Chapter Ten

Ben

I guess it was bound to happen. Grace and I would eventually have an argument. I figured she would get mad and we’d fight and then we’d have some sort of sweet reconciliation. Only that’s not quite how it’s gone. She’s not really fussing at me, but she’s distant. Her smile isn’t quite as bright, and her laugh isn’t quite as quick.

She’s punishing me for this last rodeo.

This morning, I asked if she wanted to go with me into San Felipe. I need a hitch put on the truck. She turned me down with some excuse about needing to get some work done around the barn. It bothered me to leave her alone on the ranch. I don’t know why. She’s managed things on her own for a long time. Maybe it’s just because I’m spending the better part of the day without her. I’m surprised how much I dislike it.

Driving back from San Felipe, I have to turn around a few times and find an alternate route. The roads are flooded. The rain hasn’t let up in over a week. By the time I get home, it’s an hour or so before dusk. I call for her inside the house, but there’s no response. When I dial her number, her phone, sitting on the counter, rings.

“Shit.”

Where the hell did she go? The rain still falls, not heavily, but enough to convince me she’s not outdoors. The barn, maybe. A movement catches my eye. The filly stands in the middle of the garden. That’s not exactly new for Bonnie. Grace should have named her Houdini. What is different is the red mud slicking up her legs and along her belly.

My blood runs cold. The mud could only come from the river running below the pasture. I race to the barn, calling Grace’s name, and when there’s no reply, I jump in the truck. I have to undo the gate, but don’t bother closing it. If the colt gets out, he’ll stick with Bonnie. I can’t really give a damn about either horse right now.

Gunning the engines, I drive to the far corner of the field. A railing is down. The filly must have jumped it and broken it. I blast through the far gate and hurtle down the dirt road that leads to the river. There’s a curve of the river and I’m certain that’s where the filly went today when she decided to explore.

My tires spin, flinging mud behind me. I slow the truck as I drive along the river bank. Between the driving rain and the failing light, I can’t make out much, but there in the river bend, I see my Gracie. The river has flooded the banks and swallowed a grove of Cypress. She clings to one of the trees. The water rushes around her, almost to her shoulders. I stop the truck, grab my lasso and run to the bank.

I don’t say a word. I don’t want to startle her. Instead, I swing my lasso over my head and throw. It lands perfectly. Thankfully she doesn’t let go of the tree. She turns her gaze to me. She’s pale and glassy-eyed. She’s panicked, but understands she needs to secure herself. When she pulls the noose over her shoulders, I tighten the rope.

“Good girl,” I shout. “Now, let go.”

She stares at me.

“Let go, Gracie. I’ll pull you out.”

But she’s frozen with fear.

Winding the rope around the grill of my truck, I tie it securely. In the next moment, I’m in the creek, wading out to her. The current is strong and swift, but the worst part is the debris. An entire, uprooted tree moves along the middle of the river. With one hand on the rope, I make my way across the torrent until I reach her.

Her teeth chatter. Her lips are blue. She’s so terrified, I’m not even sure she recognizes me.

I wrap my arms around her. “Let go, baby.”

She shakes her head.

I hold her with one arm and pry her from the tree. She starts to cry but doesn’t fight me. The look in her eyes makes my heart break. I hold her tight with one arm and pull us out with the other. When we get to the bank, I half-carry, half-drag her out of the river.

“Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head. Her chattering teeth make it impossible for her to speak. She’s still crying, though, and she cries all the way back to the house. I know she’s terrified. I assume that the trauma of being nearly washed away is what’s making her cry. But when we get to the house, she falls apart, spiraling into what seem like near-hysterics.

She’s watching Bonnie, who’s grazing contentedly in the garden.

“S-she got washed away.” Her voice cracks. “I saw her, Ben. I thought… I thought.”

“Bonnie’s all right, sweetheart. She made it back to the house.”

Gracie nods, or I think she nods. She’s shaking so violently, it’s hard to tell. I carry her inside, strip her down and put her in the shower. A bath would be better, but it would take too long to fill the tub. She’s covered in the red, San Felipe mud. I help her wash, help her dry and wrap her in a robe. After I tuck her in bed, I leave her to take care of the horses.

I get the yearlings in their stalls and feed all four horses. I take care of the animals, feeling dazed and incredulous that I just nearly lost Gracie in the San Felipe river. When I get back to the house, I check on her first thing. She’s sound asleep. It’s only then that I realize I’m soaking wet too.

After I get undressed, I wash up and get into bed. It’s early. Probably only eight-thirty, but I want to be here if she wakes. She sleeps soundly all night, resting in my arms. Waves of fear wash over me and then dissipate, only to return later. I understand how Gracie felt when she saw that Bonnie was unharmed. The deep soul-wrenching relief.

Finally, at dawn, I fall asleep and rest for a few hours.

I wake feeling like I’ve been thrown and trampled by a dozen bulls. I’m stiff and sore. I imagine Gracie is as well, but she’s not in the bed.

I stroll downstairs. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, she works in the kitchen, stirring a pan of eggs at the stove. Her smile makes my breath catch. She’s got her color back. I feel like I can’t tear my eyes from her.

“I wanted to talk to you, sleepyhead,” she says, her tone sassy and music to my ears.

I half-expect her to press me about the rodeo. I’d agree to anything right now. Most of all I don’t want to leave her. Ever. Certainly not to get on top of some son-of-a-bitch bull that wouldn’t mind stomping me into the dirt.

“What about?”

“You haven’t given me a wedding present.”

I can’t keep back my smile. It’s been a few days since we’ve been easy with each other, and I crave that sweet space with her. If she wants a wedding present, I want to know what it is. I just wish I’d thought of it before she brought it up. “That’s true. What would you like?”

“I’d like a bull.”

I grin. “Okay. You taking up a new sport?”

“Sport?”

“Bull riding.”

She scoffs. “Bull riding isn’t a sport.”

“All right.” I’m not going to argue with her. All I want is to stand here and watch her while she sasses me. I fold my arms across my chest to keep from grabbing her. Right now, there’s nothing I want more in the world. “So, what kind of bull do you want? Let me guess, you want Jesse James, right?”

“I do, but I want to own him under certain conditions.”

I resist the urge to make a joke about ribeye or T-bones. “Go on.”

“I want him to keep his claim to never being ridden eight seconds.”

She grins at me, her eyes lit with triumph. She thinks I’m going to fight her, and I can tell she’s got a barrel of serious grief to give me if I argue with her about the bull.

“All right, Gracie.”

Her jaw drops. “Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re done?”

“I’m done.”

Her eyes shine. She blinks to hold back any tears. “And you’ll buy Jesse James for me.”

I cross the room, turn off the stove and pull her into my arms. I kiss her lips, a slow, lingering kiss. “I love you, Gracie. So damn much.”

Her smile is sweet, fragile almost. “I love you, Ben.”

“And I’ll buy that bull for you, and anything else you want. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get ridden again.”

“He’ll have a perfect streak.”

I growl softly, pretending to be cranky about the bull. “He’ll retire unbeaten.”