AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I swallow the emotion threatening to ruin my careful composure. “Ryder, man. I’ve no doubt in my mind you can do whatever you dream up. You want to ride a bull? Or a horse? Or learn to rope a calf? Any of it—you bring your mom and dad and you come to my ranch, and it’s on the house.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do—”
“On the house,” I insist to his mom before turning to Ryder. “I have a friend, Winnie Sutton, who’s the best barrel racer you’ve ever seen. She’s working on training a couple of horses to race, and I’m sure she’d love someone to come out and test out her stock. You’d be doing us a favor if you’re really serious about this.”
Ryder’s eyes flicker to his mom, who grins at him and then at me. “If the doctor agrees, we’ll give you a call,” she says.
“Speaking of rodeo,” I tell Ryder, “I’ve been holding on to this for you and almost forgot all about it.” I reach into my backpack. “So I’m glad your mom called.”
I pull out the shiny gold buckle and pass it to him. “It was Walker’s from his last rodeo. I’m not too proud to admit he handed me my ass to win it. Rubbed this buckle in my face for weeks. Wouldn’t take it off. I’m positive he’d want you to have it.He thought the world of you and talked about you all the time. Always asking how you were. He’d be super stoked to see how well you’re doing, and he’d choke over that haircut.”
Ryder takes the buckle from my hands and holds it close to his face to read it. His eyes are bright and watery. “I can’t take—”
“Please,” I insist. “It’s yours. At least until you can win your own.”
At the challenge, his expression becomes fiercely determined, and while you can’t ever know for sure, I feel deep down the little dude’s gonna be okay.
I visit a while longer, telling them stories about some of the stupid stuff Walker and I got into over the years, until Ryder’s eyes start to droop and a nurse pokes her head in to get lunch orders.
Ryder’s mom walks me out of the room. She closes the door behind her for privacy, smoothing the wrinkles in her button-down and wrapping her cardigan around herself. It may be summer outside, but hospitals are always cold, no matter the season. “Thank you so much for coming by. I know you must be busy, but Ryder’s been talking about you so much, and I thought a visit might break up the tedium of waiting to heal.”
“Thanks for telling me he was here. Can I come back to visit, or would you rather me not?”
“Oh! If it’s not too much.”
“Not at all. This was good. Ryder looks strong. So much better than last fall, even.”
“He is. Of course these things are never certain, but his team is very optimistic.”
“Great. Good. Glad to hear it.”
She puts a hand on my arm, and her look is maternal. “It’s good to see you, Case. You seem to be doing okay?”
“I am.”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you played off Ryder’s questions about the PBR.”
I feel my face get warm, and I shift my weight. “Yeah, well…”
“I always thought you would be a good nurse or doctor,” she presses on. “Something in the medical field.”
That stops me in my tracks. “Really?”
She hums an affirmative. “You have a gift—a way about you. I’ve been in a lot of hospital rooms and doctors’ offices in the last decade, and I’ve seen it all. A lot of people come in here and don’t know how to act. They’re awkward and too careful. They make patients restless. Or they pity the patients and make them feel miserable. But not you. You’ve always just been yourself. Toward Walker and Ryder, and I’ve talked with a few of the other parents and they’ve all said the same. During those weeks you spent here with your friend, you made an impact in a lot of young lives.”
I clear my throat, trying to repress the surge of emotion. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Mrs. Jones.”
“Just something to think about. It takes a special person to come in here and take care of these kids day after day, riding out the inevitable storms with them.”
I nod, my thoughts tripping over each other. “Yeah. Maybe… I’ll definitely consider it. Thanks.”
Someone is heading for us with a cart of lunches, so I let Mrs. Jones get back to her son. After a quick stop at the nurses’ station, where I promise to bring some of Kerry’s cookies with me next time, I leave.
Hours later, I’m still thinking over what Mrs. Jones said to me and remembering this one moment back when Walker was still alive.It was one of his last good nights, when he was lucid enough to hold a conversation—when he was stillhimself. Walker had looked terrible. A shadow of his former strong and wiry self. His eyes were watery and yellowed with jaundice, his skin was pasty and stretched thin over his bones. I’d just finished cleaning him up, and he said to me, “You know, you’re not terrible at this taking-care-of-people thing.”
“Shut up,” I said, snorting.
“I’m serious. I never realized it before. You’re kind of made for this.”
