Chapter 7
7
CLEMENTINE
W hatever I thought about Gunner when I met him yesterday morning, I take it back. He's not a grump. He's not an asshole. He's just plain, fucking insane.
Last night was good.
Okay-- last night was great.
And yeah, sure, I like giving the man some grief and he likes giving it right back. We obviously make a good team, today was going fine with just the two of us working together and getting things done...until he had to go and bring up last night.
The two Australian shepherds that tagged along with us spot their cattle scattered along the small creek bed at the base of the hill on the far side of our camp. Not far from the property line, but squarely on Flying R land.
The dogs take off, eager to get to work, while I bushwhack my way down the narrow game trail that vaguely shows in the wild grass and chaparral that covers the hills.
Once I'm down to the creek, I get my first real look at the Ralston territory; where the Delta O is spread over fourteen thousand acres of the lower river delta, grasslands, and foothills, the Flying R to the southwest is mostly wide-open space at the bottom of a valley from what I can tell.
It only takes a few whistles, and the dogs are already moving our strays up the trail they trampled into the hillside on their way down to the Ralston's creek. A few of the ladies eyeball me like I'm the cop that's breaking up their party but they amble back to their own yard without much sass.
One of the dogs is barking its head off further down in the valley though, and when I hike down a ways, I see a calf with its head stuck in some old fencing while its mama scolds the barking dog.
Damn. I was hoping this was going to be an easier job.
I haven't met any of the Ralston brothers yet and the rumors I've heard so far don't have me eager to change that. The family burned their bridges in the ranching community generations back and from the sound of it, their reputation hasn't improved much in the last hundred years.
There's a good reason the O'Leary's are keen to get their cattle back on the right side of the fence.
The footing gets iffy along the creekside and my boots slip in the soft scree, getting me to the bottom of the hill a little faster than I'd planned on, but other than a new patch of dirt on the ass of my jeans, I'm no worse for wear when I find my footing again.
The calf causing all the ruckus, however, is another story. Poor baby's managed to get itself wedged into a bit of fencing that looks like it might have once cut off a chunk of land into smaller pastures.
It's not barbed wire, and the little guy could probably pull himself free if he tried, but he seems to have decided he's stuck and content to stay that way.
No problem, I've done this before.
The ground is muddy and my boots sink deep as I trek my way over to the scene.
"Macy! Hush!" The red merle stops barking long enough to turn her pale blue eyes at me before she runs around to my side of the calf, barking the whole way.
Mama cow has found her way around to the other side of the short section of old fencing and I'm glad for that much. I'm not too keen on getting between a stressed cow and her calf.
Macy darts behind me, causing me to misstep so I don't step on the high-strung dog.
All it takes is a good tug on the old wire to free the calf, but I'm not expecting the wire in question to come loose in my hand.
The four of us all move at once; Macy herds mama back around the random section of fencing, baby pulls backward with a burst of energy, and my hand lands firmly on the calf's rump to steady myself, without thinking about it.
Next thing I know, I'm the only one left, but I'm lying on my back in the mud, fighting to pull air into my lungs while I look at the blue sky through the branches of an old cottonwood tree.
It's not the first kick to the chest I've taken or the first time I've had the wind knocked out of me.
Managing to struggle upright without panicking, I wince at the sharp pain that shoots through me when I move and manage to suck in a shallow breath.
Wouldn't be my first cracked rib either.
But it takes me longer to get to my feet than I expect it to, and I still can't get a full breath into my lungs.
Looking up the hill, I see Jojo-- the more experienced herder of the two Aussies-- join Macy as the dogs move the last of our cattle over the hill in a cloud of dust among the sharp, bossy barks and the stamp of hooves.
What I can't see is Gunner.
My shallow breathing means my voice won't rise above a reedy whisper, and there's no hope of cell service out here.
Making a mental note to make sure we carry two-way radios from now on, I consider my options. No way I'm hiking up that hill in this condition, so I pull my pistol out of the holster and fire three shots to signal for help.
I hear the high rev of an off-highway vehicle coming from the opposite direction and curse Gunner for not getting to me first.
He's likely busy dealing with the cattle and making sure they stay on our side of the fence. Can't fault the man for doing his job.
A two-seater side-by-side pulls up by the tree that I've managed to hobble over to and I grip the butt of my pistol in its holster when I see the rider.
"Ma'am? You all right there?"
Who am I kidding? I hold up my empty palm and shake my head to the negative.
"Kicked. Cracked rib or two," I wheeze, wrapping my arm around my chest in hopes the pressure will make it easier to talk.
The man crosses the distance between us in a few long strides.
"How'd you get kicked?" He looks around, noticing there's not an animal in sight, then gives me a lopsided grin under a bushy beard as he gently feels along my ribcage for injuries.
"Busted fence on our side," I wave weakly in the direction of the property line. "Had to round up some strays."
It doesn't take much thinking to figure that the man hovering over me is likely one of the Ralston boys.
"Riley," he says gently. "You working for the O's?"
Talking uses breath I don't have much of so I nod to that.
"Clem-- herdsman," I rasp.
Riley laughs at my offered handshake, and instead, bends at the knees and whisks me off my feet like I was a child.
"Well, Clem, you're lucky I was so far out, or I might not have heard your signal. You're right about the ribs and, from the sound of it, you probably punctured a lung. Let's get you into town to the ER."
A couple days ago, this rugged stranger might have piqued my interest. If not for the classic tall, dark, and rugged thing he has going on, then for the way he lifted me off the ground like I don't weigh a thing-- which is far from the case, I assure you.
Damn Gunner O'Leary for showing up and ruining me for other men. How the hell am I supposed to look at another man now?
Riley carries me with ease toward his vehicle and the only thing that the brutally handsome cowboy stirs in me is gratitude for helping me get to medical care.
"Put her down, Ralston! I swear I'll blow your skull wide open."
Gunner
The cows come barreling through the last opening in the fence with a thunder of hooves and protesting noises as the dogs push them from the rear.
That means Clem oughta be coming up the hill right after them, and I reckon she's had enough time to think on her own now that she'll be ready to hear me out.
Because I've had some time to think things through too, and my mind's even more made up than it was when she stomped off.
Clementine's the girl I never expected I'd find. The one I'm meant to settle down with and start a new branch of the O'Leary family tree with.
Whatever her excuses for denying the obvious are, I plan on working them out and putting my ring on her finger as soon as she lets me.
As soon as I'm reasonably certain the last animal is on the proper side of the fence, I stretch a length of wire over to the next post and hope it holds till Clem gets back and helps me with the final touches.
But Clem doesn't appear over the rise of the hill where the cattle came up.
The dogs are both back, so I doubt there are any more strays to be brought in. I'm about to head over the fence line when I hear the first shot.
My blood runs cold. I'm already past the fence and heading down the hill before the next two shots ring out over the landscape.
A signal for help. It's not common these days, with radios and cell phones in everyone's back pockets now, but if someone's in a bind out here, we all know the sound of gunfire carries a good long distance and three shots in succession means someone's in trouble.
Scrambling down the steep hill on Flying R land, I spot trouble all right. Trouble of the Ralston variety; and from the looks of it, my low-life neighbors have decided to step up from rustling cattle to rustling women.
"I mean it, Ralston!" I'm coming up on them quick with my hand on my pistol. "Let her go now!"
Damn bastard has Clem caught up in his arms like he's going to carry my woman over the damn threshold. She's not fighting him from what I can see and that has my gut clenching for multiple reasons; could be he's got her subdued somehow...could be she's willing.
Instead of putting her down, he turns toward the sound of my hollering so I can see his face.
Riley. Second oldest of the Ralston brood and as much an asshole as any of his worthless brothers, just stands there, glaring at me from under the brim of his oiled leather Outback hat, with my woman in his arms like he's got a right to put his filthy hands on her.
I'd have him on the ground begging for his life if Clem wasn't in the way, and the smug bastard knows it.
"You're Gunner's woman?" Riley looks down at Clem in his arms, non-plussed at the threats to his life I keep issuing as I come up closer to them.
"No, I am not," Clem practically spits the words out, but she's looking right at me, not him.
"You are, and you know it, Clementine," I correct her, with Riley's head bobbing between us like he's trying to make sense of the exchange.
Then the gangly bastard turns and carries Clem to his OHV.
"What the fuck is going on here, Clem?" Panic is setting in. Something's off about this whole thing and the fact that Clem's letting him set her down on the passenger seat has me looking forward to the man's hands being free so I can kick his spine in.
"Look, you two can settle whatever your issues are later," Riley tells me as he turns to head for the driver's side of the small vehicle.
"Fuck you, Ralston. We'll settle them right now. I'm not letting you take her anywhere until I hear from Clem that she wants to go with you."
"Oh for fuck's sake, O'Leary."
Clementine's voice sound wrong, like it's taking too much effort for her to raise the volume and she's got her arm pressed to her chest as she levels angry eyes my way.
She's hurt.
Dammit! Clem's hurt.
"What the fuck happened to her, Ralston?"
Stepping into the other man's space, I throw my hat to the ground.
"I swear to God, if you touched her, they'll never find your worthless corpse--"
"Gunner! Ralston's not the problem here, you are. You're acting stupid and I don't have time for the macho bullshit."
"She took a kick to the ribs." Riley's hands are both in the air and the look on his face is more concern than I'd have thought a Ralston was capable of. "Pretty sure her lung's punctured, she needs to get to the hospital. Keys are in the Gator-- go."
"Fuck." I grab my hat off the ground and make a beeline for the OHV. I don't know what to say to Riley, so I don't bother trying. I turn the motor over and throw it into gear just as the dogs start barking up the hill back on our side of the property line. "What the--?"
The barking is followed by the sound of hooves and a turn of my head tells me my temporary repair job was too temporary. Ten or twelve of our animals are headed right back down the narrow game trail they've worn in the side of the hill, not paying much mind to the dogs running alongside them.
"I got it," Riley says off-handedly as he watches the rogue cattle make their way down to the creek. "Just get her taken care of."
I've got one boot on the ground again, not liking the idea of leaving a Ralston in charge of my stock.
"Figure it this way, O'Leary; what do you trust me least with? Her? Or your damn cows?" His eyes flicker to Clem before narrowing back on me.
"We'll be doing a head count, so don't trying anything stupid."
With both my feet back in the Gator, I slip it into gear and head for the road.
Clementine snorts beside me. "Not that we can't pick out our Limos from their Herefords, but you do know there are trackers in their tags, right?"
"Looks like I need to put one on you. Why the hell didn't you call me?"
"Try to put a tracker on me and I'll gut you. I'm not your property." Clem adjusts her pressure against her chest and does her best to keep from getting bounced around too much.
"You may not belong to me, Clem, but you know damn well you belong with me."
"You've known me for one hot second, Gunner, what makes you so sure?"
The nearest emergency room is still fifteen miles out from the ranch, so it's best we swing by my place and get the truck.
Pulling onto the Delta O in a vehicle clearly marked with the Flying R brand earns me all kinds of curious looks as I blow past the barns and out to the row of private residences where my own house sits on an acre lot at the end of the lane, next to Dean's place.
Dean stands out in his driveway and watches me pull to a stop beside my truck.
"We starting a feud with the Ralstons, now?" My youngest brother grins, nodding toward the Gator as I circle around before Clem has a chance to climb out on her own.
"Just get it back to them," I holler back at him. "Grab a couple of hands and go help Riley-- he's back on the far west border."
"Stop fussin' over me, O'Leary," Clem grumbles as I pick her up and carry her to the passenger side of my truck.
She doesn't need my fussin' and I know it, but damned if something primitive in me isn't determined to prove to her that I can take care of her. That I always will.
And I hate that Ralston had his hands on her, even if it was for good reason.
"It's not the first kick to the gut I've taken. It's not likely to be the last."
She snarks, but she doesn't fight me; slips her arm around my neck as I carry her and lets me buckle her in when I get her in the truck.
"Damn straight it'll be your last," I grumble at her.
She says 'kick to the gut' and I can't help but think about her carrying my child-- but I know this is the wrong time to be bringing that up so I keep it to myself. There'll be plenty of time to fight with her over it when she can chase me down again.
I never thought I'd find myself wanting to put a baby in a woman; but I do. I want to real bad with Clementine.
"You gonna get me to the ER, O'Leary, or just stand there swooning over me like a puppy?"
"Don't pretend you don't like it."
She can sass me all she wants, but I see the soft look in those pretty brown eyes of hers.
I back out of the driveway and throw the truck into gear, heading for the main road into town when I feel Clem's hand on my thigh.
"You gettin' frisky in the truck with a couple of cracked ribs and probably a leak in your lung there?"
My free hand drops down and covers hers, liking the feel of it under mine.
"Just practicing," she murmurs. "Got a feeling I'm gonna have to get used to it."