Page 22 of Drunk Dialing

To her credit, she didn’t argue, she just nodded. “Have a seat. As soon as I know something, I’ll come get you. What’s your name?”

That was a question he could answer. “Treat Halloran.”

“Do you have his information?” she asked, and he nodded.

“I do.”

“Cool, as soon as I know anything, I’ll have the nurse come get you, and then you can help with the paperwork. You’re his?”

“Fiancé.” Whether or not Jake knew it, it was true. He’d already promised the good Lord. “He was riding at the rodeo, got thrown from a bull.”

“Okay, cool. A bull? Really?” She shook her head at his nod, her eyes rolling in between the winged black eyeliner and the huge fake eyelashes. It was like looking at a spider. “He knows that this is not good for him, right? Because, Lord, I don’t know that I’d let my guy do that.”

“I’m taking him home to the ranch. We’re gonna be fine.” Dammit, they were.

“Do y’all got a place close?” she asked.

“Colorado.” Texas didn’t love a gay cowboy.

“Whoa.” Her eyes went wide. “What on earth are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I came to watch him ride. He’s fixing to retire.”

“Oh, well I guess that’s fair…” Someone in line cleared their throat, and she rolled her eyes again. Somewhere in the back of his head he could hear his momma saying, You roll those eyes at me, I’ll pick them up and roll them back. “Anyways, have a seat. Um, there’s vending machines down the hall, coffee’s in that little cubby thing over there. Or you can go down to the cafeteria, but I’d wait until you talk to the nurse before you do that.”

“Fair enough. Thanks, honey. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.” She called up the next person in line, and he moved to a chair away from most of the others, not wanting to hook up with all the germs of a hundred of his closest San Antonio friends.

God, he hated hospitals.

He hated waiting.

He hated that Jake was hurt and that he couldn’t fix it.

Wasn’t even as if Jake had done anything wrong. It wasn’t as if he could go in there, stomp and holler and go Goddammit, why didn’t you do X or Y or even Z? Jake was a cowboy. Accidents happened.

Hell, he’d seen some miserable ones happen at the ranch, at the roping pen, at auction. Anytime that someone was dealing with two-thousand-pound animals that had a will of their own, shit happened. He just didn’t want it to happen to his guy.

For fuck’s sake, he’d just gotten Jake back. The son of a bitch was the best damn Valentine’s present he was ever going to get, and he knew it. He’d driven down here through eighty percent of Texas to get Jake back, and he’d be damned if he didn’t do it.

Treat closed his eyes, forcing himself to just breathe. In and out. Nice and slow.

Jake was going to be fine. As soon as they got out of this hospital, Treat was going to take—Oh, he could call somebody from the ranch down.

His foreman answered on the first ring. “Hey, Boss. What’s up?”

“Jake’s hurt. We’re in the hospital.”

“Dammit.”

“Yeah.” God help him, he was so tied up inside. “Listen, do me a solid. Send an extra guy down to drive Jake’s truck to the ranch while you’re bringing the livestock home.”

“Not a problem. I’ve got them building a pen for the little critters. I’ll send them down in the morning. They’ll be there ready to load cattle Monday morning.”

He found himself nodding. “Good deal.”

“I’ll pray for your man, boss.”

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