Rough Road Home (The Circle D series) (3 page)

Her words, her hands, her tone all peppered him like gravel spewing from beneath a tire. How could he think straight when so many sensations assaulted him at once? The meds clouded his thinking, taking the edge off his reflexes. He needed distance and lots of it.

“I don’t need help,” he ground out, feeling much like a bull trapped in a chute. He opened his eye and glared at the asphalt pavement. “They gave me something for my head. . .it wore off while I was waiting for Mitch to show up.”

Rachel pulled her hand from his forearm, rocked back on her heels and stood. Blocking the sun with her stance, she planted her hands on her flared hips. His gaze shifted to the soft flannel tucked into her denim waistband. An alluring view under different circumstances.

His eyelids pressed shut. The last thing he needed right now was alluring.

“Well, Uncle Mitch isn’t here, cowboy, I am. But I’m going to get you to Uncle Mitch as fast as I can--” her tirade stopped.

Careful not to move his head too quickly, Nick tried to follow her movement. Fabric rustled until Nick felt her warm breath close to his ear.

“Besides.” Warm breath tickled his ear sending tiny pulses down his back. “Do you know how difficult it is to park that rig of yours at a hospital lot? I must have displaced four parking places.”

The lure of her sweet scent vanished as his eyes snapped open and he jerked his head back. She knelt nose-to-nose beside him, her satisfied smile revealing straight, white teeth as her finger tapped against her cheek. “You drove my truck?”

The tapping stopped. A sly wink turned the skittering pulses to ice.

“You didn’t think we were taking a cab, did you?”

CHAPTER THREE

Grin plastered in place as the heels of her boots clicked against the asphalt, Rachel forced her stride to stay casual even as every cell in her body boiled. A little favor Uncle Mitch had called it. Next time, she’d dig deeper into innocent requests since her sense of loyalty to her uncle may have skewed her sense of judgment this time. If she’d only met Nick Davidson, face to face, she’d have known better than to have postponed her return to Denver and drive him to Wyoming. The man was just like her dad -- a daredevil junkie who never considered the anguish and fear of those who loved him. Bud Hill would have ridden with a broken anything for the glory of besting a bull.

Rachel shook her head to clear away memories that had no business cropping up right now. Oh, she’d return this bull rider to her uncle all right; she just held no guarantees whether the cowboy lived to tell of his travels.

Rounding the black, full-ton pickup, Rachel jammed her hand into the pocket of her jeans. She withdrew the few keys attached to a simple ring as she peered over the bed of the truck. Nick slowly made his way through the parking lot, his halting gait a clear testament to his injuries.

Guilt washed through her anger as she mechanically reached for her headset. Hurts she’d dealt with years ago clouded her mind. Lord, forgive me for my insensitivity. How Nick Davidson dealt with his life was not her care. Bull riding had brought enough misery in her life, and Nick was not asking for her help with anything. This entire scenario had nothing to do with her. Uncle Mitch asked a favor of her; she’d complied. Pure and simple.

Twisting the headset between her fingers, Rachel recounted the past three weeks of spiritual study that had helped her mind deal with the pressures of a volatile stock market and the demands of clients who trusted hundreds of thousands of dollars to her care. The hours of prayer and Bible study had fed her soul and nourished her spirit. Uncle Mitch, her rock on earth; Christ, her foundation.

How could she harbor resentment against anyone when her life was so blessed?

She opened the door and tossed the duffel bag into the back seat of the extended cab. Keeping her eye on Nick, she also noticed the nurse standing ready to sprint to her patient’s aid. Guilt dealt her a final blow. Cowboy or no, Rachel couldn’t just stand by and watch him struggle. Besides, every cowboy had his pride; this one just seemed to have a greater measure than most.

Shooting a prayer for patience toward heaven, she hopped around the edge of the truck bed and hurried to his side. A keen breeze cooled the air despite the illusion of warmth on the clear day. Rachel peeked under the brim of his hat and noticed the sweat beading across his brow.

“Got your land legs yet?” She linked her arm through his. The heat radiated through his clothing causing warmth to spread through her. She wrapped her fingers around his forearm.

“I’m as fine as fine can be.” He reached out and gripped the back bumper of a Suburban parked next to the truck, his knuckles showing white as he steadied himself. “Give me the keys and we’ll get going.”

“Sorry cowboy, you’re grounded. If you could drive, why would I be here?” She pulled away to give him space to pass between the parked cars, but instead he lowered his arm around her shoulders for support. As she absorbed his weight, she inhaled the subtle scent of male. Pure, unadulterated male. She pressed her palm against his back as her fingers curled into his belt. They shuffled between the parked cars, not quick enough for her peace of mind.

“Remind me to discuss that issue with Mitch,” his voice rumbled over her head. “Why’d you park so far away?”

When she’d arrived at the hospital, four rows over didn’t seem like such a big deal. From now on, she’d park on the curb if necessary. Anything to avoid the unnerving body contact. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to maneuver a truck the size of a semi. I didn’t think you’d want me to practice my parking techniques in the section marked for sub-compacts.”

A few more steps and they reached the door. Rachel untangled herself from under his arm. “You’re big for a bull rider,” she said as she stepped back, needing air and space. Plenty of space.

“Show me the regs for riding rough stock,” he countered with a scowl.

Odd sense of humor. . .but she liked it. She tilted her head and stared at his bruised face. “None I know of. Usually I can look bull riders in the eye when I’m talking to them.” He rolled against the side of the truck, his complexion paler than she’d remembered in the lobby. She reached out and grasped the waistband of his jeans, tucking her fingers in the belt loop for a good hold in case he slipped. “I fit you well as a crutch. Use me.”

The puffy flesh of his cheek tightened as his other eye narrowed and the muscles in his jaw worked. “A good crutch would hand over my keys and let me get on my way.”

“A good crutch never abandons a patient.” She held his gaze even as awareness of his solid warmth tingled her nerves.

“Go away.” His blue eyes seemed to crystalize to ice. “I don’t need your help.”

Frustration with the entire ridiculous situation returned full measure. Cowboys. Not a one of them had a lick of sense. “Lucky for you, this crutch was carved from the back side of the tree and never learned to take orders well.” She opened the passenger door and nodded toward the cab. “Now get in before I stick you with a splinter.”

Rachel rounded the truck and settled into the driver’s side. Slamming the door, she snapped the seatbelt in place then gripped the steering wheel. The dashboard displayed every option available to guarantee a comfortable ride. She brushed the buttons that operated the climate control and sound system, her finger lingering over the Global Positioning System control. She shook her head at the irony. The truck even had a safeguard in case he got lost. Cowboys weren’t particularly known for their savings habits. Obviously Nick Davidson played the prestige game with the best of the big money winners.

“You sure you can drive this?”

She inserted the key and turned the ignition. The clatter of the powerful diesel engine surrounded them. The steering wheel vibrated beneath her palms and all the idiot lights on the dashboard went dark as she stomped the clutch and slipped the gears into reverse before guiding the beast out of its stall. “Watch me.”

Having spent the better part of an hour studying the map before she’d arrived at the hospital, Rachel guided them out of the parking lot and wove through various city streets until reaching the Interstate. After merging onto the highway, they drove along in silence until traffic thinned and she felt confident enough to loosen her grip on the wheel.

“Had you worried, didn’t it?”

Rachel jumped as his gravelly voice broke the silence. He’d studied her every move, rather than side-seat driving. Thank God for small blessings. “The traffic lightens at the outskirts.” A quick roll of her shoulders loosened the tightened muscles. “We should have smooth sailing from here on out.”

Seeing a gap in traffic, she changed lanes and shifted into overdrive. The truck handled well and responded to the lightest touch. Great asset for a rodeo cowboy.

“I didn’t think my seat adjusted that close to the dashboard.”

Rachel tore her attention from the highway to the leather covered wheel gripped snugly in her hands. Her lack of depth perception required her to see the front edge of the truck to gage distance. Sitting straight and tall had become habit. She’d learned to field remarks about her penchant for hugging the dashboard with humor and grace. At the moment, she didn’t think she had enough grace left in her to bless a meal.

“Just making sure I see the road.” She forced her smile in place and waited for the familiar barrier of distance she’d practiced the past weeks to rise and save her from situations she didn’t want to deal with. Instead, only a filtered ambivalence dulled her mind, knocking off the high points of her anger and replacing it with steady frustration. Nick was messing with her mind and he didn’t even know it. “You don’t want me to take a gamble with your prize vehicle, do you?”

“No. I’m trying to win my vehicle back.”

He surprised her with his quick wit. The corners of her mouth eased giving way to a genuine compassion at his doggedness. She couldn’t blame him. She’d wager Nick Davidson wasn’t accustomed to taking orders.

“Sorry, Nick,” she softened her tone. “I know sitting back and letting me drive your truck is hard, but the prize for this game doesn’t include anything with a sharp edge or a motor. They gave you some pretty strong medication back at the hospital. In your condition, I couldn’t allow you to drive a tricycle.”

“You. . .couldn’t. . .allow. . .me?” he repeated, the edge in his voice lethal. “And who appointed you my keeper?”

“If Uncle Mitch were here, you wouldn’t be driving.” Rachel gripped the wheel tighter, the ache in her shoulders returning. “I’m here instead. Here’s the deal. I need to keep an eye on you for the next few days in case some blood clot in your brain works itself free instead of dissolving. Personally, I think it’s dumb to let you go in this condition, but they said they couldn’t keep you forever on speculation. Chances are you’ll be fine, but just in case, someone needs to dial 9-1-1.” She peeled her gaze off the road and glanced at him. “Didn’t they tell you any of this back at the hospital?”

“They told me,” he answered, the rasp of his voice barely audible over the highway noise.

Rachel glanced in the rear view mirror and then shot a look over her shoulder to verify traffic. Satisfied there weren’t any sub-compact cars in her blind spot, she shifted into overdrive and kept extra distance between her and the semi in front of them. “Then what’s the problem?”

At Nick’s silence, Rachel risked another look across the cab. He sat slumped against the door, facing the window. His jaw bunched steadily warning the battle for driving rights hadn’t ended. She didn’t want to battle anymore.

“How about some music?” Distraction always worked well in these situations. She touched the power button and classic country came blaring at her from every direction.

“What in the--?” She punched the button again cutting off the Devil’s trip to Georgia. She’d always loved Charlie Daniels, but not at a ba-billion decibels. “Are you deaf?”

* * *

Accustomed to the settings of his stereo system, Nick never flinched anymore when the sound roared on, the volume shocking his senses. The louder the music, the less he needed to listen to his own thoughts. The less he listened, the less he felt. And the less he felt, the less the guilt haunted him and the easier he could make it through another day.

He turned back and slid squarely into the leather seat. He’d never sat on the passenger side of his truck and couldn’t quite say he enjoyed the experience. The seat didn’t fit as well as the driver’s, didn’t mold to his back and shoulders as well.

No matter, he planned on regaining custody of his truck quick enough.

Having recovered from the jolt, Rachel chewed on her bottom lip as she checked the mirrors again. “Are you going to speak to me at all this trip?”

Not if he could help it. The less he knew about her, the better, and if she didn’t learn anything at all about him, better yet. “I travel alone.”

“You know, Nick? I gathered that a while ago, but you’re stuck with me for a few hundred miles. Now, do you want conversation or music?”

“Neither.” He was being unreasonable, and he knew it. If he could only shake the dull ache throbbing through his head, he might be able to think clearer. He needed to get this trip over with as quickly as possible and mentally prepare for his final ride of the regular season. He watched the mile markers pass on the road, then glanced at the speedometer. His fingers tapped on the armrest until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “The speed limit’s seventy-five. On these open stretches, you can easily do ten over.”