than to spend your time gritting your teeth in a futile attempt to will yourself well. Take these as prescribed, properly tend to your scrapes and abrasions, drink at least eight glasses of water a day to keep your system flushed and, while you must do some walking to keep your muscles toned and supple, you also should rest as much as possible. Finally, of course, be sure to make that appointment with Dr. Upton.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Maddie said softly. She was only going to follow some of this pleasant woman’s advice, and she truly hated deceiving her. But she had no choice. It wasn’t as though she was going home to a family that would cook her food and pamper her, after all; she was all she had in Texas. When she got hungry, she’d have to order in or cook. Thank God for cell phones, she thought, because it would be her one connection with the world beyond her trailer, once she got there.
In truth, she couldn’t even pamper herself when she got home. At least, she couldn’t until she checked on Fanny. Maddie didn’t dare let herself wonder if she could manage to do what needed doing because there simply was no one to do it for her. She had to take care of Fanny, and she had to take care of herself. Last but far from least, she had to drive fifteen hundred miles.
Thinking of that long, long drive caused Maddie’s breath to stop in her throat, but only for a second. The pain pill was beginning to work its magic, and along with the sharp edges of her physical anguish floating away, she felt light-headed and much less stressed. She listened to the nurse repeat instructions about applying antibiotic ointment to her abrasions—apparently a crucial step in the healing process—and then talk about tub baths versus showers, and how Maddie mustn’t let her soft cast get wet whichever way she bathed.
By the time the woman left, Maddie was pain-free and woozy. She closed her eyes and dozed off thinking of Montana and home. It was where she truly wanted to be, and it would happen. She would make it happen, the same way she had made everything else that was good and productive in her life happen since she’d been old enough to understand that a teenage marriage, babies and tying herself to Whitehorn, Montana, would, at the very least, stifle the best part of her. At fifteen she’d won her first rodeo-queen crown and barrel-racing trophy. It had been a small local event, but it had been big for her, big enough that she’d felt refreshingly reborn, and the new Maddie Kincaid was determined to make a splash in the world of rodeo. Shortly after that contest she had acquired Fanny, and all of her spare time had gone into working with the young mare. Now, years later and drifting off with loving thoughts of Fanny, Maddie decided, without too much concern, that Mark might yell at her for driving home instead of flying, but Fanny went where she did, and in the end he would be glad to see her.
She was sleeping soundly when a cheerful young male aide with a wheelchair sailed into the room and said, “Wake up, princess. It’s time to move out.”
Maddie opened her eyes. “Wha-what?”
The young man grinned. “Don’t you want to go home?”
“Yes…yes, of course. But my clothes…I haven’t gotten dressed.”
“You are one of the privileged few who get to go home in a hospital gown, robe and slippers.” The young man sobered some. “Your clothes were pretty much ruined in the accident, Maddie, but even if they weren’t, you couldn’t be pulling close-fitting garments over your—” he grinned again and said “—ouchies.”
Maddie appreciated his sense of humor and smiled. “You’re right. My ouchies would scream bloody murder if I put on something tight.”
The aide went to the closet and took out a bag. “Everything you had on is in this bag.”
“Great. I’m sure my boots are still all right.”
“Probably are.” A nurse came in and helped Maddie into the robe and slippers she would wear home. Together then, they assisted Maddie from the bed to the wheelchair. The aide carried two bags while he pushed the chair, the one with Maddie’s clothes and another containing her prescriptions, and she held her purse on her lap with her uninjured left hand.
The upbeat young man told jokes and talked incessantly during the trip from Maddie’s room to the hospital’s front door. A taxi was waiting, and in about one minute Maddie found herself on the backseat of the cab with her baggage beside her and saying “Thanks” and “Goodbye” to the aide.
“Where to, miss?” the driver asked.
Maddie told him the rodeo grounds, which was where both her trailer and truck were parked, although in different locations. “One more problem to deal with,” she said under her breath, which was the God’s truth. Certainly she couldn’t have the taxi driver drop her off at the site of her truck, because she could just barely focus her eyes and didn’t dare attempt to drive it anywhere.
Then there was Fanny, who Maddie absolutely had to see with her own eyes the minute she got to the rodeo grounds. The stables were about a mile from where her trailer was parked—another problem. She tried to work it out systematically, attempting to picture the triangle of trailer, truck and stables in her brain, which seemed to be stuffed with cotton candy and thus wasn’t working very well.
She was lucid enough, however, when they arrived at the rodeo grounds, to realize that she couldn’t wander around in a nightgown and bathrobe. Not with hundreds of vehicles parked in the lot and the huge reader board above the whole affair stating in bold letters that there was a meet of the Young Equestrians of Texas going on.
Another hit, damn it! “My trailer is way over there to the right,” she said to the driver. “It’s over thirty feet long and white. Do you see it?”
“Yeah, I see it,” he told her, and turned the cab in that direction.
Then, quite unexpectedly, a surge of relief relaxed Maddie’s tension, because even with her stuffy brain she suddenly knew how to proceed. When the cab stopped next to her trailer, she laid out her plan for the driver. He agreed, and she got out—moving slower than molasses, she thought, feeling impatience with her own infirmities—unlocked the door of her trailer and managed to climb the two steps to get inside.
It was far from a mansion, but it felt good to Maddie to be in her own special little place, and she wished that all she had to do right now were to crawl into her familiar and comfortable bed. Instead she entered the tiny bedroom, shed her hospital clothes as fast as she could manage and then stood before her closet and wondered what to put on. A dozen pair of jeans hung neatly on hangers, her favored apparel, but she also had some slacks and skirts.
“Something loose,” Maddie mumbled, and reached for a long, flowered skirt. But then she spied something better—a cream-colored cotton dress that flowed softly from shoulder seams to hem line.
Getting dressed wasn’t easy, but she finally was ready to leave again. Taking only her purse, she carefully exited her trailer and got back into the cab.
“Thanks,” she said to the driver. “My truck is parked near the stadium, the second row, middle section, I believe. I’ll direct you.”
They found her truck amongst the many parked vehicles without too much trouble, but Maddie made no attempt to get out. All she’d wanted was to make sure it was still there, and it was. She was satisfied.
“You’ve got some things on the windshield,” the cab driver told her. “Held down by the windshield wiper. Want me to get ’em.”
“Would you please?”
The driver returned with two pieces of paper, one warning her to
