Cowboy Blues

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

A weight sat right between his eyes, pressing on his skull with dull intensity. His face felt smashed into bits. If he looked in a mirror, it’d be like looking at those paintings by Picasso his mother had loved so much. He ran his thick tongue over his teeth, surprised to find they were all still in his head.

It took several attempts to open his eyes, and ultimately, he gave up. Each time he cracked an eyelid, the light from overhead pierced his skull and sent a hot flash of pain through his brain. Spencer thought it wouldn’t be so bad if he knew where he was, but he had no clue. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t smell anything. He must have been away from the rodeo arena.

Encouraged by the fact he still had his tongue and teeth, he tried to convince his lips to form three simple words. Where am I? When that didn’t happen, Spencer shifted to something easier. One single syllable.

“Help?”

He heard the whisper of soft-soled footsteps and a cool hand touched his wrist. “I’m right here, Mr. Cole,” a woman said. She sounded older, like somebody’s wizened aunt. “Just relax.”

Right where? Christ, why can’t I open my eyes?

He licked his lips, and his tongue felt like sandpaper against the chapped skin.

“Water?”

Her light touch disappeared, and liquid gurgled as it was poured out of a pitcher. Then, a strong arm slid beneath his shoulders, easing him upright only an inch or two before pain shot through his upper body. He gasped, but only for a moment before the nurse pressed a glass to his mouth.

The cool, refreshing water quenched the worst of the Sahara in his throat. Spencer gulped, but after only a few mouthfuls, the cup disappeared, as did the woman’s arm.

“That’s enough for now. I’ll be right back. Dr. Allan needs to be notified you’re awake, and your friend is waiting for news on your condition. I think she’s going to be very relieved.”

If Spencer could have formed more than one syllable at a time, he would have begged her not to leave him. Clearly, he was in the hospital, but he had no idea why. How long had he been there? How long had he been asleep? Who was Dr. Allan? Who waited for him? A brief flare of panic moved through his chest, but frustration dampened it.

“Relax, there, Cole,” his uncle’s voice said. “The doctor is coming. He’ll tell you what’s going on. Keep it together.”

Normally, Spencer didn’t appreciate it when Travis Cole’s voice invaded his thoughts, but now he was grateful for it.

The door opened and snicked shut again. The footsteps approaching were slower, heavier, the heel of a boot instead of a nurse’s shoe.

“Spence?”

Becca?

He had to see her. He didn’t care if his head was smashed in and his eyes refused to cooperate. He had to know it was her. He took a deep breath through his mouth—his nose wasn’t good for smelling or breathing—and forced his right eye open. His vision immediately swam with tears but, gradually, Becca’s familiar face came into focus.

“Happened?”

Her fingers fluttered over his brow. “Your arm got caught in Rusty’s rope, and you were down in the well. God, Spence, you scared the crap out of me. You weren’t waking up and…but the doctor let me crash in the waiting room until you did.” It looked like she was trying to smile, but with his blurry vision, he couldn’t be sure. “Those chairs are made for short people. I had to fold myself in half to squeeze my ass into one.”

“Don’t remember,” Spencer croaked. In fact, the last thing he remembered was drawing Rusty Jack Knife. He tried to lift his right arm, but like most things, it refused to cooperate. He moaned softly and let his eye drop shut again. “What’s wrong?”

She took a few seconds to answer. That couldn’t be good. Nothing fazed Becca.

“You dislocated your shoulder. Tore up some tendons. Some ligaments.” She took a deep breath. “You got a concussion, too. But Dr. Allan can tell you all about that. I don’t know much about the specifics.”

Spencer’s lungs and heart stopped. She might as well have told him his arm had been ripped off. He knew plenty of cowboys with torn tendons and ligaments—and very few of those ever joined the circuit again. He tried to tell himself it could be relatively minor. He tried to tell himself it would be okay. But black despair settled on his chest and limbs like a blanket.

“Becca, please…will I ride?”

Her fingers trembled where they touched his arm, telling him more than anything she might say.

“Dr. Allan said they’d have to run tests to be sure, but…he doesn’t think you will. I’m so sorry, Spence.”

Something in his chest withered, shrunk, until it was a tiny speck left in a very empty space. Spencer couldn’t even find the energy to acknowledge he had heard her. The pain in his head increased tenfold, and now he felt it in his arm as well. A sort of slicing agony that went bone deep. Spencer didn’t understand how it could be true. One stupid accident ruined his entire career? His entire life? It couldn’t be true.

Her hand disappeared when the door opened again, but he didn’t bother opening his eyes as the doctor swept in and introduced himself. Poking and prodding followed, with pain in places that hadn’t felt pain before. When the questions started, he answered in the same monosyllables he’d given the nurse. He didn’t have strength for anything else.

“…after the surgeries, though, you’re going to need extensive physical therapy. Good thing for you, you’ve got Ms. Rankin to help you out.”

Spencer barely paid attention to the doctor—what could he possibly say that Spencer would want to hear?—but Becca’s name caught his attention.

“What?”

“Well, you’re going to need some help, Mr. Cole. Ms. Rankin said you didn’t have any family around here, is that right?”

Spencer had been so overwhelmed by the crushing news Becca had delivered it never even occurred to him to worry about his short-term care.

“No family.” His lips pulled into something resembling a grin. “No insurance, either, Doc.”

“You can take p*****t up with Accounting, then. My job is to make sure you get well. With Ms. Rankin’s help. You’re a very lucky man. Most cowboys I see don’t have anybody.”

“Oh.” He didn’t understand. He suspected confusion would become his natural state. He liked Becca. He looked forward to seeing her every year. But she barely had any more reason to take care of him than she would to take care of a perfect stranger. “Why?”

“Your head injury makes it necessary for you to have someone available to you, round the clock. You’re going to have very limited mobility, Mr. Cole. Someone is going to have to be responsible for making sure you get to physical therapy, as well as seeing to your needs on a daily basis. At least until you can take care of yourself.”

“I don’t mind, Spence.” Becca’s soft voice. “But if there’s somebody else you’d rather have do it…”

“No…Nobody else.” Except Travis, and Spencer didn’t even know where his uncle was. He could have been anywhere in the country. The man didn’t even have a cell phone. Tracking him down would take days, if not weeks. Was his head injury really so severe? Beyond the pain, and the confusion, and the pain, he more or less felt fine. Not like his brains were scrambled at all. “Thanks.”

“I’ll leave you two to talk while I go arrange with the consultant for your first surgery.” The white coat blurred out of his line of sight, leaving Becca’s darker outline somewhere off to the right. “If you need anything, just ring for the nurse.”

Spencer waited until the doctor left before he tried to speak again. “In the well, huh?” He paused, focusing his thoughts and formed a second question. “Didn’t get my ride?”

“No, sorry.” She loomed larger again, and the side of the bed creaked slightly as she perched on the edge of it. “The clock stopped at six seconds.” Her hand returned to his arm, heavier this time like she wasn’t afraid of hurting him. “How do you feel?”

“Like s**t. Tired.”

“Do you want me to go so you can sleep?”

Spencer hesitated for a moment before whispering, “Yes.” He didn’t necessarily want Becca to leave, but he wanted to be alone.

“Oh. Okay.” She sounded disappointed, but she rose from the bed anyway. “I should probably go home and shower. And my dad has left a zillion messages on my cell phone. Everybody’s going to want to know you’re all right.”

Spencer wondered if maybe he should apologize, but he didn’t have the words. Or the energy. He did force his eye open so he could look at her again before she left. But he only caught her back, and the fall of her dark hair down her shoulders. It was the only bright thing in the room.