The Accidental Bride (8 page)

He thought of his own parents' ranch, running like a well-oiled machine even with the owners gone, while Shay's place ran into the ground. He wished he could help.

Yeah, like that's going to happen
. The woman had enough pride in her little finger to supply the town for weeks. As he neared the barn, he saw that the corral fence was in disrepair. Didn't she have any help around here?

A noise in the barn had him pulling on his reins. A grunting, a human sound. He dismounted and tied Buck to the fence post. Inside, the barn was dark. The smells of fresh straw and horseflesh greeted him.

He heard movement in the tack room and took a few steps forward. Shay was carrying a saddle, and hefted it upward toward the wall peg. She missed and groaned as she lowered the heavy equipment, staggering. She was favoring her right leg.

Travis stepped forward and relieved her of her load. She jumped and lurched away, tottering on one leg.

He hung the saddle and reached out to steady her.

She swatted his hand away, catching her own balance. “What are you doing here?”

“What's wrong with your leg?”

She set her left foot down on the dirt and flinched. “Nothing.”

“Like heck.”

A trickle of sweat ran from beneath her hat down her temple. Her face was flushed with exertion. She grabbed a brush and turned toward her horse outside the tack room, limping.

He followed. “What happened?”

“Bruised my foot. What do you want, McCoy?”

That was no bruise. Not the way she was limping. He grabbed the brush, wrestled it from her. “Sit down, take off your boot.”

Shay jabbed her hands on her hips. “I have work to do.”

“I'll do it.” He started brushing the horse, holding eye contact with Shay until she huffed and hobbled out the barn door.

He brushed her mare until her mahogany coat gleamed, then returned her to a stall.

When he left the barn, Shay was sitting in the grass, her back against the red wood, her face as white as a February pasture. Her boot was still on.

Blast it, woman
. He reached for the boot.

“Don't!” She jerked away.

He heard the panic in her voice. She'd gone and hurt herself good and was too blame stubborn to admit it.

He hunkered down next to her. “Gotta come off, Shay.”

“It's fine.” She tried to stand. “Go away.”

“Sit
.
”
He grabbed her arm and held on until she relented, letting her weight sink back onto the ground, but not without a glare.

He reached for her boot and gave a gentle tug.

“Stop!”

He saw a flash of fear in her eyes before she blinked it away.

“I can't get it off,” she squeezed out between teeth that were clenched in pain or anger, he wasn't sure which.

“Where're your shears?”

“You can't cut my boots.”

“Wanna bet?”

“They're my favorite pair!”

Way she was looking at them, one part desperation, one part fear, he wondered if they were her only pair. Something inside him softened. Darned if she couldn't get him every time. “I'll buy you another.”

“I don't want your money.” This she spat with a little venom. The money he'd left her for. She didn't have to say it.

“I ruin 'em, I replace 'em.” He owed her more than a pair of boots, and they both knew it. “Come on, Shay. What're you gonna do—wear them to bed? They have to come off.”

He watched the emotions play out on her face as the battle waged inside her. She knew he was right. She was mule-headed, but she wasn't dumb.

She crossed her arms and gazed out across the pasture. “In the tack room, left side.”

“Atta girl.” Travis retrieved the shears and returned. She'd pulled up her jeans, exposing that sliver of skin below her knee. There was a day he would've reached out and drawn his finger across the softness of her skin.

“Can you just do it already?”

Her hands were knotted on the ground at her side.

He began cutting away the tough leather. The blade was dull, making the cutting difficult and slow. She tensed as he approached the ankle.

“Where's it hurt?”

“Outside of my foot.”

He slowed down, taking his time, careful of the tender area. Tried hard not to jostle her as the blades sliced down on the leather. “Easy now . . .”

“I'm not a horse,” she snapped.

He bit back a grin he knew she wouldn't appreciate. Maybe a distraction was in order.

“The other day I was remembering that time Sparky got in a fight with your mom's cat.” He made another cut. “He thought he was so tough. Came slinking back to us with his tail between his legs.” Over the arch . . . easy . . .

“Wasn't even hurt.” She spoke between gritted teeth.

Almost there. “Just his pride. Didn't go near your mom's cat again. What was her name?”

“Jasmine.”

“That's right. Jasmine. She was a prickly one.” He pulled the blade out and eased what was left of the boot from her foot.

Even with the sock on, the swelling was obvious. “This is the easy part.”

He eased it down over the heel and off, lowering her foot to his lap. The purplish-blue bruising wrapped around her foot and toward the arch. Looked a lot like his foot when he broke it in Houston falling from a particularly feisty bull.

“How'd it happen?”

“Dropped a salt block on it.”

“Needs an X-ray.”

“It's just bruised.”

“It's broken, Shay.”

She pulled her foot away. “You're no doctor.”

“That's right, I'm not.”

“Thanks for your help.” She made to stand. Braced her weight on her right foot and inched up the barn wall.

“I'll take you now.”

“I'll wait and see how it is in the morning.”

“No, you won't. You'll go right on with your chores.”

“You don't know me, Travis McCoy.”

“I know you more than you think. You haven't changed at all, that much is clear.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” She tottered on one foot. Sweat dotted her forehead, and she looked ready to pass out.

Stubborn woman. He fetched her hat and set it back on her head. “Nothing. It means nothing.”

He took a few breaths, looked around the property, listened to a starling sing a quick song. “If it don't set up right, you'll have permanent damage.”

“How would you know?”

“Broke my foot a few years back, and it needed a pin. You don't want surgery, now, do you? Or a permanent limp? Make it hard to get around. 'Sides, I'd have to start calling you Hop-along.”

He could see the indecision in her pain-glazed eyes.

“Dr. Garvin can give you something strong for the pain.”

“Clinic's closed.”

“I'll call him on the way over. Where's your daughter?”

“At a friend's.”

“Perfect.” He held out his arm. “Your chariot awaits.”

She looked toward the dusty new pickup and let out a feeble grunt. The paleness of her skin frightened him. He'd pick her up and throw her over his shoulder if he thought she wouldn't put up a fight and hurt herself worse.

Plus, the feeling that coursed through him when she willingly took his arm . . . well, that was worth more than money could buy.

10

D
r. Garvin hung the X-ray on the wall and pointed with his crooked index finger. “Right there.”

“It's broken?”

“No doubt about it. See here where this hairline runs . . .”

No, no, no, she couldn't have a broken foot. She had a ranch to run—money to raise, somehow. A daughter to feed and animals that depended on her.
God, what are You doing? You're killing me here
.

Shay closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The antiseptic smell choked her. Her foot throbbed despite the painkiller Dr. Garvin had given her. She'd just have to load up on the stuff and hobble around. What choice did she have?

She could do this. How long could it take to heal anyway? A couple weeks? It was just a tiny little hairline break. The worst of it would be facing the I-told-you-so she had coming from Travis when she left the exam room.

“Can you just wrap it or something?”

Dr. Garvin's hand fell from the X-ray, then he pushed back on his oversized spectacles. She'd interrupted his monologue, but she didn't care about the fifth metatarsal and whatnot.

“You are your daddy's girl, Shay. Bottom line, you'll be in a splint six or seven weeks. You'll need to stay off the foot for at least a week. After that, crutches.”

“Wait, stay off the foot?”

“Completely off.”

Ha! And who was going to feed her horses and clean the stalls and put out salt blocks and chase the bulls back to their pen and fix the fences they plowed through?

“I know that's going to be hard, but it's imperative that you stay off it.”

“And who's supposed to run my ranch while I lounge around the house?”

“Hire it out, Shay.”

She pressed her lips together. Right. And what was she supposed to pay a hand with—a smile?

She couldn't make her mortgage payments now. Not to mention she was running up a medical tab she'd be paying off till she retired unless Dr. Garvin accepted payment in the form of barbed wire baskets. She could only pray he wouldn't charge extra for off-duty hours.

“Listen, I won't charge you for my time tonight, just the medical supplies and such, if that'll help you out any.”

The old feelings came back with a rush. Teachers bringing her a pair of jeans because they'd noticed Shay's inching upward. The cafeteria cashier setting a milk carton on her tray even though she had no milk money that day. She knew she should be grateful for charity, but she hated it. Hated the way it made her feel, like she was lower than everyone else. Like they pitied her. She hated being pitied most of all.

Shay ground her teeth together. Oh, to have the luxury of saying,
Don't be silly. Just put it on my tab, and I'll settle up when the bill comes
.

She pried her teeth apart and forced herself to speak. “Thanks, Dr. Garvin.” The words tasted like wet sawdust.

“Now, let's get that foot splinted up so you can get home to your girl.”

Thirty minutes later Shay was settled in the passenger side of Travis's truck, a packet of information in one hand, a bottle of pills in the other, and a set of crutches in the bed behind them.

Travis pulled onto Main Street, his thick fingers wrapped around the vibrating steering wheel. She had to give him credit. When she'd hobbled out to the lobby, there hadn't been one hint of I-told-you-so.

It was dark now, and the streetlamps twinkled in a long line that reminded her of an airport runway. She'd called Abigail and told her what had happened. Her friend had offered to keep Olivia overnight, but Shay had asked Abigail to bring her home later instead. Shay was going to need her daughter's help in the morning, like it or not.

They turned out of town, heading toward her place.

“What're you gonna do?” Travis's voice seemed deep in the dark cab.

“I'll manage.”

Was she going to ask her twelve-year-old to do a man's job? Shay could barely manage herself. Could she ask Manny to come back, promise to pay him later, after she sold off some cattle? That wasn't fair. He needed money now, not weeks from now.

God, You've got to step in here. I can't do this alone
.

She could feel her pulse in her foot, now splinted and throbbing. Why weren't those painkillers working?