“It’s a damn good thing you did because if you hadn’t and I found out later, you would both be out of a job.” Doris’s breath came in sharp bursts. “Damn him. I’ve had more than enough of his attitude. He’s gone.”
“But, what about the article? I took all those photos.” Ryan glanced at her camera bag, slumped by the door like another exhausted traveler.
“I’ll call Mr. Harrison and interview him myself. I’m sure I still remember how.” The sound of papers shuffling came through the line. “Damn it! How dare Sean do that?”
“It shocked me to hear him call me that slur. Of course, Seth stopped him real fast.” Ryan’s fingers unconsciously touched her upper arm where Sean’s grip had left five distinct ovals of purple red.
“It’s not just what he said, he put his hands on you.” Doris’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “That is not going to just be swept under the rug. I’m so sorry, Ryan. I will take care of this.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.
“I’ll call Mr. Harrison tomorrow. I need to apologize to him about that little piece of shit. You just relax today. If you need me, call. Talk soon, honey.”
Doris hung up with a decisive click. Ryan pushed herself to her feet, legs trembling slightly, and headed for the bathroom where a good hot soak in the claw-foot tub and a long, throat-burning cry awaited.
****
Seth shook his hand, trying to ease the pain, as he watched her SUV kick up a cloud of dust as it disappeared down the drive, the late sun glinting off it. The creak of the barn door drew his attention as Cull stepped inside.
“Damn, what an ass,” Cull said, his voice low and gravelly.
“Yes, he is that.” Seth’s jaw tightened.
“Is Ryan alright?”
“She’s a little shook up, but I think she’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, she’s tough.” Cull shook his head, adjusting his worn leather gloves.
“I need to head in.”
“What about your hand?” Cull nodded toward it.
“Sore. I need to soak it. I’ll see you later,” Seth said, then turned back. “Thanks, Cull.”
“Sure. I just happened to be walking by since we just got back.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Anytime.” Cull touched the brim of his sweat-stained hat, then walked out, boots scuffing against the floor.
Seth stepped out into the sunshine to see Micky and Red standing beside the barn. He stopped beside them.
“Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, boss. He deserved it,” Micky said.
Seth nodded at them, then shook his head as he crossed the yard, the memory of Hayes’ sneering face still burning in his mind. He hoped Ryanwouldreport Hayes to their boss. The way Hayes had grabbed her arm, fingers digging into her skin, had made Seth see red. But it was when Hayes had called her that despicable word and it made something snap inside Seth like a dry branch.
He examined his knuckles, already purple with bruises, skin split over two of them. Blood had dried in thin crusted lines. He’d soak his hand in ice. It wasn’t the first time he’d busted his knuckles.
“Damn it,” he muttered as he flexed his fingers, wincing at the sharp pain that shot up his wrist. This injury would set him back on training. He’d take ibuprofen to keep the swelling down, but the truth was as clear as the throbbing in his hand, he wouldn’t be working with any horses for a while.
Later, Seth slumped in the recliner with his throbbing hand submerged in a plastic mixing bowl of ice. The cubes had melted into jagged translucent islands floating in frigid water that had turned his fingers a bloodless white, while Hayes’ words echoed through his head. Was Ryan leading him on? Did she just want to be with him because he was different from the type of man she wanted? He knew he wasn’t her type, but he knew there was tension between them.Sexualtension and that can’t be faked. It was too hot between them, but he also knew she’d be leaving soon and where would that leave him?
“Alone,” he muttered, knowing that as well as he knew his own name.
After twenty minutes, he couldn’t feel anything below his wrist, not the scrapes across his knuckles nor the swelling that had ballooned around his middle finger. He lifted the numb appendage from its arctic bath, examining the puffy flesh asdroplets pattered back into the bowl. He picked up the small hand towel and gently patted his hand dry, then with a grimace, he hauled himself up and shuffled to the kitchen, where he dumped the slush into the sink with a crystalline clatter. The ice skittered against the white sink as he trudged down the hallway toward the small office, dreading the prospect of pressing his tender fingers against the unyielding plastic keys of his computer.
