Page 50 of The Cowboy Comes Home

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Tucker said wryly as Jackson headed out to go back to his main job today, being the face ofThorpe’s Therapy Horses.

He unfastened the lead, and barely had time to step back before the black and white horse exploded into a run, circling the corral full tilt. The flash of movement, the head tossing and snorting, drew the attention of some, and he decided he’d just walk the fence line to make sure everyone stayed clear. He knew Jackson and the Baylors had been discussing housing the touchy critter at the main barn at their place rather than here where there were so often so many kids around. But they hadn’t made the move yet since right now there was enough downtime to deal with him when there were no visitors. The wayThorpe’s Therapy Horseswas growing, though, that might not last much longer.

He watched the flashy horse trotting—in his mind it was strutting—along the fence line, and had to hustle to stay between the animal intrigued by all the people and those people. But after a while it was making him laugh, because it had become like a game of tag as the horse tried to get past him.

It was the laughing that undid him. It made him miss a last-second swerve and a head-butt that caught him right in the ribs. The worst place, for him. The titanium reinforcements held, but the blow still distracted him enough that he went down on one knee, fighting off memories of when a hit like that would have made him dizzy with pain. Memories of the time a hit like that from an even crankier animal had nearly killed him.

He thought he heard someone call his name, loudly, as if scared. But that was blasted out of his head when a black, furry rocket went by him, growling fiercely. Splatter danced away, startled. Tucker shook his head and tried for enough breath to get to his feet.

Lobo. It had been Lobo, who now had the horse backed up against the fence, watching him warily. Every time the horse tried to move, so did the dog.Shepherd, he thought. German shepherds might be thought of as military or police dogs, but their history was still as shepherds.

Another motion caught the corner of his eye and he looked in time to see Emily vaulting gracefully over the top rail. It had been her, he realized belatedly. She’d been the one to yell his name. Now he stood up in a hurry, rather abstractedly noticing that at least he could.

And then she was there, her hands on his upper arms, squeezing gently, as her golden eyes scanned him as if looking for blood.

“Are you all right?”

She sounded so anxious it made his throat tighten. “Fine,” he managed to get out. “He just cut back when I didn’t expect it.”

She was still holding onto him. He didn’t move, afraid if he did, she’d realize it and let go.

And he didn’t want her to let go.

“I was afraid…where he hit you…”

He let out what had been supposed to be a chuckle but sounded to him more like a gasp for breath. “Yeah. That’s the spot. That’s why I froze. I think I was expecting the pain. But it held. The scaffolding, I mean.”

Her head tilted slightly. “Scaffolding?”

His mouth twisted wryly. “That’s what the surgeon called it. All the titanium plates. For the ribs. In a ‘flail chest’ injury.”

He was sounding ridiculous, talking in short, choppy sentences, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate when she was holding onto him like that. But neither did he want her to let go. He spared a fraction of a second to make sure horse and dog had reached a balance of power, but looked back at her quickly once he was sure bloodshed wasn’t imminent.

“But it still must have hurt horribly, when his head hit you there.”

“Not so much.” He managed a better smile this time. “When they did the surgery, they also froze some of the nerves under the ribs. Cut way down on the pain, afterward.”

She studied him for a moment. Then she smiled, and only then did he see just how worried her expression had been. And that hit someplace so deeply buried inside him he wasn’t sure he’d ever known it was there. But then she let go of him and took a step back, looking him up and down as he contemplated how much he missed just that simple touch.

“So, you’re a walking medical miracle, then,” she said, her smile even wider.

“I’m walking, anyway,” he answered, barely realizing he was smiling back. “But those doctors were good. Really good. I could have ended up on a ventilator, and in rehab for months, maybe years, if they hadn’t gone the way they did.”

“You ever go back and visit them?” she asked.

“I did, a couple of times. To thank them. And to do a PR piece for the hospital once.”

“That must have felt good.”

“Visited a patient in the kids’ ward,” he said, remembering for the first time in a while. “He wanted to be a bull rider.” His mouth quirked. “Not sure if I talked him out of it or into it.”

“I’ll bet you convinced him he could recover. If you could after that…”

“Maybe.”

“It must have been hard to go back there, though. After all the procedures you went through, and all the pain. It had to be awful for you. It makes me feel horrible just thinking about it.”

Something in the way she was looking at him, or maybe something in her tone of voice made him frown. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he didn’t like it. He searched for a distraction from the feeling.

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