Authors: Cat Johnson
“Nah, I won’t be out that long. I heal real fast. Right, Slade? I’ll be back in eight weeks. Tops.” Somehow, Mustang thought counting his time off the circuit in weeks rather than months would make it sound like less. He’d been wrong.
Slade shook his head. “Mustang, you’ll heal, but it’ll take some time. You should be grateful it’s not worse. Listen to the doc.
Don’t push it.”
Easy for Slade to be calm. It wasn’t his damn career or paycheck on the line. Maybe Slade was just afraid of a little competition for the world title.
Everyone seemed to be siding against him, even the doctor.
“You’ll be healthy enough to do plenty of other things while your arm’s mending. But you can’t get on a bull, not in competition and not at home, before it’s totally healed.”
The rules on the pro circuit said the doctor’s decision was final. If he said a rider couldn’t compete, that was it.
Mustang had to change the doctor’s mind. “But I could—”
“Jeez, man. It’s your riding arm. You know the kind of beating that arm takes during a ride.” Slade’s gaze dropped pointedly to Mustang’s balloon-like limb.
“You can’t ride, Mustang. You’ll only snap it again worse and maybe next time we won’t be able to fix it. Do you want to be out for good? You ready to retire at twenty-something years old? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if you get on a bull with that arm before it’s ready.” Why did the doctor suddenly sound a lot like Mustang’s father when he’d lectured him as a child?
“I’ll ride right-handed.” Yeah. That was perfect.
“You can do that?” Chase’s eyes opened wide with wonder. The younger guys were so easy to impress.
“No, he can’t.” Slade sneered.
“I could try.”
Slade let out a sigh. “You’ll only get yourself hurt worse when you fall off. Christ, Mustang. Just take the damn time off. Give yourself a chance to heal. Come back healthy so you’ll still have a career to come back to.”
“This is bullshit, Slade. You know you’d be on a bull again next week if it was you, hurt or not.” As the pain shot through him with every beat of his pulse, Mustang found his temper growing shorter.
“No. Maybe that might have been true a few years ago when I was young and stupid, but not now.”
What had suddenly made Slade all mature and conservative? Probably dating Jenna. Mustang scowled. If love made a man a weak sissy, like the way Slade was acting now, then Mustang wanted nothing to do with it.
The doctor interrupted Mustang’s ponderings on love. “Listen to your friend, Mustang.”
He didn’t want to listen and he wasn’t considering Slade a friend now that he was siding against him. It was Mustang’s arm and his body. He knew it best.
Doc Tandy watched Mustang’s face throughout his silent protest. “Look, we
really
need to get you to the hospital for X-rays.”
He was about to agree, if only to get the damn X-rays to prove the old doctor wrong, when Chase spoke up, “Um, Slade. Security seems to have Jenna in custody.”
“What?” Slade’s head whipped around.
Mustang raised his eyes. Jenna was indeed in the midst of an argument with not one, but two security officers who’d dared to stop her while she was trying to get behind the chutes to where he sat.
She pointed at them now. “Look, he’s right there. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
Slade let out a big sigh and stood up. “I better go straighten this out before someone ends up bloody or in jail.”
If he knew Jenna and her New York attitude at all, Mustang had a feeling it would be the guards who ended up bloody and Jenna in jail. Mustang grinned for the first time since getting the news Ballbreaker had broken is arm.
“Mustang. Hospital. Now.” The doctor delivered the order with clipped, stern words that left no room for argument.
Inexplicably giddy—maybe he was going into shock—Mustang nodded. “Okay, doc. Am I driving, or do you want to?”
Doc Tandy raised a brow. “Funny man. Let’s go.”
“Umm…Miss Beckett?”
Sage glanced up from the glue-covered table she’d been trying to clean before any more little sticky fingers got into it. In front of her stood a trembling five-year-old. “Yes, June?”
“I…I…” The girl’s quivering turned into sobs. A closer look at the wet spot in the crotch of June’s pants revealed the cause.
Sage glanced up and caught the eye of Mrs. Ross. The teacher sat, picture book in hand, in the center of a circle of children.
“I’ll be right back,” Sage mouthed silently.
Mrs. Ross nodded and continued to read aloud to the group.
“Come on, sweetie. We can take care of that.” Taking the child by the shoulder, Sage steered her toward the door. She paused only momentarily on their trip to the girl’s bathroom to stop at her desk.
Sage grabbed a pair of tiny new panties from the bottom drawer. “We’ll take care of this and no one will know a thing. It’ll be our little secret. All right?”
The preschooler nodded, still shakily gasping for breath between sobs.
A few minutes later, Sage held the damp crotch of June’s jeans in front of the hot air blowing out of the electric hand dryer. The impatiently waiting June danced from foot to foot in her new undies.
Sage smiled indulgently. “Just another minute, honey.”
June nodded and moved on to walking in circles as she waited. A minute to a preschooler might as well be an hour. Sage held the pants closer to the air dispenser and wished the fabric dry as the cell phone in her own pants pocket vibrated.
Just another day in the life and training of a student preschool teacher.
She managed to grab the phone one-handed and glanced at the caller ID. It was her sister, who should have known she’d be at work. Sage would call her back later when she didn’t literally have her hands full. She could only indulge one person at a time.
Rosemary would have to wait her turn.
With another glance at June, who had just about run out of patience waiting for her pants to dry, Sage sighed. She held the garment up for another evaluation. The fabric felt damp but was dry enough the spot wouldn’t be noticeable. That would have to do because from the looks of her, June was ready to sprint back to the classroom in nothing but her T-shirt, sneakers and her little pink underwear.
“Good enough. Come here, sweetie.”
The child’s eyes lit up at the indication she’d soon be released from her tiled prison. Sage bent down and held the pants close to the floor. June braced herself with one tiny hand on each of Sage’s shoulders and stepped into the jeans. One quick tug up, a zip and a snap and she was dressed and ready to go, and go she did.
Sage laughed as the girl ran back into the classroom and took her spot in the story circle as if nothing had ever happened. If only adults could bounce back from things that quickly.
The large clock on the wall told Sage there was half an hour before parents would start arriving for afternoon pickup. Meanwhile, rapidly hardening globs of white glue waited to be scraped up, toys needed to be returned to their plastic bins and, since it was an unseasonably cool day, every one of the kids would need help donning and zipping their spring jackets as their rides home arrived.
At some point, she would also have to call her sister back or bear the wrath. Rosemary would never understand how busy Sage’s life could get. Her world and her problems could never equal Rosemary’s, according to Rosemary anyway.
While moving a stack of papers where the students had been practicing their letters, Sage remembered she had her own schoolwork to do for her college courses when she got home, followed by a date that evening.
A date. Sage’s stomach fluttered at the thought. She was meeting Jeremy after school for an early movie. She’d had no reason to say no when he’d asked. He was nice enough and she hadn’t been out socially in forever, as her married sister kept reminding her.
She hated first dates, not that she went on a whole lot of them. A dull feeling of dread rather than anticipation engulfed her as she went back to tackling the messy table.
Sage finished cleaning the side she’d been working on before June’s accident and moved to the other side. It was still covered with the newspaper that had failed to protect the tabletop as well as they’d hoped it would. As she began folding the large sheets in an attempt to contain the mess, a single photo stopped her dead. It was splattered with glue and sprinkled with glitter, but she could still make out quite clearly the figure on the sports page. She knew who it would be about without even reading the caption. A glutton for punishment, she read it anyway.
Local bull rider Mustang Jackson’s hot streak continues as the tour heads for Trenton, New Jersey.
Sage let out a snort. Mustang hadn’t been back to his home town for more than a few days here and there since he’d graduated high school and started riding pro. Yet the town paper still called him a “local” and treated him like the prodigal son. Obviously this town loved him more than he loved this town.
What sucked most was that just the sight of his name had her heart racing. Scowling at her own foolish heart, Sage crumpled the papers. With an old butter knife and a renewed and perhaps bit-too-enthusiastic vigor, she attacked the mess and pushed all thoughts of Mustang aside.
***
Later that night, after an uninspiring but perfectly nice date, Sage hung her purse and jacket on the hook behind the kitchen door.
She had every intention of grabbing a glass of water and heading directly to bed when she heard the sound of the television.
She found her grandmother in her usual chair in the living room. “Hey, Grams. What are you still doing up?”
Her grandmother’s eyes flew open wide behind her glasses as she clutched one hand to her heart. “
Mija
. You scared me nearly to death.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were sleeping.”
Or that anyone could sleep with the television on that loudly.
Sage leaned down to plant a kiss on the cheek of the woman who’d raised her and her sister since their parents’ deaths in a car crash so many years ago.
Grams reached for the remote control and turned down the volume. “How was your date with Jeremy?”
“Eh. Fine. Were you waiting up for me?” Her grandmother never waited up for her. Though, truth be told, Sage hadn’t been out late enough times to base a pattern of behavior on.
Patterns of behavior
. Listen to her. Her college psych class was starting to get to her. Sage needed a break. Good thing the semester was over soon.
“Yes, I waited up. I knew you’d want to hear this. I was talking to Myra Jackson. Michael got hurt riding one of his bulls.”
Sage felt the world close in around her. She gripped the back of her grandmother’s recliner. “How badly is he hurt?”
Her grandmother shrugged. “I’m not sure,
mija
, but Myra said he’s going to need surgery.”
Surgery. Oh God
. Sage swallowed hard.
Visions of emergency helicopters swooping down upon the arena to save Mustang’s life after a devastating fall from some monstrous bull filled Sage’s head. Where had he been riding? The paper said Trenton, New Jersey. Was that competition this weekend?
How old was that edition?
“All Myra knew was what Michael told her on the phone. That he’d broken something and was going to need surgery. She didn’t have any other details.” Her grandmother, a true gossip at heart, looked disappointed at Myra’s shoddy information.
Sage drew in a deep, shaky breath. At least he’d been well enough to make the phone call himself. He must be okay. Maybe she could find more details on the Internet. “Thanks for telling me, Grams. If you hear anything else, you be sure to let me know. Okay?”
“I will,
mija
. Don’t worry. I hope Myra has more information the next time she calls. It will be nice to have him back home again though. It’s been too long since he visited last.”
That was something Sage hadn’t considered when she’d heard the news. Mustang was coming home. Of course, if he couldn’t compete he’d come home and for more than just a few days too. Where else would he go?
“It has been a long time, Grams.” But not long enough for her to forget her childhood crush on him.
“This place was much more exciting when Michael was around. He was always popping in and out visiting. Eating all my food. I like seeing a boy with a good appetite.”
Mustang home again. In her grandmother’s kitchen eating her food. All while Rosemary was living an hour away with her husband Bobby and their daughter. Sage’s traitorous heart kicked into high gear at the thought.
“You better get in the habit of calling him Mustang, Grams. Last time he was home, he didn’t take too kindly to being called Michael.” Suddenly, Sage felt lighter. She even giggled at the image of what Mustang’s face would look like when her grandmother called him Michael.
Her grandmother hoisted herself out of her chair. “I’ve called him Michael since the day he was born. I’m too old to go changing now.”
If anyone could get away with calling him by his given name, Maria Juanita Consuelos could.
Mustang. Here. Again. “I’m going to bed.”
“Good night,
mija
. Sleep well.”
With Mustang on her mind? Doubtful. She’d never shake the growing anticipation within her enough to rest tonight. “Thanks, Grams. You too.”
“At least it’s only a broken arm,” Jenna pointed out while Slade opened the hotel room door.
Mustang dragged in slowly behind the pair. He was exhausted. First he’d suffered through the long painful trip to the hospital where he’d felt each bump in the road vibrate through his broken arm. Then whatever had been in the injection the doctor had given him for the pain once he’d gotten there had made him sleepy.
Slade sent a look of shock in Jenna’s direction. “It’s his riding arm.”
Given his state at the moment, Mustang was going to skip explaining to Jenna that a bull rider having
just a broken arm
was pretty bad when it was the arm he used to stay on the bull. As it turned out, he didn’t have to say anything because Slade had.
A frown furrowed her brow. “What does that mean?”
Mustang couldn’t blame a city girl like Jenna for not realizing the ramifications of his injury. Compared to how she’d watched Slade get dragged around and trampled by Ballbreaker in Tulsa, Mustang’s perfectly beautiful eight-second ride and dismount must have looked like a ballet to her.
How he’d managed to break his ulna, as the doctor had informed him the mangled bone was officially called, probably baffled Jenna as much as it did Mustang. “It means I’m out of competition. I can’t ride again for most of the season.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry, Mustang.” She did appear almost as crushed as he felt as she walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist gently.
He laughed. Didn’t it figure?
Now
she wanted to get affectionate. He could have used this interest last night when he’d gone to bed horny and alone. “It’s not your fault, darlin’.”
Glancing at Slade’s unhappy face, Mustang squeezed Jenna with his good arm and then released her. “I’m just gonna shower and then get out of your way here.”
Jenna reached out and touched his good arm. “I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”
“I’m fine. Really. Whatever the doctor gave me did the trick. I’ll just shower and go to the trailer. I’m about to crash.” Right now, he’d be happy with hot water on his tired muscles and a soft pillow beneath his head. He could worry about how to come up with three to four months worth of living expenses and payments on the trailer in the morning.
Jenna drew in a sharp breath and pushed the sleeve of her shirt back from her watch. “That reminds me. You need to take a pain pill.”
She scurried for the small white paper bag they’d picked up from the hospital pharmacy. “Slade, can you get him some water from the bathroom?”
Mustang shook his head. “Jenna. Stop. I don’t think I want to take any of those pills right now.”
Jenna’s eyes opened wide. “What do you mean? You have to. The doctor said the break was almost a compound fracture. If it had been any worse, the broken bone would have poked right out through your skin.”
That was an image Mustang didn’t need filling his brain.
Thank you, Jenna.
Her and her vivid powers of description.
More devastating was the severity of the break wasn’t the worst news the doctor had delivered. He’d also said the bone had twisted, not just broken. Mustang had to have an operation to put a metal plate and screws in his forearm or never ride again. The orthopedic surgeon couldn’t do the surgery that night. In fact, he wouldn’t be able to fit him into the schedule for a few days, so they had wrapped his arm like a mummy, handed him some pills and a sling, and sent him on his way.
Luckily, Mustang’s brain was so fuzzy from being pumped full of painkillers he didn’t really care too much he couldn’t get the operation taken care of right away.
As Jenna moved toward him while struggling with the childproof bottle cap, Mustang ran his right hand along the back of his neck. The meds the emergency-room doc had given him had really done a number on him. He couldn’t imagine adding anything more on top of them just yet. “Not right now, Jenna. I’ll be fine. I can take them later tonight if the pain gets too bad.”
Jenna shook her head so vigorously a piece of hair fell out of her ponytail to land in front of one eye. “But the doctor said not to let the pain medication wear off. He said take the pills as prescribed.”
Mustang sighed, glancing at Slade. “She always like this?”
Slade laughed. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
“I’m gonna shower.” Mustang reached for his buttons and was about to head for the bathroom when Jenna was suddenly in front of him, helping him out of his sling and unbuttoning his shirt.
The shirt would have to go into the garbage anyway since it now had only one sleeve, so it didn’t even matter if he pulled a few buttons off by accident. If he wasn’t going to have sex with a woman he’d rather she not undress him, but he was in too much shock over the whole broken arm to bother fighting her.
Once his shirt was off, she gently slipped the sling back over his arm and glanced up at him. “Can you handle getting out of the rest of your clothes on your own?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks, though.”
Slade let out a snort. “Don’t worry. If she tries to follow you into the bathroom, I’ll stop her.”
“Well, now. Let’s not get too hasty.” Mustang grinned.
Jenna rolled her eyes. “I guess the painkillers haven’t affected you too badly.”
“Nope. I’m sure I could muster up the energy for…” Mustang halted halfway through his bawdy joking when Jenna crossed the room and started rummaging through the trash. “What in the hell are you doing, woman?”
Pulling the half-full garbage bag out of the trashcan, she fished around in the bottom and emerged with a folded plastic bag and a triumphant smile.
“It’s to cover your sling in the shower. I’ve noticed in my travels that hotel housekeeping usually leaves spare bags in the bottom of the pail. See. We can cover you up so it doesn’t get wet.” Jenna approached him and stretched the bag over the sling and the ace bandage-swaddled arm within it. She stood on tiptoe to tie it around his neck.
Mustang grabbed her hand and began to think it was a definite possibility she might follow him into the shower and not for any reason he’d enjoy. She was starting to remind him of his mother and if that didn’t dampen a man’s sexual fantasy, nothing would.
“Jenna. I’ll just take the sling and bandages off.” He started to tug at the plastic knot around his neck with his good hand.
“No. You’re not supposed to unwrap your arm. Wait, Mustang. This will work.”
“Jenna.” Slade walked over. “Leave the man alone.”
“But…”
Slade’s warning glance silenced her, but she didn’t look happy. Mustang felt bad and left the damn plastic on the way she’d tied it, but decided to take the opportunity to flee while Jenna was occupied getting reprimanded.
“Slade, can I borrow a shirt?”
“Sure. They’re hanging right in the closet.”
Mustang pulled a shirt off a hanger and escaped into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and flipped on the shower hot and at full force. While the room filled with steam and he struggled to get the rest of his clothes off one-handed, the reality of the situation hit him hard.
Three months off the circuit. Possibly four.
Even if money weren’t an issue, which it kind of was, what the hell would he do with himself for all that time? If Mustang Jackson wasn’t a bull rider, then who and what was he?
Mustang stepped beneath the spray and let the water hit him full in the face, hoping it would wash away all of the horrible things that had happened today. It didn’t, but he felt a little better being clean at least.
He finished up in the shower as best he could and turned off the water. Since his right arm was just fine, he could have
finished
off
something else too, like he usually did in the shower after competitions when he didn’t bring a woman home, but he wasn’t in the mood.
He found that realization almost as scary as being out of competition for half the season.
Getting toweled off and dressed took longer than it normally did given his new handicap. The steam in the bathroom had begun to clear by the time Mustang was clothed, but even so, a burst of cooler air from the bedroom hit him when he opened the door.
Mustang padded barefoot into the room, his boots and socks held in one hand. He figured he’d better sit down in a real chair and not try to balance on the closed toilet seat to put those on one-handed.
He found Slade alone, lying on the bed, his head supported by his arms as he watched the television. Mustang glanced around the room.
“Where’s Jenna?”
“I sent her downstairs to get you snacks from the vending machine.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“Because she needed something to do to make her feel useful or she probably would have been in there washing your ass for you, that’s why.”
“Well, as I said before…” Mustang laughed at the warning written all over Slade’s face. “Just kidding. Not sure I’m up for that right now anyway.”
Slade’s expression showed his doubt. Mustang couldn’t blame him. There had never been a time that Mustang wasn’t up for
that.
“So what are you going to do now?”
Mustang shrugged. “I’m gonna go crash in the trailer.”
“I didn’t mean tonight. I’m talking about the rest of the season.”
“Yeah, I know what you meant. I was trying not to think about it.” Mustang hooked his sock on his big toe and used his right hand to wiggle it over the rest of this foot.
“You need to get that surgery, Mustang.”
“I know. I will.” Mustang let his eyes focus on the stupid show on the TV screen, hoping the laugh track on the sitcom would make his own situation seem less bad.
“You going home to your parents’ place? You can have the operation performed in Texas and recuperate there.”
Mustang groaned. He hated the thought of crawling home hurt to his parents. “I don’t know. Maybe I should have the surgery here in New Jersey. I could recuperate in the trailer. You know. Follow the circuit. Watch you and the other guys ride. You could cover the driving for a while after the operation.”
Slade made a face. “Why in the world would you want to do that? Spend all that time on the road. Waste all that money on gas.
All for nothing. Why don’t you go home, rest and try to enjoy the time off?”
His parents, or rather his father in particular, had been against him riding in the first place. He couldn’t show up now to lick his wounds. Mustang scowled. “You don’t understand.”
“Yeah, I do. You’re too damn proud.”
“No. That’s not it.”
Not totally, anyway.
Mustang sighed. Slade was right about one thing. He didn’t have the funds to waste crisscrossing the country in the trailer if he wasn’t making any income from it. Living on the road cost money. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t follow the circuit. I’m gonna need to find work to make the payments on the trailer.”
Slade sat up and leaned forward, frowning. “What did you do with all the money you won over the last few years?”
Mustang scowled. “Your ass has been riding in it for the past year.”
“You sunk all of your savings into buying that trailer?”
“Not all of it. I spent a few weeks in Vegas during the last break. Didn’t exactly do so good at the tables. But the down payment on the trailer wiped out most of my savings account. I figured I was still winning steady and could make more. More than enough to cover the payments and the usual living expenses.”
Women. Beer. Fast food. Then of course there was gas, tolls, the occasional hotel room or airplane flight. Health insurance—thank God for that.
“Spending everything you had on a trailer was pretty poor planning. Don’t you think?”
“I’m not like you, Slade. Saving all your money, settling down with one woman. I’m a spender and I’m definitely not a settler.
And if I want a lecture, I can go home to my father.”
Slade sighed deeply. “Look, I have plenty of money saved and you’re right. I’ve been riding around with you for a year now. Let me cover the payments while you’re out.”
“No, no way.” Mustang shook his head to leave no doubt in Slade’s mind how adamantly opposed he was to that suggestion.
Slade frowned. “Why not?”
“I don’t take handouts.” Mustang shoved one foot, then the other, into his boots, ready to get out of there.
“It’s not a handout. It’s payment for past services rendered.”
“You pay for half the gas and tolls. You paid for more than half of the oil changes, I think. So no. You’re paid up.”
“A loan then. You can pay me back when you’re back and riding again this fall.”
“No.” Mustang rose just as the door opened and Jenna stepped in.
“I got you some cheese puffs and potato chips. Oh, and chocolate chip cookies in case you wanted something sweet.” She unloaded an armful of snacks onto the table. “Did you take your pain pill yet?”
How could a man stay pissed off in the face of all that sweetness? Mustang couldn’t control the smile that crossed his lips. “No, ma’am. Not yet.”
“Wait right there.” She shot Slade a look on her way to the bathroom. “I told you to make sure he took it as soon as he got out of the shower.”
“Sorry,” Slade grumbled.
Mustang drew in a deep breath and planted his ass back in the chair. Slade was a friend. A good one. So was Jenna. They cared about him. He waited until she disappeared into the bathroom and he heard the water running in the sink. “Okay. I’ll agree to go home for the operation and stay there while I recuperate. I should be able to find work locally for a few months.”
“All right and if you can’t work—”
“I’ll consider your offer of a loan. Maybe.”
Slade nodded. “Good enough.”
It looked like Mustang was heading home for the first time in a long time. God help him.
“Magnolia, Texas, here I come.” Damn. He needed a drink. Mustang raised his voice so Jenna could hear him in the bathroom.
“Hey, darlin’? Do those pills say anything about taking them with liquor?”
“Mustang Jackson, you can not mix alcohol with painkillers.” There was that tone again. Jenna was going to make an excellent mother to Slade’s children one day.
Jenna’s medical opinion or not, Mustang took the pill she forced on him and then made his escape. He left the hotel and crossed the street in search of alcohol to sooth the feeling of dread he’d had since deciding to go home.