Still holding the reins, I knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”
She gave a thumbs-up, and I realized she was holding her breath.
“Amy?”
Her lips parted, and she slowly exhaled. “I’m fine.” She opened her eyes. “Just knocked the wind out of me.” She spat in the dirt, and when she wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, the thin smear of red sent a chill down my spine.
“Oh shit,” I said. “Are you—”
“It’s okay.” She spat again. “Just bit my tongue.”
Blue tugged on the reins, so I stood and petted him to keep him calm while Amy was on the ground.
“How bad do you hurt?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Feeling pretty spectacular anywhere I hit metal or dirt, if that helps.”
“You know what I mean. Anything that needs attention?”
“Nothing serious.” She extended her hand and beckoned like she wanted me to help her up. “I can walk it off.”
“You sure?”
She beckoned again.
I extended my hand, and we clasped our hands around each other’s forearms. Even when she was on her feet, I didn’t let go right away, not until I was sure she was steady. This was one of the few times touching her didn’t rouse any kind of response in me beyond just making sure she was all right. I knew all too well how easily a fall like that could do some serious damage. My heart pounded, and my stomach twisted. God, if she got hurt because of my horse…
“I’m okay,” she said in a half-strangled voice. “I’m fine.” I let her go, cool relief rushing through my veins and slowly bringing my heart rate down. She kept one arm close to her side, brushing dirt off her clothes with the other hand. Moving slowly, she bent to pick up her baseball cap, and after she’d shaken some dirt out of her hair, she put the hat back on. While I held Blue’s reins and made sure he was quieted down, Amy walked around the round pen. She obviously didn’t want to limp, but her gait faltered every time she put weight on her right leg.
“How bad is it?” I asked. “Your leg?”
She made even more effort to hide the limp. “Probably a lot better than it’s gonna be in a few hours.”
“Meaning?”
She glanced at me, smirking. “I’m fine, Dr. Worry Wart. Nothing’s broken, and nothing’s bleeding.”
“I’m just making sure.”
“Relax.” She gingerly bent and straightened her arm, the bill of her hat not quite hiding the way she winced with every motion.
About the time I was going to suggest she sit for a little while, she squared her shoulders and looked me in the eye.
“Ready to try again?”
I blinked. “Maybe we should call it—”
“I’m fine, Dustin,” she said. “I want to try again.”
“With as sore as you obviously are?”
“I’ll be a lot sorer later. Might as well give it a go now while I can still move.”
I eyed her, then chuckled and shook my head. “Tough girl, eh?”
I am so glad you’re okay.
“Remind me never to get in a bar brawl with you.”
She laughed. “Smart man.”
Between Amy’s mild but sore injuries, and Blue’s agitation, we decided to call it a day and give him a few days before we tried again. We put him away, and then went up to my side of the duplex so she could recuperate a little.
Amy reclined against a stack of cushions, and I handed her an ice pack over the back of the couch.
“Thanks.” She gingerly pressed it against her elbow.
“You just needed one more, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah. For my leg. Everything else is fine.”
“You sure?” I pulled another ice pack out of the freezer. “I’ve got plenty more if you need them.”
“I’m fine, I promise.” She eyed me over the back of the couch as I closed the freezer door. “It’s just a few bumps and bruises.”
“Yeah, but that last fall…”
“I’ve had worse. Trust me.”
“Still…” I wrapped a towel around the second pack. “Any swelling or anything?”
She lifted the icepack and looked at her elbow. “It’s a little puffy. To be expected, I think.” Wincing, she pressed the ice against it again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to have it looked at?” I handed her the pack. “Just to be on the safe side?”
“I’m fine.” She grinned. “How far do you think I’d get in this business if I was a delicate fucking flower?”
I laughed. “Okay, but even a tough girl’s bones can crack if she lands hard enough.”
She smiled up at me. “I’m
fine
, Dustin.” She held the second ice pack and looked at her leg, then the pack she had pressed against her arm. “Hmm. This could get interesting.”
“Here. Let me.” I pulled a chair up next to the couch and took the pack from her. I pressed it gently against her leg, and she sucked in a breath. Raising my eyebrows, I said, “You okay?”
Amy nodded. “It’s bruised all to hell. Just…be careful.”
“I will.” I tried to think about nothing but the ice under my fingers, along with the dull ache that came from the intense cold, and not how close I was sitting to her. I didn’t even know what I wanted now—if this was stubbornly persistent lust or if I just wanted to be able to hold her because thank God she was all right.
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the pillow. The ice pack in her hand crinkled softly as she shifted it a little, and her lips tightened for a second before she got comfortable. Without opening her eyes, she said, “So you keep a freezer fully stocked with icepacks. Use them often?”
I laughed. “Are you kidding? I work with babies and abuse cases all day.”
“Good. I feel better now.”
“Come on,” I said. “You didn’t think you were the only one to get banged up out there, did you?”
“No. But sometimes it’s good to remind myself.” She opened her eyes and smirked. “Call it icing my bruised pride, plus a little schadenfreude.”
I chuckled. “Considering how many times you dusted yourself and got back on, I would think your pride should be the only thing that
isn’t
bruised.”
And I’m lucky you didn’t give me heart failure five times over out there.
“Yeah, well.” She shifted a bit, swearing under her breath softly. Then, nodding toward the ice pack on her arm, she said, “So tell me about some of the times you’ve had to use these.”
“Would your bruised pride feel better after hearing about the times I was in a cast?”
“Times?” She raised an eyebrow. “Plural? Oh, do tell.”
“Sadist,” I muttered.
She grinned. “Only when I’m in pain. Come on, tell me about your mishaps.”
“Well, there was one nasty one back when I used to do team roping,” I said. “A few years ago, we were at regionals. I was the heeler, and my buddy was the header. He’d already gotten the rope on the steer, I was getting ready to throw my own rope, and the steer suddenly decides he’s having none of it.”
Amy’s eyes widened. “That doesn’t sound good…”
“Uh, no. The steer suddenly went right when we thought he was going to keep going straight, and…” I waved my free hand. “Hell, I’m not even sure what exactly happened, and we didn’t get it on video. The steer went one way, I couldn’t stop or turn in time, my horse got tangled up in my buddy’s rope, and my horse and I both hit the dirt.”
She grimaced again. “Oh, shit…”
“Somehow, my buddy and his horse didn’t join us, but my horse and I both ate dirt.”
“Was the horse okay?”
I eyed her. “Gee, thanks.”
“Hey, you’re here and kicking,” she said with a half shrug. “It’s pretty obvious you were fine.”
“Okay, fair enough,” I said. “And he was okay too. It was scary as hell, though. One second, I see the rope in front of us, and the next thing I know, I’m limping out of the arena with my arms around two other guys’ shoulders while my dad’s leading my horse out.”
“But you could walk. That’s a good sign.”
“I got lucky, believe me. And I’m kind of okay with the fact that I don’t remember anything between seeing the rope and leaving the arena.”
“Yeah, I would be too.”
“Fun stuff, am I right?” I nodded at the pack on her leg. “Is this still comfortable?”
“Comfortable being a relative term, yes.” She adjusted the ice pack on her arm. “So you could walk, but how many bones did you break?”
“Not a one.” I chuckled, shaking my head. “I know the horse at least landed on top of my leg, but somehow or another, I didn’t break a thing. I was sore as hell for a few days, but otherwise, not a scratch.”
She threw me a playful scowl. “I thought you were going to tell me about the times you were in casts.”
“Yeah, I’m getting to that.” I switched hands on the ice pack, since my fingers were getting cold. “So I survived that without a scratch, right?”
“Mm-hmm…”
“Okay, well, that winter, Dad and I are breaking up ice in the water tubs out in the pastures.”
Amy snickered. “Oh God, I think I see where this is going.”
Laughing, I nodded. “Stepped on a piece of ice that was sitting on another piece of ice, went ass over teakettle, and broke my arm in two places.”
She snorted, wincing slightly. “No way.”
“Dead serious.”
“Isn’t that how it always happens?”
“You too, huh?”
“Well, not exactly the same way.” She threw me a devilish smirk. “I’ve managed to make it through my career without ever having my ass kicked by a piece of ice.”
I glanced at the ice pack in my hand, then eyed her. “It’s not too late for that, you know.”
“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” Amy giggled.
I laughed. “So do you feel better about wearing a few ice packs after crashing into a fence?”
“Much, yes,” she said. “And I’ve had a few scary falls myself.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, you know. Getting unloaded trying to break a youngster to saddle. Flighty ex-racehorses getting me intimately acquainted with arena walls. Stuff like that.” She turned her arm so the ice pack was between her elbow and the couch, freeing up her other hand, which she rested behind her head. “Scariest one, hands down, was at a hunter/jumper show about five years ago.”
“Yeah?” Something twisted in my chest. This was a dangerous business, and obviously whatever happened hadn’t left her any worse for the wear in the long run. That didn’t stop me from shuddering at the mere thought of something more serious than today’s incident. Still, I asked, “So what happened?”
Amy fidgeted a little, winced, and then spoke. “I was on this warmblood mare who was the most amazing jumper. Seriously, this horse won every title in the book shy of an Olympic medal. Once she got past the initial training, she never refused a jump.
Never
.”
“Why do I get the feeling she broke that streak?”
Amy nodded, rolling her eyes. “God, did she ever. We went to this show, and she had just nailed every course so far. She’d won every class, and all we had left was the championship. Last jump of the last course…she refuses.” Amy sighed. “And of course, I’d long since started taking it for granted that she’d go over any jump I pointed her at, and she waited until the last possible second to refuse it, so I was
so
not expecting it.”
“So what happened?”
“She stopped, and I kept going.” Amy fidgeted a little, quite possibly shuddering at the memory. “I went right into the jump, took out half the poles and landed on my neck.”
I pulled in a breath. “Oh, ow…”
“Yeah. Upshot is, I got to ride in a helicopter for the first time.”
“They airlifted you?” I whistled. “Wow, you must have been in bad shape.”
“Real bad,” she said. “I don’t even remember the helicopter or any of that.”
“So how bad was it? Obviously you didn’t wind up dead or paralyzed, but…”
“I cracked my collarbone and a few ribs and had one hell of a concussion,” she said. “But my spine was fine. I was out of the saddle for a few weeks, and couldn’t jump until the vertigo cleared up three or four months later, but all things considered? I’ll take it.”
“No kidding.” Lust was definitely taking a backseat tonight, making way for the knowledge that if she’d landed just a
little
differently, maybe just a little harder or at a slightly different angle, she wouldn’t be here. I’d never have known her at all, and that was something I simply couldn’t fathom tonight. I cleared my throat. “Well, now you know why I think you jumpers are insane.”
Amy laughed. “This from the man who nearly broke his neck catching a running steer with a piece of string? At least jumps don’t
move
.”
“Okay, fair enough,” I said, chuckling, “but you fall a lot farther going over a six-foot jump than you do chasing a cow.”
“At least we wear helmets.”
“Says the woman who got a concussion anyway.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Good thing I was wearing it, then, isn’t it, cowboy?”
“Touché.” I laughed. “I could tell you more stories. Believe me, I have a few, and at least three ended with ambulance rides.”