rode up.
“Yes, I think so. I fell off my horse.”
Zach snorted. Got bucked off, more likely. He dismounted and stood beside her. “Want a hand?”
“Yes, thank—” She started to reach up and gave a yelp of pain. “My arm hurts! And my shoulder.”
He knelt at her elbow. “Probably bruised it. Let me see.” He rolled back her shirt-sleeve to see if her arm was broken.
“Just sprained.” But when he touched her shoulder she cried out again.
“That hurt?”
“It most certainly does hurt,” she said through clenched teeth. “And I can’t move my arm.”
Oh, hell.
“Okay, let’s get you back on your horse.”
She sucked in a breath. “I—I don’t think I can ride. I’m right-handed and I won’t be able to hold the reins.”
“Gotta get you on your feet,” he said in a resigned tone. “You hold on to your hurt arm with your left hand.” He slid his hands around her waist and lifted her upright. “Ouch!” she cried. “That hurts!”
He walked the roan over and lifted her into the saddle as carefully as he could while she grabbed her injured arm and gave little groans of distress. Then he had to pry her left hand away from her right arm, which she was clutching, and lay the reins in her hand.
“Wait! I told you I’m right-handed, so how—”
“Any good cowhand can ride with the reins in either hand. So do it. And don’t jerk on the lines. Tossing you out of the saddle is the horse’s way of telling you that you’re not doing it right.”
“Oh.” Her voice sounded funny. “All right, I’ll try.”
Good girl. She might be green, but she had guts.
She urged the horse forward, and after the animal took a few halting steps, Zach strode over to where he’d left Dancer and hauled himself into the saddle. It was going to be a long, achy day for her. Part of him felt okay about that. Might teach her a lesson. The rest of him felt halfway sorry for her. He’d bruised a few shoulders in his time. Hurt like hell.
Hours later they came upon the chuck wagon and Cherry’s remuda on a rise overlooking a long valley. The herd plodded to a halt and the hands began turning their horses over to Cherry and washing up for supper. Almost against his will, Zach kept his eye on Dusty.
Curly lifted her out of the saddle, and she moved very slowly toward the wash bucket. Roberto stopped her.
“Señorita Alex, let me fix your arm.”
She followed him to the chuck wagon, where he pulled a clean dishtowel from one of his drawers and expertly fashioned it into a sling. Then he pressed the bottle of liniment into her hand.
“Tonight you must use this again. Make better.”
“Thank you, Roberto. I’m sorry I won’t be able to help you wash up the plates tonight.”
“No problema, señorita. I get José to help.” He spooned a big dollop of beans onto a tin plate and added a chunk of corn bread, then folded her left hand around the edge.
Zach watched her thank the old man again and settle herself on a log by the fire pit. The hands dug into their suppers, and Zach took his plate and a fork and went to stand outside the circle of firelight.
But Dusty just sat there, staring down at her plate.
Roberto noticed. “What is wrong, Señorita Alex? No hungry for my chili beans?”
“I...I can’t eat with my left hand. I can’t control the fork.”
The cook frowned. “I give you a spoon, okay?”
But after she dribbled beans down the front of her shirt it was clear she couldn’t manage the spoon, either.
Suddenly Zach couldn’t stand it one more minute. “Move over,” he ordered, settling himself next to her. He grabbed her spoon and loaded it up with beans. “You’re a lot of trouble, you know that? Open your mouth.”
Obediently she did so, and he shoveled some beans past her lips. She swallowed them down and looked up at him.
“Thank you, Zach.”
He gritted his teeth, broke off a bit of the corn bread and motioned for her to open her mouth again.
“Just like feeding a baby bird,” he muttered when the corn bread disappeared. Then he wished he hadn’t said it because her cheeks got pink, and when she glanced up there was real pain in her eyes.
Blue eyes, he noted again. Dark blue, like the morning glories Alice grew on the Rocking K porch trellis.
He bit his lip and loaded up her spoon again.
The day started out like all the others, but after breakfast Cherry told Zach the remuda was worrying him. “Been awful hot and dry the last few days, boss. Mebbe they smell somethin’ on the wind.”
Zach patted the old man’s shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, Cherry. Maybe they’re just thirsty.” He reined away and rode toward the herd. He’d assigned Dusty to ride drag, and he sure didn’t envy her on a scorcher like today. But the damn little fool insisted she wanted to do “her fair share” of the work just like the other hands, so he gave in. Riding drag might teach her a lesson.
Still, he’d keep an eye on her. And he might as well start now. There she was, twenty yards in back of the lumbering herd, the blue bandanna he’d given her pulled up over her nose and mouth, trotting along and yipping like any seasoned cowhand. Guess her arm felt better.
He fell in beside her horse without speaking, and she gave him the barest of nods to acknowledge his presence. It was so hot and still she probably didn’t have the energy to talk, so she didn’t. She wasn’t quiet that often, and he had to smile.
They rode in silence for a mile or so and then she glanced up to the sky. “Oh, look, we’re in for a thunderstorm!” She pointed at a huge cloud that was moving toward them. It looked dark and menacing, and it had an odd yellow-brown tinge to it.
Oh, my God. He wheeled his horse forward toward the herd.
“Skip! Cherry!” By the time he clattered up, the hands were already staring at the cloud overhead.
“Turn the herd,” Zach yelled. “Get them down. Hurry!” He pointed at the cloud bearing down on them, and they jolted into action, spurring hard to round up the steers.
He couldn’t leave Dusty alone back there, so he turned and kicked his mount into a gallop.
“What’s wrong?” she shouted when he reached her. “Is a thunderstorm coming?”
