Cowboy Under the Mistletoe (17 page)

The acrid smell of Ryan’s blood burned in his nostrils. Still-moist blood stained his blue shirt. Jake looked way from the sight in search of something, anything to take his mind off the memory of Ryan’s terrible stillness, his limp, pale form and the free flow of warm, sticky blood.

His gaze landed on Chet, Ryan’s cohort. The dark-haired boy had sat in Jake’s truck cab, his lower lip trembling, his skin almost as white as Ryan’s and said nothing during the short, but endless, drive to the E.R.

Ryan’s cohort. Subsequent attempts at conversation resulted in shrugs and crossed arms, trembling lips and a mulish glare. Jake recognized the symptoms. The kid was scared out of his mind. Jake’s attempts at reassurance fell flat. After all, what did he know? Ryan was unconscious and bleeding. He couldn’t promise Chet that his buddy would be all right.

He felt for the kid, though he wanted to blast him, too, for pulling such a dangerous stunt. But pity won out, and Jake cut him a break and left him alone. Time enough to sort out the blame. Jake knew plenty about that, too.

Being in this waiting room with an injured Buchanon flashed him back to that horrible day when he’d brought Quinn in, bleeding and pale as death. Like Ryan.

He shuddered. No use going back to the worst day of his life.

But the images kept coming. The Buchanons’ frightened faces. Karen and the girls in a huddle, crying. Dan threatening to tear the place down brick by brick if someone didn’t tell him something fast. Then there were the brothers, the men he’d come to think of as his own siblings. They’d stood together near the women, brawny arms crossed, faces tight, blocking him out. Even in those first moments they had blamed him, though no more than he’d blamed himself.

He’d sat with his head in his hands talking to the sheriff, alone and scared spitless, sure he’d go to prison forever, sure his best friend would die. Wishing he was in that exam room instead of Quinn.

He raked a hand down his face and shook his head to dispel the images. So much tragedy, all with his name attached.

Now there was Ryan, another member of the Buchanon family, though Jake thanked God that, other than owning the bull, he’d had nothing to do with this incident.

Suddenly, Chet leaped from his speckled plastic chair and rushed across the room. Jake looked up to see Charity, Brady and Quinn hurrying down the hallway with Karen and Dan not far behind.

Charity rushed toward the intake window with Karen at her side. Jake could hear them murmuring to the familiar-looking receptionist in hushed, frantic tones. He wanted to go to them and tell them what he knew and offer reassurances. He didn’t. Couldn’t. He wouldn’t be welcome, just as he’d not been welcomed into the tight circle of Buchanons the day Quinn was shot.

He considered a trip to the restroom to check out the pain in his side, but opted against it. He’d been tossed around in the ring before. He’d survive.

He prayed Ryan did.

So, he took a seat at the far end of the waiting area and kept out of the way, letting the family take care of the necessary paperwork he’d known nothing about. When they were ready, they’d ask and he’d tell them what he knew.

Like the outsider he was, Jake watched them talk to the doctor, ached when Charity fell weeping into her mother’s arms, and longed to ask what was going on. But he didn’t. Though he couldn’t leave until he knew something, he wasn’t welcome in their conversations either.

More families, apparently from the car accident, crowded into the waiting room waiting for news of their loved ones. Jake gave his seat to a woman holding a small baby and went to stand against the wall. The hushed, tense conversations unnerved him. Ryan’s blood felt sticky against his chest.

Opposite him, Quinn and Brady talked to Chet, and from Chet’s teary eyes and frightened expression, he was relating the incident. Better the boy told of the misdeeds than for the news to come from Jake.

When Allison burst into the crowded waiting room Jake’s stomach lifted. Brown eyes wide with worry, she beelined to her mother and Charity for supportive hugs. She didn’t see him standing apart, holding up this wall. Ryan was the focus, the one who mattered, not Jake and his tattered relationship with her family. Still, having her in the room buoyed him.

While Jake’s focus was on Allison, Quinn stormed across the waiting room and pushed into his space. “You worthless scum. Chet told us what you did. You moron.”

Tense and wary, Jake cut a gaze toward the boy. “Exactly what did he tell you?”

“Don’t play dumb. You have no business teaching these boys how to ride a bull.”

“Do what?”

But Quinn was in no mood to explain. Before Jake knew what was coming, a hard fist smashed into his jaw. Jake’s head jerked back, slammed the wall. His hat tumbled to the gray tile floor. Dark stars exploded behind his eyelids. His knees buckled though he somehow managed to retain his feet.

Like a wounded prize fighter in slo-mo, he shook his head, hand to his jaw. The ache spread up the side of his head into his temple. With his brain rattled, he couldn’t comprehend. “What—?”

“Quinn, stop it. Stop it!” From across the room, Allison’s distressed voice rang out and called attention to the confrontation. A dull flush of shame suffused Jake. Simply by being here, he’d caused a problem for all of them.

If he’d needed confirmation to leave Gabriel’s Crossing sooner rather than later, he’d just received it.

Jake refused to look toward Allison. This wasn’t her fight or her problem.

Quinn bowed up, the quarterback with his game face on, serious and eager for contact. “Come on, cowboy, don’t just stand there. Be a man.”

Jake struggled to keep his voice low and even. The old Jake wanted to retaliate as he’d done that night to Terry Dean. He wanted to put his fist in Quinn’s face and prove his worth. But the new Jake understood the truth. Every action had repercussions. The same as in bull riding. A slight move to the left or right and a man would end up with his face in the dirt and a no-ride.

He didn’t need any more no-rides in his life. “I told you before, Quinn. I won’t do this. Not here. Not ever.”

But Quinn had no compunction about coming at him again.

Brady grabbed his brother’s fist. “Not here, bro.”

Fury reddened Quinn’s face. His fist remained tight and upraised as he strained against his brother, eager to land one more blow to his enemy’s face.

Enemy.

The reason was skewed, but his former friend had every right to take his anger out on Jake. Manny was wrong. Quinn’s anger, even his fist, was Jake’s penance for the harm he’d done.

“We’ll deal with this later.” Brady didn’t remove his big hand from his brother’s good arm, the only arm he could hit with. “Come on. Charity needs our support, not this.”

Quinn took one step back, but his glare never left Jake’s face. “You’re not wanted here.”

In his peripheral vision Jake saw Allison moving toward them along with the rest of the Buchanons. It was the Buchanon way. When one had a problem, they all did. In Allison’s case, she was caught between the two, trapped as she would be forever if he didn’t get out of her life once and for all.

He wanted to tell her to back off, to stay out of his problems but knew she wouldn’t listen. There was only one way to protect her from these confrontations. The Buchanons would never let go. So he had to. For Allison.

“I understand.” The admission hurt worse than the punch. He wasn’t wanted, and yet he’d kept hoping things would change. His beautiful, optimistic Allison had given him hope. But now he accepted the inevitable. Nothing would ever change for him. Not here in Gabriel’s Crossing.

His side and jaw throbbed but not as badly as his heart. It killed him to do this, to walk out and leave behind the only woman he would ever love.

“I hope Ryan’s all right. I’ll be praying for him.” Holding his side, he stiffly scooped his hat from the floor and clapped it onto his head.

Then, while Quinn glared holes in his back and with Allison’s stunned expression a snapshot in his memory, he walked out of the emergency room and away from everything that had ever really mattered.

Chapter Fourteen

T
he hospital parking lot, normally half-empty, was packed today. Allison stood in the E.R. entrance beneath the brick awning and frantically cast around for the slender cowboy in a gray Stetson. She hadn’t seen his truck when she’d pulled in, but then she’d been so focused on Ryan she’d thought of nothing else. The lack of news about her nephew terrified her, but her brothers just plain made her mad.

What had Quinn been thinking to do such a stupid thing? Such a useless, macho thing as picking a fight in a hospital waiting room?

A north wind whipped a paper cup into noisy somersaults and set Allison’s hair and scarf fluttering like wind socks. She searched the lot, finally spotting her cowboy, head down, hands in his pockets, walking in the other direction.

“Jake!” Weaving between tightly jammed vehicles, she sprinted toward him. “Jake!”

He kept moving forward as if her cheerleader voice hadn’t carried above the engine noises coming from the adjacent roadway. When he reached his truck and fished for his key fob, Allison darted across the driving lane. A car honked. She squealed and ducked aside, laughing in embarrassment as she gave an “I’m sorry” shrug to the driver. The commotion turned Jake around.

Allison’s heart tumbled in her chest. A dark bruise already spread along his jaw and over his cheek. “Oh, Jake.”

Breathless from the mad dash across the parking lot, she caught up to him and touched his cheek with her chilled fingers. Expression solemn, Jake turned his head away.

“Go back inside, Allison.”

“Quinn shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry.”

“He did what he’s needed to do for a long time.” He clicked the unlock on his key fob. “I had it coming.”

“That’s ridiculous. Hitting people resolves nothing.” Although, right now, she’d like to knock both their heads together.

His chest heaved in a deep, weary sigh. “Allison, this is hopeless. Let me go. There’s no use beating a dead horse. This is never going to work out.”

His words packed a chill colder than the north wind. She shivered. “What are you saying?”

“I think you know. You. Me. This crazy notion that we could fall in love and love would make everything all right. I tried to warn you.” He shook his head, looked away and back again. “This whole thing has been doomed from the beginning. I should have stuck to the plan, but you came charging in to Granny Pat’s with your optimism and—”

A slow slide of fear crawled down her back like a black widow spider. “So this is my fault?”

“No, never. I’m to blame. I always have been. This isn’t about you.”

“You’re scaring me, Jake.”

As if her words pained him, he closed his eyes and pulled her against his chest. Relieved, Allison wrapped her arms around him. He gasped, a short suck of air that had her stepping back to look at him. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Yes, it is. You’re pale. Did Quinn do this?”

He shook his head. “The bull.”

“The bull that hurt Ryan? I don’t understand.”

“Never mind. I’ve had worse. Go back inside.” He clenched his teeth. “Go now.”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He didn’t have to answer for her to know. He’d had all of her brothers one man could be expected to tolerate. “Take me with you.”

“Do you have any idea how much I want to do exactly that? Any idea at all? But I won’t.” He touched her cheek. His fingers were cold. “You belong with your family, not with me. Go back inside, support your sister and take care of Ryan. It’s time for me to get out of the way. If I hit the road now, I can make the rodeo in Fort Worth this weekend.”

Her knees started to tremble. “But Christmas...you’ll come back.”

“I love you, Allison, and because I do—” Smoldering green eyes sad, he smoothed a lock of her hair. “I won’t.”

Then while she reeled, heart shattering into a million pieces there in the concrete lot of a hospital, Jake stepped up into the cab of the big pickup truck, closed the door and drove away.

Allison stood in the parking lot with all her dreams tumbling down around her like a wobbly stack of bricks. Her mouth dry, her stomach aching, she wanted to scream and rail against the unfairness. She didn’t know who made her the angriest, her brothers or Jake. Men could be such idiots.

He loved her, so he was leaving.

Exactly how much sense did that make?

Oh, she understood his reasons. She understood the kind of toll her brothers’ animosity had taken on him, especially when he kicked himself more often than they ever could.

She slapped at the tears burning her eyes. He’d made his choice. And it wasn’t her. Oh, but why did her insides feel as if they were collapsing in on her like an imploded building? They could have resolved the problems with her family eventually if he would have given them a chance.

“Allison?” Brady came toward her, his work boots thudding softly against the concrete. “Everything okay out here?”

She, the one who’d told Jake that violence resolved nothing, wanted to kick her big brother in the shins.

Afraid of answering that question lest she fall apart here and now, she asked, “Any word on Ryan?”

He stopped next to her and turned his back to the north, his oversized body shielding her from the crisp wind. “They moved him to ICU. He’s still unconscious.”

“Oh, Brady.” She walked into his chest and when his comforting arms encircled her, she rested against him in relief. Big brother had always been there with a shoulder to lean all, for all of them.

“Hamilton gone?”

She nodded, her cheek rubbing the rough corduroy of his heavy shirt.

“Good riddance. After what he did.”

For once, Allison didn’t argue or defend. What was the point? Jake was gone, and neither the tragedy from the past or her own heartache mattered in the face of Ryan’s injury. “Do you think Ryan will be okay?”

She heard him swallow, felt the rise and fall of his big chest. “They’re waiting on more tests. An MRI of his brain when the mobile unit arrives.”

“Oh.” She made a small whimpering sound.

“Until then, we wait and stay strong. Charity’s a basket case.”

Allison stepped out of his hug, shivering when the cold wind replaced Brady’s sturdy warmth. “Should we try to contact Trevor?”

“Up to Charity. She needs his support, that’s for sure, but if he’s on a mission, by the time we get word to him, things may change. Better to wait until we know more.”

“What can we do to help her?”

“Be there. Pray. That’s what Buchanons do.”

Of course. Brady was right. Buchanons didn’t abandon one another, even when they were wrong.

* * *

Although he drove through Dallas traffic, Jake made the two hour trip with time to kill. He’d stopped at Granny Pat’s, only to find her on the way out to senior bingo with Flo and Melba. She’d been laughing, more her old self, so he’d taken the coward’s way out, deciding to call her later. She’d known this was coming, that he needed to work and, more than that, he needed to get away.

The ladies had asked about his bloody shirt and bruised jaw, but he’d made vague noises about an encounter with a bull, only half a lie. He’d changed his shirt, downed some aspirin for the pain in his side and face and aimed his ride toward Fort Worth.

He’d expected to feel better with each mile he put between himself and trouble. But he didn’t. He’d wrestled with his conscience, with his heart and with the look of betrayal on Allison’s face.

He was leaving a mess behind. The mortgage loomed like a black cloud, but he’d call Manny and ask him to sell enough bulls to pay off the house. A secure future was the only thing he could give his grandmother, even if doing so meant putting his own dreams on hold for a few more years.

He wished he’d had something to give Allison. Anything except a broken heart.

In between questioning every decision he’d ever made, he prayed for Ryan. Not knowing worried him. He kept remembering the blood on his shirt and the pale stillness of Ryan’s body in his arms. He was just a young boy. A boy who’d made a foolish decision that had cost him too much.

Jake understood all too well.

He still couldn’t believe the other kid had lied to the Buchanons about the incident. Why would Chet do that?

But he knew. Or at least, he suspected. Ryan and Chet were privy to Buchanon conversations. Kids were smart. They would know about the hostility between Jake and the Buchanon family. Everyone in Gabriel’s Crossing did.

He parked at the Cowtown Coliseum and paid his entry fee to ride both nights. Then he roamed the stockyards and considered a meal at Joe T. Garcia’s which only made him think of Allison again and her penchant for hot foods. He decided to save his money.

Frustrated and down, he went back to the Coliseum to hang out with other cowboys. He had to refocus, get his game face on and be prepared to ride. Riding was as much mental as physical. Sometimes more. Anything less could get him killed.

* * *

Afternoon turned to evening. Hospital shifts changed and a new group of nurses came on duty. Like the previous staff, most of them knew the Buchanon family who crowded the hospital room and overflowed into the hallway and waiting area. No one had the heart or the nerve to ask them to leave. They all understood the Buchanons would stay until Ryan was out of the woods.

A weepy, shaky Charity was hugged over and over by visitors who’d heard the news and who’d come to express their concern. Chet’s mother arrived and sat with her son who begged to stay until he could see Ryan. Pastor and Mrs. Flannery arrived with prayers and words of encouragement and a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Such was the way of life in Gabriel’s Crossing.

Allison alternated between Ryan’s bedside and the window at the end of the hall overlooking the parking lot. Security lamps had come on, casting their stick-figure shadows onto the pavement. Jake would be in Fort Worth by now, in pain inside and out. Gone only a few hours and she missed him already.

The weeks and months ahead, especially this first Christmas she’d planned to spend with him, loomed dark and lonely.

Her mom moved toward her carrying two disposable cups, and Allison wondered how much coffee and cocoa and how many hugs and words of comfort her mother had dispensed today. “You look like you could use some cocoa.”

“Thanks, Mama.”

“Are you okay? You’re very quiet.”

Allison accepted the small cup and let the warmth spread into her cold fingers. She felt cold all over today, like a blast of winter inside her soul. “A lot on my mind.”

“You want to talk about him? Or about the confrontation with Quinn?”

Mom’s soft, accepting tone opened the door to spill out her sorrow, but instead she said, “No use talking. The boys finally got what they wanted. Jake’s gone.”

Tears pushed up in her throat. She swallowed them down but not before her mother noticed.

Karen set her cup on the window ledge and stroked her daughter’s hair away from her face the way she’d done for as long as Allison could remember. A gentle stroke of comfort and caring that only a mother could give.

Had Jake’s mother ever done that for him?

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Mama didn’t say the obvious. She had warned Allison that Jake would hurt her.

“Jake never had this.”

Her mother cocked her head to one side. “Never had cocoa?”

Allison managed a smile. “He didn’t have someone like you, a mother to stroke his hair and bring him cocoa when life stunk.”

“Pat did her best and was good to him, but he was a lonely child. The way he tagged along with you kids tugged at my heartstrings.”

Always on the outside, always alone. “Mine, too. You were good to him.”

“I never minded an extra place at the table.”

“I love him, Mama. I think I’ve loved him forever.”

Her mother looked at her with a mix of sorrow and understanding. “I know, and my heart breaks to see you hurt. And don’t try to deny it because I know you, Allison. Those soft brown eyes are like a puppy’s. They reveal every emotion. You’re hurting badly.”

The tears she’d kept at bay leaped to the fore. Allison batted her eyes and turned toward the window. Beyond the hospital, a Buchanon-built housing addition glowed with the multicolored promise of Christmas.

Her mother tenderly rubbed a hand between her daughter’s shoulders.

“I wanted to go with him.” Allison batted her eyes, fighting the blur.

“Oh, honey.”

“He wouldn’t let me. He said I’d hate him someday if he took me away from all of you.”

“He was right.”

“How can this be right? I love him. He loves me. Nothing’s right about any of this!”

Before her mother could respond, Dad’s voice called to them from the door to Ryan’s room.

Mom’s hand spasmed on Allison’s back. Allison spun around.

Her dad motioned. “Come on. Hurry.”

The women exchanged looks. Fear streaked up Allison’s back. “Is Ryan—”

A smile broke over her father’s face. “He’s awake.”

Relief, like a warm flood, caused her shoulders to sag, but she quickly recovered and followed her mother down the hallway.

Inside the room, Buchanon bodies made a rectangle around the hospital bed. Allison pushed in between Quinn and Jayla.

Tears streamed down her sisters’ faces at the sight of Ryan with his eyes open staring around at his relatives.

“I’m thirsty.”

Charity stuck a yellow plastic straw to her son’s lips. “How’s your head, baby?”

“It hurts. What happened?”

“You got hurt by a bull. Don’t you remember?”

His gaze fell to the white sheets. “Yeah. Is Chet okay?”

“He’s fine. You were the one Jake put on the bull.”

His head came up. “Huh?”

The adults exchanged glances, worried about Ryan’s memory glitch. “Jake Hamilton, the one who was teaching you how to ride. He helped you get on the bull. Don’t you remember?”

Eyes wide now, Ryan moved his head slowly from side to side. “Jake wasn’t there.”

“Yes, baby. You’ve hurt your head a little. The headache is preventing you from remembering.”

“No, Mom, Jake wasn’t there. He would have been mad if he’d seen us there again. He told us never to go near the bulls.”