Chapter 35

Who the hell did this woman think she was? If she thought she could keep Melanie away from her brother much longer, she was fixin’ to get schooled. Any of the other locals could lead her to Hank, and Melanie would go around, over, or through anyone who tried to stop her.

Bing nodded her thanks to the waiter as he set down their drinks, then waited until he was out of earshot. “You heard what happened in Toppenish?”

“Only what Philip told us.”

Bing nodded again and took a sip of her coffee. She spoke with a less-pronounced version of Philip’s Native American…did you call it an accent? As when Melanie was using what she called her “professional voice,” the words revealed that Bing was educated, but the shapes of vowels and the weight of the consonants were different.

“Was it his fault?” Melanie blurted.

Bing shrugged. “The cowboys know the chance they’re taking when they climb on. The bullfighters can only do so much.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Bing looked Melanie straight in the eye. “There aren’t many bullfighters who can do what Hank does and make it look easy. Like this one—” She tipped her head toward Wyatt. “The kid got slammed down on his face practically under the bull’s nose, and that’s a hooky son of a bitch. Even if Hank had done everything right, he might not have gotten there in time. None of our other bullfighters would have had a prayer.”

“Does he understand that?” Wyatt asked.

Bing swung her dark eyes over to him. “What do you think?”

Wyatt didn’t bother to answer. In the same circumstances, he would never forgive himself. Neither would Joe. They understood the worst could happen every time the chute gate cracked, and they could accept it—eventually—if they’d done everything humanly, and sometimes superhumanly, possible to protect the cowboy. If they hadn’t…

They would have to try to live with it.

Melanie shook her head. “He started out so well after he left Jacobs Livestock. I can’t fathom what went wrong.”

“One of his new Florida friends asked him why he left Texas, and Hank made the mistake of telling the truth.” Bing’s hand tightened, as if she’d like to have more than words with those so-called friends. “When the story spread, they left out a few pertinent details—like how Hank never did more than kiss Mariah Swift, or that she was from Washington state and had no idea she was two months shy of legal in Texas. Keeping it quiet was as much self-preservation for her as for him. Imagine the guilt if he’d been hit with a mandatory two-year prison sentence, all for a summer fling.”

“Hank wasn’t just having fun,” Wyatt said quietly.

“No.” Bing gave a pitying shake of her head. “He fell hard. Understandable if you’ve ever met Mariah. Hank’s not the first cowboy she’s blown out of his boots, and she’s always liked ’em older. Drives her parents insane.”

“You know them?” Melanie asked.

“His mother is Shoshone. They show up once in a while at the bigger Indian rodeos. Mariah is an amazing girl—smart, talented, gorgeous, and very mature for her age. Hank thought they would just let things blow over, then pick up again once she was old enough.” Bing’s mouth twisted down at the corners. “She had other ideas. Six weeks later, she was posting pictures with her new beau.”

Oh God. Poor Hank. He’d tried to tell Melanie how he felt about the girl when she’d charged to the rescue after Mariah’s daddy had busted his jaw and Cole Jacobs had fired him. She’d been too busy calling her brother ten kinds of an idiot to listen.

And she wondered why he had stopped coming to her with his problems.

“That’s why he didn’t go back to Florida for the beginning of the new season,” Wyatt guessed.

Bing nodded. “The biggest contractor in that region had asked him to work all of their rodeos for the next year, but he took it back when he heard the rumors. Told Hank flat out that he wasn’t bringing someone like him on board when he had a fourteen-year-old granddaughter.”

“Fourteen?” Melanie burst out. “For God’s sake. Hank might not’ve used the best judgment where Mariah was concerned, but he’s not a predator.”

Wyatt put a settling hand on her arm. “We know that, but a bunch of strangers are going to believe what they hear.”

“Especially when it’s been blown all out of proportion,” Bing put in sourly. “That’s when it finally hit him. What had happened with Mariah wasn’t no big deal. The law and the gossips didn’t give a shit about his intentions. In their eyes, he was no better than scumbags who hang out at the mall stalking the teenyboppers. That’s when he really started coming unraveled.”

“Right around Thanksgiving,” Wyatt said.

“Yeah. And then he went home and made it all worse.”

Getting into a yelling match with their dad. And sleeping with Grace. His friend. His little red-haired girl. Then getting drunk and expressing his regret in the most humiliating way possible.

Melanie propped her elbows on the table and pressed the heels of her hands into temples that threatened to explode. “God. This thing with Mariah—it’s like the gift that won’t stop giving.”

“She was also at Toppenish,” Bing said flatly. “Like I said, they occasionally pop up at the big-money rodeos. Seeing her knocked Hank on his ass. He made it through the rodeo that night—probably on auto-pilot—but the next day…whatever he did overnight to dull the pain hadn’t worn off. That would have to be the day something horrible happened. When he needed to be at his absolute best, and wasn’t.”

“And the bull that ran him down?” Melanie braced herself to hear the worst. “What was that?”

“The beginning of an emotional meltdown. But if you’re asking if he was suicidal—I’m not sure even he can answer that question.”

“What about now?” Wyatt asked, when Melanie couldn’t force out the words.

“He’s making progress. But he’s got a lot to deal with—the breakdown of his family, the loss of his alternative support structure as part of the Jacobs crew, damage to his self-worth from the thing with Mariah. And now there’s an eighteen-year-old boy in a wheelchair, and Hank’s convinced he helped put him there. I don’t know many people who possess the coping mechanisms to deal with that much emotional trauma.”

At the rise of Wyatt’s eyebrows, she smiled. “Did I forget to mention that I’m an addiction counselor at Indian Health Service? I can talk all the jargon.”

“You aren’t his counselor, or you wouldn’t be able to tell us any of this,” Wyatt said.

“No. I’m his friend. He needs that right now more than anything.”

Even more than his sister?

Bing’s dark gaze settled on her, reading the obvious thought. “He needs someone who isn’t part of his old life. A person who has nothing invested in anything but him.”

“And that’s you?” Melanie asked, hurt sharpening the question to a near insult.

“Yes.”

They fell silent as the waiter brought slices of pie, the dark berry filling oozing out to pool around generous scoops of paler-purple ice cream. Wyatt ignored his. Melanie picked up her fork and tested the crust, then took a small bite. The intense flavor of the berries exploded in her mouth.

“Good?” Bing asked.

“Excellent.” Although the pastry was no match for Miz Iris’s, but nothing ever was. Melanie took another bite, this time with ice cream. Even better. She kept eating because she didn’t know what else to do. Finally, she paused. “What about now? Is he…safe?”

“As far as I can tell. He’s in a situation where, in his words, it’s nearly impossible for him to screw up anything else. We have to start there and give him the tools he needs to rebuild.”

“How long will that take?” Melanie asked, realizing even as she spoke that it was a ridiculous question.

Bing just shrugged.

“And this…state he’s in. I suppose you have a name for it.”

“He hasn’t been formally evaluated, but I would call it a major depressive episode. I have seen no signs of substance abuse. He doesn’t even drink more than a beer now and then. With therapy, time, and possibly medication, he could come out of this just fine.”

Could. Melanie lifted her eyes to challenge Bing’s steady gaze. “And you think he can get all of that here.”

“I do.” Bing gave her a long, thoughtful look, then a slight nod, as if she’d come to a decision. “And you need to judge for yourself. Just don’t expect him to be happy to see you.”