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His hands moved on to her, his left rib area shrieking a protest. “Jessy,” he said, but there was no response to either his voice or his touch. A quiver of fear ran through him.
With great care, Ty shifted her sideways to give himself a little maneuvering room. That’s when he saw the blood streaming from a wound to the side of her head.
Intent on stopping the bleeding, he tugged off his shirt. The close quarters had him bumping arms and elbows against the steering wheel and dashboard while he grunted from the pain the movement ignited along
his ribs.
He wadded up the shirt and used it to apply pressure to Jessy’s wound. A quick check verified her pulse was strong and her breathing was steady.
Satisfied that he had done all he could do, Ty turned his attention to finding a way out of the wrecked truck. The passenger side door was crumpled inward. He made one try at opening it, but it was jammed. That only left the front windshield, which was already a mosaic of splintered glass.
Searching, Ty found an old rag stuffed beneath the seat. He laid it over Jessy’s face and neck then shifted himself around and began kicking out the windshield, sending pieces of glass flying in a tinkling shower.
With the afternoon sun warm on his back, Culley O’Rourke skirted his horse southward, avoiding Antelope Butte. After the passage of two weeks, he was curious about the progress that had been made at the construction site. At the same time he was wary of running into Buck Haskell again.
It was that wariness that had prompted Culley to take a circuitous approach to the site, dipping far southward and coming at it from a direction Buck wouldn’t expect. And Culley knew all of the land’s concealing folds.
When the wind carried to him the sharp report of a pair of rifle shots, spaced seconds apart, Culley didn’t think much about them. It wasn’t uncommon for a Triple C rider to shoot at any coyote he might spot.
But the distant thumps and thuds, crunches and clatter that followed the shots weren’t common. Culley reined in his horse, convinced he had just heard a smashup on the road about a mile due south of him. He thought about it a moment or two then decided to take a look.
Pointing his horse’s nose in the general direction of the road, Culley lifted it into an easy, ground-eating lope. A quarter mile from the road, he crested a swell in the plains and spotted a wrecked pickup farther up the road to the east.
It looked like it had rolled and ended up lying on the driver’s side. The passenger side was all crumpled in, but not so badly that he couldn’t make out the familiar Triple C insignia on it. About the same moment, Culley noticed a bare-chested man in jeans and boots moving about the hood. He was a tall, big-shouldered man with dark hair and a mustache. It didn’t take two seconds for Culley to recognize Ty Calder, even at this distance.
Culley pulled his horse up, grimly acknowledging in his mind that it was the luck of a Calder to walk away from a wreck like that. Then he smiled faintly, thinking of the long walk to headquarters the Calder son had ahead of him. The chance of another vehicle happening along the stretch of ranch road was remote. Culley knew he could offer Ty a lift, but carrying double would tucker out his horse and make Culley late getting back to the Shamrock. Cat usually showed up there around seven with his supper.
Just as he had reached the decision to let Calder fend for himself, Ty spotted him and waved his arm, motioning for Culley to come. Culley picked up something urgent in Calder’s body language. About then Ty bent over the windshield, and the thought crossed Culley’s mind that there might be someone else still inside. He spurred his horse toward the wreck.
When he was yards from the fence line opposite the overturned truck, Ty yelled, “Jessy’s inside. She’s unconscious. I need a hand getting her out. It looks like the fuel tank ruptured. There is gasoline all over here.”
Short of the fence, Culley pulled up and swung out of the saddle, dropping the reins. “Is it safe to move her?” He slipped between parallel strands of barbwire.
“It sure as hell isn’t safe to leave her there.”
Working together, with Ty inside the truck cab and Culley outside, they got Jessy out. Ty carried her to the other side of the road and carefully laid her on the grass. Culley stood back from her, still remembering the warm feel of her slim body and the red smears of blood on her face. Ty bent over her, blocking Culley’s view.
“Ride to the ranch for help.” Ty barked the order over his shoulder.
Crossing to the fence, Culley ducked between the wires again and scooped up the reins to his horse. He hauled himself into the saddle and reined the horse around before he buried his right foot in the stirrup.
But he wasn’t headed for the ranch. As white as Jessy was, Culley was convinced she was going to die without immediate help, maybe even with it. And the ranch was too far. He had never given much thought to Jessy one way or the other until now. But he found he couldn’t hold it against her that she had married a Calder.
He spurred his horse toward the construction site.
Chapter Sixteen
Intersecting the overgrown track that led to windmill eleven, Culley swung his horse onto it and asked for more speed with a whip of the reins. The tiring horse gamely gave him another burst.
When he rounded the bend, the view of the work site opened up for him. The progress that had been made in two weeks’ time was startling. Where before there were only concrete footings, a house stood. It was a big and sprawling affair that hugged the ground. Workers swarmed around its exterior walls, busy facing its lower sections with stone. From somewhere came the buzzing whine of a skill saw, mixing with the rhythmic pound of hammers and the drone of a powerful generator.
Culley pulled back on the reins, checking his mount’s headlong pace when he reached the fringe of the site. Heads turned at the unexpected sight of a horse and rider. Culley scanned the faces, searching for Haskell among them. There was no sign of him, but he did see Tara, standing with two men, both in hard hats, one in work clothes and the other in a white shirt and tie.
Reluctant as he was to have any contact with her, Culley knew who was in charge. He angled his horse forward. The instant she recognized him, her expression darkened in a look of utter loathing.
“What are you doing here, O’Rourke?” Tara demanded when he slid his horse to a stop only yards from her. “This is private property and you are trespassing.”
“There was an accident on the road.” His horse skittered sideways beneath him, tossing its head and throwing off flecks of foam from its lathered sides. “You need to call the ranch an’ tell ’em to get some help here quick. She’s in a bad way.”
