An Accidental Hero (20 page)

It had been missing her that weakened him enough to cut his “keep your distance for a couple of months” plan by weeks. When he called to ask her to dinner, Cammi had sounded…peculiar, not at all her usual spunky, live-wire self. Maybe she was miffed, he’d told himself,
because
he’d waited so long to call. All he needed was a few minutes, face-to-face, to explain that he’d stayed away for her own good….

Looking back on it, Reid had to admit that it seemed more than a little strange when she asked him to meet her at the park. But what he knew about women you could put in one eye; maybe she thought meeting there would be romantic! Then, when he first saw Cammi, slender shoulders hunched into the wind and dark hair fluttering, his heart thumped so hard he wondered if a man had ever died of longing, ’cause he sure had wanted to make her his own, right then and there!

Had Cammi truly been cold, he wondered now, when she suggested they sit in her car? Or was she simply guaranteeing a quick getaway once she’d delivered her speech?

Reid stopped pacing, stood in the middle of the living room between Martina’s easy chair and Billy’s favorite recliner. He could almost picture them—Martina knitting, Billy working on a fishing lure—chatting amiably about the TV news, ranch business, the weather. They’d always sounded more like lifelong
pals to him than a couple who’d been married more than half their lives.

The Stones had taught him a lot, right here in this room, important life lessons about always giving his all-out best to any job he might tackle, about doing the right thing, even when it hurt. He’d learned something else from them, too—something they might not have realized they’d taught him.

Not
all
marriages are rife with anger and accusation, like his mother’s had been; some—like Martina and Billy’s—were rooted in trust and respect, brimming with warmth and affection. Adversity and strife only strengthened the bonds of their love, and made Reid believe that someday, with the right woman, he, too could have a marriage like that.

The right woman, he believed, was Cammi. Or could have been.

Driving his fingers through his hair, Reid groaned, feeling caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. He wanted a life with Cammi more than he’d ever wanted anything. But he’d never have it. Why? Because one look at him and she would always be reminded of that terrible night….

He slammed a fist into his palm, knowing even as he did so that the fit of temper was pointless. He had no one but himself to blame for the sorry state of his life. If he hadn’t always avoided commitment—and who was he kidding?—hadn’t always avoided
love,
he might already have a wife and kids. If he’d had a family of his own on the night Cammi Carlisle crashed into his life…

That idea only frustrated him more, since Cammi was the only woman he’d ever considered sharing his
life with. Her carefully rehearsed speech had cut deep, hurt worse than anything old Ruthless had done that day in the bullring. He’d spend the rest of his days as a hermit before he’d put himself in the line of fire that way again.

Still…living out the rest of his life alone…

Confused, frustrated, angry, heartbroken… Until Cammi, Reid hadn’t known a man could experience so many emotions, all at the same time!

He stepped onto the porch, hoping a few minutes in the crisp cool air would clear his head, help him come up with a solution for his problem.

And the dilemma, as he saw it, was whether to stay at the Rockin’ C, or leave Amarillo, this time for good. It would be the toughest decision he’d ever make, because the ranch had been the only real home he’d ever known, Billy and Martina the only real family. This was his land now, to do with as he saw fit. Selling it was not an option, not after all the sweat and tears Billy had put into it.

The distant notes of a coyote’s cry pierced the ominous black silence. Instinctively, Reid narrowed his eyes. Every nerve end prickled, every muscle tensed as he scanned the horizon. The critter was out there somewhere, probably perched high atop a mesa and silhouetted by the crescent moon. He had good reason to fear the mangy thief, for coyotes were cunning—costly, too, in the damage they caused to livestock.

But this night, the mournful wail touched something in Reid, a long-forgotten primal chord that rang with the most basic of truths. Over the centuries, man and beast had come to see one another as the enemy. Yet despite eons-long battles over territory, the two
had one thing, at least, in common. The stealthy hunter’s cries were rooted in the most primitive of needs; he yearned for a life mate, for the comfort that is best satisfied by the bonds of companionship. Understanding that, Reid said a quick hopeful prayer that the sad-songed animal would find what it was searching for. “One of us oughta get some happiness in this lifetime,” he said into the wind.

He headed back inside with more questions than answers. Should he re-up with the rodeo? If his shoulder gave out during a hard ride, he’d lose his balance and end up eating dust, end up permanently crippled…or worse.

Or should he stay?

A picture flashed in his mind: Cammi, on the arm of another man.. one who wouldn’t be a constant reminder of a sad and painful part of her past.. smiling and happy with her new life. Nothing a saddle bronc or a bull could do to him would hurt anywhere near as much as that. And sooner or later, that life was bound to happen to her, because if ever a woman was born to be a wife and mother, it was Cammi!

So it was decided, then: Come first light, he’d have a long talk with Hank, best ranch hand Reid ever had the pleasure of working with, bar none. He’d promise a bigger paycheck and permission to move into the house in exchange for acting as overseer of the Rockin’ C. That way, years from now, when time and distance dulled the pain of losing her, Reid would have a place to call home.

Meanwhile, he’d pull the old cab out of the shed and reattach it to the bed of his pickup. Sure, he had
enough money for hotel rooms, but what more did he need than a bedroll for himself and oats for his horse? Till the day came when he could think of Cammi and not want to weep like a child, it would do just fine.

C
ammi couldn’t believe her ears. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”

“I mean, he left here more’n six months ago,” said the man who’d answered Reid’s phone.

She’d asked him for time that night in the park, and as the calendar pages turned, Cammi thanked him in her prayers for giving it to her. She’d made this phone call, hoping against hope that he still felt the way he had the last time she saw him.

“But I—I don’t understand.”

“Sorry, lady. Don’t know what else t’tell you.”

Surely Reid wouldn’t have walked away from the Rockin’ C. Not after what Billy had put into it. “Who’s running the ranch?”

“That’d be me. Name’s Jefford, Hank Jefford.”

Cammi couldn’t bear to ask the question, for fear of the answer. “Reid…sold you the Rockin’ C?”

A dry chuckle filtered into her ear. “No, ma’am. Hired me. I’m the overseer.”

It simply didn’t make sense. No sense at all. “Did he say where he was going?”

“Signed himself up with the rodeo.”

The breath caught in her throat. Hadn’t Martina said Reid’s shoulder injury was severe? Damaged enough that another fall could cause permanent damage…or a fatality? “Why would he do such a thing?”

“Never asked, and he never said.”

Stunned, Cammi couldn’t speak.

“Looked to me like ol’ Reid got his heart broke.”

She swallowed. “What makes you say that?”

“Not just me that says it. Fellers ’round here claim to have seen him with a purty li’l dark-haired gal, and since she ain’t been ’round of late, my guess is she’s the reason he hightailed it out of town.”

Cammi’s heart knocked against her ribs. Had Reid left because she…because she’d broken his heart? But how could that be, she thought, frowning, when they’d only spent a short time together?

Then she remembered the way he’d taken care of her after the miscarriage. Remembered that night in her kitchen, and after the fall near the barn, and those electric-quiet moments in her car when she’d asked him for time….

“Do you have any idea how I might get in touch with him?”

“Well,” Hank drawled, “he moves around a good bit.”

Exasperated, Cammi blurted, “Surely he left a number, or calls from time to time to see how things are going.”
Please, God,
she prayed,
let this man know where I can find Reid!

“He was in Durango last time he checked in. Said somethin’ ’bout movin’ on to Butte.”

Montana? “When?” For all she knew, Reid had already been killed in a fall, or stomped to death by a Brahman.

“Oh, ’bout a month or so ago, I reckon.”

She thanked Hank and hung up, then hid behind her hands. What kind of hideous, horrible woman causes that kind of damage to a man’s ego—and doesn’t even know it! Cammi’s cheeks burned with shame, her heart pounded with guilt. If she’d told Reid the truth that night when he’d taken her face in his hands…if she’d admitted right then how much she loved him…

These past months had changed things, and prayer had answered her questions. She loved Reid, there was no getting around that. She’d wasted so much precious time, sticking her head in the sand to hide from her fears, to hide from the self-imposed guilt at how being with Reid might hurt her family. Now, it was time to face life, head-on.

She’d called the Rockin’ C to explain all this to Reid, to cite her ludicrous reasons for avoiding him, to beg his forgiveness, to tell him how long and hard she’d prayed that he’d at least think about picking up where they left off.

She hadn’t expected to find out he’d given up everything rather than face life without her. The notion humbled Cammi, because she didn’t deserve to be loved that strongly, that deeply, especially not after the immature, self-centered way she’d behaved!

She had to find him—the sooner the better!—and try to make him understand.

But
if
she managed to find him, would he still feel the same way? Or had loneliness made him replace her with one of the willing females who followed the rodeo, hoping to win a trophy of their own?

There was only one way to find out.

Spring break would begin on Monday, so there’d be no need to ask for time off from school.

Retracing Reid’s steps would be easy compared to explaining her plans to her father. Somehow, she had to make Lamont understand that she owed it to Reid to make things right. There was a chance the cowboy would send her packing—but maybe a miracle would happen.

Cammi headed upstairs to throw some things into a suitcase. She packed enough to last a good long while, because she didn’t intend to come back until she’d found Reid and made her peace with him.

God willing, he’d still be healthy enough to hear it.

Bareback riding, Reid thought, standing near the bucking chute, was like trying to ride a twelve-hundred-pound jackhammer, holding on with only one hand.

Sheer strength alone wouldn’t keep him on the horse. He had to spur just enough, turn his toes outward at exactly the right degree, make an educated guess how far down the animal’s shoulders his feet should hang—until those pounding front hooves hit the ground after exploding from the chute. After that, he could only grab tight to the rigging, lean back and take whatever punishment the brute decided to dish out.

Spectators had jam-packed the arena, whooping and hollering as the announcer’s booming baritone echoed through the stands:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to draw your attention to Chute Number Two, where Gold Buckle award-winner Reid Alexander is going for another All-Around win on the back of Malicious, one of the meanest, orneriest, buckin’-est equines on four legs….”

The crowd stood, applauding and whistling in support of their favorite rodeo cowboy. “Get ’im, Reid!” shouted one fan. “Show ’im who’s boss!” bellowed another. Their cheers woke the showman in Reid, and he gave them what they wanted—waving his hat in the air with one hand, throwing a punch with the other.

“The last rodeo cowboy who rode Malicious,”
the announcer continued,
“got himself freight-trained. Let’s hope this animal won’t run over Reid that away in this go-round!”

Privately, Reid hoped the same thing. He’d seen this horse at work—definitely not a scooter, content to pivot without bucking. No such luck! Malicious liked to suck back, changing direction in a split second. He liked to crow-hop, too—jumping stiff-legged that way guaranteed the fans would see daylight between Reid’s rear end and the horse’s back. If that wasn’t bad enough, Malicious was a star gazer, too. Every cowboy knew it spelled disaster, because it was near impossible to keep the slack out of the reins when a horse bucked with its head up that way. Yep, Malicious was a good bucker, all right. If Reid could hold his own here, maybe he really
could
pick up where he’d left off.

He didn’t want to admit, not even to himself, that he was bone-tired, that his shoulder ached almost as much as it had when he’d first left the hospital. But what did he expect, after testing its limits by entering the Keyhole Race, the Straight-Away Barrels, and the Mad Mouse…for starters. Entering the Bareback event in this condition was as good as asking for a stint in the local hospital.

“Better hike up them shotguns,” another cowboy advised.

Nodding, Reid adjusted the belt of his step-in chaps, then tugged at the hems of his leather gloves.

“You reckon ever’thing we hear ’bout this brute is a windy?” the cowboy asked.

No, the tales spun about
this
horse were factual. He’d seen the proof of it with his own eyes. Reid pressed the Stetson tighter onto his head. “I ain’t that lucky,” he said, only half joking.

Chuckling, the cowboy cuffed him on the back. “Ready?”

Reid nodded again, grabbed the wall and threw one leg over. “Ready as I’ll ever—”

“Reid!”

He stopped so fast, the spur on his boot sang a whining, one-note tune as it spun round and round. Cammi? But how could that be, way out here, after all these months?
You’re losin’ it, old man—
he thought as he continued to lever himself above the chute.

“How’d that li’l gal get in here?” the annoyed cowboy asked, as Reid hovered above the snorting, frenzied animal. “Lady, you ain’t allowed down—”

“Reid, don’t do it!”

It was Cammi, all right. But how she got here—and why—were questions he couldn’t afford to ask himself right now. He had to concentrate on the ride…concentrate on the ride…on the ride….

She shoved past the cowboy and peered over the wall. “Why are you doing this, Reid?” she demanded. “Your shoulder! The rodeo can’t be paying you enough to risk—”

He didn’t hear the rest, because down there in the chute it was more obvious than ever how Malicious had come by his name. The horse wheezed and huffed, hard muscles rippling in a desperate bid to get out into the open, to get Reid off his back.

Cammi’s voice echoed in his mind. She sounded scared, real scared, but that didn’t surprise him; a born-and-bred rancher’s daughter had seen enough rodeos to know what he was risking, tackling a horse like this in his condition. Reid wanted to tell her to go home, to quit worrying about his shoulder. But the clock was ticking now. Too late to change his mind, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. Because he hadn’t come back to the rodeo just for the day money.

She’d been so glad to see him that it was all Cammi could do to contain herself. She wanted to scream his name, burst through the crowd of cowboys standing around him, wrap her arms around him and give him a kiss he’d never forget.

He looked so handsome standing there, dusty boot tips poking out from the hem of his flare-bottomed brown chaps. He’d fastened all but the top snap of his green plaid western shirt, and the tails of the white
bandanna wrapped around his throat rested on one shoulder. His biceps bulged as he tugged at worn leather gloves, flexed again as he adjusted the black Stetson so that it shaded his deeply tanned face.

Thank you, God!
she prayed, grateful she’d found him, thankful to see him looking hearty and all in one piece. “Reid!”

It seemed he hadn’t heard her, so she moved closer, called to him again. This time, he locked onto her eyes with that so-green gaze of his. She smiled, waved again, expecting him to look at least slightly happy to see her.

Instead, Reid’s brows drew together in the center of his forehead, one side of his mouth turning down before he returned his attention to the bucking beast in the chute.

Bareback riding was one of the most dangerous events of the rodeo, even for cowboys without injuries. For Reid…

She couldn’t let him do it. Couldn’t understand why he’d
want
to! Cammi shoved past the cowboys assigned to keep the horse under control until the gate opened, and called to him again, demanded to know what he thought he was doing down there.

If he heard her, he gave no sign. Reid clenched his jaw and lowered himself onto the horse’s back, got himself into position.

“Ready?” one cowboy asked. Reid gave a quick nod, and with his knees pressing into the animal’s flanks and nothing to hold on to but the suitcase handle near the animal’s neck, he threw his free hand in the air, gloved forefinger pointing toward the heavens—and gave the signal.

The wooden doors flew open……and Malicious charged forward, bound and determined to get rid of his rider. He was a beautiful animal, charcoal gray with a long black tail and a sleek black mane. He was grace and power personified, with glistening muscles that strained with every kick, twisting and turning with eyeblink speed.

The next seconds ticked by in a blur, a flurry of rib-racking noise and heart-pounding danger. She squinted through the fog of dust churned up by the horse’s hooves, praying Reid would make it safely through this event.

“Uh-oh,”
the announcer yelled through the P.A. system,
“looks like Malicious is provin’ how he got his name, again. Our boy Reid is down.”

Cammi scrambled past the cowboys and rodeo clowns, past the on-call doctor, and knelt in the dirt beside him. “Reid,” she said, cradling his head in her lap. Blood oozed from a deep gash in his forehead, and his left leg lay twisted at an odd angle.

He looked into her face and smiled slightly, opened his bloodied lips and tried to say something before pain made him squeeze his eyes shut.

“Shh,” Cammi said, smoothing the hair back from his brow. “Just rest easy, ’cause the ambulance is on its way.”

“Doesn’t look good,” she heard the doctor tell one of the barrel men. “Better have the announcer get something else going until we can get him off the field.”

Please, God…
she prayed, blinking back stinging tears.
Watch over him. Keep him safe. Let him be all right!

The E.R. docs had rushed Reid straight to surgery, where he spent the next six hours. Two hours later, they wheeled him from recovery and assigned him a room on the fifth floor. Cammi spent the night curled up in the high-backed vinyl chair beside his hospital bed, waking every time he so much as flinched.

Warm sunshine, slanting through the narrow opening in the curtains, crossed the room like a buttery yardstick, measuring the distance from the window to where she dozed. Opening one eye, she yawned and stretched.

“How long have you been there?”

The suddenness of Reid’s craggy voice startled her. Both palms pressed to her chest, she smiled. “You’re awake!” Inching closer, she leaned on the mattress and gently took his bandaged hand in hers. “How’re you feeling? Thirsty?” Grabbing the drinking glass from the nightstand, she held the bendable straw to his lips.

His eyes never left hers as he sipped. When he’d had his fill, Reid turned away. “How long have you been here?” he asked without looking at her.

“Oh,” she said, smoothing his covers, “awhile.”

“All night?”

She shrugged. “So what if I was?”

A raspy sigh hissed from him. “Go home, Cammi.”

He sounded tired, sad, defeated all at the same time. Just the aftereffects of hours in the operating room, she thought. Just the pain medications. “I’m not going home or anywhere else until I know you’re all right.” And she meant it, too.