How To Rope A Wild Cowboy (Silver Springs Ranch Book 1)

by Anya Summers

  “Okay, thank you. I will. Let’s go get our patient.”

  The next thirty harrowing minutes tested her patience as they worked in concert getting the grouchy Emmett into X-ray and onto the table. He made a picture with the patient gown wrapped around his waist, where Grace couldn’t help but notice the size of his feet and his strong, sexy calves. He hollered and swore up a storm. Grace would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so serious. It took the three cowboys—Colt, Mav, and Duncan—to hold him steady.

  Emmett was a cantankerous, bull-headed, mule of a man. If he didn’t likely have a concussion, Grace would have knocked him out with a sedative.

  She had the group wait in the X-ray room while she examined the film. Sure enough, the shoulder joint was separated, but luckily for Emmett, there weren’t any breaks. The ribs looked good, too, no breaks or fractures, though they were definitely bruised, and he was in for a rough time of it for the next two weeks. Grace joined the men in the main area and went to her patient. “It’s as I suspected. Your shoulder is dislocated. But on the bright side—”

  “There’s a damn bright side to this, are you kidding me?” Emmett snarled, sweat beading at his temples as he scowled and winced in agony.

  Grace didn’t know why but that scowl made her want to laugh. The man thought he could scare her? Please. She had worked in the emergency room for years, both through her residency, and afterward as one of the emergency room physicians. She had experienced patients with multiple gunshot wounds leaking blood everywhere, stabbings, muggings gone wrong, overdoses, and the crazies on drug benders who had to be restrained to be treated. You name it, she’d likely experienced it. And that was not even touching on the people who put things where they didn’t belong and got those items stuck.

  She swabbed a spot on Emmett’s uninjured shoulder with alcohol to disinfect the area, and prepared two shots: a general anesthetic, and a muscle relaxer. “The first shot is a local anesthetic that will numb the area, to make the reduction I’m going to do as pain free as possible. The second is a muscle relaxer that should make the upcoming adjustment easier.”

  Grace administered both shots. “We’ll give those a few minutes to start to work. And yes, there is a bright side to the situation. Nothing’s broken, not in your shoulder or your ribs, so count your blessings. Now, on the downside of things—because I believe you’ve got a concussion as well, I can’t give you anything for the pain and swelling today other than ibuprofen. I will give you a script, though, for a painkiller that you should be able to take starting tomorrow, and that will help with your recovery. How’s it feeling?” She pressed her fingers on the spot.

  Emmett glared at her and glanced to where her fingers were on his shoulder. “I can feel you touching me, but it no longer hurts.”

  She nodded at him. “That’s good. That’s what we want. Gentlemen, if I could get your help for a minute, since I don’t have a nurse here today.”

  What she didn’t say was that her grandpa’s nurse had decided after his death that at sixty, she was ready to retire. Which meant Grace needed to hire one. But it would come. It all would.

  She positioned each man around the table, and had them hold Emmett as she climbed up behind him. “I’m sorry, but even with the local it could hurt like a son of a bitch when I start to manipulate the bone back into the joint. There’s nothing for it. Scream if you have to. On three, two…” And then she manipulated the arm, rotated, and pushed the shoulder back into its socket. Emmett grimaced, and tossed his head back in agony.

  Sweat beaded Grace’s brow as she carefully worked with the joint to get it back into place.

  “Keep him steady,” she ordered, and increased the pressure. The joint popped back into place with a moan from Emmett. Running her fingers over his shoulder, she was pleased with the way it felt, and swiped her brow with her forearm.

  “Okay, I need you to help me lay him down, gently. We don’t want his shoulder to slide back out of place,” she said, keeping a hand on Emmett’s shoulder and climbing off the table. “I want to get another X-ray to confirm the shoulder is properly set. Then I’m going to need one of you to hold him up while I wrap his shoulder, then his ribs, and pack both with ice.”

  The process took a full hour before she was giving Colt instructions. “This is a script for high-powered ibuprofen, a muscle relaxer, and then a pain killer. The only thing he should take tonight is the ibuprofen and muscle relaxer. Keep that shoulder and ribs iced up to help reduce the swelling and inflammation. Do it in intervals: twenty to thirty minutes on, then off for ten. He cannot take the painkiller tonight. And someone is going to need to sit with him throughout the night. Now, I gave him a local anesthetic that will wear off in an hour or so, and he will need the ibuprofen script to overlap. Then tonight, he can take a muscle relaxer and ibuprofen. That sling needs to stay on, and keep the shoulder immobile. He will be wearing a sling for the next three weeks to get past the worst of it. He needs bed rest for the next few days. If you could give me his address, I will check on him tomorrow night after I close up here, change his bandages, and I want to pick up a better sling for that arm—I can pick one up at the hospital.”

  Colt, always the man in charge, replied, “That would be much appreciated. Let me draw you a map. We can square away the bill. And I will give you my cell number as well in case you need anything. How long before he can get back to work?”

  “Minimum a few weeks, most likely three months, as long as he follows my directions for his recovery. He’s not to get back up on a horse until I clear him, understood? If he does any type of movement like that, he could re-dislocate the shoulder and end up needing surgery. I’m also going to contact the hospital and get a referral for an orthopedic surgeon. If I’m not seeing good improvement in the next week, I’ll recommend he makes an appointment to see the specialist.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you for everything, doc. And think about what I said; we would be honored to host a celebration of life on Silver Springs,” Colt said, tipping his hat.

  The three cowboys carted Emmett—his eyes slivered shut from the pain—out the door. Once they’d vacated the building and the place was empty, Grace slid onto the seat behind the registration desk and laid her head down. She just needed a minute to catch her breath, and not from grief either. She was flustered by the wild cowboy and his angry scowls. But as she squeezed her eyes shut, she couldn’t expel the image of those intense, ice blue eyes from her mind.

  2

  Colt, Mav, and Duncan ushered Emmett into his cabin on Silver Springs Ranch. The cabin held the appearance of a mountain chalet, constructed of red amber logs with a large front porch in the same shade of wood. The cabin itself was a half mile or so off the main drag where the tourists came to play cowboy on the working dude ranch. It was situated northeast of downtown Winter Park, in a valley surrounded by craggy, slate mountains, with a full herd of steers milling about in pastures along the valley and low-level foothills. His cabin was up on a small bluff overlooking a tiny tributary of the main spring that ran through the ranch grounds.

  Emmett was a simple man. He loved his horse, his work, and restraining a willing submissive in Cabin X, which he and the boys used to indulge their sinful, dominant tendencies. And while he might be humble, he enjoyed creature comforts that came from hard work. This meant his cabin was outfitted with a satellite dish connected to his large, almost wall-sized flat screen, had off the grid solar power, and was fully stocked with supplies.

  The all wood interior in a light golden honey was decorated with his tastes in mind: leather sofas with deep, comfortable seats, a dark oak kitchen table, a large flat screen. There was a print of a cowboy on a bucking bronco hanging above the fireplace. A bowl by the door held his keys, a horse pick, and spare change.

  They’d kept his shirt off but managed to get his jeans and boots back on before they left the doctor’s office. The muscle relaxer injection left him feeling loose, even though the blow to his head had his ears ringing
and the mother of all headaches throbbing.

  “That new doc, she sure is a pretty little thing,” Mav commented, adjusting his hat.

  “No offense to Doc O’Neal, may he rest in peace, but his granddaughter is a lot more efficient and one hell of a lot prettier than the old man. Could be because she didn’t have any other patients in the office today, though.” Duncan shrugged as he stood in Emmett’s home with familiarity born from their friendship. Emmett’s shoulder and ribs throbbed as the local anesthetic began to wear off. So it only hurt every time he breathed. The muscle relaxer and ibuprofen merely dulled the raging agony of pain.

  “Well, let’s give the poor woman some time. She just lost her granddad, and from what I saw, is hurting something fierce. We need to welcome her to our town,” Colt commented, always the soul of discretion and propriety. But that was why he was the owner of Silver Springs Ranch, and the rest of them were just the worker bees—because Colt could deal with the business side of things, with people, better than most. Better than Emmett ever could, that was for damn sure. Most days, he didn’t like people; he preferred horses and steers to them, truth be told.

  “I’d like to welcome her with some time with me in Cabin X and see how she responds,” Mav joked with a salacious, know-it-all grin.

  “Not sure if she’s the sort who likes to be ordered about, tied up and fucked, but I wouldn’t say no if she wanted to submit to me. Hell, makes me want to see if that group of gals from California is up for a good time. There was one in particular, the redhead, she looked like she wanted to ride more than a horse and give a cowboy a try,” Duncan pondered, setting the bag of supplies from the doctor on Emmett’s kitchen table.

  The pounding in Emmett’s brain picked up speed and force at their chattering.

  “Get the fuck out,” he snarled. “Y’all are turning into a bunch of hens with nothing better to do than gossip.”

  Mav rolled his eyes. “This is the thanks we get.”

  “Dude, get the stick out of your ass. We were right to get you to the doc for all your blathering and pissy attitude,” Duncan angrily clapped back.

  “You two go on. I’ll spend the night with the bonehead and make sure he doesn’t injure himself more from pure stubborn orneriness,” Colt said, waving them off.

  “I don’t need you here,” Emmett snapped, and then winced at the incessant drumbeat hammering away in his skull as it increased in strength and tempo, reaching near dizzying heights.

  With his hands on his hips, Colt cast him an annoyed glare. “Oh really? Tell me how you are going to get your boots and jeans off by yourself and put on some sweatpants? How do you plan on opening the pill bottle to get your medication? You plan on cooking one-handed too?”

  The fucker was always too damn logical for his own good. Emmett went with his gut instinct most days. It was what made him good with horses, he could sense what they needed, and that was how he’d become the second lead wrangler, second in command behind Mav. A job he wasn’t going to be able to do for the foreseeable future. What the hell was he going to do for weeks on end? Besides lose his freaking mind at the inactivity. And during the busiest part of the year with all the tourists starting to pour in.

  “He’s just bent out of shape because the pretty doctor didn’t cower or bat her lashes his way,” Mav teased. “Instead, she ordered him about like a sub.”

  “Woman was too bossy for her own good,” Emmett said, lowering himself onto the couch and wincing at the movement. “If I recall, she wasn’t fawning over either of you morons.”

  Colt shook his head with an exasperated expression. “I’m sure it’s because Emmett’s in pain and nothing more that he’s being more bullheaded than usual. Doubtful he would even be interested in a woman who had a thought in her brain besides sucking cock.”

  “Now, we’ve all enjoyed Maribella’s finer attributes, no need to drag her into this,” Duncan said defensively, protective of a woman whose charms each of them had experienced more than a time or two.

  Maribella was a busty blonde at the local watering hole, Park Tavern, who had a thing for cowboys, being tied up while fucked, and who didn’t care for exclusivity. Emmett had experienced her finer attributes on more than one occasion. He appreciated her forthright attitude and ability to blow a man’s dick until his eyes rolled back in their sockets.

  “Shows what you know. It will be weeks before I can sink my cock in a tight hole.” He growled in disgust as an image of the pretty little doctor on her knees before him in nothing but a white lab coat bloomed in his mind. Wildfire must have kicked his brain harder than he thought if he was considering what the demure doctor wore under those clothes of hers.

  Mav and Duncan grinned. Mav said, “Not to worry, we’ll keep the female population occupied.”

  “Want us to relieve you later, Colt?” Duncan asked, scratching his head and resettling his hat.

  “Actually, yes. If one of you could come after dinner for an hour or so, that way I can grab a few things from my house. I’m going to call and have Mrs. Gregory put together some dinners in the fridge for the two of us. I can stay the night in the spare bedroom. Then we can rotate for the next few days, at least during the day, until he’s past the worst of it,” Colt explained, and Emmett could already see the wheels turning in the guy’s head as he considered schedules and filling the gaps Emmett’s forced, temporary absence would leave.

  “That will be fine. I can come relieve you tonight for an hour or so. I have a camping group tomorrow though,” Duncan said thoughtfully, shoving his hands in his jean pockets.

  “I can come by tomorrow and relieve you for a bit in the morning before my shift,” Mav offered and rubbed his chin. “Don’t worry about your shifts, Emmett. I’ll get those covered by other wranglers.”

  The drumming section of a marching band in his head decided to pick up the pace. Emmett snapped, “Fine. Just get out.”

  Colt jutted his chin toward Emmett. “You two go on. I’ve got this.”

  Mav and Duncan headed out, but Colt stayed behind. He said, “Let’s get you situated. And before you argue, stop being a pain in the ass. I get that you’re hurt and pissed off over this, but don’t take it out on me.”

  “Did the doc really say weeks out, or was I imagining it?” Emmett asked with his eyes closed as he rested on the couch. The image of her doe eyes sprang into his mind: the calm concern and determination that filled them. She’d smelled like a field of wildflowers when his face had been pressed against her ample, pillow-soft cleavage. If he’d not been in so much pain, he would have appreciated the softness from a woman who had been all business.

  “Yep. Don’t worry about coverage, we’ll make it work until you can get back on your feet and Doc O’Neal clears you.” Colt was already at work, getting the supplies and medications arranged in the kitchen.

  “That’s what I thought she said. Fuck. What the hell am I going to do for weeks on end?” Emmett asked, exasperated at the thought of twiddling his thumbs and watching mind-numbing daytime television.

  “You mean besides grow callouses? Hell if I know. We’ll get you past the worst of it after the first two or three weeks, and maybe we can have you work in the offices until you’re fully healed.”

  “With people?” Emmett’s eyes snapped open at the horror of it. He tended to avoid people, preferring the company of his horse and cattle. Unless, of course, he had a need for female company. And the thought of female company brought the doc’s image back into his brain.

  She was a little thing, fierce and determined, with sad, doe eyes. What would it take to unravel the demurely dressed doc? And why the hell was he wondering what she looked like naked? “Do you remember her, the new doc, living with Joe?”

  “Not much, but a vague recollection that didn’t register at first. Then again, I was a teenager, and looking for an easy score in the sack, and she was likely too prim and proper for my taste back then.”

  Emmett understood being a randy teen and thinking with you
r dick. He was well past those years, hadn’t made decisions with his prick in years thanks to discipline and training. “She’s bossy, that’s for sure.”

  And yet she stirred him. Which was idiotic at best. It had to be the concussion. There was no way anyone that tightly wound would submit. Emmett needed the submission from a woman like he needed air to breathe. That didn’t mean if he had a hankering for a woman, he couldn’t temper some of his more carnal appetites. But he’d never be satisfied with straight vanilla sex, and he doubted the doctor walked anywhere close to the wild side.

  Colt laughed. “Probably the first woman to tell either of us what to do in years. But yeah, it’s too bad about Joe. I sure as shit liked that old man. Stay here. I’m going to get some sweats for you to change into, and then we can find something on the TV if you want.”

  The pain ebbed and flowed as Colt got Emmett situated. His friend had been right when it came to undressing without help. Emmett was barely able to get the button of his jeans undone, let alone remove his boots. At least for the next few days, the black jogging pants would be best and easiest to wear. By the time they had removed his boots and jeans, and got him into the pants, Emmett was sweating from the exertion.

  The ice on his aching shoulder and ribs felt like a little slice of heaven. Colt turned the sports channel on. Emmett closed his eyes, exhausted from the day, loopy from the muscle relaxer, and praying that the oblivion of sleep would dull the increasing ache as the anesthetic wore off completely.

  Emmett suffered through the pain overnight and for most of the following day. Colt stayed the night in his spare bedroom, and made sure Emmett ate. But he refused to take more of the muscle relaxer or the painkiller, and stuck with the ibuprofen. He refused to follow the same path into the bottle his father had, which in the end had destroyed his life.