Page 26 of Saving the Rain (Crimson Ridge #4)
“ Y ou checked the forecast?” My eyes meet Kayce’s muted blues as he walks out of the small office where his father keeps the necessities for running the business side of the ranch. Bookwork. Computer. Radio unit for communications.
I toss back the remnants of my coffee, before rinsing the mug.
“’Course I did,” he snips.
“And?” My eyebrow lifts as I wipe the wetness off my palms against my jeans. There haven’t been many words exchanged between us since I arrived here, we’ve kept to ourselves, but today calls for a trip down to Crimson Ridge. Together .
Which means checking in with the Sheriff’s office before leaving the ranch. No one does anything on Devil’s Peak without getting the latest update on the conditions first.
While the leaves might be fluttering pretty shades of gold and bronze at every turn, there’s always the chance of early snowfall.
Setting off unprepared at this time of year puts us at risk of leaving the mountain while skies are blue overhead, only to have our return blocked later this evening if a front rolls in unexpectedly.
“Everything is clear,” Kayce mutters and shuffles off toward the front door.
As he passes, I catch a drift of scent, the faint mix of soap and laundry powder hanging off him.
His hair is still mussed and damp, but at least he’s taken the time to shave after rolling around looking like a stray dog for the past couple of weeks.
I bite my tongue rather than giving in to the urge to lash him verbally for being an asshole about this.
While I’m the one running around doing the kid goddamn favors left, right, and center, he certainly ain’t acting like it.
But I’ve got enough of that bronc rider blood left in my veins to know his mind is firmly elsewhere.
I’d bet anything he’s already sitting in that waiting room, with a restless knee, and clammy palms. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
There’s nothing worse than knowing you can’t do anything but accept whatever news gets delivered after a scan like he’s about to have.
Kayce has so much riding on this appointment, and neither of us needs to say a word to know that there are potentially far bigger things at stake than just the health of his knee. His rodeo career dangles in the balance, and it’s not a scenario anyone wants to face, no matter their age.
So, I clamp my jaw shut and fist the keys.
Following him outside, I let my attention fall to his movements as he walks ahead of me.
That limp of his isn’t as exaggerated as it was; he appears to be moving smoother.
I’ve already got the crutches in the back of the truck on the off chance he might need them.
I honestly have no idea how much of this is just for show—how much he’s biting back agonizing pain while staring down inevitable defeat, knowing his knee is about to buckle under him with one single misstep.
“Got everything you need?” I grunt across the top of the truck.
All I get is a thinly veiled eye roll in return as he slides in the passenger side, before he mumbles something in the affirmative.
Christ. It’s gonna take every shred of patience I can muster to get through today.
The two of us are oil and goddamn water at the best of times.
Throw in pain and an anxious mess of overthinking on Kayce’s part, and, well, it leaves the air ready to combust. Tension thick enough to almost rock me back on my heels.
I just about need a machete to hack my way through a heavy, weighted wall of agitation rolling off his shoulders as I get behind the wheel.
The drive down the mountain follows much the same pattern. Kayce stays locked inside his head. Stewing in silence and gnawing on his damn lip until I’m sure the thing is going to be bloodied and raw by the time we reach our destination. I just keep my focus on the road.
As we wind our way out of the sleepy little dot amongst the mountains and make the trip to the next town over where the medical center is located, I can tell he’s damn near crawling out of his skin.
I turn the radio up, just to give us something to focus on, other than how palpable his discomfort is. This isn’t my shit to get involved with. All I gotta do is drop him off and pick him up since he hasn’t been given the go-ahead to drive, or do anything using that knee... yet.
After we’ve been driving for what feels like hours, even though it hasn’t been that long in reality, Kayce shifts in his seat and pulls out his phone.
From the corner of my eye, I catch him staring at the screen, swiping a raft of notifications away, before threading his hand back through his hair.
His fingers stay shoved in the longer strands on top as he stares blankly out the window again.
My throat tightens, and my fingers do the same on the wheel.
It’s none of my business. We’re nothing to each other. As soon as he’s fit, as soon as he’s been given the green light by a doctor to get back to work, I’ll carry on with my life.
A version of events that doesn’t include Kayce Wilder.
Pulling into the medical center lot, I park as close to the entrance bay as possible, leaving the engine running.
“I’ll get that list of supplies from town.” There’s rust in my throat as I speak for the first time since leaving the ranch. “Anything you’ve forgotten to tell me that we need to stock up on?”
His blue eyes flare. Glints of mercury thread through his irises when his head snaps up.
“Yeah, sure. It would be because I’ve forgotten to tell you. Way to always make it my fault, jerk.”
Running my tongue along my teeth for a pause, I narrow my gaze across the space between us on the bench seat. “Well? Is there anything else?” I do my best to keep my voice level and not get down there to wrestle in the dirt with him like he’s fixing for with that kind of shitty attitude.
“No,” he huffs and shoves at the door, taking a few attempts to get it open.
I’ve already started moving, unbuckling myself before he’s even managed to swing his damaged knee around.
I’m in the kind of mood that I should tear strips off him for being such a prick.
The younger, angrier me would have rounded on him, but I swallow back the retorts that aren’t going to do anything productive right now.
It’s extremely fucking hard to erase all the ways you were taught to react. To fight back the instinct to lash out, because that’s all I knew for so goddamn long. And being with Kayce like this only serves as a reminder of a time in my life I’d rather forget for good.
As I open my door, I hear his hiss of a curse.
“Don’t,” he barks at me.
“You got some sixth sense going on over there, kid?” I let out a wry, cold laugh. “Like you know what I’m gonna do, or what?”
Kayce writhes around in his seat, getting himself out of the vehicle a little awkwardly. “Don’t go inconveniencing yourself.” His upper lip curls.
“Trust me. The only thing inconvenient here is how goddamn long you’re taking to get your ass out of my truck.”
As I say the words, his nostrils flare. He doesn’t look me in the eye, but grips hold of the door so tight I can make out the pale ridges of his knuckles.
“Of course. Of course, you’re gonna be an asshole about this. Why did I expect anything different?” Kayce shakes his head.
“Seeing as you’re such a ray of goddamn sunshine over there, can you blame me?” I make the move to fetch his crutches from the backseat. Even though we’re close to the front entrance, I don’t know how far he’s gonna have to walk once he’s through those doors and on his own.
“I’m not some little kid you can’t wait to get rid of anymore.” It’s almost like he says it to himself rather than me .
I’m about done with this performance. I’ve got places to be and jobs to get done while he’s with the medical staff. There aren’t enough hours in the day as it is, and we’re wasting daylight and breath having a pointless argument in a parking lot.
Yanking the rear door open, I grab the crutches, and round the back of the truck to meet him on the other side—all before he’s even gotten himself out of the seat.
Kayce is only just straightening to stand upright as I move forward, standing virtually eye to eye.
His shadowed brow hangs heavy, creases form around his mouth, and there’s no disguising the flinch as his foot hits the asphalt.
“Here.” I shove the crutches in his general direction, nudging his shoulder. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
Kayce’s attention flicks from my hand wrapped around the aluminum, then toward the front doors, and swallows thickly.
Stubborn little shit.
I can already see it in his expression, his features hardening, blue eyes gathering a steely edge to them. Hard-headed ‘til the final buzzer, as always.
“Don’t touch me.” Those words of his snarl out with snapping jaws. “I don’t need the fucking crutches. And I don’t need your help.”
With that, he charges past me and disappears inside without looking back.