Chapter 1 The Gravity of Bone #14
The current grew stronger. Debris—branches, ice chunks—slammed into him. A log hit his bad shoulder, sending a shockwave of agony through his torn rotator cuff.
He gasped, swallowing a mouthful of dirty water. He coughed, spitting it out.
"Leo! Look at me!"
Leo looked up. His face was white, his eyes huge dark pools of terror. He was shivering violently, his grip on the branch slipping.
"Ryder?" Leo mouthed.
"I've got you," Ryder yelled. "Reach for me!"
Ryder lunged. He grabbed a lower branch of the cottonwood.
The tree groaned. It shifted again, tilting downstream.
"No!" Leo screamed.
Ryder hauled himself along the branch. His legs trailed uselessly in the current now. He was pulling himself with his arms—one good, one torn.
He reached the fork where Leo was trapped.
Ryder wrapped his good arm around the trunk. He reached out with his bad arm.
"Grab my hand!"
Leo reached out. His small hand was wet, slippery.
Ryder grabbed him.
His hand—the hand that had held a bull rope for eight seconds against two thousand pounds of force—locked onto the boy's wrist.
The "Bull Rider's Grip." It was a reflex. Once he clamped down, nothing on earth could pry his fingers open.
"I got you!" Ryder roared.
He pulled.
He hauled Leo out of the crotch of the tree and slammed him against his chest.
"Hold my neck!" Ryder ordered. "Don't let go!"
Leo wrapped his arms around Ryder’s neck, burying his face in Ryder’s jacket. He was sobbing, shaking.
Ryder had the boy. But now he had to get back.
He turned. The current caught them instantly.
Ryder lost his grip on the tree.
They were swept away.
The water took them. Ryder went under. The heavy cast dragged him down toward the bottom.
He kicked with his good leg. He fought the weight. He broke the surface, gasping for air, holding Leo’s head above the water.
Swim. Swim.
He couldn't swim. Not with one arm holding the boy and one leg dead weight.
He saw a willow branch hanging low over the water near the bank.
It was their only chance.
Ryder threw his body toward the bank. He reached up with his bad arm—the torn shoulder.
He grabbed the willow.
The sudden stop ripped at his socket. Ryder screamed, a sound that tore his throat. The pain was blinding.
But he held on.
He swung them toward the mud.
"Grab the root!" Ryder yelled at Leo. "Grab the root!"
He threw Leo toward the bank.
Leo scrambled. He clawed at the mud. He found a root. He pulled himself up, half out of the water.
Ryder hung onto the willow. His strength was gone. The water was pulling him back. His cast was dragging him down. His fingers were slipping.
He looked at Leo. The boy was safe on the mud.
"Go up!" Ryder choked out. "Climb!"
Leo looked back. "Ryder!"
Ryder’s hand slipped.
The willow branch snapped back.
The water closed over Ryder’s head.
He didn't fight it. He was too tired. The pain was gone. The noise was gone.
He sank into the cold, brown silence.
I won, he thought. I lasted eight seconds.
Then, a hand grabbed his collar.
Not a child’s hand. A man’s hand.
Ryder broke the surface, coughing, gagging.
Cole was there. He was waist-deep in the mud, holding onto a tree with one hand and Ryder’s jacket with the other.
"I got you, brother," Cole grunted, his face twisted with effort. "I got you."
Cole hauled him up the bank. He dragged Ryder through the mud like a sack of feed, laying him out on the grass next to Leo.
Ryder lay on his back. The rain washed the mud from his face.
He turned his head.
Leo was crawling toward him.
"You came back," Leo whispered, touching Ryder’s face with a freezing hand.
Ryder coughed water. He smiled. It was a weak, broken smile.
"I told you," Ryder wheezed. "Pirates are tough."
Then the blackness took him, but this time, it wasn't lonely.
CHAPTER 10: THE LONG RIDE
I. The White Flag
The beep of the monitor was steady. Rhythmic. Boring.
Elena Rosales sat in the plastic chair next to the hospital bed in Billings. She had been sitting there for fourteen hours. Her scrubs were rumpled. Her hair was coming loose from its bun. She was drinking coffee that tasted like burnt battery acid.
She didn't care.
She watched the chest rise and fall under the thin hospital blanket.
Inhale. Exhale.
It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
Ryder Stone looked terrible. His face was scraped raw from the mud. His bad shoulder was immobilized again. His left leg—the one that had acted as an anchor—was elevated, the cast cut off and replaced with a fresh splint.
But he was warm. And he was pink. And he was breathing.
Elena reached out and touched his hand. It was rough, calloused, and covered in small cuts.
"You idiot," she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. "You magnificent, stupid idiot."
Leo was safe. He was at the ranch with Maya, traumatized but physically unharmed, currently being spoiled with ice cream and cartoons. He hadn't stopped talking about how the "Pirate" had jumped into the river.
Ryder stirred.
His eyelids fluttered. He groaned, a low, gravelly sound.
"Water," he croaked.
Elena was moving before the word was fully formed. She held a cup with a straw to his lips.
"Slowly," she murmured. "Small sips."
Ryder drank. He blinked, focusing on her face. His eyes were glassy with pain medication, but the recognition was instant.
"Elena," he whispered.
"I'm here."
"Leo?"
"He's fine. He's safe. He's asking for you."
Ryder closed his eyes. A long, shuddering sigh left his chest. "Good."
He tried to shift his weight and winced.
"Don't move," Elena said automatically. "You tore the rotator cuff again. And you have aspiration pneumonia from the river water. You're going to be here for a few days."
"Tulsa," Ryder mumbled.
Elena stiffened. She pulled back slightly.
"What about Tulsa?"
"The contract," Ryder said. "It's in my jeans. In the pocket."
Elena frowned. She looked at the plastic bag of personal effects the nurse had left on the counter. His wet, muddy jeans were inside.
"You want the contract?" she asked, her voice cooling. "Ryder, the bus left yesterday. You missed it."
"I know," he said. He opened his eyes. They were clear now. The gray steel was soft. "Just... get it. Please."
Elena walked to the counter. She opened the bag. It smelled of river mud. She fished out the soggy, folded piece of paper from the back pocket.
She brought it to him.
It was a mess. The ink had bled. The paper was pulpy and fragile. But the logo was still visible: Red River Energy. And the number: $150,000.
Ryder looked at it.
"I was going to go," he admitted. "I was in the truck. I was driving away."
"I know," Elena said. The hurt was still there, a bruise on her heart.
"I thought..." Ryder swallowed. "I thought if I left, I wouldn't hurt him. I thought I was poison, Elena. I thought money was the only good thing I could give him."
He looked at her.
"But then I saw the river. And I realized that a check can't pull a boy out of a flood."
He tried to rip the paper. His good hand fumbled with the wet pulp. His immobilized arm was useless.
"Help me," he said.
Elena hesitated.
"Tear it up," Ryder said. "Please."
Elena took the soggy paper. She looked at the six-figure promise. She looked at the ticket to the life he had always wanted.
She tore it in half.
Then she tore it again. And again. Until it was nothing but a pile of wet confetti in her hand.
She dropped the pieces into the trash can.
"It's gone," she said.
Ryder exhaled. He looked lighter.
"I'm retiring," he said. "For real this time. No more bulls. No more eight seconds."
He reached out his good hand.
"I want the long ride, Elena. I want the slow ride. The one where I stay."
Elena looked at his hand. She thought about the last six years. She thought about the pain.
But then she thought about Leo in the tree. She thought about Ryder entering the freezing water without hesitation. She thought about the way he had looked at her in the round pen.
She took his hand.
"The long ride is hard, Ryder," she warned. "It's boring. It's work. It's fixing sinks and packing lunches."
"I know," Ryder smiled. It was the Stone grin, but softer. Weathered. "I think I can handle boring. As long as I get to do it with you."
Elena leaned down. She kissed his forehead. It was warm.
"Okay," she whispered. "But you're still fixing my sink."
II. The Family
August in Stone Creek was golden. The sun turned the dried grass into amber, and the light had a hazy, dreamlike quality.
Ryder stood in the center of the round pen.
He wasn't on crutches anymore. He was walking with a cane—a sturdy piece of hickory that Cole had carved for him. He leaned on it, watching the boy on the pony.
Leo was wearing his red boots, but he had traded the overalls for jeans and a proper button-down shirt. He sat on Biscuit, the ranch's oldest, bomb-proof pony.
"Heels down," Ryder called out. "Chin up. Look where you're going, not where you are."
Leo frowned in concentration. "Like this, Dad?"
Dad.
The word still hit Ryder like a physical shock. Every time. It was better than any gold buckle. It was better than any adrenaline rush.
"Perfect," Ryder said. "Now, ask him to walk. Squeeze with your calves. Don't kick."
Leo squeezed. Biscuit took a slow, lumbering step forward.
"I'm doing it!" Leo shouted. "I'm riding!"
Ryder grinned. "You're doing it, cowboy."
He looked toward the fence.
Elena was leaning on the rail. She was wearing a sundress. She was smiling.
Next to her, Cole and Maya stood arm-in-arm. Maya was visibly pregnant now, her hand resting on her stomach. The next generation of Stones was already on the way.
Ryder looked at his family.
He looked at the scar on his leg. It ached when the weather changed. He would never run again. He would never ride a bull again.
But he was standing on his own dirt. He was watching his son ride. He was coming home to a woman who loved him, not for what he could win, but for who he was.
He limped over to the fence as Leo trotted Biscuit around the perimeter.
Elena reached through the rails and took his hand.
"He looks like you," she said.
"Poor kid," Ryder laughed. "Hopefully he gets your brains."
"He already has your stubbornness," she sighed. "And your smile."
Ryder kissed her knuckles.
"He's got the best of us," Ryder said.
He turned back to the ring.
"Okay, Leo!" he called out. "One more lap. Then we untack and brush him down. The work comes before the rest."
"Yes, Dad!"
Ryder watched the boy ride into the golden light.
He took a deep breath of the Montana air. It smelled of sagebrush, horse sweat, and peace.
The wild ride was over. And for the first time in his life, Ryder Stone didn't want to be anywhere else.