Page 4 of Take Me Please, Cowboy (The Calhouns & Campbells of Cold Canyon Ranch #1)

T he pounding penetrated his sleep, interrupting his dream. Pounding close by.

Rye opened his eyes, looked around, remembered where he was. His trailer. Marietta fairgrounds. The pounding was coming from his trailer door.

He glanced at his phone as he swung his legs out of the narrow bed. Six fifteen.

Rye grabbed a T-shirt, tugging it over his head, then adjusting the waistband on his sweatpants before opening the door.

A bloody young cowboy stood outside in the dirt, swaying on his feet. “I think I need stitches,” he said, slurring the words a little, but the slur didn’t hide his Southern drawl.

“What happened, JB?” Rye asked, stepping out to get a better look at the youngster who was a great kid when sober but a hothead when liquored up.

“Had some words with a knucklehead.” JB squinted through the blood. “I was winning until he hit me with a bottle. Cut me pretty good.”

“Let me get my boots and keys. I’ll be quick.” Rye was quick, too, back outside in less than a minute. He walked JB to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door for him. “Where did you get hit? There’s so much blood I can’t tell.”

JB settled in the seat. “Can’t say exactly. It all hurts.”

Rye closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. Once behind the wheel, he started the engine and pulled away from his trailer. “What about your eyes?”

JB tipped his head back. “They were brown last time I checked.” He managed a smile. “You flirting with me, cowboy?”

Rye wished he could smile, but this wasn’t the first time he’d dragged JB’s sorry self to the hospital. “You’ve got to stop drinking, JB. You’re going to tangle with the wrong dude one day—”

“He started the fight, Calhoun. I didn’t want to fight.”

Rye said nothing. Most of the other cowboys now kept their distance from JB, not wanting to be drawn into the Mississippi kid’s drama, but JB was just nineteen, his brother Jasper’s age, and Rye couldn’t help being concerned. And exasperated.

Marietta’s hospital wasn’t far from the fairgrounds, and Rye drove up to the emergency room’s entrance and parked in front of the sliding glass doors. “I’m going to wait in my truck,” he told JB. “I’ll drive you back when you’re done.”

JB hesitated. “You don’t want to come in?”

Rye had spent far too much time in hospitals, far too much time in ER. He’d do it for family, but JB could handle this on his own. “You’ll be fine. You know the drill. Go check in and they’ll do the rest.”

JB staggered out of the truck and slammed the door behind him.

Rye watched him disappear through the sliding glass doors and approach reception.

Smothering a yawn, Rye did a circle, looking for an open parking spot.

Most of them were assigned to doctors but there were some visitor spaces and he took one of the open ones, backing into the spot so he could keep an eye out for JB, although Rye didn’t expect to see him for a good hour or two.

Parked, engine off, Rye leaned his seat back and closed his eyes, thinking another hour of sleep would be appreciated.

He was dozing when his phone rang and with a start he opened his eyes, grabbed the phone, checking the number. His mom. Rye’s stomach fell. She normally didn’t call him when he was on the road.

He answered immediately. “Everybody doing okay, Mom?”

“Yes, sweetheart. We’re doing just fine.”

“How about Jasper?”

“He’s better. I promise.” She hesitated. “Did I wake you up? Am I calling too early?”

“I’ve been up for a while,” he said, returning his seat to an upright position. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s nothing really. I suppose it could wait. But I thought, if it’s not too much trouble…” Her voice faded. She didn’t finish the sentence.

“Spit it out. No need to be embarrassed.”

“I’ve overdrawn the checking account. I thought I had enough in savings to cover, but I don’t. Is there any way you could transfer some money into my account? I’ll reimburse you back next payday.”

“Of course,” he said, knowing he’d never accept her money, and she knew it, too, although they never discussed it. “How much do you need?”

“Two thousand. That way I have enough for all the utilities—you know I’ve been running the air conditioner a lot more for Jasper—”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“But I do. And then there are the credit card payments. I don’t want to be late again.”

“I’ll transfer money now, as soon as we hang up.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“No problem, Mom.”

They hung up, and Rye immediately went to his bank app, tapped transfers, and moved money from his account to his mom’s.

While there, he checked his sisters’ accounts.

They both had a couple hundred, which wasn’t a lot, but they were frugal and had part-time jobs to help pay for gas and books at the college.

He closed out of the bank app and closed his eyes, but sleep evaded him this time.

All he could see was his family home in Eureka, and the wraparound porch with the ramp for Jasper’s wheelchair.

For a time after his dad’s injury, his dad was in a chair, too, but thankfully, he’d recovered enough not to need it anymore.

But his dad was still incapacitated, forever unable to work.

There had been disability checks in the beginning but after a few years those stopped.

His mom worked as much as she could considering his father and brother were dependent on her.

So, Rye worked, and worked hard.

He didn’t mind working, either. He was one of those that liked being busy, needed a purpose, but the fact that the family couldn’t survive without him, and that every check he earned, whether from roofing or competing, was required for his family’s survival created a pressure of its own.

He didn’t resent his family or the pressure, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it.

Thank goodness he had big shoulders, a thick skin, and a high tolerance for pain.

It allowed him to keep going when others might have quit.

There was no quitting for him, though. He loved his family.

He was glad he could help. But it did mean his options were limited.

He wouldn’t ever move away from them. He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t take work that didn’t pay the bills.

He was always aware he couldn’t afford to get injured, not seriously, as his family would suffer the consequences.

And so, when he entered his rodeo events, he always told his mom he’d entered the safe events.

But there was big money in bull riding, and every now and then, he’d slip an additional event onto his schedule, thinking an extra hundred or two would go a long way toward groceries, or an extra physical therapy for his brother.

The physical therapy sessions weren’t covered by insurance anymore. Very little was covered by insurance.

Rye had begun opening the bills before his mom could and handling the insurance as well. Far better he shield her from the negativity. She didn’t need it. It would wear her down and then she’d struggle emotionally, and he wouldn’t allow that.

He glanced at his watch. Almost eight thirty.

He’d need to feed his horses soon and get them some exercise.

He needed exercise. The rodeo itself didn’t begin until tomorrow, which gave him time to get his head together.

He knew what was important. He knew to stay focused.

Which was why he’d become a loner on the circuit.

He didn’t drink or date. He didn’t go dancing.

He couldn’t afford to go out to eat with the others.

Being social wasn’t as important as taking care of his family, and until his family no longer needed him so desperately, friends could wait.

Women could wait. His dreams could wait.

There would be time for all of that one day. Someday. God willing.

An ambulance arrived, siren off but lights flashing. A few minutes later, a second ambulance pulled in. Rye’s gaze narrowed as hospital staff streamed out to meet the EMTs, assisting the patients as EMTs rolled the gurneys into the hospital through an entrance reserved just for them.

There was a lot of staff moving, and a rather dazed-looking woman climbing out of the ambulance, shouldering her purse, trailing after a gurney.

*

He’d just climbed out of his truck to stretch his legs when he spotted a young woman in a baseball cap trying to push a wheelchair.

The man was big and slumped to one side.

She was struggling to keep the chair rolling.

She seemed to be hitting every crack in the asphalt, catching the wheelchair’s front casters and bringing it to a jerky stop.

Rye shouldn’t get involved. He didn’t need to get involved, but it was hard to ignore someone struggling when Rye had so much experience with wheelchairs. The least he could do was get the old man into ER safely.

Crossing the parking lot, he approached the pair. “Can I help?”

The young woman looked up at him from beneath the brim of her cap, and he felt a jolt of recognition.

Her blue eyes widened at the same time. She recognized him, too.

It was the beautiful, sun-kissed blonde from Jackson Flint’s truck.

A beautiful sun-kissed blonde that was also probably Jackson Flint’s girlfriend. “You’re Jackson’s girl,” he said.

“No, just a friend of Jackson’s.” She took a frustrated breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I keep getting stuck.”

“You’re doing fine, it’s the parking lot that’s the problem, not you.

Let me.” He grasped the handles on the back of the chair, tipped the chair backwards slightly, freeing the small front casters.

It didn’t take him long to get the wheelchair onto a smoother surface and as he pushed the chair towards the emergency room entrance, the young woman walked quickly next to him.

“Almost there, Uncle Clyde,” she said, patting the old man’s shoulder. “Hang in there.”

The old man’s eyes were closed, his features creased with pain.

The woman looked up at Rye, alarmed.