Cowboy Blues

Chapter 1 Sweat dripped down the back of Rebecca Rankin’s neck, trickling beneath her top to make the blue ribbed tank stick to her skin, and the waistband of her shorts felt too tight, digging into her sides. It was the hottest Fourth of July in fifty years, and standing in the middle of sweating cowboys, screaming fans, and cranky animals only made the heat worse. The sun hung low on the horizon, but the hot air had been trapped against the ground. Even the growing dusk did not offer any relief. If she’d been smart, she would have pulled her hair up into a ponytail to try and ease her discomfort. But Spencer liked her hair down. Since she only saw him one night in the year, the hair stayed put. Spectators packed the bleachers, shoulder to shoulder, and the announcement about the next event blasted from the speakers. Audible excitement shuddered through the crowd, and Rebecca inched forward from the spot Spencer had picked out for her. Most of the locals watched the annual rodeo from reserved seats on the east end of the arena, near the announcer’s box, but Rebecca didn’t join them. Spence put her in the chute area, away from the bulk of people, giving her one of the best vantage points to watch the rodeo. He had made special accommodations for her the year before, as well. He probably went out of his way for other girls he saw on the circuit, but it didn’t lessen the thrill. She was Spencer Cole’s guest. The only guest that mattered at this rodeo. “Cole drew third.” A voice at her elbow made Rebecca look away from the arena, and she smiled at the grizzled face of Max Clute. He helped every year with the logistics of the Oakley rodeo. She had met Max three years earlier, after Spencer had insisted Rebecca be the one to shoot all his local photos. Max had taken her under his wing, showing her more and more of how the rodeo worked. The friendship had led to writing a feature on Max for her father’s newspaper, even though Rebecca’s heart lay in her photography. She knew photography would be her ticket out of town one day. She took the program he offered and scanned over the other names. “Who’s going before him?” “Plaisted and Bannerman. Make sure you get some pics of Bannerman. I got a gut feeling he’s on the brink of something great.” Though Rebecca nodded, she was already imagining Spencer’s ride. He was the best bull rider she’d ever seen, and Max’s gut feeling would not sway her into believing someone else would actually win the event. Sure, Spencer lost his fair share, but ever since his magnificent ride four years earlier, Spencer Cole always won in her hometown. He called Rebecca his good luck charm. He didn’t need a good luck charm. He was just amazing. “What bull did he draw?” When an answer wasn’t immediately forthcoming, she glanced up and saw the frown on Max’s face. “Well?” “You’re not going to like it.” “Tell me.” Max looked away from her and out over the arena. “Rusty Jack Knife.” It felt like the air had been sucked out of her lungs with her dad’s leaf blower set on reverse. “Oh, crap,” Rebecca muttered. Her head whipped around to scan the bull paddocks behind the chutes, but from her distance, it was impossible to tell the beasts apart. That was probably better. She didn’t want to see this particular bull. She wanted to see Spencer on it even less. Rusty Jack Knife had the reputation as one of the meanest bulls on the circuit. Nobody had taken him in over four years. More than that, he had a tendency to leave the riders who tried in pieces. One had even died, she’d heard. And now Spencer was getting his turn. The cotton candy she’d had earlier started to roil in her stomach. Spencer would see it as a challenge. He thrived on taking impossible chances, and when it came to bull riding, the greater the risk, the worthier the reward. Trying to speak to him before his ride would be pointless, even if Rebecca wanted to. Talking to him now would only distract him, and he needed every ounce of concentration he could get. “He’s had worse,” Max commented when she turned back around. “I know.” “And he’s good enough to handle this one.” “I know.” “Doesn’t make it easier to watch, though.” Rebecca sighed. “No, it doesn’t.” She barely saw the first two riders. She forgot about Max’s suggestion to photograph Bannerman as she anxiously waited for Spencer to come out. But then the audience cheered over Bannerman’s scores, and the announcer called Spencer’s name, and she edged forward as far as she could to watch the chute gate fly open. The entire crowd held its breath. She couldn’t see Spencer from her position, but she could imagine him. Wrapping his right hand in the rope. Settling his weight over the panting bull. Checking the rope once more. Taking a deep breath. Maybe saying a prayer. Did Spencer pray? She never asked, but it seemed likely. She would be praying to every god and goddess she ever heard of if she were about to ride a bull like Rusty Jack Knife. The gate flew open and the bull burst into the arena, all four feet in the air. The launch flung Spencer back, but he kept his seat and managed to adjust his weight before the bull went into the air again. Her heart began to lift. He could do this. She brought the camera up to her eye. He’s going to ride this sonofabitch. Rusty Jack Knife became a red and brown blur as he went into the air again and turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees. When he came back down on his front legs, Spencer slammed forward. The momentum was too much, and he didn’t catch himself before the bull jerked its head back. Everybody in the arena heard the collision between Rusty Jack Knife’s head and Spencer’s face. The clock stopped at six seconds, the ride disqualified as soon as Spencer touched the bull. A split second later, everybody in the arena realized something had gone horribly wrong. Instead of untying his hand from the thick rope, Spencer flopped backward. Rusty, still kicking its hind feet with every step, began to spin. Rebecca’s mind flashed to when her father took her to the Utah State Fair. She had been eight. He had bought a ticket for unlimited rides. The giant, rotating swing had fascinated Rebecca. She remembered standing at the base of the ride, watching as it spun faster and faster, until all the swings stuck straight out, extended horizontally by the centrifugal force. Spencer was extended like that now, flying out from the bull, his arm still caught in the rope. She heard gasps, shouts, and cries. Everybody moved at once. The bullfighters jumped into the arena first, one trying to distract the bull, the other rushing to free the rope, anything except comical in their face paint, wigs, and colorful clothing. Each time they got close, the bull shifted out of reach, its sides still heaving, its feet still dancing in a tight circle. Rebecca held her breath until her lungs ached. An eternity later, the clown pulled the rope free and Spencer hit the ground. The bull, its anger soothed as soon as it lost the cowboy, trotted out of the arena without further trouble. But Spencer didn’t move. Her shoes felt like they were filled with cement, but somehow, Rebecca pushed through the throng, fighting her way to the arena exit. A strong hand curled around her arm, and she yanked against it, trying to get free. “You can’t go out there.” Max dug his fingers in harder, pinching the fleshy muscle. “You know that, Becky.” She probably outweighed Max by fifty pounds but he was still stronger than her. “You were watching. You saw what happened to him.” “That doesn’t mean they’re going to bend the rules for you. You have to wait until they bring him out.” She didn’t care. “Did you see him? He’s not moving, Max. Not. Moving. You know that’s not good.” “Rules are rules.” “They’re stupid rules!” “They wouldn’t let you out there, even if you were married to him.” Firmly, but gently, he began walking, not releasing her. It only took two steps for Rebecca to realize he was leading her to the gate where they’d bring Spencer out. As soon as the ambulance rolled out into the arena, Rebecca broke away from Max and ran to Spencer. The EMTs were securing his neck and spine, and his eyes were closed. His face was already turning different shades of blue and purple, and his eyes were swollen, his nose bleeding. He didn’t seem responsive or aware at all. Nobody noticed her until she gasped, a strangled, shocked sound. “Are you going to ride with him to the hospital, ma’am? Ma’am?” She barely heard him. Spencer’s lips were moving. She strained her ears. Had he said her name? Did he know she was there? “Ma’am?” “Yes, yes, I’m going.” Who else would go? He didn’t have anybody else in town. The EMTs carefully hoisted the stretcher. The fans erupted in clapping and cheers as they loaded Spencer into the ambulance, and Rebecca hoped he heard them, hoped he knew they were all applauding him. The bullfighters waved their hats in the air, encouraging a louder response, and began stomping their feet. Soon, the entire arena vibrated with the force of their encouragement. Rebecca didn’t make a sound. She only stared at Spencer’s mouth, willing his lips to move again. She crawled into the ambulance behind the EMTs and reached for Spencer’s hand. They shut the door, blocking the sound of the spectators, and slowly rolled out of the arena. The nearest emergency room was twenty miles away, in the next city over. She jumped at the sudden blast of the siren, her fingers tightening on Spencer’s hand. “I know I always said you were crazy,” she whispered, “but you really didn’t need to prove anything to me, you i***t. I believed you without the practical demonstration.” “Excuse me, ma’am.” Without the deafening chaos of the arena, the EMT looked to be as young as her, and it was hard to take him seriously enough to move out of his way when he tried to get closer to Spencer. “I need to monitor him. You have to sit back and let me do my job.” Rebecca slid to the bench on the other side, but her eyes never left Spencer. His normally tanned skin looked sallow in the artificial light, and the bruises from where he’d hit Rusty Jack Knife with his face were already turning ugly shades of purple. She only wanted him to open his eyes. If he saw her, he’d know he wasn’t alone. If she saw him, she’d know whether or not he’d be all right. His eyelids didn’t even flicker in the twenty miles. It only took fifteen minutes to travel the distance, but it was the longest fifteen minutes of her life. As soon as the ambulance came to a halt, the EMT pushed the door open. She didn’t know his name. It bothered her that she didn’t know his name. He held Spencer’s life in his hands, and she had no idea who he was. A flurry of white and blue descended on the ambulance as nurses and orderlies met the ambulance. The man—the one she didn’t know—filled one of the nurses in on the extent of the injuries. She heard every word he said, but she didn’t understand anything. Somebody touched her elbow. The driver. She didn’t know his name either. “Ma’am? Come with me. I’ll show you where you can wait.” Her feet moved of their own accord. Rebecca didn’t see the path they took, and she didn’t see the casual glances from the staff. She kept twisting to watch where they were taking Spencer. Why couldn’t she go with him? She wouldn’t get in the way. She was an expert at blending into the background. They had to know that. Someone pressed a cup of coffee in her hands. Someone else turned on the TV in the corner of the empty waiting room. Rebecca didn’t sit. She stood near the doorway and watched the hall. The coffee was cold and untouched by the time somebody approached the room. She hurried to his side as soon as he entered, crowding his space. He was tall, the light above reflecting off the sheen of his bald head, with an open face, his eyes friendly but still reserved enough to be professional. “Spencer Cole,” she blurted. “Is he okay? What’s going on?” He smiled at her. “I’m Dr. Allan. Why don’t we have a seat and I’ll tell you everything I can.” She nodded and allowed him to lead her over to the chair she had ignored since entering the room. “I was glad to hear somebody came in with him,” he continued. “Sometimes we get cowboys who are stuck here alone for a day or more before family shows up. Are you family?” She didn’t want to give him an excuse not to talk to her, but it would be too easy for the truth to come out. “I’m a friend. Spence doesn’t have any family. Just an uncle, who…” She wracked her brain, but slowly shook her head when the details escaped her. “Travels a lot,” she finished. “He could be anywhere.” Dr. Allan nodded, like he wasn’t surprised. “Mr. Cole sustained several injuries in the accident. He has a very severe concussion from the collision with the bull’s head. There is swelling in his brain right here,” he gestured at his own forehead. “We’re going to keep him here for observation for a few days, because you can never be too careful with head injuries. But be aware he’s going to be very confused for a while. It’s hard to say how long. Maybe a week, maybe a month. He’ll have difficulty concentrating and following conversations. He may not always remember faces. He most likely won’t remember the accident at all.” Rebecca blinked. She felt like throwing up. “That sounds like brain damage.” “These are common symptoms after a concussion like the one Mr. Cole sustained. Most of the time, patients return to normal after the swelling subsides. But in my opinion, his career is over. We’ll have to run more tests in a few weeks to know for sure, but brain damage would be the best scenario with another head injury. In the meantime, he’ll probably need a good deal of help, and somebody to keep an eye on him.” She’d wanted information. Now that she had it, Rebecca didn’t know what to do with it. Bull riding was all Spencer knew. He didn’t want anything else. He was successful because he threw everything he had into the rodeo. What would he do without it? But more than that… “He doesn’t have somebody to keep an eye on him,” she said. “He’s only got me.” “He’s going to need you. I don’t want him traveling anywhere until the swelling has gone down, and he’s going to have a very hard time taking care of himself. He’s also dislocated his right shoulder and torn most of the tendons and ligaments. He’ll need several surgeries to repair the damage, and he’ll have very limited mobility. After the surgeries, he’ll need physical therapy.” “How long will that take?” “It’s hard to say. He might be looking at a recovery time of six months or more with his shoulder. Mentally, he should be back to normal in four to six weeks.” She suspected it would take a lot longer than a few weeks for Spencer to be okay. She’d never met anybody who loved the rodeo as much as Spencer Cole. “Doesn’t he need to be local then? I live in Oakley.” The doctor shrugged. “I would rather he stay here in Park City, if possible. Or even live in Salt Lake, closer to the university hospital. But the last thing I want to see is him living alone right now. The extra twenty or thirty minutes on the road is a small inconvenience.” Rebecca nodded in blind agreement. When put like that, she couldn’t argue. Spencer needed medical help. A nurse. Someone to be there for all those little things he’d always taken for granted. She wasn’t any of those. The thought of having him so dependent on her terrified her. But she had been right about one thing she’d told Dr. Allan. She was Spencer’s only choice.