Page 2 of High Water

“I’m not leaving here without you. You need medical attention, Bishop. Whatever that cougar did, you can’t stay out here like this. You can ride, and I’ll walk. I’ll get you back and get you help.”

“I don’t need your help. Go!” He’s clearly getting irritated with me, and he tries to walk away, using the wall for support.

“I’m not leaving. You’re not listening to me!” I’m frustrated that I even have to argue this. He’s as bad as my brothers when they get stubborn. “You’re getting on that horse.”

“I’m not letting you walk while I ride when there’s a fucking monster out here.”

“Fine. Then we’ll both ride. You can hold on to me while I get us back.”

“The horse can’t take both of us.”

“I’ve got Sassy. She’s big. She can handle getting us back to the ranch. It’s an emergency.”

“It’s not an emergency. I’m fine.”

“You’re very clearly not fine, Bishop. I’m not arguing anymore. I’m telling. You’re getting on the horse if I have to knock you unconscious and drag you there myself. If I get attacked by a cougar while I’m doing that, then so be it. You’ll have that on your conscience for being an ass and not listening.” I can’t believe I’m talking to him like this. Bishop usually intimidates the hell out of me. Nothing about our disparity in upbringing or temperament makes me any less timid in the face of my crush. But I’m not about to let my brother’s best friend die out here in an abandoned homestead over his stubborn pride at not wanting to be helped by a girl, let alone me.

“Jesus Christ, you’re stubborn as fuck. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Every single day. Now let’s go. You can use my shoulder to lean on. We’ll get you out of here.”

He scowls at me, but he takes my shoulder for support and lets me help him to the door.

When we make it back to the ranch, he refuses to go close to the house, insisting I take him around the back to the bunkhouse.

“I can get cleaned up there.”

“You need more than cleaned up. You need a first aid kit, maybe a doctor.”

“I don’t want Levi or anyone else to see me like this.” He’s stubborn, and I relent for the sake of his already-injured pride.

“Fine. I’ll drop you out at the bunkhouse. But I’m getting one of the guys to come look at you. I think you need to go to the emergency room.”

“I don’t need to go anywhere near the emergency room. They’ll ask questions I’m not gonna answer. I just need some soap and water. I’ll be fine in a couple of days. It looks worse than it is,” he insists.

But when he gets off the horse, I see him grimace. His jaw clenches as the drop to his feet jars his body. His hand presses to his chest, and he struggles to take a deep breath, barely managing to get any air in before he winces. I’m sure his ribs are broken.

“Bishop, please. It hurts just looking at you. Let me have someone come see.”

Instead of answering, he hobbles his way toward the bunkhouse, leaving me behind to take care of Sassy. I make quick work of it, getting her set before I take off, hurrying after him. I’m half afraid he’ll run away again, not that he could get anywhere fast.

I hear the sound of the water running in the bunkhouse bathroom, and I ease around the corner, half afraid to interrupt his privacy. But he’s standing just inside the open door, looking himself over in the mirror. He’s a terrible sight in his current state. He has a swollen left eye and a giant cut over the other that looks like it needs stitches. His back is bruised, and the largest of them reaches around to the front of his chest. I wince as I get closer and see the deep purple color. His lip is even more swollen than I initially thought, and my heart hurts when I pause to look at his face.

“What are you doing?” he snaps when his eyes find mine in the mirror.

“There are some first aid supplies in the cabinet in here. I was gonna get them for you.” I tear my eyes away from his to sneak around the corner, opening the small cabinet and rooting through the spread of gauze, tape, and alcohol wipes. Cattle wrangling is a tough business, and even if the guys who sleep out here show off their injuries like trophies, opting to slam down another shot of whiskey than go to the doctor, my mom always keeps this cabinet full.

“I told you I’m fine. I just need to take a shower.”

“Let me at least clean up that eye. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“It’s already been long enough.”

“Bishop, please… I know you’re hurting, but I can’t see all this and not do something.” I plead with him, and his shoulders fall the slightest bit. He relents—silently and still scowling like I’m ruining his life, but I’ll take whatever small victories I can get today.

“Turn around and look at me.” I dab the alcohol onto the gauze and swipe gently at the wound. He winces, growling and grumbling under his breath at the burn. “Did the cougar do this?”

“No. I locked myself up in the house to get away from it.”