“Go easy on those ruts. You’ll give this truck a flat tire, and I’ll have to change it.” Gil braced himself against the door in anticipation of the next jolt, but she surprised him by slowing down.
“I don’t need a man to do the work for me.” She frowned. “When I think about my parents’ ranch, my blood boils. Three generations of hard work, all for nothing.”
Gil studied the woman across the seat and wondered if she was anything like her sister. He never remembered Jenna being concerned about the land. “Where do you live?”
“I bought Doc Bryant’s place when he retired.”
The old vet’s practice had never been a thriving business. More like one about to crumble, and that was twenty years ago. “Tell me about Dusty. Is he in a lot of pain?”
The truck jostled onto a paved road, and Mattie headed toward town. “Like I said, the damage was extensive. He lost a lot of blood and has substantial swelling. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.” Her cell phone chimed then, and she answered the incoming call.
As the doc’s voice faded into the background, Gil stared out the passenger window at the familiar landscape. He thought of the many times he’d driven this road, pulling Dusty in his trailer. Ever since he’d heard about the accident, Gil had been unable to stop the deluge of memories — of riding rodeo with Frank, of his mother — and of Jenna.
He rubbed his forehead and allowed the memories of his youth to rush back.
The people in the stands became a blur as Gil and Dusty broke from the box, Frank right behind in the arena. Swinging his lariat, Gil chased the steer less than fifty yards and nailed him on his first try. Frank heeled the steer immediately after.
Still on their horses, they both listened for the official time. Once announced, Gil glanced over at Frank. “Think we stand a chance at Nationals?”
Frank smiled, his pupils dark with their usual intensity. “Are you kidding? We’re undefeated.”
Mama waited with the others at the chutes, her hair pulled low in a ponytail. “I guess all the rodeos we took you to are finally paying off.”
“Those late night ropings didn’t hurt either, did they, Son?” His dad looked up at Gil and slapped his horse on the flank. “Even if it did interfere with your homework, or datin’, or even those darned football practices. I’d say making it to the National High School Finals Rodeo is more important than some football game, wouldn’t you?”
Frank jumped off his horse and into Jenna’s open arms. “No comparison in my book. Never have understood what you see in that sport.” Frank liked to tease, but Gil knew what attracted him to football. It was the one thing Frank didn’t excel at, the one thing Gil could hold over his brother . . .
The doc’s truck swerved onto the main street in Diamond Falls, and Gil’s forehead thumped against the passenger window, bringing him back to the present. Though tempted to run from the mounting complications, Gil vowed to see this visit through, even if it meant putting up with his father, the memories, and Dr. Mattie Evans, the sister of the girl he’d used to betray his brother.
SIX
MATTIE FOLLOWED GIL INTO THE CLINIC BARN, AND THE VOICES OF her employees hushed upon their entrance. Disregarding their adoration for the local superhero, she noted the emotion that flashed across Gil’s face when he viewed the chestnut gelding. Her throat tightened. Dusty lay motionless on the straw bedding, his chest swollen and his head wrapped in bandages. She’d witnessed scenes like this before, and in an effort to keep her sympathy from impeding her judgment, she’d learned to detach herself from the situation. With steady fingers, Mattie checked the horse’s IV and fluids, then turned to her technician to get a report on the last two hours.
Gil rested his cheek against the horse’s neck and whispered words she couldn’t make out. She grasped her clipboard and faced him.
“We’ve enucleated his right eye. I inserted an intraorbital prosthesis before sewing the skin shut. The fractures to his skull were significant. I repaired as much of it as possible, especially around the eye and sinus area.” Mattie gazed up at the hayloft where sunlight filtered in through the fractures in the wood. She wanted to be professional, collected, but the torment on Gil McCray’s face could not be ignored.
Mattie put the clipboard down and knelt beside him on the straw.