is impossible to make out now with the tears clouding my vision, so I blink and look up at the ceiling.
That sweet little boy can’t lose his uncle. Please, God, if you’re out there listening, please don’t put this family through the hell of losing him. I know they’re strong, but they’re good people, and they don’t deserve this.
Before I can start making promises about what I’ll do if he’ll just let him live, someone pushes the door open and walks toward the stalls.
I duck my head and attempt to wipe my tears on my bare shoulder. After I rinse my hands one more time, they’re finally free of blood. I grab paper towels from the dispenser and use them to erase the tear streaks on my face as well.
It’s not until I’m leaving the bathroom that a thought crosses my mind.
What would I have been willing to promise to make sure Boone pulls through?
When I see his family huddled in the corner of the waiting room, his dad curving an arm around his mom’s shoulder and Grant squeezing her hand on the other side, I know the answer.
Anything.
They look like such a solid unit that I don’t want to cross the floor to interrupt them. I’m an outsider, and I know it. I fold my arms around my now chilling skin and squeeze.
Grant releases his mom’s hand when he spots me and rises to his feet. He strides toward me and yanks off his hoodie before stopping in front of me and draping it around my shoulders.
“You’re not gonna say no. I could see you shivering from across the room.”
Cocooned in the huge sweatshirt, I push my arms into the sleeves and curl my fists into the fabric.
“Thank you. I would’ve been fine.”
“Maybe so. But Boone would kick my ass, and Ma would ask what happened to the manners she beat into me as a kid, so we’ll just go with it.”
“Thank you,” I whisper again.
Then he shocks me. Grant closes both arms around me and squeezes me against his body.
“It’s gonna be okay, Ripley. He’s stubborn. He’s got too much life ahead of him to do anything but live it on his own terms.”
The tears that were falling fast in the bathroom spill over again, and sobs rack my body. “You can’t lose him. Ky needs an uncle. Your mom and dad—”
Grant hugs me tighter. “We’re not gonna lose him. None of us are. You included.” He presses a kiss to my head and holds me for long minutes as I cry my tears on his shoulder.
No one held me when I cried for my mama. I curled up by myself and sat in the corner of the bathroom after I mopped the floor, bawling until I had nothing left, so I appreciate this hug more than Grant will ever realize.
I’ve known Boone’s family for just over twenty-four hours, and they’ve already given me more than mine has in almost thirty years. That thought sends another wave of tears spilling over.
Finally, I snuffle back my sobs, lift my head, and swipe at my eyes. “Thank you for that.”
Grant meets my gaze, and instead of the skepticism that was there only a couple of hours ago, I now see approval.
“I’m the one who should thank you.”
Before I can ask him what he would possibly need to thank me for, he adds, “Come on. Let’s go sit with Ma and Dad. We’re stronger when we lean on each other.”
His simple words hit me deep inside.
We’re stronger when we lean on each other. I’ve never had that. I never thought I would have that. And now, in this family’s nightmare, the guy who I thought was an asshole is drawing me into the fold.
“Okay.”
We cross to the corner of the room where Mr. and Mrs. Thrasher wait, and sit in silence until a man in scrubs comes out from behind double doors and turns toward us.
“You’re here with Mr. Thrasher?”
“Yes. We’re his family,” Mrs. Thrasher responds, and the description causes my heart to clench.
“He’s awake, but we’re taking him right now for a CT scan to check for further damage. We’ll get you back there as soon as he’s done. Please have a seat, and I’ll be out shortly.”
He’s awake!
“Praise the Lord,” Mrs. Thrasher whispers, grabbing my hand and squeezing.
Mr. Thrasher crushes her to his side. “Thank God. You know we raised a strong boy.”
I thought I was all out of tears, but when more cascade down my cheeks, Grant pulls me against him and pats my hair.
“I told you it’s gonna be just fine, Ripley. He’s tough. Hard head.”
I hiccup, wanting to say something, but the words escape me.
Mr. Thrasher gets up. “I gotta do something. I can’t just sit here.”
“Go get us some coffee. It’s gonna be a long night, so I’m thinking we can use it.”
“Sure thing, Susie-Q. I can do that.” Mr. Thrasher strides off toward a hallway.
I pull away from Grant’s shoulder and swipe at my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t usually cry—”
He gives me a soft smile. “It’s okay.”
“Grant, call Wendy and give her the update. Have her tell Ky that Uncle Boone is okay. He was freaking out something fierce,” Mrs. Thrasher says.
Grant gives me a nod and stands. “Will do. That boy loves his uncle.” He walks toward the doors to step outside and make his call, leaving Mrs. Thrasher and me alone in the corner of the waiting room.
The matriarch of the Thrasher clan doesn’t screw around when it comes to family, and I respect her for that.
She reaches over and clutches my hand again. “You looked like a warrior princess running to her fallen man on the battlefield. That’s what Rand said. He’s always had a more fanciful imagination than me, but I have to say he’s right in this instance. That bull wasn’t even contained when you threw yourself over the fence, girl. What the hell were you thinking?”
I meet her faded blue gaze and blink back more tears that burn my eyes at the rough emotion in her voice.
“I didn’t think. I just . . . I had to get to him.”
“Any woman who’d put herself in the path of two thousand pounds of bull to get to my boy deserves my respect, and you have it. I’ll never forget that moment for as long as I live.” She pauses. “One thing you can always count on—love makes us do stupid things.”
Her last words shock me.
Love?
She studies my face carefully. “You don’t even realize it, do you?”
“I’m . . . He . . . I . . .” My stammer comes out sounding ridiculous.
Mrs. Thrasher squeezes my hand again. “It’s okay, Ripley. You’ll figure it out soon enough for yourself. But I’ll tell you there’s not a single soul in that arena tonight who has any doubt about how much you care for my son. You didn’t have to say a word because everyone saw it in your actions.”
Care. Okay, I can handle that. “Of course I care about him. He’s a good man. Maybe the best one I’ve ever known.”
Her grip on my hand tightens. “And the fact that you only see the man and no
t the star tells me that you’re as different from the last one as you could possibly be.”
It feels wrong to bring thoughts of Amber into this waiting room, but I can’t say I’m not curious when Boone’s mom tells me I’m different.
“What do you mean?”
“That girl wouldn’t have lifted a finger tonight. She might’ve wrung her hands and worried about how this would affect her, but there’s no way in hell she would’ve climbed a fence in her stilettos and run through the dirt to get to his side, let alone ripped her shirt off and used it to staunch the bleeding. I might be an old lady from the country, but I got a knack for reading people. You were closed up tighter than a drum when you first walked into my house. Not letting any of us see the real Ripley or how you felt about my boy. I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt because Boone told me plenty that gave me hope. When I met you, I wasn’t totally sure, though.” She pauses meaningfully. “But I’m sure now. He finally picked a woman worthy of him, and I don’t say that lightly.”
The doors to the ER open and close as Grant paces in front of them, talking on the phone.
“I see your true colors, Ripley Fischer. You may not realize you’re in love with Boone yet, but I see it. Just as clearly as I see that he’s in love with you.”
Grant hangs up and crosses toward us in time to catch the tail end of what his mom says. My stomach knots, wondering what he’s going to say.
He tucks the phone away in his pocket, his gaze moving from me to his mom and back.
“She’s right, you know. I thought you were gonna be like Amber, fake and clinging to your lottery ticket, but you’re a different breed. I mean that in the best way possible.”
Mr. Thrasher returns with four cups of coffee in a cardboard carrier. “Kid in the cafeteria says that the news crews are already showing up. Don’t know who tipped them off, but they’re here. You see ’em out there, Grant?”
Grant nods. “Yeah, a couple of guys.”
Mr. Thrasher hands out the coffee. “Anything else I miss?”
We all know he’s talking about the doctors and Boone, so my jaw drops when Grant answers him. “Ma and I are about to lay bets on how long it takes Ripley to become an official part of the family.”