Page 46 of Wilder Heart

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that, because I don’t think that’s true.”

Wilder sighed, turning his gaze out the window. “I… I’d appreciate it if you’d update him about what the doctor said.”

Cash nodded sagely. “I will do that. And then I’ll bring you something from the kitchen for dinner.”

“I have crutches. I can get it myself.”

“No, I want you to take those pills they said would make you sleepy, and after you eat, go right to bed.”

Wilder smiled faintly. “You don’t have to mother me, Cash.”

“I’m notmotheringyou, Wilder, I’mcaringabout you. That’s what this feels like.” He meant it as a joke, but he realized his error when a bleak look crossed Wilder’s face. He didn’t know what it felt like to be cared about like this.

Thankfully, his expression changed quickly to something soft and warm. “Fine,” he agreed, “you big sap. Would you like to tuck me in, too?”

“Of course,” Cash responded matter-of-factly. “Promise to keep that leg straight and still and I’ll even suck you off when I do.”

Wilder barked out a laugh, throwing his head back with it. “If I didn’t think you’d pull over and strangle me, I’d make a joke about needing to be thrown from a horse more often if it gets me this kind of treatment.”

“I promise I’ll treat you this way all the time if youneverget thrown from a horse again. My heart can’t take the stress.”

“I’m not sure I can promise that. But I’ll do my best not to need any more hospital trips.” He ducked his head, plucking at the velcro of the leg wrap.

“That’d be nice.”

By the time they got back to Blackwood Ranch, Wilder had drained his coffee and set the empty cardboard cup aside. Contentment radiated from him, despite his injury. The sunlight was fading when they arrived, silhouetting the house, and all the ranch hands’ horses were gathered in the paddock, including Blaze. Wilder gave him a long, lingering look as the truck passed the fence. Cash promised himself that he would go and take a look at the horse before he turned in for the night.

He stopped the truck in front of Wilder’s room and turned off the engine. Before Wilder could get out of the passenger seat, Cash was there, taking his weight and helping him out. He grabbed Wilder’s crutches from the backseat and handed them to him, hovering at Wilder’s side as he made his way to the door.

“Before I go and speak to Lain,” Cash said, “I wanted to ask if you had any idea what happened to the saddle before you fell.”

Wilder sat down on the bed and laid his crutches on the mattress beside him. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I was pissed at Billy. I wasn’t paying much attention when I got on Blaze. I can’t even remember if I checked the saddle before I mounted.”

Cash took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Did you notice any problems with the saddle before lunch?”

“No, not at all. That’s why I’m even more mad at myself for not stopping to check itafterlunch.”

Cash’s heart squeezed for him. “You might not have seen anything wrong with it.”

“I know, but I should’ve checked.”

Cash sighed quietly. It was true, he should have. It was riding protocol to check the saddle and bridle before mounting a horse. Wilder certainly should have checked them before mounting Blaze after lunch. It was obvious in the slump of Wilder’s shoulders that he blamed himself for what happened. And he wasn’t alone, because Cash blamed himself, too. As the foreman of the ranch, he should have put a stop to Wilder and Billy’s argument before it got so heated. He should have reached out and stopped Wilder before he jumped on Blaze and rode off. He wouldn’t have let any other ranch hand get away with that, and his judgment had been compromised because of the tension between Lain and Wilder—and his own feelings for Wilder.

He took a breath to say as much when a knock on the door interrupted them. He blew the air back out as he turned around and opened the door.

Clyde offered him a tight smile. “Saw you boys pull up, thought I’d bring Wilder something to eat so he didn’t have to walk to the kitchen.” He passed a brown paper bag to Cash, who took it with a smile.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Wilder said from the bed.

Clyde shrugged one shoulder. “No big deal. I was in the kitchen anyway. How’s the leg?”

“It’s fine,” Wilder said stubbornly, despite the medical wrap and crutches indicating that it was obviouslynotfine.

Clyde looked at Cash for the truth, and Wilder huffed.

“He tore a ligament. His… MCL, I think? Doc said he’ll be down for four to six weeks.”

Clyde grimaced sympathetically. “Tough break, but it could’ve been a lot worse.”

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