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“You can’t go back there, ma’am.” It was the nurse Will had just mentioned. “The doctor said—”
“I don’t care what he said! Get out of my way!” The door swung open and Tori burst into the room. Dressed in her black court suit with a fuchsia-pink silk blouse, she was wind-tousled and out of breath, as if she’d crossed the parking lot at a dead run in her high stilettos.
The sight of Will stopped her in her tracks. “Oh, good Lord,” she breathed.
Will managed a grin. “Tori, honey,” he drawled. “You look like a chocolate-dipped strawberry. Sorry I can’t get up and take a nibble.”
She glanced sharply at Beau. “Is he drunk?”
“It’s the pain meds,” Beau said.
Bunching her fists on her slender hips, she glowered at her ex-husband. “You should’ve been more careful, Will Tyler!” she snapped. “How could you have let this happen?”
“You could ask the snake, but he’s blown to bloody . . . bits.” Will grimaced, unable to keep up the pretense that he wasn’t in excruciating pain.
Tori, Beau noticed, was trembling on her high heels. Glancing around the tiny room, he spotted a folding chair and set it up next to the bed. As she moved past him to sit, he glimpsed tears in her eyes.
What happened between these two people who still clearly love each other?
“Does Erin know?” Will asked.
“Only the little I was able to tell her. She’s sleeping over with a friend tonight. But I know she’s worried about you.”
“She mustn’t come. It’d only upset her. Just tell her I’m doing fine.”
“Are you doing fine, Will?” Her hand crept across the sheet to rest on his.
Something glimmered in one swollen eye. “Don’t worry your pretty head about me, girl. I’m too mean and ugly to die.” His gaze shifted to Beau, who stood in the doorway. “Get going, man. I’m here with a beautiful woman, and you’ve got a ranch to run.”
Beau headed back to the waiting room, reassured that Will was in good hands. Tori would keep an eye on him, and heaven help anybody who tried to remove her from his bedside before she was ready to leave.
To Beau’s surprise, the sheriff was still there, over by the coffeepot in the alcove. “I didn’t expect you to still be here, Sheriff.”
“I was just getting me a cup for the road.” He popped a lid onto a cup. “How’s the patient?”
“Well enough to give orders. Tori’s with him.”
The sheriff nodded. “Yeah, I saw her come flying through and charge on back.”
“I need to head back to the ranch. Any chance I can ride that far with you?”
“I don’t see why not. You’re a fellow man of the law,” he replied with a shrug.
“I appreciate it. I’m ready if you are.”
“Let’s go.” The sheriff headed for the exit, cup in hand.
Sky scanned the rugged canyon pastureland, his gaze lingering on the mesquite thickets where cattle might still be hiding. Most people thought cows were dumb, and maybe they were in the ways humans measured intelligence. But long ago their ancestors had been wild, and the old survival instincts were still there, buried deep in their genes. They were smart enough to hide, and to hide well.
The roundup was organized to cover one section of the ranch at a time. When the hands finished clearing the cattle out of an area, they moved, along with everything they needed, to the next site. This lower pasture, on the border of the ranch, was one of the larger sections. It was a grueling place to work cows because of the brush, which would need to be chained and burned over the summer while the cattle were gone.
Now, after three days, the work here was almost finished. One more sweep to gather any loose animals and the branding fire would be doused, the equipment loaded onto trucks, and the whole operation moved to a new spot.
It was the custom to change horses after lunch. Sky had chosen a sturdy buckskin from his string in the remuda. With the cowhands mounted once more, he directed them to spread along the outer boundaries of the pasture and work their way toward the center, driving the last of the cattle ahead of them. He and Lute would check the bog at the lowest corner. Calves had been known to wander into the morass of reeds and cattails and get mired in the sucking mud.
Motioning for Lute to follow, he nudged the horse to an easy trot. Lute had been slacking all day. Any other new hire would have been shown the gate, but Sky wanted to give the boy the same chance he’d been given. He remembered how he’d wandered onto the Rimrock Ranch years ago, young and scared and hungry, and how Bull Tyler had taken him in and given him work. This ranch could be Lute’s one chance to make a decent future for himself.
Lute was family, more like a kid brother than a cousin. Sky barely remembered his own mother, who had died when he was three, and the nameless white man who’d fathered him was long gone. If his mother’s brother hadn’t given him a home, he’d have ended up a ward of the state.
