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The conviction in his voice gave Tara a sense of victory. All her confidence in ultimately winning out over her competition had been justified. Flushed with success, she bent her head to kiss him. Ty had a glimpse of the black hearth of the fireplace before her dark beauty blocked out any images that might have lingered for him. The warmth of Tara’s body seemed to soak through him, bringing the fever—the hot hunger that was not nearly as consuming as it once had been.
A gate had been installed in the fenceline that separated the Shamrock Ranch from the Triple C range, providing easy access from one to the other. With practiced skill, Cat maneuvered her flashy paint gelding so she could open, then close the gate behind her without dismounting. She let the horse set its own lunging pace up the slope to the crest of the rimrock, spotted with clumps of pine. A faint trail led into the broken country, and Cat followed it.
She was still smarting from her argument with Repp, and dejected by it, too. At times like these, it seemed she had no one to whom she could turn. Once she could have gone complaining to her parents, but her mother was gone. Her father, who had always seemed strong enough and powerful enough to solve any problem, had become someone she wanted to protect from anything unpleasant. Ty was too busy, and Tara, who was sometimes exactly like an older sister, still regarded Cat’s feelings as childish and never took them seriously. More and more, when the loneliness and insecurities crept in, Cat found herself seeking out her uncle so she could have the company of someone who cared.
Always in the past, Culley had intercepted her somewhere along the trail and they had ridden to his small ranch house together. This time she rode all the way to the yard without seeing any sign of him. Although she had never understood how he’d known she was coming the other times, it bothered her that he hadn’t shown up yet. She dismounted in front of the house, scanning the empty yard, and tied the reins to the post supporting the roof of the front stoop. She walked to the screen door and tried to peer through the wire mesh to see inside.
“Uncle Culley?” she called out hesitantly. There was something eerie about the silence. “Uncle Culley!” Her voice lifted imperatively.
A small sound came from inside the house. There was something vaguely alarming about the situation. Although it hadn’t crossed her mind before, it suddenly worried Cat that her uncle lived alone, completely isolated and far from help. If he were hurt or sick, who would know it?
“Uncle Culley?” She yelled loudly in case he was in the barn. “Are you here?” Somehow she didn’t think he was outside, so she entered the house, closing the screen door quietly behind her and listening for any sound. “Uncle Culley?” Her voice sounded hollow in the silent house. The bedroom door was shut. She had barely taken a step toward it when it opened and her uncle came out, looking pale and disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned and half tucked inside his pants. His gray hair was springing in tousled disorder and gray wool socks covered his feet.
“I didn’t expect you today, Cathleen.” His voice didn’t sound right, and he seemed stiff and awkward as he approached her. “I’m afraid you caught me napping.”
He did appear to have just gotten out of bed, and some of her concern faded with his explanation. “I was starting to worry,” she admitted. “I thought something might have happened to you.” Then she caught a glimpse of something white wrapped around his middle where the unbuttoned front of his shirt gaped open. “You are hurt,” she said in sharp accusation.
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“Nothing for you to worry about.” The waving gesture of his hand dismissed her concern. “I just banged up some ribs when a horse kicked me.”
“You’d better let me have a look at it.” There was a brisk insistence in her voice as she reached for his shirt to see if he’d bound the injured ribs properly.
“No!” There was a sudden blaze of rejection in his eyes. “I told you I just bruised myself some. Now leave me alone.”
“Look here, Culley O’Rourke. I can be just as stubborn as you,” Cat warned.
“If you come over here to visit, we’ll visit. But if you’re just here to pry your nose into things that ain’t your affair, you can just leave.”
Cat stiffened as if she’d been slapped. Her uncle had never spoken to her like that. “It’s plain to see I’m not wanted or needed. Nothing I do is right anymore.” She swung away to walk to the door, her pride hurt and her feelings.
“Cathleen, I’m sorry. I—” The last was abruptly cut off by a stifled groan of pain, followed by the grate of a chair leg under some weight. Alarmed, Cat pivoted to see her ashen-faced uncle gripping the back of an armchair. She rushed to his side.
“You are hurt. I don’t know why you tried to pretend it was nothing,” she accused impatiently and helped him into the chair. When she attempted to lift aside his shirt, he protested weakly and tried to stop her. But it was too late when she saw the crimson stain seeping through the white cloth bandage. “You’re bleeding,” she accused in a mixture of puzzled shock and alarm. “I thought you said you just bruised your ribs.”
“It’s just a scratch,” he insisted as the faintness that had attacked him began to pass. “I’m okay, I tell ya.”
“I’m not taking your word for anything,” Cat retorted and began untying the crudely knotted bandages that held the cloth in place. She tried to be as gentle as she could be, but it obviously hurt when she lifted the pad off the wounded area. The sight of the long, jagged line of purpling red flesh ripped open nearly made her sick to her stomach. It was all she could do to keep from gagging. “Uncle Culley, you’ve got to go to the doctor and get this treated.” Her limited experience in minor first aid didn’t include a wound as serious as this.
“No.” He shook his head, his face pale and drawn. “Just pour some disinfectant on it and put on a clean bandage.”
“Uncle Culley, please,” Cat pleaded with him to listen to her. “I know you don’t like doctors, but this isn’t a scratch. Let me go get the doctor and bring him here. You could get poisoning or something.”
“No. I can’t go to a doctor. I can’t let him see this.” He gripped her hand, nearly crushing the bones of her fingers together. “Cathleen, you’ve gotta promise me you won’t tell anyone about this.”
“Why?”
Again, he shook his head. “Don’t ask questions. Just promise me,” he begged.
She looked into his pleading eyes, then at the raw, open wound, and slowly shook her head. “I can’t promise that.” It hurt her to deny him. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ve got to get the doctor.” She started to pull away from him so she could ride to the ranch for help.
“No.” He tried to call her back. “You don’t understand, Cathleen. The doctor would have to report this to the sheriff.”
“The sheriff?” Cat hesitated a foot away from him. “But why?”
There was a long moment when he seemed torn between answering her and keeping his silence. “Because . . . it’s a bullet wound.”
An incredulous light entered her eyes. “What?” His answer had completely thrown her. “But . . . why would anyone want to shoot at you? And why does it matter if the sheriff finds out?”
