Page 5 of Take Me Please, Cowboy (The Calhouns & Campbells of Cold Canyon Ranch #1)

Rye just focused on getting the wheelchair past the two ambulances parked beneath the hospital portico, and then up the small ramp to ER. “I’ll follow you,” he said as the glass doors opened.

She nodded and headed to the reception and spoke to the nurse at the desk. Rye glanced down at the older man in the wheelchair. The old man looked pale, and his eyes were still closed.

The young woman turned and gestured for Rye to push the wheelchair forward. He did. She leaned down to speak to her uncle. “I need your wallet. Did we bring it?”

“Pocket,” the old man gritted. “Back on the right.” He tried to lean forward, and Rye quickly retrieved it, handing the wallet over.

The beautiful blonde flashed him a grateful look and returned her attention to registering her uncle.

Once that was done, another nurse came over and took the old man’s vitals and asked the young woman questions.

She didn’t seem to know the answers to most and then an orderly claimed the old man, and wheeled him away, taking him to an examination room.

His niece rose to go, but her uncle grunted something about privacy and for her to stay, and then the wheelchair and patient were gone.

For a moment, there was just silence and then the beautiful girl looked at him, and had tears in her eyes. “I was so scared,” she whispered. “The whole drive I just kept praying. I didn’t know what was happening and wasn’t sure he’d make it.”

“You couldn’t call an ambulance?”

“We live thirty miles away, up in the mountains. I couldn’t wait for an ambulance to come.” She struggled to smile, wiping moisture away from beneath her eyes. “Besides, it looks like they’re all here anyway.”

“You did good,” Rye said. “And your uncle will get great care here. Marietta Medical is a great hospital, but I’m sure you already know that.”

“I didn’t know that. I’m still relatively new here, arrived late May.”

“From where?”

“Texas. My family lives in a small town called Last Stand in the Hill Country.”

“I’ve been there.”

“You have?”

He nodded. “Right next to Fredericksburg, yes?”

“Yes.” She smiled at him, some of the tension leaving her face. “I’m Ansley Campbell,” she said, extending her hand.

He was happy to take it. Her hand was soft, smooth, her skin cool. “Rye Calhoun.”

“I’ve never met a Rye before,” she said, taking her hand back, slipping it into a pocket of her jeans.

“You’re my first Ansley.”

Her smile widened. “So, what brings you to Marietta Medical?” Her gaze skimmed over him, as if looking for blood or an injury.

“I brought a friend. He’s back there somewhere getting stitches. I’m just waiting for him.”

“I didn’t think the rodeo had even started yet.”

“It hasn’t.”

“What happened?”

There was something about her voice that made Rye’s chest tighten, making him feel.

She didn’t exactly have an accent, but he wasn’t surprised she was Texan.

Her voice was warm, a little husky, a little breathless, and it made him feel a little warm.

A little restless. “JB has a mean horse,” Rye said, not wanting her to know that JB had been fighting.

It didn’t seem suitable for her ears somehow.

Ansley’s eyes widened. “His horse kicked him?”

“I told you he was mean.”

She looked at him, her dark blue gaze searching his. “Are you being serious? Because I’m not sure I believe you.”

Rye sighed. “Okay, JB was in a fight. I brought him to get stitches.”

She pushed up the brim of her cap. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

Ansley laughed. “I have five brothers, including one that’s a fighter pilot. You don’t have to protect me. I’ve heard it all and seen it all at this point.”

Rye heard her, but looking into her face with those exquisite cheekbones, full lips, and perfect chin, he didn’t think she knew as much as she thought she did. It wasn’t a criticism, either. She struck him as sheltered, innocent, and he wasn’t going to be the one that broke her trust.

Before he could speak, the swinging door opened and JB emerged, face clean, dark stitches running through one eyebrow and then down his cheek, his skin mottled with emerging bruises.

He also looked as if he’d sobered as his eyes locked with Rye’s, his expression chagrined as he crossed the waiting area.

“Thanks for waiting, Calhoun,” JB said gruffly, folding his discharge papers and shoving them into his denim pocket.

“No problem,” Rye answered.

JB looked at Ansley, appreciation in his eyes. Rye wasn’t about to introduce him. “Let’s get you back to your trailer,” he said, clapping JB on the back.

He got JB moving toward the door and then Rye turned to look back at Ansley, who was still standing there in her baseball cap, pink T-shirt, snug jeans, and white sneakers. She looked like a college cheerleader. Fresh, pretty, young. So fresh and pretty it was hard to walk away from her.

He felt another twinge, the pinch in his chest catching him by surprise. What was she doing to him? “Want coffee?” he asked.

She nodded.

The tightness in his chest made it hard to think. “How do you like it?”

“Milk and sugar.”

“I’ll be back.”

Her eyes locked with his. She seemed to be trying to make a decision, curiosity and wariness warring in her eyes. Curiosity won because her lips curved, and she nodded again. “I’ll be here.”

*

While waiting for an update from the medical staff, Ansley paced outside talking to her mom on the phone, updating her on everything that had happened.

Her mom was calm as always and reassured Ansley she’d done everything right, and there was no reason to beat herself up.

She asked Ansley to let her know when there was news and then they said goodbye and hung up.

Ansley forced herself to stop pacing and sit down inside and try not to replay the morning’s events over and over in her head but being woken by her uncle’s shout, and then running to discover him on the floor had shaken her to the core.

It had been hard getting him to her car, and hard to focus on driving when he’d groaned off and on for thirty minutes.

Then, reaching the hospital, there had been nowhere near the entrance to park what with the ambulances and commotion, so she fetched a hospital wheelchair but just getting her uncle into it made him hiss with pain.

He’d broken something, she was sure of that.

But just what he’d broken she didn’t know.

The sliding glass doors to ER’s patient entrance opened and Rye walked in, tall, lean, handsome.

Focused. He also had two large paper cups of coffee with the Java Café logo.

Her heart thumped with gratitude, glad to see him, and not just for the coffee.

She welcomed the company, needing the distraction.

It was hard not knowing what was happening in the exam room.

It was hard not feeling responsible. Uncle Clyde’s bathroom had grab bars at the toilet and bathtub from when Aunt Sandy had cancer.

But her uncle fell before he even reached the bathroom.

She wasn’t sure how to help him or protect him.

Maybe a walker would help, something to lean on when he left the bed.

“Any news?” Rye asked, handing her a cup.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“By the way, it’s not a drip coffee. The girl at Java Café insisted I try the vanilla caramel latte, saying it was a special drink in celebration of the eighty-fifth Copper Mountain Rodeo. I didn’t know how to disappoint her.”

“Is that what you have, too?”

He looked shamefaced. “No. I have a black coffee. I’m not much for sweet things in the morning.”

“Whereas I love everything sweet—pancakes, waffles, French toast, cinnamon rolls. The more sugar the better.”

“Then you might like the Copper Mountain Rodeo latte.”

“I just might.” She took a sip. The latte was strong, creamy and sweet, and exactly what she needed after the rough morning. “It’s good. Really good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He gestured to the bench outside. “Want to sit there? It’s nice out. The air is fresh.”

“Good idea.”

Outside as they sat down, Rye extended his legs, boots crossed at the ankle, cowboy hat shielding his eyes. He hadn’t been wearing a hat earlier. For that matter, he hadn’t been wearing the blue plaid western shirt, either.

“How did you have time to change?” she asked.

“I’m fast.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing for a cowboy?”

“Fast reflexes are good. Fast rides, not so good.”

She didn’t want to stare but it was hard not to keep looking his way. He was tan, fit, muscles tightening in his forearm as he drank his coffee. “I appreciate you bringing me coffee when I’m sure you have more important things to do,” she said, suddenly feeling shy.

“I don’t, not yet. Later, I’ll head to the arena, do a little riding and roping to get a feel for the stadium, but today is essentially a rest day.”

“Do you compete in a lot of rodeos?”

“Almost every weekend.”

“It’s what you do full-time?” She persisted, curious about him, more curious than she’d been about anyone in a long time. There was something mysterious about him, something that made her want to ask questions and discover who he was, and what secrets he kept.

*

“Monday through Thursday I’m a roofer. Thursday afternoon I’m on the road heading to my next rodeo.”

She hid her surprise, thinking it sounded awful, as well as exhausting. “When do you rest?”

“Usually at night, when I’m in bed.”

Ansley grinned, amused. “Where is home?”

“Eureka.” His mouth quirked, correctly reading her blank expression. “It’s a small town on the border of Montana and Canada.”

“But it’s in Montana?”

“It is.” He stretched an arm along the back of the bench. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m staying with my uncle on his ranch in Paradise Valley. He’s a widower and doesn’t have any kids. I’m supposed to be taking care of him but as you can see, I’m not doing a very good job of that.”

“What happened?”