Rebecca hadn’t known what she’d expected when he woke up. Dr. Allan had warned her about the disorientation, and she’d talked to a few of the nurses throughout the night about head injuries, but when he’d opened his eye—and just the one, God, it was a good thing he didn’t have a mirror—and she’d had to tell him about the prognosis, the desolation she’d seen there had nearly ripped her heart out. She knew what bull riding meant to him. It was all he had. She didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what losing it felt like.
But she kept her chin up, and went about going home, cleaning up, calling everybody who’d be worried about Spence. When she talked to her dad, she carefully left out the part where she’d volunteered to be responsible for his short-term care. She was twenty-three years ol
