CHAPTER NINE
Four weeks. Four weeks of waiting, hoping, and searching on their days off and they had found…abso-freaking-lutely nothing. Eli and Angel had vanished from the face of the planet, as if Scotty had locked on the tractor beams and beamed them aboard the starship Enterprise.
The sheriff had found nothing either. Not at local auctions, or even on Craigslist. Each day that went by, hope drained away drip by drip, drop by drop.
Jenna had long since gone back to school, but called daily for updates.
Sidney didn’t envy Hank one bit.
Now, for the first time since the horses were taken, she and Bryan had three days to look for them. They were taking the mustang string out for their first overnight camping expedition, and she was going to make damn good use of their time.
Last night, she, Bryan, Mac, and Hank had pored over the maps looking for the best routes through the mountains, to the blind canyons, or any place people and horses could hide out. Trouble was, there was too much territory and too little time.
Bryan knocked on her doorjamb as she stuffed the last of her clothes into her saddlebags. “You about ready?”
She tossed the bag over her shoulder. “Ready.” Then she spotted the guns. On his right thigh was strapped a military-style thigh holster complete with gun. He held a rifle in one hand and a pistol and holster in the other. “What’s that?”
“Precaution. You know how to use them?”
“If you need me to kill a can at fifty paces, I’m your girl. If you’re talking high noon at the O.K. Corral, probably not.”
He laid the rifle on her bed, pulled the pistol from the holster, and tucked the holster into the waistband of her pants until the clip captured her belt. “This is a Glock 19 with an extended mag, which means you have sixteen rounds, including the one in the chamber. No safety except on the trigger. Just point and shoot. But if you shoot,” he looked up from where he was still fiddling with the holster, trying to get it adjusted right, and looked her in the eye, “you shoot to kill. Because I guarantee they will.”
The laugh on her lips died before it could come out. “Wait, you’re serious.”
“Deadly.”
“If we find the people who stole the horses I figured we’d call—”
“Irish, if we find them, or, worse, they find us, there won’t be anyone we can call who can get there in the time it would take them to put a bullet into that fiery little head of yours. Or mine.”
Sidney sucked in a breath and held it, but it didn’t stop the shiver that overcame her or do anything to take the extra beat out of her heart rate. In fact, it only made her feel light-headed and queasy, so she let it out.
“Or we could find the horses all alone in a mountain meadow, up to their bellies in green grass.” That notion sounded like rainbows and moonbeams as reality took a back seat to naïveté, or was that wishful thinking?
He stared at her. Not as if she had gone completely around the bend and needed someone proficient in the use of straitjackets to get her back, but as if he wanted to give her a moment in her little fantasy world. They both knew that if there had been any way for Eli to find his way back to the ranch he would have been there by now, and her mind simply refused to consider other reasons why he hadn’t made it back. Like severe injury or death.
Bryan’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. His hard expression softened and the bulge of muscle at his jaw relaxed, as if he knew exactly the turn her thoughts had taken. “Or we could find them belly deep in grass.”
It felt like he was throwing her a bone.
He picked up the rifle and followed her out of the barn, where they’d left the horses saddled. The sky was growing light in the east, while the western mountains were still shrouded in darkness. The air was cool, and the dew-dampened grass wet the toes of her boots. Thing Two had pulled on his rope to get enough slack to shear the tops off all the grass in a two-foot radius of the hitching post.
Starting off, she was going to ride the black-and-white paint who she had named Dante because she’d gone through the seven circles of hell earning the horse’s trust. Bryan was riding the buckskin he’d named Rio. Thing One and Thing Two had a halter and lead rope, because they were going to be ponied first and switched out to ride later along the trail.
She tied her saddlebags onto the back of her saddle while Bryan tied a scabbard on the right side of his. Donkey hee-hawed when Bryan checked the animals’ load of food and camping supplies to be sure they hadn’t shifted on the pack tree.
Bryan slipped a treat from his pocket and fed it to Donkey. As much as he liked to deny it, the donkey was his. Donkey only hee-hawed for one man.
“Nice ass, Boom,” Mac said as she materialized out of the darkness. She had a bad habit of doing that and would surprise everyone but Bryan, who had his own set of impressive ninja stealth skills.
He smiled and patted Donkey. “Added squats to my routine for you, beautiful.” He wagged his eyebrows up and down suggestively. If Sidney didn’t know he considered Mac a sister, she might have been jealous.
“I was talking about the one with ears,” Mac said.
“Yeah, and whiskey leaves a bad taste in my mouth too.”
Mac rolled her eyes, shook her head, and muttered something that to Sidney sounded a whole lot like “incorrigible.”
Then Mac’s whole demeanor changed and Sidney fought the urge to stand at attention. Mac held out extra batteries for the two-way radios they had packed away.
“We might have some weather moving in over the next few days, so Dale wants to round up the calves to tag and vaccinate in case the river swells and we can’t get to them for a few weeks. With us up by the box canyon, that should keep us within radio contact a little longer.”
Sidney snagged a pack of batteries, but when Mac handed the other to Bryan she held on to it until he looked her in the eye. Mac didn’t say anything, but they held a whole lot of conversation with that look alone. Mac finally gave him a short nod and released the package. “Don’t do anything stupid; that’s an order.”
Bryan barked with laughter. “Don’t worry, I don’t think my pride could handle you saving my ass twice in one lifetime.”
“I’m trusting you to keep it that way.”
The smile slid from his face as he sobered and gave her a curt nod.
He didn’t say anything else. In fact, he didn’t say anything else for the next few hours as they climbed higher and higher into the rocky foothills and turned south toward the first pass.
“I’m sorry about Mac,” Sidney said at last, tired of the relentless silence.
“What are you sorry about?”
Was Sidney sorry about what Mac had said, or that it had brought his trustworthiness into question, or was it more selfish than that? Was she sorrier that his mood was foul and she couldn’t enjoy what little time they had together? She shrugged because the truth was, she didn’t really know.
“Don’t worry about me and Mac. We’re solid.” He smiled, but it was the type of tight smile a dad gives his kids right after telling them everything will all be fine after the divorce.
* * * *
“Let’s stop here for lunch and switch out the horses,” Boomer said as he and Sidney stopped at a narrow stream at the base of a tree line. From there on up was an expansive swath packed with trees that continued until the vegetation hit critical altitude and thinned out until the landscape was rocks and short scrub brush.
Donkey came hee-hawing up the trail behind them. They had allowed him to run loose. They didn’t have an extra hand to pony another animal, and wherever Rio went, Donkey went. So far, Donkey’s favorite activity was running ahead of them on the trail until he got in front. Then he’d suck back to a speed that had the snails outpacing him, his ears tipped back toward them, and, if Boomer wasn’t mistaken, a Cheshire Cat smirk on his fuzzy gray face. Boomer hadn’t had that much trouble staying in the lead since his Marine buddy Mark “Mayhem” Grundy had made coming in first on training marches his life’s focus.
They stayed on the near side of the stream because the bank on the far side looked like a bombed-out rock quarry. At least the near side had a patch of grass for the horses to nibble.
Boomer swung his leg over the saddle and hopped down, careful to keep most of the pressure off his prosthetic. After watering Rio and One, he tied them to a couple of nearby trees with enough slack in the lead rope that they could eat, but not enough that they could get themselves tangled in the rope.
There was some crazy inverse mathematical proportion with horses and their propensity to fuck themselves up. If they were well-trained or worth major dinero, you could bubble-wrap them from head to hoof and they’d find a way to get themselves killed. If they were mean or old or three-legged lame, they could run helter-skelter through the Korean DMZ and come out unscathed on the other side.
Especially the mean ones. They were bimbo, bullet, and bomb proof.
“Your leg bothering you?”
Boomer jumped as Sidney came up behind him. He had been reaching into his front pocket for a couple of his pain pills. He dropped them back into his pocket.
Why?
Hell if he knew.
She knew he used them, but popping them in front of her felt like admitting defeat. Stupid? Irrational? Maybe.
Not any more stupid or irrational than the feeling that taking them was somehow letting her down.
“Bryan?”
He came back to himself. He’d been dazed, staring at the ground like someone had thrown a flash-bang in his Cheerios. He pasted on a smile and glanced up at her. “Never better.”
She held his gaze, searching his face, her eyes a vivid, vibrant green that reminded him of lush spring pastures and frolicking foals. A green he wanted to roll around in and never resurface.
“You know,” she said as she stepped closer, “it’s okay to hurt.”
Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure they were talking about his leg anymore. His breath caught, as if someone had thumped him in the solar plexus, and he choked on an irreverent retort. He cupped her cheek and traced her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. Her lip was soft, but starting to get chapped from the dry air and the sun.
He lowered his head, half expecting her to back away. Instead, she rose up on her tiptoes and met him halfway. He stepped back against a tree, bringing her with him. Jagged bark dug into his back as he shot an arm around her waist and snugged her up against him.
When she deepened the kiss, he tasted the beef jerky they’d shared on the trail. Her T-shirt was damp with sweat at the base of her spine and all he could think about was her bare skin against his, their bodies slick with sweat, and him buried deep inside her. With both hands, he cupped her fine ass and held her tight against his erection.
She shifted and straddled his leg. He felt the heat of her through their clothes. She was right there, hot and willing and…
“God, I want you.” The words had been in his brain, then they’d escaped, running out of his mouth quick and nimble, like a horse breaking for an open gate.
“I’m not stopping you.”
He nipped and sucked on her lips, her chin, the pulse point in her neck. Her heartbeat thrummed against his lips and his dick jumped. She ground against him and he thought he would swallow his tongue. If he let it go any longer, he’d take her up against the tree.
As hot and heavenly as that would be, there was a part of him that wanted to take it slow. Take his time. Take care. Because even though she’d made it clear she was interested, she’d also made it clear she had reservations about him.
‘Reservations’ was too mild a word, but he didn’t have enough blood in his brain to think of a better one.
Sidney pressed against him again and Boomer spanned her waist with his hands, holding her still.
“Problem?” Her hands were on his shoulders, then they slid down, down, down, down. Over his pecs, over the bump of exposed ribs, over his abdomen, his belt, his—
With a grunt, he caught her hand before she could go any lower. Before she could pull the pin on an explosive that would shake, rattle, and rock their world. “Maybe we should set some ground rules.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she smiled. “This should be good.”
Then she rubbed against him again and, Lord help him, he had no desire to stop her. His head thumped back against the tree and a hollow, melon-like whamp echoed in his ears and he had to fight to keep the pleasure from rolling his eyes into the back of his head.
“For the next few days,” he refocused, somehow managing to form a complete thought, “it’s just you and me. Man and woman. No promises, no pasts, no nothing. Just you and me.”
She pulled away. Not far, because he still had one hand on her hip.
“It won’t change anything.” She almost sounded a little sad.
He released her hand and wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, her head tucked under his chin and against his chest. “No, Irish, it probably won’t.”
* * * *
By the stream, Sidney and Bryan finished eating their lunch. A thick gray cloud cloaked the sun. Sidney glanced up. A frothy line of clouds marched toward them, quickly gobbling up the blue sky and the contrail of a jetliner. The wind picked up, whistling through the trees and lifting Bryan’s cowboy hat from his head. He juggled it in his hands a few times before catching it and settling it back firmly over his ears.
“We better get the saddles switched on the horses and head back out. May have to find some cover if the storm keeps heading this way,” Bryan said.
Within five minutes, Thing One and Two were tacked up, and Rio and Dante were dangling on the end of their lead ropes. Bryan mounted up after relieving himself behind a tree.
Sidney glanced around, trying to find a good rock or tree to pee behind. She handed Bryan her reins. A penis would sure be handy right about now.
“I’ll be right back,” she said as she hopscotched her way across the rocks in the creek to keep from soaking her boots.
“Where are you going?”
“To pee,” she called over her shoulder.
Bryan laughed. “You don’t have to hike to the other side of the mountain. I would have turned my head.”
She stopped and turned around. “I don’t make a habit of peeing in front of random guys.”
“So now I’m a random guy? You usually make a habit of rub—”
“I dare you to finish that sentence.” The heat rushed up her neck, but she struggled to keep a stern look on her face.
His teeth flashed white.
She slipped behind a big boulder, did her business, and turned around as she pulled up her pants. The end of a cut branch caught her attention. She bent down. The end of the branch was marred from some sort of knife or machete blade. Pulling on the branch, she tugged it free from where it had been entangled with others. More cut branches. She pulled more free, until she uncovered a narrow trail between a boulder and a large tree.
“Hey.”
Sidney yelped and slapped a hand to her chest. Her heart zoomed from zero to sixty fast enough to make Enzo Ferrari envious. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I didn’t sneak,” Bryan said. “There was so much crashing and banging going on over here I was afraid you were wresting a bear.”
“Not a bear, branches.”
He glanced around. “What the hell, Irish?”
“Look,” she said, “a trail.”
His easygoing cowboy demeanor evaporated, and in Bryan’s place Scotty beamed down the Marine. Bryan the Cowboy turned her on, but there was something about the quiet intensity of Boomer the Marine that revved her engines and pressed the green “Go” button on her turbos.
Jesus, you need to get a grip, Sid.
Or get laid, Impractical Sidney happily pointed out.
Sidney groaned a little too loud.
“What?” he whisper-shouted. Bryan was hard to hear because he was already about thirty feet up the trail. Why was he was trying to keep his voice down?
The wind whipped a branch into her face, scraping her cheek. “Ouch!”
“You okay?” he asked when she got to him.
“I’m fine,” she said as she stepped up behind him. “What do you think it is?”
“Deer trail, or an old trail long overgrown.” He scuffed his boot through a pile of manure. It was dried up, partially decomposed. Within the realm of when Eli and Angel had been taken. “Hoofprints here and here and here. They continue up. Broken branches too.”
Now that he’d pointed it out, Sidney could see where the tips of some of the branches had been bent back and broken and the ends had flopped down and turned brown—Hansel and Gretel, but with foliage instead of breadcrumbs.
“I thought the pass was farther south.”
“It is. At least, the one we located on the map is.”
Her heartbeat kicked up, fueled on newfound hope. “Do you think this could be the way the men went with our horses?”
After giving her words what looked like careful consideration, he nodded. “Possibly. The fact that someone tried to cover their tracks makes me curious. Your average packer or day rider isn’t going to take the time to cut branches and cover their trail, much less have a reason to.”
“What do we do?”
“We radio Mac and give her an update and wait for backup.”
“Or go after them.”
He shook his head. “Not your best idea.”
“Come on, Bryan.” Her voice rose and she fought to keep the incredulity and the frustration from creeping in. “They could be over that hill, or the next one or the next. We could be this close.” She held her thumb and forefinger millimeters apart. “You want to turn back now?”
He stared at her.
“You scared?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted them back. Lashing out at him was about as ill-advised as chumming the waters before an uncaged shark dive. By the hard slash of his mouth, the great whites could be the less lethal option.
His eyes narrowed and his chin went up, but he held her gaze. “Cautious,” he said at last. “The difference between cautious and scared is like Harlem and Lower Manhattan.”
Harlem and Manhattan? “What are you talking about?”
“Not the same neighborhood, not the same zip code. Two totally different ends of the spectrum.”
“I didn’t come this far to turn ar—”
She never saw it coming. One second she was arguing with him, the next, he was kissing her. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t kind.
The kiss landed hard and angry, possessive and aggressive, frustrated and infatuated.
She stepped back. She had to catch her breath before she could speak, and she hated herself for it. “You can’t kiss me every time you want to shut me up.”
“Maybe,” he conceded as he passed her by and headed back across the creek toward the horses. “Though it’s hard to argue with success.”
“Shit,” she muttered as she half jogged down the trail to keep up with his long strides.
She caught up to him by the time he reached the horses. He pulled the two-way radio from his saddlebag and hailed Mac.
The wind picked up and hard needles of spitting rain pelted them. The horses turned their rumps to the weather and ducked their heads.
After no luck with his radio, he tried hers, in case his had malfunctioned, but he was still unable to reach anyone back at the ranch or out on the range.
“Now what?” Sidney asked.
The rain hit harder, almost horizontal. The temperature plummeted and their combined breath clouded the air between them. They pulled their slickers from behind their saddles and slipped them on. Sidney tied the hood tight under her chin while Bryan tightened the chinstrap on his hat.
“First we need to find shelter. He tossed his chin toward a rocky outcropping higher up, closer to the ridge line. “Find a cave, or a windbreak at least. This could last twenty minutes, or it could last twenty hours.”
* * * *
Two hours later, in a cave near the ridgeline, the rain still poured. Boomer watched as Sidney paced the edge of the overhang, the occasional wind gust blowing cold mist into her face. If the end of his stump hadn’t been giving him so much hell today, he’d probably be pacing the edge with her, but for another reason.
All her focus was on moving forward, finding the horses. She didn’t focus on the fact that old beer cans littered the cave and the damp walls sweated out marijuana smoke the way a fat guy sweats out a bad meal.
What she saw was the stack of gathered wood and kindling. Enough to light a fire and last them a night or two. She’d smiled when she’d seen it. The stack had turned his blood reptilian cold and made the old exit wound on his back start to itch. He knew the truth. This cave wasn’t just used by a couple of kids out for a fun day or two of camping. This was a spot that men came to regularly, and from the way those men had covered their trail, they didn’t want to advertise that fact.
He glanced out at the sky. It had grown darker. Between the storm and their cave, they effectively lacked any form of communication.
If things went pear-shaped, backup was a long, long way away.
The scuffle and clatter of hooves on rock brought Boomer back. Donkey bit Two on the ass and tried to force him out into the rain. The horses jockeyed for position, which put Rio on the far side of the other three and pissed Donkey off more. He brayed, ears back, head out and low. The rock walls resonated with the noise. Sidney covered her ears and pointed at Boomer.
“He’s yours,” she mouthed, the same way his mother had to his father all the times when Boomer had been caught fighting after school.
He had no more control over the animal than his dad had over him. At least the Marines found the fighting side of him a perk.
Inside, the height narrowed down quickly, so there was no way for the animals to get farther back, where they’d stashed the tack, gear, and food. To be cautious, Sidney had put a pair of hobbles on Two since there wasn’t anywhere they could tie them up. Two was the ragtag leader of the Band of Misfit Brothers, as Sidney had started referring to them. The others wouldn’t leave without him.
Boomer stepped over to the fire ring near the opening opposite the animals, trying to hide the limp that was becoming more and more pronounced. The pain concerned him, but Sidney didn’t need anything else to worry about.
The air temperature wasn’t below freezing, but between the cold and the damp, his stump shot random volleys of phantom pains up his leg.
He’d rather be drenched with water and have his balls hooked up to a battery.
He stacked some kindling, added dry leaf litter that had blown into the cave, and lit a waterproof match. His hand shook, and the match blew out. He frowned. Christ, what now? He worked his wrist and the muscles in his forearm and tried again. Better. At least he could light the damn fire.
As the smoke spiraled up, it hit the ceiling and rolled out into the rain, Boomer added bigger and bigger sticks until the fire caught for real and he was able to add a few logs.
He held his hands out to warm them with the fire. As the blood heated in his fingers, his hand steadied and he forced the shakes from his mind.
Sidney gathered up the saddles and the saddle pads and set them near the fire. The pads would help keep the cold from seeping up through the floor and chilling them even more, and they could lean back against the saddles. She crossed her legs on one of the pads and tugged her boots off. Rubbing her feet, she let out a soft moan and made Boomer think of more fun ways to make her make that sound. Shit.
Boomer handed her a canteen. “Drink.”
She grabbed it, but she didn’t take a sip. “How much do we have left?”
“One more full canteen. With the rain, we’ll be good. The creeks and streams will be running and we have tablets and extra filters for the water. We don’t have to worry about rationing. So drink up.”
Tilting her head back, she took several long gulps. A drop of water escaped the side of her mouth and Boomer watched it trickle down her neck, over the dip between her collar bones and beneath the front of her shirt collar. For the first time in his life, he wished he were nothing more than a couple of hydrogen atoms hanging out with their buddy oxygen.
Before he got any stupid ideas, he tore his gaze away and drank from the other canteen. Even though the two of them had come to a sort of relationship truce down by the stream, that didn’t mean a cave was the time or the place to…um…ratify the peace treaty.
When the water hit the back of his throat he almost spat it back out. It was cold and crisp and clear, and the complete opposite of the hit of whiskey his mind had somehow expected.
With a cough, he swallowed it down and wished to hell he’d packed a bottle of whiskey in his saddlebags. What had he been thinking?
That Mac was counting on you. That you didn’t want to let her down. Again.
That you don’t have a problem. That you don’t need it.
Well, he didn’t need it.
But he sure as hell wanted it.
He bent to take the canteen from Sidney when another pain shot up his leg like someone at the carnival had hit the plate with a honking-huge sledgehammer and the weight had shot up, ping, ping, pinging the bell that was his brain.
He grunted through the worst of the agony. Something was wrong. He got phantom pains, but they’d been less and less frequent as the days since the amputation wore on. Now they were hitting harder and stronger than ever before.
He thumbed open the buckle of the thigh strap on his holster, unfastened his belt, and dropped his jeans to the tops of his boots.
“What are you doing?” Sidney didn’t say it like she was alarmed, just curious. By the way her eyes traveled down his body, maybe even a little interested.
He bit the inside of his cheek. Hard enough to taste blood. The last thing he needed right now was a raging hard on.
He plopped his ass on a saddle pad and worked the socket on his prosthetic until he could pull his stump free. He rolled down the sleeve, then the stockings beneath. Rubbing the exposed skin, he crossed his stump over his knee to get a good look at the end.
“Fuck,” he ground out. “I was afraid of that.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Hematoma.” Gently, he rubbed the end of his leg where the skin was bruised and a pocket of blood had developed.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t know it was that bad.” And now that his leg was out of the socket, the hematoma grew worse. If he didn’t do something now, there was a good chance he wouldn’t get his prosthetic back on without excruciating pain.
Sidney didn’t divert her gaze from his leg like his ex-wife had. She didn’t cover her mouth and try to pretend she wasn’t going to throw up like one of his old high school buddies had. She didn’t even have that half-pained, half-pity half smile that his parents tried to hide. She simply said, “Tell me what to do.”
“Seriously?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
Her green eyes narrowed, her lips tight, her short-cropped hair spiked in all directions after running her fingers through it. She was stone cold serious. If the Irish had badass fairies, she was their poster child.
“Small red duffel packed on Donkey. First aid supplies.”
She retrieved the bag and dropped it on the saddle pad. Before he could grab the bag, she wrestled his prosthetic out of his pants leg, then removed his other boot and pulled his pants off the rest of the way.
He grinned and said, “This isn’t exactly how I’d pictured you getting me naked.”
* * * *
The growing fire chased the worst of the cold out of the cave. Sidney stacked Bryan’s prosthetic on top of his jeans.
“So, how did you picture me getting you naked?” Sidney’s nipples pebbled and heat rushed up her face and suddenly she felt hot. This was like having phone sex, without the relative anonymity of the phone.
“Fewer horses, for one,” he said.
“Bigger fire,” she added.
He raised his injured leg. “Less bruising and blood and…”
“More wine.”
He laughed. “Wine would be good.”
“Or maybe some whiskey?”
“Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart, but this is a dry cave.” He thickened his voice with some sort of John Wayne accent that he couldn’t quite pull off. “No spirits within a half day’s ride.”
The smile slid from her lips. “Why?”
He looked her in the eye but didn’t hold it. Instead he pulled the first aid kit between his legs and started rummaging around for what he needed. Bandages, sterile needles, Betadine scrub pads. He laid the supplies out in a neat row in the order he’d need them.
Then he shrugged like he wasn’t going to answer her, but finally he glanced up. “To prove I don’t have a problem.”
“To yourself or to me?”
“Does it matter?” He opened the pack of presoaked Betadine pads and started scrubbing the end of his stump. “I thought the horses rode well today.”
“Uh…thanks?” It took her brain a second to reengage after the abrupt subject change. Clearly, he had said all he wanted to say about his drinking. She went with it. “Found a few holes in their training I want to fix before Dale puts the string up for sale, but overall, I’m pleased.”
“Pleased?” Bryan said with a laugh. “That’s like Einstein saying his theory of relativity might come in handy. You kicked ass.”
He didn’t say it like he was trying to butter her up or make her feel better. He said it like he believed it. Like it was the obvious truth. Sidney’s chest tightened, so full of pride it made it hard to breathe, and her grin made her cheeks hurt. “I kinda did, didn’t I?”
He smiled back. “That’s what I love about you, Irish. You didn’t let Hockley beat you. You put your head down and worked your ass off and trained a string of horses that are going to demand top dollar. If he doesn’t buy them, I guarantee he’ll be first in line for the next ones. If he isn’t, he’s more of an idiot than I’d thought.”
Her throat closed and it was a moment before she could speak. “You mean that, don’t you?”
He glanced up from what he was doing and looked at her. Really looked at her, as if he were trying to see behind her carefully crafted facade, behind what she put out there for the world to see. It made her feel naked and exposed and wholly transparent.
“What your parents did…” he started.
Just the mention of her parents made her feel less than. Less than worthy of her job, less than worthy of his friendship, of his concern.
“No. Don’t look away,” he said.
She sucked in a deep breath and mustered the courage to look him in the eye.
“What your parents did, that’s on them. I’m sorry I was in that group that doubted you. You didn’t deserve that.”
A lump lodged in her throat, strangling her vocal cords. All she could do was nod. When she felt the sting in the back of her eyes, she got up and headed to their packs like there was something important she needed to get. Like her grandfather used to say, “Cowboys don’t cry.” Well, neither did cowgirls.
At least not while anyone watched.
“You know,” Bryan said, sounding philosophical, “for a woman who preached to me about not being afraid to feel, you don’t seem to practice what you preach, sister.”
She pitched an apple at his head, but he caught it with a quick hand and a laugh.
“Asshole,” she said.
Taking her compliment with a smirk, he said, “That doesn’t make me wrong.”
When she settled back down next to him, he had a thick wad of sterile gauze pads at the ready and an unsheathed sterile needle in his hand. “This isn’t going to be pretty,” he warned.
“I’m tougher than I look.”
“Suit yourself.”
When he went to stick the needle into the hematoma she noticed his hand was shaking.
“Nervous?”
Something flashed in his eyes, but it might have been a flicker from the fire. He chuckled, but it came out forced. “It’s a needle.”
“Then why is your hand shaking?”
“Fine. You do it.”
That he never answered the question wasn’t lost on her. If he didn’t have a needle phobia, why was his hand shaking? And why had her stomach sunk down to her knees?
“Get ready with the gauze. On the count of three,” she said. “One, two—”
“Ow! What the hell happened to three?”
“It’s a sixteen-gauge needle. You might as was well be shoving a garden hose through your skin. I thought it would hurt less if you didn’t know it was coming.”
“Christ. For future reference, it doesn’t.”
“Good to know,” she said as she pressed the gauze to the puncture, soaking up the fluid as he milked the trapped blood free.
After he’d gotten all the liquid out, he replaced the soaked gauze with a clean stack and she held it in place while he wrapped an ACE bandage around the end of his leg to apply pressure to keep the pocket from refilling.
“Better?” she asked.
“It’ll do for now. If it doesn’t get infected, we’ll be golden.”
Infected? Sidney frowned. “Shit, Bry—”
“Don’t worry. We got everything as sterile as we could. Shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
“Maybe we should head back to the ranch.”
As if the weather gods had heard, the wind whipped across the mouth of the cave, throwing a curtain of water in the horses’ faces. The fire hissed and spit and dimmed for a few seconds.
The trail up had been steep and rocky. Hard enough going when it was drier. It would be merely treacherous if they led the horses out on foot—if they tried to ride down, it would be suicidal.
Bryan stared out at the falling rain. “Irish, we’re not going anywhere.”