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His gaze flickered to her ringless hand. Maybe he’d assumed she was Shane’s wife. “It’s fine,” he said. “But we gave him something to help him sleep. He probably won’t know you’re there.”
“That’s fine, as long as he can get some rest. I can push the call button if he needs anything.”
“Okay, then.” The nurse nodded. “There’s coffee at the nurses’ station. You can help yourself if you want it. And there’s a chair you can pull next to the bed. I’ve got to tell you, I’m a fan of his. I’ve seen him ride. He was one of the best.”
Was. The word wasn’t lost on Lexie. “Is there anything else I should know?” she asked.
“You might keep an eye on the monitor, in case anything changes, like his oxygen level or his blood pressure.”
“I know about that. I’ll make sure he’s stable.”
“We’ll be right outside if he needs anything.” The nurse turned away and hurried back down the hall to answer a blinking call light.
Lexie walked into the room. The lights were dim, but she could see Shane lying flat in the bed, still wearing the neck brace. She glanced at the glowing monitor screen above his head. Everything appeared normal—reassurance that there were no internal injuries except to his back. He would live—but his quality of life hung in the balance.
She found the chair—overstuffed and upholstered in fake brown leather. As she moved it next to the bed, she discovered that the back reclined partway. She could doze in it if she needed to. Before sitting down, she leaned over the bed. Shane’s eyes were closed, his breathing regular.
“I’m here, Shane,” she whispered.
His eyelids fluttered open for an instant, then closed again. “Lexie . . .” he murmured, ending her name in a breath.
As she sank into the chair, she found his free hand. Her fingers slid into his cool palm. He clasped them, his strong grip holding her tight.
She laid her head beside him, holding his hand, listening to him breathe and knowing that, whatever happened, whatever he might say to her in his anger and frustration, she would be here for him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
TESS AND CALLIE SAT ON THE PORCH, THEIR LAWN CHAIRS PUSHED back into the narrow ribbon of afternoon shade. Callie, who’d grown up in Louisiana, had made a pitcher of sweet tea. It wasn’t Tess’s favorite, but at least, with plenty of ice, it was cold.
The bulls, Whirlwind among them, lazed in the pasture, where a mound of fresh earth marked old Thunderbolt’s grave. Aaron had arrived the night before, bringing Whirlwind and a check for the prize money the bull had won. His score had come in third, behind two nationally ranked bulls, so the check hadn’t been impressive. But the ride had been featured on the PBR Web site, and he’d been touted as the rookie bull to watch.
Ruben would be taking four of the other bulls to Wickenburg this coming weekend. But there were no nearby PBR events scheduled, so Whirlwind would get a rest—which was fortunate, since there was no telling when Lexie would be here to take him again. Nonetheless, the silver-gray bull needed to buck. He needed the points and the exposure if he was to make the November finals in Las Vegas—with the chance to earn big money.
But that was a worry for another day. Right now Tess had more pressing concerns on her mind.
“I can’t believe this!” Her hand crumpled the letter that Aaron had picked up for her at the post office in Ajo that morning—the letter informing her that the hayfields on the property next to Aaron’s were under new ownership, and the ranch would no longer be able to buy hay at a discounted price.
The letter was from a new property investment company. The owner’s name wasn’t mentioned, but Tess knew who it was. Brock Tolman was doing just what Shane had predicted—he was squeezing the ranch, little by little, slowly backing them into a corner.
“What are you going to do?” Callie asked.
Tess shook her head. The discount on hay—because it didn’t have to be loaded and hauled—had been a boon to the ranch over the years. Hay at the market price would cost twice as much. “For now, we don’t have much choice,” she said. “But my plan is to plant a couple of our pastures in hay. By next summer we should have our own crop.”
Brave talk. Planting hay would involve seed, a watering system, and harvesting equipment to cut and bale the hay, unless they could rent the machines that Aaron used. Maybe it would be cheaper to just bite the bullet and buy the hay.
Damn Brock Tolman to hell!
“Do you think Aaron will still have a job?”
Callie asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Tess replied. “Somebody needs to take care of the hayfields, and he’s right there. Maybe the bastards will even give him a raise.”
As if the words could summon him, Aaron appeared around the bend in the road, driving the Kubota. He parked in the yard and came up onto the porch. “I’ll take some of that tea,” he said. “It’s hotter than hell out there.”
Callie refilled her own empty glass with tea. He took it and sank into a chair. “Hear any more from Lexie? When will she be back?”
“I don’t know.” Tess remembered the few brief lines her sister had written.
