The Accidental Bride (18 page)

Twenty minutes later Travis stood over the hot grill with Olivia, basting the fish with something he'd concocted in the kitchen. Shay watched through the patio door. He was letting Olivia baste now.

Shay set the table and poured three lemonades. When she was done, she checked on Travis and Olivia. The grill was closed, and she spotted the two squatting in the yard by Olivia's upside-down bike. The chain had been falling off lately.

Shay's foot was aching, so she headed to the living room where she sat and propped it on the ottoman. The sofa smelled like Travis now. The pillow at the other end still bore the indentation from his head. On the floor, he'd left his white socks, rolled into balls, and this week's
Moose Creek Chronicle
, open to the crossword puzzle, which he'd helped himself to.

His phone buzzed on the end table beside her. She'd never make it to the door before it stopped. She checked the caller ID and saw an unfamiliar area code. Must be his parents. He wouldn't want to miss the call—he'd said just yesterday he needed to reach his dad.

Shay pushed Talk, eager to greet the McCoys. They'd always treated her like their own daughter.

“Travis's phone.”

Silence.

Maybe it was a bad connection. But no, she could hear a country melody, “Party for Two,” in the background, clear as a bell.

“Hello?” she said.

Still nothing but music. “Anyone there?”

“Who is this?” a female voice asked.

Shay frowned. “Who's calling?”

“This is Ella. Who's this?”

Ella? The call must be from Texas, she deducted, based on the woman's drawl and unfamiliar area code. And judging by her churlish tone, she wasn't happy another woman had answered.

“Shay Brandenberger . . .” She had the petty urge to add
his
wife
, but that wasn't her place. “Travis is busy, but I'll tell him you called,” she said, after trying to explain why she'd answered his phone.

“Don't bother. I'll call back.”

A click sounded in Shay's ear, and she turned off the phone, frowning. The woman was obviously riled. But why would she be—hadn't Travis said last night that he'd left no one behind in Texas? She had a feeling Ella might beg to differ. And was clearly unaware of their marriage.

It's not real, Shay. Do not forget that
.

But if Travis was going to go all Rambo on Beau, didn't Shay have the right to expect loyalty? Or at the very least, honesty?

But candor had never been Travis's strong suit, had it? Hadn't he kept all his real feelings bottled up for three months while they planned their elopement? When all he had to do was call things off? She would've been hurt, especially at the idea of his leaving for Texas, but it couldn't have been worse than finding out on their wedding day.

He hadn't been honest then, and he wasn't being honest now. The gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach was a lesson learned. It was a reminder to keep her guard up. Even a friendship, like the camaraderie they'd shared the night before, was dangerous. Wasn't that how their relationship had begun, once upon a time?

She couldn't trust herself, and she sure couldn't trust Travis, who'd been clear that he wanted more than a temporary arrangement. She couldn't let herself trust him again. Because if she did, he'd have the power to hurt her, and there was no way was she going down that slippery slope again.

21

A
message was blinking on the phone when Shay emerged from her bedroom, bathed and dressed. Olivia had ridden to Maddy's house on her newly fixed bike, and Travis was out somewhere doing her job. She was feeling restless again, and it had only been two weeks. How was she going to make it another four or five?

Shay shuffled to the phone and pressed Play.

“This is Hank Peterson. Found one o' your bulls in my pasture again, pestering my cattle. I know you're having troubles, but I can't keep hauling 'em back. He's in my pen. Please come and get him.”

Shay flinched at his brisk tone. Hank was never friendly, but he sounded more brusque than usual. She'd have to tell Travis about the fence. In the meantime, she'd figure a way to fetch the bull. She wasn't supposed to drive, but Hank was only next door. The hard part would be loading the bull.

It took thirty minutes to hitch the trailer and saddle and load Brandy. Her foot ached from the weight she'd accidentally applied when lifting the trailer onto the hitch.

But now she was all set. Sweat trickled down her temple. She put her window down, hoping for a cool breeze. Hank's property was a large spread to the south. He had three hired men, and she prayed one of them would be on hand to help.

A few minutes later she was backing her trailer to the gate of Hank's stock paneled pen. Her Hereford ran loose. She recognized his markings—this hadn't been his first foray across her property line in search of a hot cow.

She got out of the truck, unloaded Brandy, and, ditching her crutches, carefully mounted. She prayed the bull would cooperate.

“Howdy, Shay.” Manny approached on foot.

“Manny . . . you working for Hank now?”

He gave a boyish grin. “Hired me last week.”

“That's just great. Congratulations.” She was relieved he'd found another job, one that surely paid better.

“Yeah, he's really growing the place. I guess he's expanding even more next spring.”

“You don't say.” Shay wondered if this was her chance for some extra income after Travis left. Olivia was getting old enough to stay home alone. “Think he'd take on any part-time help?”

Manny shrugged. “Looking for more work?”

“Might come in handy next year. Not sure Hank would hire me, though.”

“I'll put in a good word for you.”

“Thanks, I'd appreciate that.” She gestured to the Hereford. “I came for my bull. Again.”

“You should've called. I'd have brought him over.”

“Don't think your boss would've been too keen on that.”

With Manny's help, the loading went smoothly. Manny offered to follow her to her ranch, but she didn't want to get him in hot water with Hank.

She was still breathing hard as she drove home. She'd gone to seed after only a couple idle weeks. Ranching would be harder than ever when she did get her mobility back.

But her protesting foot told her it was too soon for that. The pain she'd had on the dismount almost made her leg buckle. She turned into her drive, relieved the loading was done. The bull shouldn't put up too big a fuss about coming out. She'd unhitch the trailer, unsaddle her horse, then take the pain meds she'd forgotten this morning.

After backing up to the pen, she shuffled to the gate, sprang it open, then released the trailer gate.

Brandy came out easily, and she led the mare to a nearby stall to wait until she had the bull put safely away. It was hotter'n the dickens already, the sun beating down, not a cloud in sight. Shay hobbled gingerly toward the trailer. Someone needed to make crutches that didn't kill the underarms.

Inside the trailer, the bull was still motionless. “Ha!” she yelled as she approached the slatted front. She banged her crutch on the trailer's corner, making a clanging sound that apparently didn't impress him.

Her shirt clung to her damp back, and her breaths came hard. “Come on, buddy, move it.” She poked her crutch through the slats and nudged. “Ha!”

The bull took two steps back, and Shay lost her balance. She hobbled forward on the one crutch, felt herself twisting. She released the crutch, catching herself as her knee hit the ground.

Shay bit back words she forbade Olivia to say. She braced her weight against the trailer and pushed upright. Her one crutch hung uselessly in her hand.
Stupid thing!
She threw it, and it hit the ground half a dozen feet away, releasing a puff of dirt.

She pulled herself up, bracing her weight on her good foot. Now her crutch was inside, and the bull still hadn't budged. “Ha!” She banged the side of the trailer with her open palm.

Stupid, cantankerous creature!
She limped toward the back of the trailer, biting the inside of her mouth at the pain.

Travis nudged Buck to a canter, but even the horse was reluctant to move in the heat. He'd finally managed to push the herd up into the hills so as not to overgraze the streams. He pulled off his hat and ran his forearm over his forehead. It had to be topping ninety already.

He decided to return to the house for grub. Get out of the heat and check on Shay, since Olivia was gone. 'Sides, she'd been acting funny since yesterday. Distant and cranky. She claimed she was fine, but she wasn't. What had happened since their fishing outing?

All he could figure was he'd overstepped with Beau on Sunday. She hadn't seemed sore at the time, but what else could it be? Two steps forward, three steps back. At this rate, he'd be back in Texas before he could say annulment.

He hoped to start mending fences with a shared meal. He planned to heat up the leftover fish and make sandwiches, maybe a side of beans. He was mentally reviewing the pantry when the barn came into view, and with it, the truck and trailer, and Shay.

Shay was banging on the side panel, yelling. One of her crutches lay in the dirt a few feet away. A bull was halfway out of the trailer.

She limped unaided around the trailer, a grimace pinching her face. Was the woman trying to kill herself?

He pulled to a halt when he reached the trailer, dismounting. “What the heck are you doing, woman?”

“Unloading a bull, what's it look like?” A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. Her face strained against the pain of weight on her foot.

“Get off your foot, Shay,” he said over the clanging of the bull's hooves.

She faltered as her leg buckled.

He took her arm. “I'll finish here. You're gonna wreck your foot for good.”

She shook him off. “Mind your own business.”

He ran his hand over his jaw. “You
are
my business.”

“Ha!” she yelled at the bull, slapping his rump. When he didn't budge, she turned and limped toward the crutch, her face set.

Stubborn woman
.

“I mean it, Shay.”

“Go away, McCoy.”

She'd be on those crutches for keeps if she didn't stop. Or if he didn't stop her. He followed, arriving as she bent to fetch the crutch. Without thought, he swooped down and caught her hip on his shoulder.

“Put me down!”

He held her legs tight to his chest, careful of her splinted foot. More careful than she was. He started for the house.

She swatted at him. “Put. Me. Down!”

Like a wet cat
.

“Put your claws away, woman.”

“I have to unsaddle my horse!”
Whack
.

“I'll handle it.”

She grabbed the back of his thigh and pinched. Hard. That would leave a mark. He gritted his teeth.

When the pinch failed to work, she returned to swatting anything in reach.

“Insufferable . . .”
Whack
.

“Egotistical . . .”
Whack
.

“Pigheaded . . .”
Whack
.

“Bully!” The last swat landed on his backside.

“Feeling good, darlin'.”

She stopped abruptly, let out an angry roar. He opened the door and eased her through, kicking the door with his heel. When he reached the couch, he lowered his ungrateful load.

She came upright on the sofa, gave his shoulders a good, hard shove. “Jerk!” Blood had rushed to her head, flushing her cheeks. Or maybe it was anger. “Don't you ever do that again.”

Leaving her to simmer, he retrieved her pills and a glass of water. What was he supposed to do when she was so reckless? Just stand around while she mangled her foot? She'd be lucky if she hadn't made it worse.