The sunshine and late Indian summer they were having was going to finally be coming to an end, Willa realized as she checked the weather report. A cold front was forecasted to come in tonight, and, beginning the next day, the temperatures were going to finally catch up with the calendar. They were looking at lows in the twenties and the possibility of the season’s first snowstorm later in the week. Winter in the Black Hills was about to arrive.
Willa looked out the window of her office. The sky was a brilliant blue, with just a light breeze teasing the trees, and the sun was shining almost hard enough to convince her that the weatherman was wrong. She shut down the computer. Maybe she didn’t have time to get away from the ranch with Ryder again today, but at the very least, they could go ride fences together. Maybe on horseback. Star was back to one hundred percent, and Ryder had been really coming along on his lessons. She could show him the hills that she loved, in the best way there was to experience them.
Willa grinned to herself. Who was she kidding? She didn’t need to use the weather or the ranch as an excuse. She just wanted to hang out with him.
Ryder and Brodie, usually as thick as thieves, were nowhere to be found, but Billy pointed her toward Brodie’s office. “They headed up there a little while ago,” the young man said cheerfully. “Haven’t seen them come down yet.”
“Thanks,” she said, heading toward the stairs, and then taking them two at a time. Brodie’s office door was closed, but she pushed it open, not thinking to knock.
“. . . teach me everything you know about this place, bottom up, so I could run it myself.”
She stopped, sure that she hadn’t heard Ryder right. But when she incredulously said, “Excuse me?” and the two men faced her in surprise, guilty looks on their faces, she knew. Betrayal quickly iced over into anger.
“It was never about me, was it?” Willa spat accusingly at Ryder. “From the beginning, you never intended to leave things the way they were. All along, you were just trying to lull me—Ever since you heard about the terms of the will—” Emotion choked off Willa’s voice, to her fury, she realized she was seconds away from crying.
Before Brodie or Ryder could reply, Willa spun around, hot tears blurring her eyes. She started to grab the railing on her way down to the main floor, but she was moving so fast, her foot missed a step, and then she was falling, and the things that happened next came and went in bits and pieces. Her elbow knocking hard against the wall, a sharp pain in her hip, a blinding one in her ankle, and finally, something hard cracking against the back of her head, and then there was nothing else.
Ryder’s only thought was to get to Willa and explain that what she’d thought she heard wasn’t what was going on at all. The look on her face before she’d run from the room—he wanted to kick himself. Brodie was right. He should have spoken directly to her first.
But the pit of dread in his stomach was nothing compared to the absolute terror that gripped him when he exited Brodie’s office just in time to see her slip. He was already in motion, knowing he wouldn’t be in time to catch her, but having to try, and saw every moment of her fall in a sequence that would haunt his nightmares. He felt like his feet didn’t even touch the steps as he flew down them, coming to his knees beside Willa’s still form. He hesitated, afraid to touch her. She was crumpled on the dusty floor like a rag doll, her face pale, and her eyes closed, the lids looking fragile and almost translucent. He didn’t hear Brodie yell at a white-faced Billy to call for an ambulance first and to get Mrs. Hollis second. He didn’t hear himself uttering, “Dear God, dear God, dear God,” unable to even get out a full prayer.
“Ryder,” Brodie barked, jolting him out of it. “She’s got a pulse. She’s breathing. She’s going to be okay. Come on, you’re not helping her.”
Brodie was taking her vitals, Ryder realized. Then, his Red Cross training finally kicked in—those handy skills he renewed every couple of years but had never had the chance to use—and he took a deep breath. Willa needed him and it was time to focus.
Seven
There was a jackhammer pounding at the back of Willa’s skull, and she moaned, rolling her head to the right, trying to get away from it. The small movement caused various levels of pain to trigger in different parts of her body all at once.
“Can’t you do something for her? She’s obviously hurting.”
Ryder. She tried to open her eyes to ask him for help, but they felt so heavy, and the aches were already starting to recede a little.
“Calm down, Mr. Pearce,” came a woman’s soothing voice. “We just gave her another shot of morphine.”
And then Willa was drifting away again.
It was late that evening when Willa finally opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Ryder sleeping in an uncomfortable-looking pink chair next to her bed. His tall form was awkwardly angled so that his hand rested on the white sheets beside her, within reaching distance. Her heart immediately squeezed at the sight of him. His eyes were closed, shadowed underneath with dark circles, and a light scruff of beard covered his cheeks. His clothes were wrinkled, and his hair was standing on end in places where it looked like he’d run his hands through it. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
She reached out and touched his hand. His eyes flew open, staring wildly for a moment before he realized she was awake. He turned his hand over, palm up, and squeezed warmly.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice sounding rusty.
“You’re in the hospital,” he replied. “You fell down the stairs in the barn.”
The barn. Where she’d opened Brodie’s office door and heard the sound of her dreams crashing down around her. Carefully, she pulled her hand away.
Ryder’s eyes darkened with hurt, but he drew his own hand back and stood up. “You have a mild concussion and lots of bruises. Plus, your ankle . . . it was broken pretty badly. They had to do surgery to piece it back together. You’ll be off your feet for quite a while.”
Willa struggled to piece together his words and sat up quickly to see that her foot was, in fact, covered with a cast. Her head swam dizzily, and before she could protest, Ryder was putting an arm around her to ease her back to the pillow.
“The cast is a temporary one, to keep things immobile in there until you start to heal,” he said. “You’ve got some new hardware—a plate and some screws. The surgery went well, though, and the orthopedic doctor doesn’t think there will be any lasting damage, as long as you take it easy during your recovery.”
“How long?” she asked, dreading his answer, but needing to hear it.
Ryder answered reluctantly, his jaw tight. “Ten weeks in a cast after they set you up with a more permanent one. Six weeks in a boot after that, with physical therapy.”
Willa’s hands clutched the sheets as her brain struggled to process. Four months. She would be absolutely useless for four months. Trapped in the house. Bitterness surged.
“Well,” she said, closing her eyes, unable to look at him. “I guess you’ve got what you wanted. The ranch is yours.”
Ryder stared at Willa, her face pale against the white sheets of the hospital bed, a dark purple bruise already blooming on one cheekbone, and thought guilt would overwhelm him. If he’d just gone to her first to talk about his ideas instead of talking to Brodie . . . if she hadn’t come in when she had . . . it was his fault that she was hurt so badly, and he deserved any abuse she wanted to dish out.
“I’ll go see if I can find a doctor, now that you’re awake,” he said dully, missing the sight of Willa opening her eyes to watch him longingly as he walked away.
Two long days later, Willa was finally cleared to go home by the staff of the Lead-Deadwood Regional Hospital. She couldn’t seem to summon up any excitement about leaving, though, especially since she had to be rolled out by a nurse in a wheelchair, her bad ankle propped up in front of her, throbbing angrily at every jolt and bump. She wasn’t looking forward to having to climb in the cab of a truck and was bracing he
rself for it when a sleek black car pulled up in the loading zone, and Ryder unfolded himself from the driver’s side.
“What’s this?” she asked uncertainly.
“Our new car. Here, let me help you.” She let him boost her out of the wheelchair and get her settled in the front seat, pushed back to its furthest position.
Once he was back in the driver’s seat, Willa wasted no time in questioning him. “Why did you buy a car?”
He gave her a puzzled look before putting the car in gear and pulling smoothly away from the curb. “I don’t know how you expected to get around in a pickup truck. This thing”—he jerked his head at the plush cream-colored leather interior— “is easier to climb into. Plus, it’s got all-wheel drive. And it’s a wagon, with plenty of seating, in case we ever . . . well, in case we ever need to haul groceries for Mrs. Hollis.”
He’d been about to say something about kids, she knew. She let it slide, though, staring out the window at the passing highway, feeling tired at the thought of another conflict. Ryder had been at the hospital almost constantly since her accident, but they’d hardly spoken, and she didn’t know how to break the silence or whether she wanted to. She still felt so cheated at the discovery he’d been conspiring with Brodie, her best friend, to what? Take over the ranch? That was sure what it had sounded like.
A thought occurred to her, and she shot him a suspicious look. “How did you pay for this car? It’s a BMW, and I might drive a Ford, but I know these German luxury cars aren’t cheap.”
Ryder looked briefly away from the road, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “Do you think I took money from the ranch?” He looked away from her again, hard lines bracketing his mouth. “I brought my own money into this marriage, Willa. A lot of it. You may not trust me when it comes to the Circle G, but I’d never make a financial decision like that otherwise without asking you.”
She felt petty for a moment for even broaching the question, but then she pictured his guilty face in Brodie’s office, and Willa told herself she had the right to be suspicious of her husband. She turned back to the window, hardly seeing the fat snowflakes that had begun to blur past and trying not to notice how smooth the ride was compared to the bounce and jostle of her big truck. It was a quiet ride home.
Ryder wished he could handle his wife as easily as he handled their new BMW through the wet snow that had begun to fall. She was so silent and unapproachable when she wasn’t being prickly, he just wasn’t sure how to reach past her barriers. He already missed the closeness they’d captured just a few days ago, both physical and emotional, and he wanted to apologize and explain to her about the conversation she’d overheard, but he didn’t even want to remember that day. Every time he did, he saw her falling all over again, in slow motion, and it cut him again, right to his core. Hopefully the surprise he had waiting at home would thaw her a little.
He pulled the car up to the front of the house and asked her to wait for him. Running to open the door first, he returned, scooped her out of the front seat as easily as he would a child, and nudged the door closed with his hip.
She automatically looped her arms around his neck for balance, and he let himself inhale her scent for a moment. She’d had a shower just that morning with the help of one of the nurses ,and she smelled like strawberry shampoo.
“I never did carry you over the threshold,” Ryder said and then did just that, not waiting for a reply. The excited clicking of toenails on tile greeted them as he booted the door closed behind him. “Hold on, Honey. Let me get her settled in, first.”
“What? Who is Honey?” Willa angled her head, trying to see around him, but Ryder just carried her into the living room and deposited her carefully on the couch.
“Willa, I’d like you to meet Honey.”
The sweetest-looking golden retriever Willa had ever laid eyes on pranced after them into the living room, wagging her feathery tail eagerly. She went straight for Willa, snuffling her hands and then her face, swiping at her with friendly licks. Willa tried to hold back a giggle and failed, burying her hands in the dog’s soft fur.
“Honey, that’s enough. Sit.” Obediently, the dog plopped her rear down but continued to gaze at Willa adoringly.
“What did you do, Ryder?”
“You’re going to be spending a lot of time in the house, and I know you hate that, so I got you a friend to keep you company.” He shrugged. “It was my idea, but Mrs. Hollis actually found her for me. She knew of a family that was selling their farm and moving to New York. They didn’t feel right keeping Honey, since they’re moving into an apartment, and she’s used to wide-open spaces. She’s four years old, so she’s past the chewing and housebreaking stage, and she’s well-trained, plus she was raised around livestock.”
To her horror, Willa felt her eyes tear up. She’d always wanted a dog, but her grandfather said they didn’t have time to train one. Honey, seeing her distress, whined and put a paw on the couch beside her. She struggled back the tears and laid a hand on the dog’s head, clearing her throat. She snuck a glance at Ryder’s handsome, hopeful face. If he thought a dog was going to fix their marriage, he was mistaken. “Thank you. She’s very pretty,” she said lamely.
Ryder gave her one of his heart-melting grins and headed off to the kitchen to fix her a plate of pork chops that Mrs. Hollis had prepared earlier. She wanted to stay angry with him, but he was making it so difficult.
The next morning, when the alarm went off at five and she automatically rolled over, only to feel a grinding pain in her heavy, cast-clad foot, Willa didn’t find it hard to be angry at all.
“Hold on,” Ryder said, immediately jumping to his feet. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t want any help,” Willa ground out, shifting to bring her feet to the floor. The distance to the bathroom seemed like miles. She buried her fingers in her morning-messy hair in frustration.
Ryder’s patience was unfailing, though. Not only did he help her to the bathroom, much to her embarrassment, but he came back a few minutes later with clothes and a low stool for her, helping her get dressed while she sat and fumed at the unfairness that had caused her to miss that step in the barn and end up in such a humiliating predicament.
Ryder studied his lovely wife’s face as she brushed and braided her hair with quick, impatient movements. He knew she was grumpy and embarrassed and in pain—her expression would put a thundercloud to shame—but she was still so beautiful, it made his heart hurt to look at her.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I love you.”
Willa looked up at him, her dark eyes startled, but didn’t seem able to reply. “Don’t you think you should get going?” she said instead, her words clipped. “You’ve got a lot of work to do today.”
Ryder’s jaw tightened. He wanted to snap at her and yell that this wasn’t what he wanted at all. He wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. He wanted to push her stubborn behind off the chair. Instead, he just smiled—it took some effort through gritted teeth—and went back into their bedroom for her crutches.
Ryder settled Willa on the couch, an enthusiastic and sympathetic Honey by her side, and made breakfast quickly. She barely looked up from the dog when he set a cup of coffee and an insulated carafe on the table in front of her and an English muffin on a plate beside it. He set the remote control, a walkie talkie, pain pills, a bottle of water, and her cell phone on the side table and arranged her crutches within easy reach. “You need anything else before I go?”
“No,” she replied, still not looking up. “Thanks.”
There went the idea of a good morning kiss, he thought. “All right. I’ll be back around lunchtime.”
Willa didn’t reply. She knew she was being annoying and ungrateful, but she didn’t care. None of this was her fault. She should be the one heading out the door. This was her place, her job, her life, not his. Her eyes filled with tears. She wouldn’t even be able to hobble out to the barn to see Star, much less ride him. Ryder c
alled out “I love you,” before the back door closed, but Willa stayed stubbornly silent and turned the channel to a raucous morning talk show, cranking the volume up to ten.
Ryder stomped into the big barn, angry and irritated because he was angry. It wasn’t an emotion he normally dealt with. Life was too short to stay mad, and that had always been his unofficial motto. It didn’t help when he got to the stairs that led up to Brodie’s office and the vision of his wife’s fall ran through his head again in full color. As he ran his hand up the smooth banister, he wondered if that was the place on the rough wooden wall where Willa had hit her head and gotten a concussion. Was that scarred step right there the one that was responsible for breaking her ankle? Would she have fallen if she hadn’t been in such a hurry to get away from what she saw as her scheming husband?
Brodie’s voice at the top of the stairs interrupted his dark thoughts. “Stop it,” the other man advised. “She’s home now, safe, and she’ll be as good as new in a few months.”
“You’re right,” Ryder said, reaching the top of the steps, trying to shake the heavy feeling weight of his guilt. “Until then, I’ve got a lot to learn, and you’ve got a lot to teach me.”
“Then I suggest we head to my office and have some coffee before we get started.” Brodie gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m guessing your patient hasn’t made your morning an easy one. And, unfortunately, it’s not likely to get better. We’ve got a fence break in the north pasture, and three of the boys are still trying to round up twelve missing cattle. Plus, we lost two contracts last week. One of our competitors was able to give them a better price, and nothing I’ve been able to do has made them budge on their decision. Two more clients are making noises about cancelling their contracts, too.”
“Oh, is that all?” Ryder asked in resignation, settling back with his coffee in the chair across from Brodie’s desk.
Sweethearts in South Dakota (At the Altar Book 14) Page 7